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forbidden-creepypasta · 1 year ago

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The Basement – And The Inexplicable Thing Within

I am yet another example of a person on the long list people with strange, creepy basement stories.

Even today, just hearing the word "basement" still sends a slight shiver down my spine, even though it's been about 35 years since the events in my childhood memories occurred. The word "cellar" provokes a similar response in me, although to a slightly lesser degree.

[semi-related] In the movie "Donnie Darko", Drew Barrymore's character claims that a famous linguist (it was actually J.R.R. Tolkien) once said that the phrase "Cellar Door" is the most beautiful combination of words in the English language.

[sperg] Well, he was wrong for saying it in the first place, and she was wrong for repeating it and perpetuating the idea that the phrase is somehow beautiful. It's not. It's downright disturbing. FUCK THAT, and FUCK HER, and FUCK THAT MOVIE and FUCK TOLKIEN (even though I really did actually like the movie, and Tolkien). Fuck ALL of them right up the ass for using that phrase at all, in any context. "Cellar Door" is, to me, one of the scariest possible combination of words.

(and yes, I know that Tolkein was both famous and a linguist, but "famous linguist" is a poor way to describe him. It's like calling David Berkowitz a "famous evangelist") [/sperg] [/semi-related]

This story was originally posted on a message board, where another member had posted an earlier 'basement' description. That other member's description seems very apt, and I'd like to quote an excerpt from that post:

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Also, there was a basement which had the whole "evil presence" thing going on. My mother flat out refused to go in there after the first time she did, and that was during broad daylight. My father only did with the door open and every light in the vicinity on. I remember vividly the feeling of abject terror I felt the one time, to my memory, that I went in there, not the kind of scared you feel when you're a kid and your mom turns the light out and shuts your room door, but the kind of scared you feel when every horror movie you've ever seen comes to life and coagulates in the form of suffocating, total darkness punctuated by a hundred eyes all staring at you with a deep burning hatred.

This is a very good (if somewhat understated) description of the feelings invoked. There are some differences; his basement was cold and seemed to affect everyone, while mine was warm and only affected children. Still, there are enough similarities to make me wonder if our basements may have been siblings born from the very same hell, or perhaps they were even connected at a deeper level; some twisted "dionaea basement" in which each of them was only a small part of a larger entity.

OK, I suppose that's enough of that particular rant - Here we go, on to the much longer ranting....

It's going to be a long story, filled with many irrelevant details and sidetracks that serve no real purpose other than to demonstrate how clearly I remember it; how it has burned itself into my mind. I will also make every attempt to portray my childhood memories (or perhaps imaginings) in a rational, skeptical adult manner.

I don't know how many of you are prepared to read the rambling, incoherent ravings of a madman recounting events from the lunacy of his childhood memories, so at this point you have two choices: (a) Skip my post and proceed to the next one; there is no "I looooooooooooooove them balls" (b) Sit back, relax, settle in, and prepare yourself for the ride.

If you choose option (b), I apologize in advance for my writing style, my propensity toward excessive verbosity, and for my apparent A.D.D.

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Prologue: Introduction, and a Small Bit of Back-Story

As I mentioned, my 'basement story' is along the same lines as the "evil presence" mentioned in an earlier quote. It's quite a bit more complicated than most of the other basement stories I've read, including one that involved hearing strange noises only to discover that the noises were the result of a brother making out with girls.

I'm not saying that there weren't strange noises - there absolutely were, although just how strange is debatable. In retrospect, they may have been (and probably were) perfectly mundane "basement noises", but they did add an element of extra creepiness.

Noises like the occasional erratic metallic 'clink' or 'thunk' sound of pipes being tapped on. A steady 'bloop' at about 10-second intervals, suggesting a drip from some unseen leak. The sound of rushing water. All of those were likely just plumbing issues. Less frequently, I would hear a low 'moaning' sound, which quite probably was just wind somehow entering from outside, or circulating in some plumbing vents.

Looking back, there are many completely rational explanations for such noises, and it's likely that every old basement in every old house makes noises like these. At the time though, in my young mind, they were unfathomably ominous warning sounds. Those erratic 'clink' and 'thunk' tapping noises were intentional, and were designed to stimulate my curiosity; drawing me down into the basement to investigate their source. The dripping 'bloop' noises were maddeningly loud - much louder than they had any real right to be - and were similarly intended to lure me down in the hopes of shutting off whatever infernal faucet might be open. The rushing water noises only served to confuse me, but the damned moaning....

Oh, the moaning - Thankfully, it wasn't as constant as the drip, or as common as the tapping, but on the occasions that it did occur, it was indescribably horrific. It both drew me and repelled me at the same time. I didn't know if it was the call of someone who needed my help (perhaps the last victim who had made the unwise decision to enter that pit), or if it was a chorus consisting of all the voices of previous victims, warning me to stay the hell away.

To make things worse, none of the noises ever sounded entirely real - They all had an artificial quality, like sound-effects from a movie - Like shaking a piece of sheet-metal to simulate the sound of thunder, or clapping coconut-halves together for the sound of a horse galloping. I could never (and still can't) quite place my finger on it, but something about the noises was always very 'off'. The 'not-quite-right' feeling inherent in the sound may have been due to the shape/acoustics of the room. All sounds coming through the door from below the staircase seemed to be amplified, and a short echo/delay ambiance was applied before the sound waves reached my ears.

I didn't understand concepts like 'acoustics' at the time. Maybe the alteration of the sounds were simply due to acoustics of the room, causing the sound waves to resonate in such an unusual fashion....

But then again, maybe the sounds were altered intentionally to disguise their artificiality. Hearing the noises through the open door at the top of the staircase created the feeling that the noises just somehow just didn't belong. As if they had actually originated from some other source, elsewhere in the universe, but had been transported into this basement through some rift in space-time. When the door was shut, the noises could (mercifully) no longer be heard at all. I'm not saying that the door simply muffled the noises, but rather that it somehow canceled them out altogether.

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The Story Begins... Herein Lies Danger

During my childhood, my family moved around a lot. My father worked for a government agency that would transfer him to different locations on a fairly regular basis. Every year or two, we'd be in a different city or state, moving into a new home.

I was probably about 7 years old when we moved into the house with the “haunted” basement. Perhaps "haunted" isn't even the right word to use - It was never really clear to me whether the basement itself was alive, or if something else, something very evil, was residing within it. I suppose the distinction is meaningless, because whatever it might have been, it's energy was always focused in that one particular part of the house.

I'm not certain exactly when, how or even why I came to the conclusion that it was haunted. I only knew that it terrified me to my very core, in a way that I had never been frightened before and haven't been since.

The house had a small storage/utility room just outside of the kitchen, around the corner from the pantry closet. The room itself was largely unremarkable – It contained a deep-sink with one of those old-style hand-crank laundry wringers attached, the type that squeezes the water from fabric by pressing it between two rollers. In one corner of the room were the usual basic items you might expect to find in such a room – A mop & bucket, a broom & dustpan, nothing out of the ordinary. There was an arched entryway leading to the kitchen, a door leading outside and of course, the other door – the door which I later concluded led directly into hell.

The door's handle was on the left, and hinges on the right. It opened inward toward the stairs, where there was about a 4-foot long platform before the staircase descended along the left wall. Thinking back on it, this was a pretty poor design and potentially dangerous to someone who might have been coming up the stairs. Opening the door at the wrong moment could easily knock someone down the staircase, or send them plummeting over the railing. Of course, I never thought about such things at the time. There was a light-switch on the left wall just inside the door.

From the doorway at the top of the staircase I couldn't actually see much of the basement, even if I flipped on the light-switch. The light illuminated the stairs well enough, but not much of the basement itself. That godforsaken room seemed to be shrouded in perpetual darkness. I could just barely make out the shape of the washing machine at the far right of my field of view.

At some point within the first week of moving into this new house (before I had become aware of IT), my natural inclinations toward exploring led me toward the basement, just to play around, as children are often wont to do. At the time, the basement was new to me - it was (in my mind) 'unexplored territory'. Like most young boys, I was prone to silly delusions of being an explorer, a discoverer, even when my 'exploring' or 'discovery' was limited to something as mundane as rooms in my own home.

I was a young child, and I didn't know any better - It wasn't until much later that I realized it's a bad idea to intrude into areas where something might prefer to be left alone - a sleeping beast is best left undisturbed - once awoken, a beast is obligated to behave in a manner consistent with it's beastly nature.

Whatever force it was, it had decided I was unwelcome, and I somehow, instinctively knew it didn't want me around. I got the unmistakable impression that it didn't like me very much at all - or perhaps it did. Maybe it liked me a little too much.

The basement stank, as well. Standing atop the stairs, I could smell a very unpleasant fetid, musty odor – like the stench of decay mixed with mildew and something else – something hot. I could feel warm, dank air emanating up from within those murky depths, and I also felt a presence – A sentient presence. It hinted at secrets waiting to be unearthed - It knew something I didn't, and it wouldn't reveal it's dark secrets unless I went down and succumbed to it's clutches. At times, it seemed only to be playfully mischievous, trying to coax me in. At other times there was no mistaking that it basement had wicked, malevolent intentions.

I never actually even set foot inside it; I was too frightened. Just looking down into it, I could feel the small hairs all over my body standing on end, as if even my very skin could sense the danger that lurked within that subterranean crypt, awaiting my arrival. I distinctly remember standing in the doorway at the top of the stairs, staring down into the emptiness, the dark abyss of the unknown and unknowable, desperately trying to muster up enough courage to descend into what I was convinced must be a magical portal to some other world; simultaneously wondrous and terrifying.

I could never do it. Fear would paralyze me before I could take even the first step down that foreboding staircase. I would stand there in complete and utter horror, sweating, on the verge of tears, until eventually something would snap and I'd regain just enough control of myself to run away. And run, I did. Every single time.

Over time, my fear of whatever unimaginable evil lurked within the basement extended to the doorway leading to that monstrous room. I began avoiding even the door to the basement, as if getting too close to the door would cause me to be sucked in, where I would surely suffer unspeakable atrocities. I did my best to keep at least five feet away from that malignant, venomous doorway.

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Friends visiting

Much like any other child, I had friends who would come to visit, play, or have the occasional sleepover. On a few occasions (when my parents weren't around, or weren't paying attention) I would dare my friends to enter the basement. None of them ever did. I never told them exactly why the basement was a scary place (and to be honest, I really didn't understand it myself - I still don't).

They all seemed very willing to take the dare, but as they approached the door they always faltered. One of them (Paul) came closer than most; and (admittedly) closer than I ever had - He walked down the stairway to almost the halfway point, where he froze. Solid. After a moment, he turned and bolted back up the the stairs. He didn't stop once he reached the kitchen, either. He kept running straight through, and locked himself in the bathroom for 10 or 15 minutes. When he finally came out he was sweating, shaking all over, and unable to maintain eye-contact - with anyone - for the rest of the night. He refused to talk about it.

My parents seemed to think that he might be ill, and they called his parents to express their concerns. I don't know exactly what transpired in that phone call, but I guess it was decided that everything was OK, because Paul's parent's didn't come pick him up. At least, not right then.

In the middle of the night, Paul woke me up and said that he had to go home. I told him to shut up. I wanted to go back to sleep. He started crying and babbling about wanting to go home. After a little while, the noise woke my parents up. It was tremendously embarrassing to me - I was sure they'd never allow another sleepover after this kid woke them up in the middle of the night with his blubbering. After all, he was my friend, I was the one who invited him here, and now he's causing problems, interrupting their sleep. They told me it was OK, sometimes kids get scared for no reason. They said the best thing to do would be to let him call home, and maybe it would help him to feel better.

My father made the phone call. He woke Paul's mother, and explained (as best he could) the situation to her. Then he gave the phone to Paul. Paul immediately resumed crying the moment the phone was put into his hand. He begged his mother to come pick him up, that he needed to go home... I can still hear the tone in his voice, and the way he stretched out the vowels; the "e" in the word "need" and the "o" in "home". He told us all that was feeling sick, but he couldn't look any of us in the eye, and I could see the look of abject terror on his face. I knew it was the basement that had frightened him away from my house. I felt bad for daring him to go down there. He wound up gathering the few belongings he had brought with him, and my father drove him home.

Paul and I never spoke much after that - It was almost like we weren't friends anymore, for some reason. Over the short course of time that I lived there, I'd see him at school and he'd usually avert his gaze, as though there was some unspoken thing which he didn't want to acknowledge. In any case, we were never really friends again; he seemed to get very uncomfortable around me and distanced himself - In fact, I don't think I ever saw him have any friends at all for the rest of the time I went to school there.

[unrelated side-story] It's not really pertinent to the story, but a few years ago, my mother sent me an email containing a web-link to a news story about Paul - She'd stayed in contact with his parents throughout the years. As it turned out, Paul had grown up (as we all do), married a very nice woman, and had 2 children. He also got a job as a schoolteacher in the same town and school district where I had known him.

Apparently at some point, Paul developed an unhealthy sexual appetite involving 9-yr-old girls He was teaching third-grade, and one of his students had come forward with allegations of molestation, quickly followed by several other girls he had taught. While he was awaiting trial on multiple charges, he died from a self-administered rapid overdose of lead poisoning delivered directly to his brain via the barrel of a shotgun. [/unrelated side-story]

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The Grown-Ups Couldn't Sense It

Judging from the reactions of every single one of my childhood friends who ever came into close contact with the basement, we children seemed to be (in some fashion) attuned to the presence of whatever was lurking within it. We could sense it, even though adults were entirely unaware of it, and thus unaffected.

Maybe it's one of those senses that naturally become duller as we age, like the gradual degradation of our eyesight, or losing the ability to hear high frequency sound waves. Maybe it's just due to the fact that as children, we are more vulnerable and thus more inclined to pay attention to such instincts. Whatever the reason, we could feel it, while my parents never showed any signs of being even the slightest bit frightened by the basement. I never mentioned my fear to them for a variety of (completely illogical and nonsensical) reasons that I'll attempt to explain later.

Occasionally, I'd see my mother coming up from the basement; usually carrying a hamper full of clean laundry or performing some other routine household chore. I marveled at the courage she must possess, to have dared enter that abomination beneath the house. I was in complete awe of her bravery, she had willingly entered the room alone and unafraid (and even more surprisingly, she had returned safely from it's depths). This led me to a simple conclusion, and brought me a small amount of hope – After all, I knew how powerful the presence in basement was – If it felt the need to hide itself from her, then she must be even more powerful still, for it to fear her. I don't recall ever seeing her actually enter the basement, only seeing her return. I may have just 'blacked-out' any memory of seeing her enter, as the thought would have been too traumatic for my young mind to cope with.

I'd like to think that if I'd seen her entering that dreadful tomb, I would have warned her not to go, even pleaded with her if necessary. Truth is, I probably wouldn't have. I would probably have been too afraid to voice my objections, knowing that the basement might hear me. I knew that it was evil, and I knew that it was dangerous, yet I had the suspicion that just maybe, it didn't know that I knew. Somehow, my intuition told me that I'd be safer if I didn't let it find out that I knew about it. As long as it didn't know I was aware of it, I could avoid it - but if it found out that I knew, it would have no other choice – it would be forced to get rid of me.

For the rest of the time that we lived in that house, I avoided that door like some demonic infectious disease that was absolutely, without-any-doubt, determined to destroy me (or worse). As I said before, I didn't mention my fear to my parents or anyone else. Using my childhood logic, saying it out-loud might awaken "the bad thing" and bring it directly to me, like some unearthly spectral dog-whistle. It seemed to be confined to the basement (for now), perhaps it was even trapped there and unable to come out. Speaking of it aloud might be like "calling it's name", which could free it from it's underground prison and allow it to come for me. I tried my best to hide my fear, because I somehow knew that if my parents found out about that fiendishly diabolical and loathsome entity, then the basement would be forced to deal with them, as well. It must have had some nefarious reason for not making itself known to them – it didn't want them to know about it. As old superstitions go, saying something out loud calls it to you, and telling someone else brings it to them.

Looking back on it, I suppose they had to know how frightened I was even though I never told them. I don't think they could have possibly not noticed how consciously I avoided that door, and how quickly I moved when I did have to walk by it.

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After about a year, we moved out of that house and to a different state. I still remember that basement (well, what little of it I ever actually saw) in great detail, and I'll never forget how I would become consumed by sheer terror whenever I came into close proximity to it.

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Epilogue - More recent times

A couple of years ago while I was visiting my mother, we were talking and something reminded me of all this. I don't remember what, exactly. I don't even remember what the topic of conversation was at the time, most likely something inconsequential, but something she said, or something I said, or perhaps something on TV reminded me (all it usually takes is hearing the word "basement").

In an off-handed sort of way, I mentioned it to her. I don't remember exactly what I said, but I remember being shocked by the way she reacted to it. What I said was probably something mostly innocuous, like "remember when I was little, how scared I was of the basement".

She just stared at me blankly, with a very strange look on her face, and didn't say anything all. After a few seconds (not your usual 'few seconds' - these were seconds that felt like days, or perhaps weeks - timeless, infinite seconds during which I became increasingly uncomfortable), when the silence had reached a deafening crescendo and my discomfort level had peaked, I tried to change the subject. She wouldn't allow that. To my horror, she only stared at me quizzically and asked me to repeat myself. The remainder of the conversation proceeded something like this:

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"What did you just say?" "Ah - mmm, nevermind, it's nothing - just thinking out loud." "No, you weren't - What did you just say?" "I'm going to get another cup of coffee - do you want one?" "Stop avoiding my question - I want to know what you meant - Something about a basement?" "It's not important, really" "Tell me." "I was just saying how much it scared me when I was little." - [blank stare from mom] - "I was really glad when we moved out of that house." - [blank stare from mom] - "It's silly, I know." "We've never had a basement."

Of course, I didn't believe her. I even argued with her a little. I described the door, the stairway, the noises... All to no avail. I tried reminding her of the night that Paul came for a sleepover, and how he had awoken so frightened that he refused to stay - she remembered the night, but she insisted that Paul had just gotten sick.

I mentioned that the laundry machines were in the basement - She simply had to remember it; she'd been down there many times. She refused to hear any part of it - She remembered the small utility room outside the kitchen, but according to her, the laundry machines had been located in that room, and there was no door leading to a downward staircase. After a very frustrating conversation, it seemed that there was simply no way I would ever be able to make her remember, and she seemed to give up on trying to convince me.

Later that evening, she brought out an old photo album. She sat down with me and went through photos of every house we had lived in while I was growing up. Photos of every location we had ever moved to, every city and state. She could tell me what years we lived in each home and how old I was at the time. She wanted me to point out which house I was talking about. I couldn't identify which particular house it had been. Although I could narrow it down to two possible houses based simply on my age at the time, neither one of them looked like the right house from my memory. The pictures were all familiar to me, I remembered the houses, but I couldn't place precisely which one of them it had been since none of them looked quite right. She could narrow it down to one particular house; being that it was the town where we had met Paul's family. She swore that it didn't have a basement, nor did ANY home we'd EVER lived in

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In Conclusion

I sometimes wonder if perhaps the basement managed to somehow erase itself from her memory - Of course that would mean that it had altered my memory as well, rendering me unable to identify the house in which it dwelt, and thus preventing me from ever disclosing it's whereabouts.

I try not to think about it too much, or too often, and I've once again decided that I probably shouldn't ever tell this story out loud.

Rationally, I realize that there's no real danger in vocalizing any of this, but a part of me still thinks that maybe, just maybe, there just might be. I have nothing to gain by saying it out loud, but I also stand to lose nothing by remaining silent about it just in case it can still hear me.

Credit to: Volponi

#creepypasta #horror microfiction #creepy stories #horror fiction

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itsyourchoicedevotionals · 1 year ago

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Trust To The Enth Degree

“So then, there remains a Sabbath rest for the people of God, for whoever has entered God’s rest has also rested from his works as God did from His.” Hebrews 4:9-10ESV

To begin with— the purpose of the book of Hebrews was to encourage Jews who were close to throwing in the towel—giving up being a Believer— of believing in the message of Jesus Christ. Why? The closest image, I know of today, comes from the Amish. With the Amish members, if one member joined the church, and later left the church for a lifestyle closer to English living, (everyone not Amish), that member is ‘shunned.’ Their family literally turns their backs to that member when he/she enters the room— no social interaction, no speaking to, nothing. This ‘shunning’ was happening to the Jews become Christ Believers. Hebrews’ writer spent the entire book showing the reasons why Christ Jesus was and is the better way of serving God.

From Exodus through Malachi, the Hebrews never entered mentally and spiritually into their promised land. Yes, physically God took them into the promised land. The act of the Hebrews entering into Canaan— ‘promised land’— was to be God’s justice against this wicked, evil people. Both people and animals alike were to be annihilated. Today’s abominable worship of Molech, Baal, plus homosexuality, bestiality, pedophilia all had their origins in Canaan and surrounding nations.

Rather than obeying God and trusting Him to help remove all the peoples of the land, location by location, they caved in to compromise with the residents. This led them into the same practices as those upon whom God wanted to execute justice.

Although Israel lived in the promised land, they never rested in it as God promised. Since those days there’s been wars, exile and loss.

God wants to fight our battles for us too. He has the same plans for us as He had for them. “For I know the plans I have for you, declares the LORD, plans for welfare and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope.”Jeremiah 29:11ESV But He runs into the same ideology as the Hebrews had— the ‘want to do it my way’ mindset.

My imagery of trusting God, as he intends for us to do, is like the television program ‘Knight Rider.’ The car ‘Kit’ could do anything. One show Michael was hurt and the car drove him to help, even calling to notify Michael's superiors about what was going on.

Today, we have the Tesla version of ‘Kit.’ I read where the police called the Tesla company to find out how to stop the car. It appeared there wasn’t a driver in the car. To the astonishment of the police, both the driver and passenger were sound asleep while the car drove to its destination. That’s trust to the enth degree.

Do we have ‘Tesla’ trust in God? Back when I first received the Holy Spirit Baptism, I’d pray in tongues all the way to every destination, telling God beforehand— ‘You better drive.’ Sometimes I was so far into the Spirit, I didn’t remember most of the trip to where I was going. This is a picture of entering into His rest, where we’re so deeply immersed into Yahweh we trust Him to take care of everything. This is trust to the enth degree. Have you entered this rest of His? Everyone who desires CAN enter this rest. It’s your choice. You choose.

LET’S PRAY: Papa God take us back to those roots in You, where nothing else mattered— just You. Help us to trust You and enter into the rest You have for us, in the name of Jesus Christ I pray.

#Jesus Christ #lord of lords #word of god #God #Holy Spirit #it's your choice #devotional #enth degree #trust #rest #enter #obeying #imagery #program #destination #love #hope #faith

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rabbitcrimes · 4 years ago

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I love so many things about the moral ambiguities of the bitches in the untamed but one of my favorite little nuances is that wwx has absolutely no problem with lying if he thinks it’s what he needs to do to accomplish something, even (and especially!) if that means hiding something from or str8 up lying to the people who love him the most. I just think that’s such an interesting characterization for a character that wants desperately to be on the side of justice. That he’s a liar! That he’s a liar and that he lies specifically to keep himself at a safe emotional distance from the people who love him and to try to stay in control of his relationships and doesn't think twice about it.

This strategy works honestly very well for him ESPECIALLY with Jiang Cheng, who usually knows something is up but is baited so easily that he can’t see the smoke and mirrors for what they are. And then you have Jiang Yanli who knows he’s lying to her BUT who he allows to be as close to him as anyone because she lets him lie and pretends she doesn’t know he's doing it, actively choosing loving him over the truth. And then you have Wen Qing, who I think has a pretty real idea of what he’s capable of both in terms of heroism and horrors and is absolutely playing her own game of lies and love and distance with him. She lets him play his little games but there’s this sense with her that she's letting him think he's winning, which I LOVE for them. Like a sort of third path, where she's like 'ok, we can lie to each other, but I'll gut you like a fish if you make me, be apprised' and he's like 'cool cool cool noted, very fair.'

But Lan Wangji...... sweet Lan Wangji :((( Like okay the worst part is that lying is obviously forbidden in cloud recesses and lwj has all of his moral codes but Lan Wangji of ALL people sees the value of a well placed lie and the VALUE of keeping people at a safe emotional distance. Like that's his Whole Thing but he doesn't want to do that with Wei Wuxian, he wants them to be each others' exceptions and he’s waiting for wwx to just fucking ASK him to risk it all and wwx WON'T and it’s HORRIBLE!! Like for me it all comes back to that confrontation where Lan Wangji and Jiang Cheng first see wwx play the flute. It's the first time that wwx puts lwj at a distance and lwj pushes back on that distance because he thinks he's wwx's exception. But wwx doesn't know he feels that way!! He sees lwj pushing him to open up to him as a threat and a betrayal!! And Lwj is so shocked by wwx pushing him away that he panics and pushes back harder and in the span of like five minutes wwx has shut him out completely!!!! That’s!!!!!!!!!! Lwj realizing in hellfire slow motion that wwx has given him an ultimatum and that ultimatum is 'let me lie to you or leave me alone,' and lwj has no idea how to argue with that in a way that doesn’t push wwx further away.

And what rlly hits me abt all of this is that at some point I do think lwj realizes that wwx has his reasons for not trusting lwj and that half of them are that wwx cares about lwj too much to feel safe in honesty. Like I think he knows that, particularly after wwx comes back from the dead. He knows that wwx will lie to the people whose judgement actually matters to him specifically bc it matters to him. But there’s no way lwj can articulate that to him! And not only does wwx lie, but he throws his entire heart into the smoke and mirrors of the lie. And how that must break lwj's heart, to have him back after so many years and still wonder when and how wwx is lying to him and know that there's no small chance that he wouldn't know and he wouldn't be able to do anything about it and it’s horrible !!!! Lwj is practically skywriting 'YOU CAN TELL ME ANYTHING I DON'T CARE HOW MANY MURDERS YOU DO WE'RE WELL PAST THAT' and wwx is like 'hmmmm we will see.' And all lwj wants is to be wwx's exception!!! Extremely ‘you will do the thing you always do /and I’ll watch/‘ like WHAT a nuance!! Ahh!!!!!

And OKAY the place that it all really turns for me is that scene where Lan Wangji is like asking Wei Wuxian where he was for sixteen years and wwx is like "If I say I don't know, would you believe me" and lwj is like "I believe you." As a contrast to when lwj asks where he was when he was missing for three months and pushes and pushes until wwx shuts him out. And I love this moment because it's ostensibly the truth but maybe it's not, you know? Wei Wuxian doesn't say 'I don't know' he says '/if/ I said I didn't know, would you believe me?' And it doesn't seem to matter if it's the truth to either of them. It's Wei Wuxian saying 'do you trust me to do what I need to do and tell you what I need to tell you' and Lan Wangji saying 'of course I do.' Like it's not that they grow to a place where wwx always tells the truth or that lwj just has to accept that wwx lies its like they've moved to a place where something like that is secondary. Bc they've moved past the smoke and mirrors. Pretty sexy of them honestly

#wangxian #lan wangji #wei wuxian #im gonna #LOSE IT #also idk how supported a lot of this is by the book #but this is my read of the show #particularly that initial flute scene bc to ME #it feels like wwx pushing lwj away on purpose #me *weeping* TRUST #does this essay fall apart in the latter half? no idea #have been thinking about how HARD it is so write characters who lie #even tho people lie all the time #today i choose 'using my english degree for evil'

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thatssonano · 5 years ago

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Hey, remember the research paper about why TV fails to represent female muslims? Well here it is.

Hey guys,

So I'm finally gonna try to write a real little thing about how TV fails to write muslim women. I thought about doing a real research paper and I wrote the introduction and got really anxious because it reminded of my very stressful master degree lol so this is much more simple. Anyways, let's get to it.

As a kid, I was very hungry for representation on TV. Mostly because I had no models, no one to identify with. As a very introvert and self-conscious kid, I didn't know what to be or what to do. At some point, I started looking up to my sister, very beautiful, very intelligent and very ambitious girl. So I thought "I ought to be like that, that's what a muslim girl like me should be like.”

Thing is, I wasn't as smart as she was, my grades were not as good, I wasn't as pretty or as popular at school, and there was not a single box I could fit in. I ended up being the "weird but nice little sister". But I was so invisible everyone would nickname me "Sarah 2" (my sister's name being Sarah.) And you know what? For the first time, I felt like I existed. Because I was "the little sister". Dude, how sad is that?

I was too white for them, not muslim enough, too weird for them. So obviously, it was tough to pave a way for myself when I was the only girl like me.

The first time I was finally not nicknamed was when I got into college at the age of 17. Only because we didn't choose the same college. And I understood I didn't have to be as smart or as ambitious as her, I understood that I didn't have to get the life she had when I was 22. 22, guys.

I'm turning 26 in one month. And I chose my own life. But God, how much time it took me to realize that there wasn't only one type of "the muslim girl"? 22 years.

I'm not saying that to share about my life or whatever, I just want to show the consequences of not having representation on TV. And for sure, many people don't care about representation, my sister doesn't, my brother doesn't. But I do. Maybe that's because I'm hypersensitive, maybe that's because I believe art should mirror reality. All I know is that it's necessary for many.

I met Sana Bakkoush on a random fan video about several fictional couples on youtube. I didn't know Skam then but there was this second in the video where I would see Noora and William staring at each other or whatever, and there was this beautiful hijabi girl in the back. I had to know what this show was about. So I did my research and binge-watched it. With much luck, I got to the end of the whole show before episode 3 of season 4 came out. So I learnt to grow with Sana, I fell in love with her, and I just felt like I could understand her. I was her. I finally was validated with her. Up until episode 5, all was well. And then,… it just broke? Still today, I'm trying to understand how they could let that happen and I guess there's one obvious reason. The writing staff was white. Julie Andem is white. And to me, if you're not from that community, you should not try to write about this one.

As the plot thickened, you could feel like it was unbalanced, incoherent, and that many things didn't make sense. But that's pretty normal, because if you don't live the problem, you can't understand. Now I won't curse Julie Andem for not trying, but I guess what should have been done was to hire a muslim writer. And God, people can't tell me it's too tough to find. Even if it was not Iman Meskini's job, she could have asked her. God, this girl taught more about ramadan through her ig story than Skam ever did.

Now I'm not saying she didn't do us all dirty when she gave us 9 episodes instead of ten and it all broke us on June 17th 2017 (Yep, this day is a national holiday now). And honestly, I've got not one good explanation for this except they didn't feel her story was that important. Unconsciously, I hope, because it would be too evil otherwise.

The reason, to me, that Sana was so many people's favorite character was because Iman Meskini gave her so much realness. Sana was strong yet vulnerable. Everyone, muslims like non-muslims could understand her, and I think she inspired so many people. Her life is amazing, and she's what now? 22. I really hope she gets a Nobel Prize in the future, she deserves it.

Now let's talk about the others. I think it'd be a bit faster.

Imane Bakhellal. Uhm. Well the main issue is the same, she was written by a white man. So obviously, it was 1. wrong. 2. wrong. 3. wrong. The story barely focused on her faith and whenever we'd see her pray she'd be interrupted. Look, I've been praying for 13 years and the only times I've interrupted my prayer were because I had just realized I had not done wudhu. Or I was too jet-lagged so I was praying in the wrong direction.

Thing is, Imane didn't make me feel anything. And it was even sadder, because I am a muslim living in Paris. To me, her story wasn't focused on her, it wasn't even focused on religion or her struggle living between two cultures. I didn't learn a thing. And God, that hurt. That hurt even more when the director didn't acknowledge it was poorly written and was actually proud of it. It hurt that white people get the right to write our story and we're there, not having any voice. It sucked. But I guess, she had ten episodes, right, even if the last episode was within the same day.

It didn't really bother me that she kissed him. The speech she recited did though. I got really frustrated about it. How hard would it be to find a muslim writer? Honestly, I would have been glad to join them, even as a volunteer.

I'm not actually mad at the actress, I guess it was just a reflection of her relationship with islam. And I know many people got the representation they wanted, but to me, it remains poorly written. To me, it remains hypocrite because they don't get it. Being a muslim woman of color in France sucks sometimes. But having at least her story focused on her would have been great too.

Ok, let's move on.

Amira Mahmood. I love her a little less than Sana, but I mean come on, that's understandable, right?

Amira is strong, she's beautiful, kind, smart. And her season was going well, until it wasn't anymore…. Because, well, it ended. I keep on wondering why it happened and I came with no logical answer. So maybe it was lazy writing, maybe it didn't matter to them, maybe the writers were just tired. I don't know, honestly, I don't know. But it pissed me off bad. (Honestly it was the third character I was let down on, lol, it started to be a lot to handle). Also, the other seasons were so greatly written, they had depth and understanding, it was soft and beautiful. And to me, season 4 just felt… lazy? Sure, I loved Mohammed but the Australia plot wasn't even that important it actually got fixed over text? And how hard would it be to find exciting plot for a muslim character? What? Everything should be about kissing, hair and sex? Well, no. I mean, I would have loved to see her actually working, I would have loved to see her actually bonding with her dad, I would have loved to see her at a boxing game… The summer and fall after I graduated high school was a very hard time to me, mostly because it was a time of discovery and transition. Everything was changing. God, they should have explored that more. So I don't know, I just felt detached then, and I think that's more sad, actually.

But I do believe the actress did a great job, and I wish Tua all success.

Shall I give a little paragraph on Nadia from Elite? Hell yeah I'm going to. Well, the show is focused on sex so, I mean, are we even surprised the writers did this to Nadia? Not really, but we're still mad. Again, it was written by white people; who focused on all the stereotypes people spread about muslims. The strict dad? Check. The very quiet and invisible mom at the mercy of the dad? Check. The muslim girl who does not actually know why she's religious and only follows her parents' footsteps like a sheep because islam is just way too strict so no one in their sane mind would ever venture in such a religion? Check. The hunger for having white friends and doing the same? Check. Falling for a white guy and giving up everything she ever "believed" for him? Check. I hope the writers heard about what people had to say about it.

Honestly, I know some would say "there are muslim girls like this". Well, ok. But what about us? We've been invisible to society for years and years. I grew up without having a single fucking idea about who I was and I just always felt like I was the odd one out. Too white, too Algerian, too muslim, too girly, too boyish, too into traditions, following too much her parents' rules… Well, growing up I just decided, I will never be enough of something, because I’m a little of everything. So yeah, some muslim girls do that, but some others don't. And we want to see these girls too. We want to normalize their way of life, so they can just live. And we want them to have the same screen time than the rest of the cast. And we want them to have exciting plots too.

God, I've been smothered by the fucking veil debate in France for weeks and weeks and I couldn't breathe anymore. That's why we need visibility. To be acknowledged. To erase ignorance and hate. To create a homogenous society in this globalized world where everyone is different and it is okay. Because as long as your liberty isn't in danger, then the other can live as he wills.

To finish I guess some of you would be like “if you’re so eager to criticize the work of others, just write your own story” Well I did. I actually finished one scenario in French and I have just started one in English. But how can I actually make it into reality if I don’t know anyone in the business bold enough to work with me on it?

Honestly if you've read all of that, congratulations, thank you so much, love you all, peace out.

I didn’t write everything I wanted but I believe it’s long enough already lol. Be safe, well and kind. (that’s what Bob Morley says and he’s a king).

#love #islam #muslim representation #skams #Skam #Druck #skam fr #elite #nadia shanaa #amira thalia mahmood #sana bakkoush #imane bakhellal

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mymelancholiesblues · 6 years ago

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My extensive analysis in why RE4 is the top-tier Aeon game

This will be a long ride (seriously though, this have around 9.453 words), so grab a cup of tea (or coffee, depending on your personal preference, of course), sit comfortably and read through this peacefully because Resident Evil 4 is my favourite game and I plan to finally thoroughly explain why. And, for that, first, I intend to contextualize every single prior point with the proper attention they need.

As we’re already sick to death of knowing, Leon and Ada are introduced on this franchise in Resident Evil 2. This is a game originally from 1998, the very end of the 90s, and despite clearly possessing superior quality if compared to the script of the previous game and first instalment in the franchise, it’s still unquestionably a game of its time, and, particularly, of its genre.

We’re talking about the B science fiction and horror hybrid genre: zombies. This is the sort of horror that is frequently campier than the rest since – and let’s all agree over this – zombies per se are not that terrifying. It’s actually their effect on mankind, on human reaction and on how human beings will deal with the gore and all the fairly specific situations this type of horror puts them in that really terrifies us – it’s different from ghosts or demons, for instance. That’s why, inevitably, every exercise of fiction on this genre will ultimately focus on conflicts between non-infected human beings, their greed, how they’re capable of displaying their most monstrous side in these circumstances, and so forth. You can have a read on the “zombie culture” subject and its origins here.

Moreover, Resident Evil is a Japanese game, which is significant, since we should know that cultural repertoire can greatly modify the way storytelling explicits itself, the way it unfolds and develops towards its conclusion, and especially which messages it chooses to prioritize and how those messages are decided to be delivered to the audience. Therefore, even though Resident Evil has fallen upon the clichès its genre generally falls onto (the main plot conflict focus now is much more on how bioterrorism is one of the worst products of the capitalist regime and the endless greed of imperialist countries), the narrative dramatic throughline of the franchise continues to be that of ending in a hopeful, optimistic note.

Back to RE2 OG being a product of its time, however, and characters like Leon, Claire, Ada and Sherry being introduced there: on characterization terms, while these early franchise games weren’t necessarily weak and incompetent in presenting those characters, they were definitely quite limited on how they could do so.

Furthermore, on the account of a not yet established videogames voice-acting trade, and primarily on the rough Japanese-to-English translation efforts that weren’t as easy and accessible as they are today, nor was the “entry” of Japanese entertainment production into the North-American market a normalized matter as globalization wasn’t such a stable and clear concept then as it is today, many typical Japanese storytelling devices, such as certain scenes originally carrying a heavy significance to them and meanings that we couldn’t even presume if we weren’t already part of their culture or had some degree of introduction to it, – eg, a man promising to protect a woman plot-situation: in Japanese storytelling, this is a trope that has more clear romantic undertones than it would have in the West (check here and here), just like childhood friendships carry different implications for their cultural baggage (it’s a typical romantic trope for them; take a look here and here) – were lost in translation and could easily come off as “corny” to the western public if the translator (and the voice actor) wasn’t careful in conveying the originally intended text and subtext messages. And they rarely were.

Leon wasn’t a complex or even a “complete” character back then as he is today. At the time of his introduction, in RE2 OG, he was a more straight play of The Paragon trope. Are you familiar with those more simplified and basic characterizations of, say, Captain America and Superman? Leon was like that! In fact, Leon was the first attempt of an entirely Japanese crew in making a North-American blond police officer, an idealist and overall nice guy that didn’t have behavioural issues like Chris did. So, Leon was an “upright” and “altruistic” guy. That’s what his character comes down to in his introduction. Those two words.

On the other end, we had Claire, who was an “independent” and “brave” young woman (let’s keep those describing terms in mind because they are important!). In her scenario, we would have a journey companion, Sherry, and in Leon’s, it would be Ada.

It’s really important to point out here that when they were developing these characters, coming up with their design and everything, the staff tried to make Ada’s colour palette contrast and complement Leon’s one, and Sherry’s was also thought out to do the same to Claire’s. So much so that we can see that in contrast to Claire’s fuchsia/magenta and black, we have Sherry’s cobalt blue and white. And to Ada’s deep red we have Leon’s navy blue (check this).

Now, about those “describing terms” I mentioned earlier. Similarly to the colour palettes case, staff’s primary purpose while characterizing the two extra journey characters was so that they would offer some sort of “disfigurement” of the basic traits that directed the main characters. Claire is brave and independent even though she is barely nineteen years old and grew up as an orphan, thanks mainly to her older brother’s affection and dedication, whom she actually happens to be looking for in this game. Sherry, however, has to survive independently in Raccoon because she has been neglected by her remarkably still alive scientist parents and has to be brave because she always had to fend off for herself. It’s just like Claire, but upside down.

Leon, on the other hand, upright and altruistic, meets Ada, who seems to have shady means to achieve her goals, and shows a skeptical, cynical demeanor on how she regards others. She’s Leon’s upside down as well.

In the original script, there’s a lot of “mamoru” being used – from Claire to Sherry, who later becomes a maternal figure to the girl (and forms a solid bond with her), and from Leon to Ada (and here is where we should remember that the “promise to protect” trope can oftentimes have romantic connotations in Japanese culture if it’s used in a given context and combination of circumstances).

As I’ve already said, the original game, a product of its time, relied more on “soap drama” writing than on a more organic text development, since it needed to be concise, delivering the message without losing its dramatic appeal to the plot. Thus, everything escalates too fast – the in-game time is short and the script needs to be on par with its pace.

We get to know the characters we have to know, the text then assumes we’re sufficiently familiar with the basic paradigms associated with fiction and storytelling so we should unconsciously recognize what certain parts will mean without needing anyone to babysit us through it. It’s clear, then, that the independent and brave young woman will be accompanied by the neglected and frightened little girl and they’ll form an adoptive mother-and-daughter bond, just like it’s obvious that the upright and altruistic guy will be glued by the shady and cynical woman’s side and they’ll team up and eventually fall in love.

However, the translation process was unpolished, as I said, so the dialogue lines, especially, came off a bit silly and occasionally somewhat unnatural to the audience – quite cheesy indeed. Nonetheless, as I also stated previously, all of those dialogue lines made sense within their own context since the game’s pacing isn’t bad and the events that transpire within it accompany said rhythm, are dictated by it. Within the plot, Leon and Ada, in addition to being attracted to each other, just spent the last almost 4 to 7 hours together, surviving together, helping each other, so of course they’ll fall in love. Just as it’s expected that Claire will feel responsible for Sherry’s life and Sherry will start seeing her as an adoptive mother figure. This little girl was neglected by her parents! And Claire saved her!

We can see those two dynamics as mirrored reflections (in which those two pairs of mirrors – Leon and Ada, Claire and Sherry – function extremely well as they contrast and complement each other), but also as a journey in which the sidekick is the “shadow” (I’d like to thank @madamoftime for her incredible analysis on this subject and for providing me with the sources to quote on this topic: here and here) of the protagonist. Ada is Leon’s shadow because he needs to “kill the boy and let the man be born” (as Maester Aemon advised Jon in ASoIaF — A Dance with Dragons, Chapter 7, Jon II) for this new world he’ll be entering after surviving Raccoon. He needs to be a little more like Ada.

But Ada also needs to be a bit more like Leon, so he’s her mirrored reflection / shadow as well. She needs to start believing in mankind a little more again if she wants to continue in this franchise narrative and make individual progress within it.

Oh, and mirrors are quite important imagery in Japanese folklore (check here), its mythology, etc. RE2 OG does a stupendous job in making use of that.

“The mirror hides nothing. It shines without a selfish mind. Everything good and bad, right and wrong is reflected without fail.”

We have a game story with two sets of characters that manage to tick all the boxes of what should be a complete and comprehensive narrative for them. Complete and that provides closure in itself. We didn’t need a sequel to presume that Leon and Ada would probably meet again, since following Ada’s apparent “death”, the audience knows that she’s helping him against the final boss and in a fashion that he’s also led to suspect it. Claire and Sherry too: we know they’ll take care of each other.

Even so, RE: CV serves to settle Claire’s saga and tie up her journey’s loose ends. In it, she finds her disappeared brother. (And this is precisely why I have my criticisms on the fandom’s constant vehemence in always demanding that she should come back for another cameo: Claire is one of the few characters that had the privilege of having her story thoroughly resolved.)

But then, Leon remained a pending mystery: what happened to him? Had he ever got the chance to confirm his (and ours) suspicions on Ada’s status? Plus: how did it happen? Have they ever met again?

you’ve haunted me all my life through endless days and countless nights there was a storm when I was just a kid stripped the last coat of innocence you’ve haunted me all my life you’re always out of reach when I’m in pursuit long-winded then suddenly mute and there’s a flaw in my heart’s design for I keep trying to make you mine

(You’ve Haunted Me All My Life – Death Cab For Cutie)

RE4 comes out under this excellent reason: answering those questions. In addition to providing a new chapter to this famous and profitable franchise, it would also serve to solve Leon’s pending matters, something that Claire, his companion protagonist in the game that he was introduced on, got, but he didn’t. And look: this unresolved conflict is precisely what drives RE4’s dramatic throughline – so much so that if we think about the main saga plot to which these two games should be supposedly subordinate to, both RE:CV and RE4 seem a little… isolated? Because they are journey conclusions for these two specific characters.

Anyway, Leon is now a government agent (a career unkindly imposed onto him by the actual government, by the way, who wouldn’t just accept that the man simply moved on with his life while possessing the knowledge to what really happened in Raccoon) on a rescue mission six years after surviving Raccoon City’s incident. He’s now more cynical and is taking advantage of somewhat questionable means: being a secret agent for a corrupt government so he can achieve his own goals: put an end to bioterrorism and companies like Umbrella. He’s a little more like Ada.

And from the beginning of RE4 all plot aspects are set in a way that build our expectations over Leon and Ada’s reunion: the church bell that mysteriously rings in a suitable timing and saves Leon’s life at the very beginning of the game. The silhouette in red that appears outside the window and fires twice against the guy who is stomping his chest and prompts Leon’s to comment on how familiar the stranger figure felt (“Woman in red… Somehow so familiar.”). Everything, EVERYTHING that happens in RE4 is a carefully thought slow-burn set-up for us to wait and expect for their encounter.

Let’s not forget that the Anonymous Letter that he finds after passing out in that hut after the fight against Del Lago it’s hers (in the Japanese script, the personal pronouns are feminine, which prevents it to be a note written by Luis; source). In Project Umbrella’s translation of said file, we notice that she laments the fact that Leon is infected beyond her current capability to help him. Oh, and there’s also Salazar stating that he needs to deal with two rats before properly worrying about Leon, and Leon then wondering who’s the other intruder besides himself and Luis – which serves to further increase the audience’s expectations.

see her come down through the clouds I feel like a fool I ain’t got nothing left to give nothing to lose so come on love draw your swords shoot me to the ground you are mine I am yours let’s not fuck around

(Draw Your Swords – Angus & Julia Stone)

When they do finally meet again (after we, the audience, already suspect that for at least three different situations Ada’s been watching and helping him) is this tension-charged scene. The scene backdrop, thoughtfully designed, is a monarchy style couple’s bedroom; as part of its decoration, there’s a painting, a gigantic and impossible-not-to-see one, that turns out to be Sandro Botticelli’s Primavera (check here); and even the mysterious woman’s dress, evoking a Chinese red qipao, has butterflies prints (check here). This is essentially the perfect setting fans have unconsciously hoped for: we’re internally screaming “finally! they’re going to solve their U.S.T. and consummate their feelings!” After all, it’s a couple’s bedroom decorated with a purposefully noticeable painting (the only one large enough to be undoubtedly identifiable in a cutscene) which its symbolism and analogies are famously related to love and sex, and even the woman’s dress carries references to a Chinese romantic allegory that, curiously enough, strongly fits with them.

Ada enters the scene laying her gun barrel against Leon’s back – close, too close, in a staggeringly explicit intimacy imagery, one that we’d normally expect from a 007 movie, for instance –, and the subsequent dialogue follows the same tone: with her ordering him to surrender in a voice of velvet (“Put your hands where I can see them.”) and him throwing back a provoking bluff – also full of sexual innuendo – that serves only to advance their competition for dominance (“Sorry, but following a lady’s lead just isn’t my style.”). Oh Leon, you’re so full of shit and you’re well aware of it, as well as Ada is (“Put them up now.”). For them, this is all foreplay. (And that’s why Leon’s first response in this scene doesn’t bother me. I find it to be consistent with his characterization, he understands what’s going on in this situation and decides to join in the game.)

After their own little – and slightly anticipated – dance, and Leon’s little tip (“Bit of advice – try using knives next time. Works better for close encounters.”) – that uncoincidentally will come in hand later on in this game in another scene charged with this same unresolved sexual tension, and in which our expectations get likewise subverted –, Ada raises the curtains, folds her cards (“Leon. Long time, no see.”).

We all hold our breaths.

But Leon… Well, Leon is resentful, bitter, angry.

Naturally, since, for 1) although he, like us, certainly had a hunch for the identity of whoever put a gun on his back, he couldn’t be quite sure yet, and 2) this is the woman he has spent the past 6 years obsessing about to which end she came off to (later, a spin-off in the franchise will confirm his obsession for us, but nevertheless, one of Leon’s next lines in-game is already enough for us to deduce it), only to find out that the latest news pointing at her happened to be related “just” to the most infamous figure in the recent history of bioterrorism.

Ah, and also he spent the past 6 years dealing with the guilt and trauma of she possibly being dead, which he certainly considered to be his personal failure in preventing. So, there’s that.

Therefore, Leon ruins the atmosphere – and all of our previous expectations together with it – and confronts her (“Ada… So it is true.”) Feeling hurt, betrayed, pissed off. But resigned too. Even when she pretends she doesn’t know what he’s talking about, clearly dismissive of how long it has been since their last exchange (“True? About what?”), his tone is huffy, sullen, when he states to her (doesn’t question, rather, chooses to assert) that it’s true, she’s affiliated with Wesker (“You, working with Wesker.”) And how does he know that? Did something in his investigations also lead him to presume that she’d probably appear in Spain to get something for Wesker? Then we weren’t the only ones hoping for this reunion, holding our breaths for it? See, we don’t even need a spin-off game to assume that yes, he’s been indeed obsessing about her for the past 6 years.

When Leon throws this accusation, it comes from a sore spot, a particular personal ache, almost as if this Wesker issue was a betrayal aimed specifically against him. If we didn’t know any better, this scene would almost feel like it’s a couple washing their dirty laundry over the fact that of them is having an extra-marital affair.

Ada drops her sly, disingenuous facade (“I see you’ve been doing your homework.”) – it looks like he learned the hard way that he should be a little more like her instead of simply diving in blind after all.

Then, shrinking a bit, in a lower tone, he demands a reason (“Why, Ada?”), and she tosses it back since this is a question that can have a myriad of answers (“What’s it to you?”) to which he finally asks what he wants to know with indisputable clarity (“Why are you here? Why’d you show up like this?”), and something in his tone, the non-verbal stress in his words, gives us the impression of emphasis on “here” and “like this”, almost as if what he really wants to say is “Why not before (way earlier)? Under different circumstances (as a friend, as he wanted her to be)?” After a wry chuckle, it’s her turn to break with our expectations, – since Leon’s question steers the mood of the scene back to one of impending emotional and physical resolution – evading the emotional escalation with a dramatic stunt, but not without promising him that they’ll meet again.

By the way, resorting to a ruse to get out of there, having thrown her timer flash bomb glasses so she could have a good pretext to withdraw without major impediments – it’s also a writing device to subvert the audience’s expectations here, since they’re naturally placed upon betting that if Ada tries to leave in a conventional, non-theatrical and unconvincing style, Leon is definitely going to make her stay, even if he has to beg her for it.

the angel came to Jacob the room began to glow Jacob asked the angel are you friend or are you foe? the angel never answered but smote him on the thigh they wrestled through the darkness ‘til morning filled the sky this thing between us has wings, it has teeth it has got horns and feathers and sinews beneath angel or demon to the truth I am bound and so this thing between us must be wrestled down

(Jacob and the Angel – Suzanne Vega)

We play RE4’s main campaign entirely in Leon’s shoes. It’s only after finishing it and unlocking the extra content that we’ll have access to how Ada reacted after their re-encounter: in a mix of anxiety and concern as Wesker now suspects that she went to meet with Leon and, because of it, is ordering her to kill him so there won’t be any disruptions in her mission (“And that US government lapdog… Leon… if you do happen to encounter him, put him out of commission. We can’t let him interfere with our plans.”). She tries from the get-go to bargain with Wesker that Leon doesn’t have a clue to what’s really happening, claiming that he’s there solely to save Ashley so he shouldn’t disturb, etc. (“He has no idea what’s going on. He’s nothing we need to worry about.”), but well, Wesker isn’t exactly inclined to be convinced (“He’s a survivor of Raccoon City. We can do without the extra distraction. Take him out.”).

So we see her apprehensively sighing his name after Wesker finalizes contact. We even have a brief scene where she observes Leon from afar using a machine-gun to contain another horde of Ganados, whispering to herself an apology to him and explaining why she can’t be helping him (“Leon… I’m sorry, but I can’t be seen with you..”) and if you, the player, try to disregard this by nevertheless attempting to run to where Leon is, the game will stop you with the phrase “If Leon sees me now, I would have to finish him off.”. The game enforces you to respect her decision: she won’t follow Wesker’s orders.

Actually, even before she re-encountered Leon, from the very BEGINNING of her campaign when she discovers that he’s in this place as well (and murmurs his name when she sees and recognises him), she already realises that she can’t be seen with him or there’ll be trouble. So, when she nevertheless reveals herself to him, what she’s really doing is going against her best judgment and putting them both in danger because she genuinely wants to see him and let him know that she’s there too.

Additionally, this is the most probable reason for her not going after him in the past 6 years. Besides obviously wishing him to have emotional distance to move forward while she herself tried to do it, there was the possibility that she could put him in danger if she went after him.

Mere seconds after Saddler kills Luis, Wesker comes in contact with her and spares no time in querying if she already had the opportunity to execute Leon (“Have you had a chance to eliminate Leon?”). We know that she did despite her dismissive reply (“Not yet”). She saw him quite a few times after their reunion at the castle. Plus, she knows that he’s right there in the exact same place that she’s now – the castle’s concourse level –, with dead Luis in his arms. She’s well aware of the fact that she could exploit Leon’s shock and vulnerable moment over Luis death to easily kill him undisturbed.

Wesker realizes this is going to be an arm wrestle with her, so, instead, he proposes that she starts “taking advantage of Leon’s fortuitousness” (“If that’s the case, then maybe we can capitalize on his little lucky streak and take advantage of the distraction he’s causing for Saddler and his followers to retrieve the sample.”). But even this recommended scheme visibly disturbs Ada, as we can notice from her reaction just afterwards.

Ada, of course, doesn’t cease to aid Leon and advice him in order to make his odyssey easier (even if she can’t accompany him as she did in Raccoon), nor does she stop worrying about the advancing of the Las Plagas infection stage on his body, leaving him a letter (again) over that topic, one signed with an affectionate lipstick mark (source).

The next time they see each other in-game is when, once again, Ada chooses to disregard her own best judgment and assessment of the situation by offering him a boat-ride to the island. A scene also packed with sexual tension, in which even a pun brimming with innuendo is allowed (“Need a ride, handsome?”), but still a much lighter in tone than their first shared one. In this one, Leon is finally close to her physically and, as a result of that, spends the whole trip fidgeting where he’s sitting, blatantly staring at her – to which she furtively glances back and sneakily smiles at him.

All of it only for our expectations to be shattered a second time: she abruptly halts their short little cruise, given that they already arrived at their set destiny – and the fact that she really needs to go, otherwise Wesker will kill them both –, but not without first flashing her entire thigh to him (a privileged view he doesn’t refuse to savour) and nearly shoving her butt all over his face, as to show us and him that “look, I’m definitely interested, but this isn’t the right place nor the right time”.

After Leon manages to briefly get Ashley back for the first time on the island, we see a small paper plane flying in through the window. Another note sent by Ada, lovingly identified again, offering tips for Leon’s itinerary to escape (source).

Krauser’s first question when we see him talking to Ada for the first time is on Leon’s status (“What’s the news on our friend Leon?”), to which Ada’s answer (“He’s not making it easy.”) it’s a blatant and near hilarious lie to the audience. Yeah, it mustn’t be easy being forced to deal with that sort of demand: to kill the guy you love more than your own sense of self-preservation and safety.

Everything that follows the lift she gave Leon and her exchange with Krauser is to showcase her desperation and the lengths she’s willing to go to keep Leon alive, since Wesker, whom just now seemed possibly satisfied with Leon’s participation in the most recent set of events (“Quite a jolly mess he’s made, that Leon. But all for the better. Saddler’s people have fallen into a panic. Their destruction is only a matter of time now!”) and in spite of her reiterated effort to try to convince him that after Leon rescues Ashley he wouldn’t pose any more threats to the ex-S.T.A.R.S. Alpha Team captain’s plans (“Once he gets Ashley back, his job will be finished. He’ll no longer be a factor.”), sent in another agent to assassinate him (“No, I’m leaving Leon to Krauser.”).

The pronouncement is enough to unsettle Ada and suspend her walk. The urgency to save Leon from Krauser is so high that we see her running after Wesker’s briefing – his order was for her to rush to retrieve the sample (“Hurry up and retrieve the sample.”), but Ada’ hurry is for Leon’s life (“Maybe you’ve forgotten, Wesker… I don’t always play by your rules.”).

She succeeds in saving him from Krauser, and Leon’s reaction, naturally, is to shout her name, while Krauser is unsurprised by the betrayal (“Well, if it isn’t the bitch in the red dress!”). Ada unceremoniously gives away which side she on in this contest (“Looks like we have the upper hand here.”), and I really enjoy how the scene in which she lowers her gun after Leon dares her to shoot him in RE2R also seems like a visual echo to this one scene in RE4, since Ada chooses him again here – even if that will irreversibly mean trouble for her much sooner than she was prepared for.

And then, Leon, expressing the enthusiasm of someone who’s already prepared for a hard pass, appeals in a frustrated tone for a resume on their earlier and systematically unfinished conversation – so that they can, at last, have the pending resolution they’re in need (“Maybe it’s about time you told me the reason why you’re here?”), and she rebuffs exactly as he expected her to (“Maybe some other time…”) before leaving him for his own solitary path once again; oh, and this nice detail of having Ada always promising to Leon something for “the next time”, though, is definitely something worth pointing out every time it occurs. By the second time Leon is confronted by Krauser, we have the latter vocalizing what anyone could and would reasonably deduce regarding Leon’s relationship with Ada (“So, you two are all hooked up now, is that it?”).

Btw, it’s about time that I point out that I prefer the original Japanese version of Ada’s Report #4 (you can access Project Umbrella’s translation here), since its discourse feels more in character for Ada: for example, it’s relevant to emphasize how in this version she pretty much chooses to describe Leon repeating what Wesker suggested about his role in all that’s been happening, almost as if she were taking advantage of the things Wesker said so she can justify in her own assignment reports the help she continuously gives Leon throughout her mission in Spain and why it’s so important for her that he stays alive. What better way of combining business with personal contentment, huh?

But when we see her interacting with Wesker as he reckons precisely those things she allegedly “thinks” of Leon (his resilience, his luck, the opportunity to take advantage of his protagonism in the ongoing events on the Island and so forth), her following reactions are always of explicitly and adamant indisposition. Which makes me firmly believe that no, Ada never intended to use Leon for anything there in Spain.

Moreover, if we, as the audience, have paid attention to the story so far, we should know that actually, she’s been only delaying her goals thanks to Leon’s direct and indirect interferences. After all, it’s because of him that Luis takes a detour: in order to deliver the pills that would slow down the effects of Las Plagas on his body; something that ultimately leads Luis to die by Saddler’s hands, once again preventing Ada from putting her hands on the sample and concluding her mission.

It is Ada who kills Krauser, but that was yet to happen when she reports it as a fact to Wesker (“Krauser is dead.”). There’s a hint of satisfaction and triumph in her voice, even though the guy isn’t dead yet. Wesker goes on to suggest that he’s hoping for Leon to die in the dispute against Saddler, then (“Really… Hmmmmm… Leon doesn’t die easily. That’s fine, we can use him to clean up Saddler for us. We’ll let them fight it out. Neither one of them will manage to come out unharmed.”), and everything in Ada’s body-language and facial expressions indicates her discomfort and impatience with this insistence on this particular subject – Leon’s demise (“Easier said than done.”).

If she really was using Leon all the time, there wouldn’t be a reason for her to be so clearly annoyed at Wesker’s line of thinking (“Either way, it’s your job to clean up what’s left of them when the fight is over. Don’t forget who is running the show. Whatever happens, we can’t let either of them live to see tomorrow. Our goal is to retrieve the sample. Take out anything that might interfere with our plans.”), to the point that Wesker doesn’t even wait for her response before terminating their conversation. Ada is not complying in this specific topic and this infuriates him; she’ll, actually, – as we know – even go out of her way to intervene in Wesker’s last ideal scenario on this matter: Saddler killing Leon.

The next scene where we see them together is the one where Leon is stumbling and squirming for some reason that Ada surely has a pretty good guess on which is it, but is hoping to be mistaken (“Leon, you okay?”), while he, on his end, also insists on ignoring what’s truly going on, guaranteeing that of course, everything’s just fine.

Here we have another subtextual echo to RE2 OG that RE2R also uses to some extent in honour of those who’ve been accompanying the franchise for so long: the calm before the storm – the oddly unagitated moment before we see them saying goodbye and parting ways again –, even if this calm is, in fact, nothing but an illusion they’re briefly sharing. The audience gets anxious without knowing how to pinpoint what’s causing it.

When Leon comes closer, although everything seems so strange, so out of place, we can see Ada reacting as if anticipating (and welcoming) a kiss. She lowers her guard almost completely, raises her hand gently towards his face and tilts her head slightly to the opposite direction so she can lean onto the upcoming contact. But he’s being controlled by the parasite in his body. For a quick millisecond, she thought she could touch him, kiss him, have that closeness once again – a resolution for emotional and sexual tension in sight. Perhaps they’d even help each other on their path through the island from that point on?

When she kisses him in RE2R more so he’ll stop arguing and pointing out holes in her just newly-improvised plan than anything else, we have Leon reacting in a kind of dazed and stuporous state – going stiff and not entirely knowing what exactly he should do, looking not only surprised and confused but also hesitant, uneasy. Still, we can notice him adjusting his own weight so he can angle his head better and enjoy the kiss. It’s subtle, but it’s there (take a look). If we think about this in comparison, seeing Ada’s reaction to his approximation while being controlled in RE4 leaves a more bittersweet taste – realizing how much these two truly long for each other’s touch, but how the circumstances only seem to work against them when providing the opportunity to it in a distorted fashion (and observe how much care the producers placed into RE2R so it would be a consistent experience juxtaposed with RE4, RE6 and the rest of the franchise).

But, well… Mind-controlled Leon almost strangles her and she has to follow that advice he gave her the first time we, the audience, expected them to address the elephant in the room in this game (their much-needed resolution): his tip to preferring knives in such close encounters. Despite the attack not being intentionally his fault and the fact that he just got kicked in the balls for it, Leon immediately asks her to forgive him (“Sorry, Ada…”), and Ada – with her throat still hurting and her voice hoarse – while seeing him swallowing all those pills, immediately urges him so they get rid of the virus in his body. Although she alerted him about the low chances of surviving the surgical intervention that’s needed to remove Las Plagas in a letter she sent prior to this unfortunately awkward meeting, she presses that they both take action (“We have to get that parasite out of your body!”), emphasizing the “we”. Oh, Ada. It’s not like she’ll just accept that his fate is dying a victim of this without trying to fight against it, right?

Leon’s response, of course, is to prioritize someone else’s well-being and his own mission in helping them (“Yeah… But before that I gotta save Ashley!”) – he’ll do it again for Helena in RE6 under analogous circumstances: following Ada (his recurring element of personal need) vs his sense of duty (everything he believes and stands for) –, and this serves as a reminder to Ada about her own (“Fine… let’s split up…”). For a moment, perhaps, she thought it would be like that night in Raccoon, the two together against anything that threatens their way. As she goes ahead of him and walks out the door, we have a slightly longer focus on Leon’s face looking at the door she just gone through with a wistful expression. Leon’s own expectations weren’t that disparate from Ada’s, but both watched it slipping through their fingers again.

Her last confrontation with Krauser has a great dialogue as well. She mocks him from the start (“Oh, Krauser. I’m sorry, I jumped the gun when I reported you dead to Wesker.”) since she couldn’t wait to put an end to him with her own hands so Wesker wouldn’t dare using this against her anymore (“Hum…. Think of all the paperwork I’ll have to fill out if you were to show up alive.”) We know that this isn’t just about convenience, but also a matter of self-preservation. Oh, and safeguarding Leon’s life.

After killing Krauser, her comment is also loaded with double meaning, (“That’s a large thing you have there… But I don’t like it when men play rough…”) a remark that references directly her last run-in with Leon. The man she’s in love with just tried to strangle her (albeit under mind-control) and destroyed the mood that could’ve led them to have some physical closeness after years.

Afterwards, Ada’s new goal, once again, involves providing help to Leon’s journey – helping him get rid of the parasite in his body and aiding him in completing his mission. That way she can complete her own in peace.

She assists him in rescuing Ashley from Saddler’s hands – firing against the cult leader a hail of bullets and urging Leon to take Ashley outta the chair she’s imprisoned in and to immediately move out of there with the girl, leaving Saddler to her. All of this not without a cost: Saddler has the upper hand in the confrontation that ensues, and captures Ada. Again, helping Leon proves to be a disadvantageous choice to her agenda: helping him literally turns her into the cult leader’s new hostage. And Ada nearly thought her mission was over when she saw Saddler fall – almost put her hands on the sample. She’d finally be able to help Leon and still complete her own mission without major headaches… but, things are never simple for both of them, are they?

On Leon’s side, having already removed the parasite off his body and with Ashley safe and sound under his guarding, the conclusion seems obvious: it’s time to go home, right? But he suspects there’s something missing (“Something’s not right.”), and orders Ashley to wait for him exactly where she is – where he knows it’s clear of threats. I particularly enjoy how he doesn’t still know for sure that Ada is being held hostage, but it’s like he catches this sense of foreboding hanging in the air that alerts his instincts about the oddity in the absence of a detail which he cares deeply about, one relevant enough to dissuade him in feeling confident to straightaway leave that place. “The ties that bind” (as per their theme song in RE6), hnm? Their connection is so strong that it’s like a sixth sense warning them whenever one or the other is under risk. As I thought, Capcom’s zeal in writing and developing their recurring plot themes and overall romantic subplot airtightly is infallible.

And that’s how the cult’s leader baits Leon’s interest: hanging Ada well-tied on a clear view. Of course Leon will go up there to save her, even if he’s already vaccinated against the virus these crazy people injected on him and finally has the girl he should save and bring back home under his care, right? Obviously. He screams Ada’s name in what must be the fifth time in this game, and when Saddler approaches him still trying to exploit the control Las Plagas had over his body, he doesn’t waste any time in playing the cocky hero and provoking his adversary (“Better try a new trick, ‘cause that one’s getting old!”).

Leon suspends time again, just like he did that dawn in Raccoon on RE2R when he confronted her about her lies and challenged her to shoot him while everything was falling apart around them – now, he does it with the enemy dangerously near them: he stops to check if she’s alright (“You okay?”) and she responds in a teasing but gentle tone (“I’ve been better…”)¹ – it’s really like they’ve stopped time and forgot space again. And that’s why Saddler laughs.

Leon looks annoyed to be remembered of the presence of the antagonist (“What’s so funny?!”), to which Saddler sees then the opportunity to deliver the obligatory villain’s speech as an elucidation on what’s amusing him (“Oh, I think you know… The American prevailing is a cliché that only happens in your Hollywood movies! Oh, Mr. Kennedy! You entertain me! To show my appreciation, I’ll help you awaken from your world of clichés!!!”). I like how Saddler explicitly mocks Leon and Ada’s little moment since Leon seems to be so overconfident regarding his victory at the end of this long journey precisely because he just saved the woman he’s in love with (something that even makes him forget about time and space for a minute). It really is similar to the Hollywood clichés: the hero achieves ultimate victory when he gets to save his romantic interest – the end.

Everything that follows from here is just as good: Leon making sure to warn Ada to step aside when Saddler starts mutating (“Ada, stand back!”) and Ada rushing to help him in her own manner, then throwing a Rocket Launcher for him and prompting him to put an end to the confrontation (“Use this!”) – an unmistakable echo to RE2 OG. I’ll harp on the same string again here: I don’t like for one bit that the writers chose to change the circumstances in which she helps Leon with this exact same matter in RE2R so that Leon wouldn’t have had any suspicion on whom might have thrown him that Rocket Launcher to finish Mr. X off; it bothers me a lot since this was a consolidated tradition on the franchise – this specific dynamic between them and Leon being conscious about it. Welp.

He saves Ada, finally defeats Saddler, and… picks up the Las Plagas sample from the cult’s leader body. Ada’s mission goal. The sole reason for her to be there in the first place.

we fight every night for something when the sun sets we’re both the same half in the shadows half burned in flames we can’t look back for nothing take what you need say your goodbyes I gave you everything and it’s a beautiful crime

(Beautiful Crime – Tamer)

If she doesn’t get her hands on this damn thing right now they’re both going to die, that much she’s certain about. So she points her gun to the back of his head, asks him to forgive her and presses him to hand her the sample (“Sorry, Leon. Hand it over.”) and look, he knows she won’t shoot.

He’s not a fool to infer that she’ll because she just spent at least the last 48 or 72 hours helping him and saving his ass again, and again and again. Come on, think with me: Leon blacks out and spends six hours in that abandoned shack after fighting Del Lago, only regaining consciousness when it’s already dark; it’s dawn when he teams up with Luis in that hut just before he and Ashley follow their way to the castle; he gets stuck inside the castle practically the entire day because when he goes through the mines and the ruins at the back of the castle area it’s almost night again, which means that the amount of time he takes to finally leave the castle after facing Salazar and take Ada’s lift to the island fits the period of dusk to dawn; in the island his journey takes long enough for us to see the sunset again when the Ganados horde destroy the reinforcement helicopter U. S. sent him and he confronts Krauser without Ada’s help; it’s morning when Ada runs off after pointing her gun at his head and taking the sample, leaping into the air so the helicopter picks her up. Therefore, the game implies that we spend a day in each map: the village, the castle and the island – that’s 72 hours. In any case, it’s at least 48 hours.

So, he surrenders the sample to her because deep down he knows she’s bluffing and he also suspects that she must have her reasons.

In addition, let us not forget that their first reunion scene in this game has a slow-motion sequence to show us – amongst other things – that Leon is able to quickly disarm her even when she’s pointing her gun to his back at a distance of maybe less than two inches. As he was forced to become a secret agent to the government, he most certainly went through intensive training over the last six years, so, apart from knowing that Ada would never pull the trigger against him, we also know that Leon, if he genuinely wanted to, could easily disarm her. But he doesn’t. He chooses to give up the sample to her, he chooses her.

RE4 bluntly suggests that Leon is willing to brush aside his principles, ignore his sense of duty and ethics and even possibly betray his country – for her, to choose her. It’s fairly likely that hadn’t they been forced to follow different paths in RE2 OG and RE2R, he would’ve done the same. At the end of the day, that threat of “taking her in”, arresting her, was just bravado. This is clearer for him now, of course – six years after Raccoon, Leon had the distance of time and space to hone his wisdom and balance regarding this inner moral struggle he faces between what he feels for Ada and his consciousness, his integrity; although we all are well aware that at the decision-making time, romanticism would topple rationalism, that he’d let idealism speak louder than his sense of pragmatism. That he’d let her win.

This is how much he trusts her – it could be nothing more than a passionate impulse motivated by a gut feeling, an unexplainable instinct, it may not even be something he consciously desires, but it’s what he always comes down to – and that’s why he took that leap of faith six years ago in defying her to shoot, that’s why now, again, he takes a leap of faith passing her the sample without putting up a fight, because he KNOWS that she won’t shoot, he doesn’t need to challenge her once again so he can prove it to her and to himself. Thus, this is another mirror scene: that’s what he was going to do in RE2 OG and RE2R hadn’t she “died” – they don’t need her pointing a gun at him, that’s just a pretext for both of them. But, back to the story climax in Spain, his only reaction then, is to ensure, as much to himself as to her, that she knows what she’s going for (“Ada, you do know what this is.”). Yes, of course she knows. And he knows she does.

She goes on her way, reassuring him about the fate of the sample (“Don’t worry. I’ll take good care of it.”), perhaps to reinforce that he didn’t make the wrong call. Leon’s sixth loud cry for her name is answered with a curt goodbye and a bit of quippy advice (“Gotta go. If I were you, I’d get off this island too.”). And I love how baffled he is to see her pressing the detonator button (“She really pushed it!”). Oh, Leon. He really only gave her the sample because he wanted to, didn’t he? So his bewilderment in seeing her activating the detonator isn’t only adequate but natural. This disappointment doesn’t last long, however, since Ada obviously won’t leave without granting him the key to his escape (“Here, catch.”), rush him to take his path outta that damned place and promise, in her own way, that they will eventually see each other again (“Better get a move on. See you around.”).

Leon’s reaction to the gift she throws him, a sneery remark, expresses his frustration and reveals a bit of his wounded ego (“Very cute.”). Yeah, Leon… this isn’t the moment for you two to have a resolution to all the emotional and physical hangings you still have. “Maybe some other time.”

shadows follow me but she is always out of reach but she’s my favourite thing to see her hook is my escape a reflection of my fate and she is everything I need, yeah

(Fangs – Night Riots)

Ashley embodies all of us, the audience, when she inquiries about Ada’s identity and her connection with Leon (“So, who was that woman anyway?”), and although he sounds intrigued by her curiosity, he looks as he might have been expecting it (“Why do you ask?”), to which Ashley proceeds reflecting the audience’s expectations and insists (“Come on. Tell me.”). Leon’s answer, strikingly brilliant and unforgettable (“She’s like a part of me I can’t let go. Let’s leave it at that.”), is one that RE2R without any kind of reservation or shame makes visual and textual echo in that scene where Leon complains missing her (“I can’t believe I actually miss her…”) and smiles wistfully – that’s why you miss her, Leon. It’s only at the end of RE4, then, that this 27-year-old Leon finally finds the answer to something that has been haunting him since he was 21.

In Ada’s scenario ending, we can see her exhaling, understandably relieved as the helicopter flies off that hell island: Leon’s alive! And she didn’t have to “die” this time to accomplish both: keep him alive and complete her mission. Everything worked! Everything’s alright.

Another detail that pleases me a lot – and that RE2R ALSO echoed – is that, after seeing him driving the jet-ski with Ashley towards the sunset, knowing that they’re going home, we have one last broadcast with Hunnigan, in which Leon reports to her about succeeding in rescuing Ashley and how he’s currently taking the young woman back home.

Hunnigan congratulates him, cheerfully, (“You did it, Leon!”), and Leon doesn’t dismiss it as a good excuse to flirt with her (“Thanks. You know, you’re kinda cute without those glasses. Gimme your number when I get back.”). Hunnigan’s answer, firm and composed, is point-blank and carries more than one meaning to the audience (“May I remind you that you’re still on duty?”). Remember Claire flirting with him after Sherry’s question offers an opening for that (“That would’ve been one helluva first date, though.”)? And how Leon, visibly embarrassed, trails off in a bland and ambiguous comment that it’s more to himself than to Claire or Sherry (“Yeah, you have no idea…”) at the end of RE2R? His body-language betraying what – actually, who – we know that surely just crossed his thoughts? RE4 had already done that much earlier! When Hunnigan reminds him how he’s still at work detail – thus he shouldn’t be thinking nor saying these kinds of things –, his reaction is to lament how this seems to be his karma (“Story of my life…”), because really, it’s primarily his job and his sense of duty that keeps him from having what he wants most, isn’t it?

We got a pay-off with this game. RE4 delivers everything the audience wanted with each and every scene and concludes Leon’s plot. Just like Claire reunited with her brother in RE: CV, Leon reunites with Ada in RE4 and, at last, finds an answer as to why he couldn’t, why he wasn’t able to move on in the past six years. Also, RE4’s ending promises us that they will meet again, so we didn’t really need RE6 to play its part as a “pay-off” entry. But, since we did get RE6… We carry on with one more satisfying addition concerning them and their relationship, the only difference being that now, according to their body-language throughout the game, they’re more physically intimate (without even weighing in RE: Damn, which implies it more directly).

I think RE2 OG (and now RE2R) and RE4 both do a great job in showing us Leon and Ada going through all the steps in the chemical process of falling in love with each other, while RE6 shows them at a more comfortable stage of “compassionate love” – the everlasting kind of love that no longer is as euphoric, restless and anxious as it was at the beginning (it’s worth taking a look at this biological process I am talking about and its scientific basis here, here, here, here, here and here). Furthermore, this makes me feel confident that Capcom’s writers working on the franchise’s big instalment numbers know really well what they are doing with these two (at least so far) when they have to present further development for them (amen):

“[…] Levels of the stress hormone cortisol increase during the initial phase of romantic love, marshaling our bodies to cope with the “crisis” at hand. As cortisol levels rise, levels of the neurotransmitter serotonin become depleted. Low levels of serotonin precipitate what’s described as the “intrusive, maddeningly preoccupying thoughts, hopes, terrors of early love”—the obsessive-compulsive behaviors associated with infatuation. If love lasts, this rollercoaster of emotions, and, sometimes, angst, calms within [the years]. […] The passion is still there, but the stress of it is gone […]. Cortisol and serotonin levels return to normal. Love, which began as a stressor (to our brains and bodies, at least), becomes a buffer against stress. Brain areas associated with reward and pleasure are still activated as loving relationships proceed, but the constant craving and desire that are inherent in romantic love often lessen. […] there is an inevitable change over time from passionate love to what is typically called compassionate love—love that is deep but not as euphoric as that experienced during the early stages of romance. That does not, however, mean that the spark of romance is quenched […] […] the excitement of romance can remain while the apprehension is lost. For those whose long-term [relationship] has transitioned from passionate, romantic love to a more compassionate, routine type of love, […] it is possible to rekindle the flame that characterized the relationship’s early days. “We call it the rustiness phenomenon.” […] That alone […] may be enough to bring some couples back to those earlier, exhilarating days, when all they could think about was their newfound love.”

Anyway, that’s why I think that all this “aloof RE4 Leon” talk is nonsense. This is the game that was originally thought as a resolution for Leon’s plot in the franchise – that’s why it ends with the “She’s like a part of me I can’t let go.” line (and that’s why this is my forever favourite OTP quote for them). So much so that RE6 really does seems “extra”: we know that by that point they already are more physically intimate, that they see each other occasionally, etc. But Capcom does a good job in exploiting RE6’s potential, since Leon and Ada’s issue was never only attaining physical intimacy nor sorting out their complex emotional connection and feelings for each other, but the seemingly impossibility of them staying together or, at least, finding peace in their own status-quo – a transition to the final, most mature, peaceful and fructiferous phase of romantic love.

Leon can resign himself and, technically speaking, betray his country… But can Ada simply turn her back on everything she’s involved with without this implicating putting Leon’s entire life at risk? Like it happened throughout RE4? This remains their main dilemma, and one that Capcom continues to exploit spectacularly since it’s a structure that doesn’t bore the audience – and no, I’m not contemplating the haters when I say this, I’m referring to the general audience.

My wish for RE8 – or whatever it is the next entry that features them? A resolution to this last major hanging between the two.

Thank you for coming to my TED Talk, I can only hope this was an interesting, worthwhile and satisfying read. 💓

¹ Also, have you guys seen that DMC5 blatantly makes a reference to this Aeon dialogue with Trish and Dante? (here)

#Aeon #Leon x Ada #Ada x Leon #Ada Wong #Leon Kennedy #Leon S Kennedy #Leon Scott Kennedy #OTP: like a part of me I can't let go #[meta]#[mine]#//#(very) long post #Aeon fandom #Aeon metas

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ouchmaster6000 · 5 years ago

Note

RE that zim/anpanman post - while Anpanman doesn't get as dark in tone, Baikinman regularly tries to kill people and has done things like tear pages out of an anthropomorphic book and make food-based characters spoil and rot. Not as gruesome as doing it to "real people" characters but that's not the point really; the idea behind it is still there, so Japanese kids are just very accustomed to an alien being that sadistic within the context of their series

First of all, I should point out I agree that Japanese kids are probably used to seeing more intense stuff on TV than american ones. Alot of shows like Yu-Gi-Oh, One Piece, Digimon and even Pokemon occasionally are known for having stuff edited out of the english dub. A pretty decent number of shonen series just flat out get marketed to an older audience in the states (stuff for kids in japan being aimed at middle schoolers here, stuff for teens being aimed at adults etc.)

Hell, I’m fairly certain Dragon Ball Z and Tenchi Muyo probably would have been marketed to adults in the US if it came out today too (Former for the violence, latter for the sexual stuff) and only got away with as much they did because they were on cable, and the idea that kids anime could appeal to adults simply hadn’t occurred to most western producers at that point.

I just…. Dont really think Anpanman is a good example of this? I also dont agree with the original poster’s Zim comparison. Granted, I suppose I probably should watch the show, but from everything I have seen of it, such as discussions on Bogleech’s website, it doesn’t seem that much edgier than standard kids show? Definitely a bit weirder and more violent than most preschool shows in the states, but overall, I doesn’t sound like Baikinman is much worse the your average kids cartoon villain.

I mean for starters, its pretty standard in kids media for killing and mutilating for non-human characters to be allowed, especially if said characters don’t have blood or flesh.

The obvious example is robots. Star Wars, Transformers, Doctor Who, Superman, Green Lantern, Teen Titans, Xiaolin Showdown, Age of Ultron, - There are way too many shows, comics and movies to list that eithor aimed at kids or families, that have robots and cyborgs being torn apart in ways that would be pretty graphic if it happened to humans or animals.

Digimon is a related example - The only reason the franchise is allowed to have as much death as it does is because 99% of the fatalities happen to digital lifeforms that dissolve into pixels upon death.

Hell one of my favorite movies as a child was the original Toy Story, and all the scenes where Sid was mutilating and blowing up his toys would have gotten a hard R rating if he was doing it to people. I’ve heard a lot of people compare Sid to Dr. Frankenstein, but with toys, but at least Dr. Frankenstein used parts that were already dead (as opposed to tearing/cutting apart still living people) and put them together in a shape roughly resembling a human. Really, Sid’s toys are less Frankenstein and more human centipede.

I also remember Fosters Home for Imaginary friends having a similar reoccuring theme of “food friends” meeting a worse fate than Anpanman. This included half eaten, traumatized anthropomorphic food dreamed up by kids in stuck in fat camp, or a talking pizza dreamed up by the bully character and eaten and killed just seconds after being “born”

So, although obviously dark comedy, Baikinman doing those things isn’t really anything new for childrens media. Neither, is trying to kill someone, since a lot of cartoon villains have made serious attempts to kill people, they just never succeed.

But Zim successfully mutilating and removing the organs and body parts of human children is definitely not normal for a kids show.

Another issue I took with Revretch’s post was that she wasn’t just talking about Zim the character, she seemed to me to be claiming that “Invader Zim” the TV series wouldn’t be seen as edgy just because the main character is similar to Baikenman… but thats not really how it works? You can’t necessarily tell the tone of a show, just from the nature of its protagnist.

Like, by that logic, Courage the Cowardly Dog should be one of the most light hearted and kid friendly shows out there, but in actuality the world he inhabits is much, much darker, scarier and more surreal than Courage himself is.

Its true that, though the writers/network let Zim do much worse stuff on screen, there are plenty of other childrens cartoon characters whose personality is pretty similar to Zim, or whom are a lot creepier and more threatening. Mojo Jojo and HIM from the powerpuff girls are good examples of both of these, respectively.

In fact, Powerpuff Girls, Xiaolin Showdown, Codename: Kids Next Door, Danny Phantom and plenty of other childrens cartoons all have both villains that are similar to Zim, and villains that are considerably more evil, creepy or serious than Zim ever was, but the tone of these shows, overall, is a relatively more optimistic one, where the main protagonists have more or less happy lives and good always triumphs over evil in the end.

Hell, even Gravity Falls, with its use of creepy horror imagery, occasional forays into adult humor, and having one of the most infamous big bads in childrens animation (and easily my favorite from the last 10 years) remains a fairly optimistic show at its core, about family and summer adventures.

This is not the case with Invader Zim, which is a show where humans as a species are portrayed as so comically stupid and mean spirited that, even if Zim somehow successfully killed or enslaved them all, it probably wouldn’t come across as a big deal in the grand scheme of things.

A show where the Irkens are depicted both commiting genocide, and electrocuting a disobedient slave on screen, and whose society is such a dystopia they are forced to udergo intense military training from birth and generally assigned roles for life based on genetics.

A show where the elementary skool is portrayed as a collection of all the absolute worst aspects of public school, both in terms of how its run, and how the kids treat each other, exaggerated to an absurd degree.

A show where a reoccurring joke character is a homeless man, who got taken advantage by a fast food chain, paid in free pizza and a room in the back of a resturant, became morbidly obese (Yes, this is Bloaty’s canon origin story) and was last seen in the original show sobbing uncontrollably because he hates his life.

Also, although this was obviously changed significantly in the comics and the Enter the Florpus special, in regards to what was portrayed in the original show, its really not difficult to make the argument Dib’s own dad and sister don’t give a shit whether or not he lives or dies.

Of course, this was all done for very dark laughs, as well as to create a setting that was just the right balance of humor and nihilism that the viewer could choose to either root for, laugh at or sympathize with either Zim or Dib without really worrying about the actual moral implications of either sides goals.

I’m not saying Zim is the edgiest show out there, comedic or otherwise. With stuff like Warhammer, Berserk, Venture Bros, Metalocalypse and all manner of gritty 90s anihero comics, Zims pretty light hearted and goofy in comparison.

But for childrens animation? Aside from some of the 90’s “grossout” cartoons like Ren & Stimpy and Cow & Chicken (which varied a lot in quality, imo) I can’t really think of any others that come close (Maaaaybe Billy & Mandy, but I think its too tonally inconsistant, with a lot of episodes being pretty standard cartoon slapstick.)

Wow, I sure did type a lot. Sorry about that. But Invader Zim is one of my all time favorite shows, and fictional villains one of my favorite topics, so I feel like I have a lot to say about them.

#invader zim #anpanman #baikenman #cartoons #anime #children's media #villains #cartoon villains #iz

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moonstruck-ffxiv-blog · 6 years ago

Photo

(That pic has nothing to do with anything, it’s me that tried to make my irl cat as a miqo’te)

Moonstruck: I Like RP Partners to Know

I like to be called: Mael

My favorite colors are: I’m very fond of pastels, especially pink.

Gender: I’m confused about that.

One thing you should know about me (or several): I started RPing at 12-13 years old on those BBC-type of forums. At first, I was on other’s people, then I created my own. My high school friends, to this day, still remember my primary character I had for years: Chaos, a chthonic devil-god with two dicks and two vaginas, that fucked himself, to create the demonic race. In those years, I was OBSESSED with the idea of evil and was trying to find a solution or explanation to it. It was through my writing I considered what it was - mostly with that OC, which was the most repulsive character I could ever create. A funloving, whimsy, joker-type outside, but a beast of every sin inside. There was no filter when I was RPing him. He was cartoonishly evil, which was the point. I think.

Thank Sobek King of the Nile I outgrew my edgelord teenage years lmao.

I work a lot of myself, ameliorate skills, learning,... I don’t have much time for hobbies anymore. Because of that RP, as much as I like it, is taking a backseat and I have to pick my partners pretty carefully.

I don’t like public RP events, they are all organized the same way, I find lazy and boring. If I had to choose between a public event or the Quicksand, I will pick the latter. In both cases I will stand around touching my dick for 3 hours but at least at the Titsand can hook up with someone and write ERP. That alone makes it not a complete waste of my time.

I play piano and try to get back into dawing. I practice every day and I’m starting to see the result which makes me pretty happy.

My favorite food is Frank’s Red Hot Chicken Wings Sauce.

I’m currently working on a book and trying to be a professional writer. Wish me luck!

PS: If you make me tea I will be your friend forever.

One thing you should know about my muse(s)(Or several): I do have 15 OCs on FFXIV and I don’t feel going through the whole list. I’m lazy, please forgiving me. I’ll probably go through my “Big Fives” as I call them in my inner monologue.

Louis: Louis is an extension of my alienation and loneliness. How he feels about being different and not belonging to anywhere is how I feel myself lot of the time. I have troubling connecting and understand people and so does he.

He’s a Nightkin and even if I initially present him as being “awkward and cute” don’t be mistaken. He is a killer and he is dangerous. He will exploit a weakness when he sees one. Yes, he will feel remorse about it but that won’t stop him for doing it.

Celestin: Hey do you know what happens when you shove one of those rockets you buy from the convenient store and you shove it into my ass? That character happens. His my own pride, exaggerated to the 9th degree; he’s my salt and my anger. He’s the asshole I become when I get hurt.

Celestin is a very proud man (one could say he has some kind of god complex - which is not completely false) willing to go to unimaginable heights for his goals. He’s Machiavellian: the ends justify the means. It’s all a matter if the sacrifices he does is worth it…

Ezrien: He started as a joke character which I assume. He still got a LOT to do but bit by bit, I’m building him. I would really want to explore more his drug and alcohol addiction, to get GRITTY instead of always be joking with him. Still waiting for the good person to unpack this box of worms.

I really enjoy Ez, and I enjoy him more since I made him and Rochel cousin. They are excellent foils to each other and bring me a lot of joy.

Narcisse: My sad elf prince (tm) and my attempt to try to make a “Lawful Good” type of character. He’s a knight, living to serve other people and get rid of evil on this world. He has a very black/white worldview (which is his weakness) and he’s… well, he’s kinda of intolerant sometimes.

I still have to figure him a lot but I really love his aesthetic. I feel he’s missing, I don’t know what, and that spark of oompf is what holding me back to really enjoy him.

Ephraim: My baby. Oh, do I love Eph hahahaha. When I created him I was “okay dude, stop doing fucking egdelords all the time. No dark, break the mold.” And I succeeded! He’s the softest, gentlest necromancer I ever made -and at the same time, breaking the trope of the ever-so-dark necromancer.- I really like how I can switch my gear with him, he’s an extremely versatile character. Yeah, his backstory is sad and I can still make dark stuff with him but I can do comedy and absurd plots. Which I absolutely adore. When I RP with Cecilia and Ruruka, things get so dumb so fast. I love it.

First language: French. I’m foreign and I tend to use sentences that work in French but doesn’t in English. I do think the way I structure my writing work in my main language but sometimes is lost in translation. When I’m tired I tend to revert back more often to French which can be hilarious… or horrible.

RP blogs/Main Blog I only have this blog so uh that’s it folk

Age range: under 13 | 14–17 | 18–22 | 23–25 | 26–29 | 30+ | 70+

Am I okay with NSFW?: yes | no | some nsfw

I’m not particularly “shopping” for porn; I do have more sexually inclined characters than others (Ezrien, Narcisse.) I don’t mind ERP neither I mind people that do it (either regularly or casually). However, I do find it pretty pointless most of the time. What I mean by that is, the consequences of characters having sex will be the same whether you describe or not every moan and cum shot. IN ANY CASE, I’ll be honest, I did write a loooooot of smut in the past. While I don’t really do it anymore (I barely RP at all lmao), I’m not 100% closed to the idea to dip my toes back into it. It’s all a matter of what’s my mood today, what kind of char you got and who you are.

Yeah dude I added some of my own because I find there wasn’t enough

OC friendly?: yes | no | depends

RP blog: does contain ooc posts | doesn’t contain ooc posts | occasionally contains ooc | Aesthetic

tagged by @ssytxiv

tagging @corbelleterrechant @nerd-ology @lovelyflyingfiend @lichface @avwalya @lulu-ffxiv @housefortempsknight @garlean-nonsense @vashzeibel

#I Like RP Partners to Know #ooc

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littleredroseonthevalley · 6 years ago

Text

An Opera on Separation - Chapter 3

Prologue | Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | CH. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7 | Ch. 8 | Ch. 9 | Ch. 10 | Ch. 11 | Ch. 12 | Ch. 13 | Ch. 14 | Ch. 15 | Ch. 16 | Ch. 17 | Ch. 18 |

Summary: Emily settles in to her new life in the city, while having a fortunate encounter with Zig at the teacher’s lounge. Queenie join the ranks of the New York drug dealers.

Rating: M - Not suitable for children or teens below the age of 16 with non-explicit suggestive adult themes, references to some violence, or coarse language.

Notes: Howdhy-ho, everyone! How’s Monday for you? How did you like the (shitty) TJ finale?

Today we have a Michael Jackson classic as theme song, so give it a listen. Also, I don’t bite (hard), so subscribe to the taglist and to my blog for all the juicest updates!

Smooth Criminal

The days passed by quickly, and soon enough it was Thursday. Emily barely noticed her first week of employment go through her, mostly because she has been so busy trying to get a footing of her new teaching career, all in the while juggling a burden in form of a parent and the set-up of an apartment.

All on her own, mind you.

She sure felt tired, but the weekend was impending, and she surely wouldn’t mind sleeping the Sunday away. It was cheap entertainment, after all.

The woman was jolted back from her thoughts by a voice coming from behind her back: “Hey, Emily.”

“Oh, hi, Zig!” She smiled at him. “I don’t see you since the meeting.”

“Yeah, I use my lunch time to have my office hours, but my students decided to give me a reprieve today.” His pearly whites flashed at her. “How are you doing, Emily? We barely had any time to talk these last few days.”

Zigmund Ortega. Only brother to four sisters. The bad boy of the Hartfeld Knights. Connecticut’s Double Threat. He was a friend from college of Emily’s, a dear one at that. They met back on her freshman year, when he worked as a barista on her favorite coffeeshop on campus.

Zig was the first recipient to the Second Chance Scholarship Program, sponsored by the now-former-NFL player and current Senator for Maine, Christopher Powell. As students, she and Chris were close friends, and when he decided to put forward Zig as a test student for the endowment.

Since Chris’ choice was due much to her own insistence, Emily felt highly-responsible about the young man. While she admits to her own hovering, it did forge a lasting relationship between them.

After Graduation, not unlike most of her relations back then, the friendship between them faded slowly, both immersed in their own lives. However, she did know that he majored in Mathematics, achieving his degree with honors and high praise amongst the New English academic community.

“I’m fine. I’m a little overwhelmed with the move and New York City, but I’m really pumped up.” Her lips turned up and her eyes shone. “It’s my first experience as a teacher. I won’t lie, it has been really hard, but I’m loving it so far!”

“Heh, that’s the feeling, alright. It’s that kind of profession you give your all, and it’s so worth it!” He smirked in response. “But, tell me, why Mrs. Sterling chose this school out of all others to teach?”

Her expression dimmed. “I’m Ms. Harper, now. Nathan and I got divorced back on Spring.”

The hazel eyes widened. The man sure wasn’t expecting that. “Jeez, Em, I’m sorry. I didn’t know!”

“Don’t worry. It’s not like it was on the papers or anything. We agreed we preferred to keep it discreet.” The redhead dismissed. “But tell me, Mr. Dean’s List, I could ask you the same question. You could teach anywhere you wanted. Why Lydia Child?”

“Well, sure I could teach at some college or at that Lanes prep school. Heck, I sure would earn a lot more cash than I do here.” He pondered. “But, those students have a whole bunch of opportunities. Here in Rosewood Creek, we’re all these kids got. I just feel I’m more needed here than anywhere else.”

“That’s… that’s very noble of you.” Emily said, surprised and admired with his reasoning. “I’m sure you’re very appreciated around here. I mean, I don’t interact much with the younger pupils, but the GED students love your classes, and the other teachers all seem to sing you praise in the halls.”

Zig let out a self-conscious laugh. “I don’t do this for being praised.”

The woman’s head nodded. “I know. That doesn’t mean you don’t deserve it.”

“I suppose it’s nice to be recognized for it.” He conceded.

Before long, the bell rings. “Well, that’s me.” The redhead said.

“I’ll see you around, then.” He responded.

She beamed at him. “You sure will.”

Queenie Rhodes was a rightful mess.

With the hair tied on a wide, straight bun on top of her head, a muddy-colored dress she borrowed from her daughter’s bland wardrobe and no make-up whatsoever, she looked just like some Human Sciences professor.

It was a necessary evil, however, as she had to blend in the crowd that attended Columbia’s library.

She strutted confidently to the reference desk and said to the librarian: “Good morning. Could you tell me where the metaphysics books are located at?”

“It’s all the way in the back, to your left.” The aide pointed. “Do you want me to accompany you?”

“There’s no need, thank you.” The older woman smiled and walked away.

Queenie walked over to the aisle, her short heels tapping on the sleek floor. The wide windows of Butler Library let in the soft sunlight from the outside, as the day was overcast.

Her sources say that particular area of the library was used for all sorts of shady deals and exchanges. It didn’t come as a surprise, as the place had little attendance, and its positioning within the building did not favor natural lightning.

She found a table and sat next to a young girl, dressed on a heavy coat and fidgeting.

“Did you bring it?” The girl anxiously asked.

Queenie takes the small vial off her book bag and hands it over to the girl. “Twenty doses of focus pills. Two hundred dollars.”

She slides two hundred-dollar bills, which Queenie shoves on the bag. The girl pops a pill and the woman slides the chair back again and stand up to leave.

It was way too easy to sell those stressed students some sleeping pills as amphetamine. Not only that particular brand of sleep medicine was much cheaper than Adderall, it also took weeks for them to realize the problem was the drugs, not the fact they were only too tired for it to work.

By then, they would have forgotten all about her, and they wouldn’t be able to complain.

As she was leaving, she stopped by the reference desk. “Hey, miss? I saw a girl passed out on the desk over at the back.”

The librarian huffed, stressed. “Not this again! Thank you, ma’am, I’ll take care of it.”

Emily unlocked the front door of her apartment and announced, a little too loud for such a small place: “Mom! I’m home!”

As she placed her bag on the kitchen counter, her mother, laid on the couch reading a fashion magazine, greeted her: “Hey, honey. How’s work today?”

“Just fine.” She commented, as she walks into the kitchen. “I had lunch with Zig today.”

“Oh, that hunky friend of yours from college, right?” The older woman asks, captiously. “Shame he ends up on such a filthy place!”

“We ended up in ‘such a filthy place’, as you so gracefully put it.” The redhaired points out, rather annoyed. “It’s not shameful. And, in any case, Zig works at Rosewood Creek by choice.”

“Work dignifies man, and all that crap, I know.” Queenie dismissed. “Why would someone in their right mind choose to work in Uptown Manhattan?”

“He’s a very talented teacher, mom. He thinks the children here would benefit more than the spoilt brats at Park Avenue.” She counters. “I don’t want to have this discussion again with you. How was your day?”

“I picked up the groceries like you asked me to.” She responded.

“And where’s the change?” Emily asks, defying.

“There was no change. The money you left me was short.” The older woman responded, closing her magazine and walking over to the kitchen.

The daughter shook her head. “Mom, there’s no way the money I gave you wasn’t enough for food.”

“Ugh, fine!” Queenie pulled a twenty-dollar bill from her bra. “Here.”

The youngest looked at the money and at the woman. “Are you absolutely sure that’s all?”

“Yes, Emily!” She demeans. “This is all.”

The ginger took the bill and placed it on the purse with a cautious look to the woman. The matriarch held the poker face, mostly because there was thirty more dollars of change she pocketed.

Instead, the woman said: “What’s for dinner?”

<< Previous Chapter Next Chapter >>

An Opera on Separation - Masterlist

#an opera on separation #the junior #zigmund ortega

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goodnewsjamaica · 6 years ago

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In new memoir, a Jamaican-American girl comes of age in Anchorage

New Post has been published on https://goodnewsjamaica.com/world-view/in-new-memoir-a-jamaican-american-girl-comes-of-age-in-anchorage/

In new memoir, a Jamaican-American girl comes of age in Anchorage

Patrice Gopo, formerly Patrice Harduar, grew up in Anchorage as the daughter of Jamaican immigrants. In her beautifully written, insightful and ultimately loving memoir in the form of essays, she takes readers on her journey across the world and into the social and racial issues of our time.

Anchorage in the 1980s and ’90s was nowhere near as diverse as it has become, and Patrice and her sister grew up living in a largely white world. Their parents, moreover, as Jamaica immigrants of African and Indian descent, had little experience of black American culture.

Gopo writes, in the context of eating flavorful tamarind balls, “My family’s presence in Alaska was a mixture of flavors too. Jamaican roots and an American life. While my parents adapted to mountain hikes in the frosty air and summers spent fishing for salmon, our home often featured the customs and foods from the early years of their lives — the years when they first met each other in the breezy, salt-scented air of their island home. As we lived the multi-faceted existence of Jamaican American, we were tamarind balls — not fully one flavor, not fully another, but two distinct parts coexisting in my family’s unique form.”

In one essay, “Caught in the Year of O. J. Simpson and Huckleberry Finn,” Gopo recalls squirming in her seat as her high school English class—in which she was the only brown-skinned person — read about Huck and Jim, with the n-word used over 200 times. “I interpreted my classmates’ curious stares to mean that when they read about Jim, they must be thinking about me. . . .Years later I would learn that the book I read in high school is considered antiracist. A satirical account of the evils of the era. A story meant to make a mockery of slavery. In tenth grade I retained none of this. All I remember is the longing to finish the unit and move on.” At the same time, everyone at school was following the O. J. trial, and the racial component of what to believe about guilt or innocence loomed large and confusing in her mind. “How could I offer an opinion that might remind others how I, in fact, was not like the rest?”

Gopo’s parents — a banker turned educator and a nurse — provided a solid middle-class life for their two girls, and after high school Gopo went off to Pittsburgh’s Carnegie Mellon University, where she earned a degree in chemical engineering. It was at college that she found both a group of African-American friends to belong to and more acquaintance with racism.

In the year after college, Gopo chose to serve as a missionary English teacher in an “African country I care about and so choose not to name.” In “Washing Dishes in the Family of God” she tells of working with white missionaries. “So in this life — and in this kitchen too — I straddle two worlds. Not outsider. Not insider. Instead, other.”

On one occasion during the trip, Gopo writes, she volunteers, “Is there something I can do to help?” and is shown into a kitchen piled with dirty dishes. This is who she is — someone who serves others as part of her faith, the same as serving God. The others in the home are celebrating in the other room; she is washing dishes. When another person comes into the kitchen, it’s not to pick up a dishcloth to dry but to make a joke: “It’s like you’re our slave.”

It’s painfully clear from this essay how this encounter (and too many others) reverberates through Gopo’s later life. In the years to come, she writes, “when my mind wanders during a dull sermon or when I startle awake in the predawn hours of night . . . I will return to washing and stacking those plates. I will loiter over the memory of this kitchen and dream of ten — no, of one hundred — different statements to spout in response.”

Gopo spent the following year working a soulless job at Eastman Kodak, then went to graduate school for master’s degrees in business administration and public policy, with a goal of working in community development. On a 10-week assignment to South Africa to teach women about starting small businesses as a way out of poverty, she met a man from Zimbabwe.

Today, her family — the man from Zimbabwe and their two daughters — live in Charlotte, North Carolina, a community they chose sight-unseen from a magazine article she read, “Top 10 Cites for African Americans.” Although they gave serious thought to returning to Alaska, “Charlotte seemed like a place filled with opportunity for our black family, a city exploding with a bounty of opportunities.”

In her final essays, Gopo explores some of the contradictions they found in their new American home — Confederate flags still flying, fear induced by the church murder in nearby Charleston, Gopo’s nervousness as her husband drives off alone. “Please, my love, keep your hands on the wheel, your registration close. Keep your speed under the limit and go straight home.”

In this time of racial strife, immigration politics, and general divisiveness in our country, “All the Colors We Will See” is a very welcome addition to the open-hearted discussion we all should be having. Gopo does not try to tell us how to live; she simply shows us how it has been for her to be herself — a person of intelligence and faith, an “other” who is finding her way. Her sensitive but direct questioning and her eloquent prose make this book a joy to read.

By: Patrice Gopo

Original Article Found Here

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#All Colors We Will See #Anchorage #Essays #memoir

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acupofsaltea · 4 years ago

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Movie: Jeritan Malam (2019)

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐☆☆☆☆☆ | 5 / 10

Today I’ll discuss about Indonesian horror movie called Jeritan Malam or could be translated into Night Scream which firstly premiered in 2019. The movie was directed by Rocky Soraya and produced by Sunil Soraya, famously known from 5 cm (2012) and Tenggelamnya Kapal Van der Wijck (2013).

The story begins with Reza (played bu Herjunot Ali) and her girlfriend, Wulan (played by Cinta Laura), when both of them are in line for some dinner in a particular restaurant. Chit-chatting over the dark story behind a successful restaurant with the too teatrical script. They talk about this thing called 'pesugihan', I honestly don't know the terms in english but it's a process about how people could gain anything by making a treaty with devils or supernatural being. I didn't notice at first that the introduction scene was actually where the movie wants to explain the theme of this story. This feels like a typical ghost story. Then suddenly it ain't a normal horror movie with just a haunted house, there's more evil in here. Appreciate the plot!

So this guy Reza finally finishes his bachelor degree and ready to enter the next life. Unfortunately while his girlfriend is already settled in some company, Reza finds himself a little bit behind the schedule. Job oppurtunity means a lot to him, that's why when he finally got a call in an i-don't-know-what-company with a condition that forces him to move to another province miles--miles away, he gladly accepts the offer.

In the new place, Reza meet two other colleagues, Indra (played by Winky Wirawan) and Minto (played by Indra Brasco). They both the residents of Reza's homestay while all of them work in the company. They get close together, but despite the movie tries picturing them as 'best' friends, I honestly think they fail to create a more close relationship between Reza and the two colleagues.

As far as I know, their encounters are just some friendly talks. Even Indra and Minto are oftenly upset with Reza's too logical mindset. Declaring Indra and Minto as two Reza's most loved/important people are a bit exaggerating.

The house that Reza and his friends lived is haunted with multiple ghosts. They decided to consult with a paranormal practitioner. It turns out that Reza brought a sacrilegious 'keris' (a small wavy blade) given by his father as a protection. It did protect him, that's why the ghosts are restless there. But Reza's headstrong will still stand on his logical thingking and deny all the paranormal had said.

Sometimes I feel so upset with him because of that.

Next thing he did after several more disturbances from the deads is to actually call for another paranormal practitioner with a more 'believable' image. In this decision I actually on his side. Choosing a more expert or religious practitoner could be a better option than a dark paranormal. But then other thing happens instead, leaving Reza with a 'curse' and sacrifices. This is the moment when things become more serious and interesting.

The turns of event please me beyond anything. For those who loves dark horror would probably enjoy this movie. So I've heard some stories regarding 'pesugihan' and its' consequences for those who succumb to it and they're not very good results. Precisely like how the story in this movie become. For that I love it.

There are some minus like the too-teatrical-script for a horror movie. I get it the teatrical vibes are somehow made to match the narration in the movie where Reza is like telling us story of his life, but making the dialogues also in the same vibes are just weird. This is a modern based horror movie, so...

Then about the Reza's relationship with his two colleagues that seems a bit too fast forwarded(?) Is that the right expression? Anyway, I hope you get my point.

Despite those disadvantages, I like the story so far. I've been recommending this movie to my friends and I'm still proudly suggesting Jeritan Malam for people out there. Sadly, it's a bit underrated in my opinion and not as famous as other horror movies.

#horror #indonesia #film #movie #jeritan malam #thoughts #review #opinion

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aftertheworldends-blog1 · 7 years ago

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An Endless Story Of Being A Balkan Immigrant

Bulgarians: Have dishes similar to Southeast Asians, have words in common with Middle Eastern languages, share genes with Persian and Turkic peoples, genetically related to Mediterraneans and Middle Easterners, suspected common ancestor with Tatar peoples.

Also Bulgarians: Wow, we hate foreigners. We are so European. Middle Eastern people are evil. We are not all Roma. Go the EU! Voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir ?

Me, a Bulgarian and an intellectual: *major facepalm*

So, I almost got attacked recently.

A late evening, at one of the last trains from the capital to the place I live:

It’s a fairly popular stop, so there are some people at the doors as we wait for the train to come to a holt. I am at one side with a pair of men and one woman; the other door across the busy car has a small crowd in front of it too.

I am listening to music with one ear, the other free just in case somebody needs to approach me. A girl comes down the stairs to join our bunch and she is on the phone. The language sounds like Turkish to me, although I cannot be certain.

One of the men – a Finn no doubt, by his features – looks at the girl with obvious condescension, puffs dismissively, and walks across to the other door.

I stare, the complete awe on my face making the other Finnish man as uncomfortable as he should be.

“Asshole,” I murmur after the Original Finn.

He hears me.

Unconcerned with that, I step off the train and head home. He’s ahead if me; when he notices me – unmistakable in my bright red Uni hoodie – he stops in his tracks and waits me out.

I’m thinking, he’s about to say something. Is he planning on giving me a speech about foreigners in Finland, or the necessity of Finnish language when you are around a sensitive Finnish ear.

I don’t know.

But he says nothing as I pass him by. I walk away, casting glances over my shoulder. It’s how I notice him resuming his stride, following me, adjusting his scarf to cover his face as he hurries not to lose me.

There and then, I was terrified. Three full seconds of knowing I was about to experience a hate-crime motivated ass-whooping, and then I was done cowering. Not for him – he was hardly worth it.

Instead, I get prepared.

I walk faster, knowing I will reach a populated area soon, all the while planning where to put my glasses so he wouldn’t be able to break them into my eyes. I flex my fingers and wait for…

But I make it to the busy area before he makes it to me. The people outside the fast food joint chat with me until he’s passed. He gives me an unmistakable silent threat as he walks by me, and I wonder whether I could safely walk the 15 minutes it takes me to reach home. My teeth hurt from clenching but I am sure I would have taken that beating, because I was not wrong.

Because he thought it was his right to be surrounded – without failure, hour after hour – by exclusively Finnish speakers. Anything less offended his sensibilities. Because a special, nationalist, bigoted snowflake couldn’t take to be called out on his xenophobia.

I was right. Even if I almost got my nose punched in.

Or perhaps, that was a symptom of my rightness.

The current number of times a native speaker has looked at me with condescension and said, “Well, you speak quite good English,” is in the double digits.

*waves Certificate in Advanced English, a Specialised Language School diploma, and my middle finger*

I was so god damn pregnant and I didn’t care about it when it came to dates. My husband and I would go to concerts, festivals, and parties, regardless of how big I got. In restaurants, we’d order something fancy to eat, he’d order a wine to match, and I’ll sniff it before sipping my juice. Fun times.

So, there we were, at an Australian pub – him hoping to have an exciting Aussie brew and myself hoping to sniff it like a junkie with a glue problem.

But before we could get to that particularly exciting experience, we must order. The bartender practically gives my husband his own place at the bar. They like each other instantly and I am so proud of my charming, lovely sweetheart, who is not at all a Finnish stereotype and cannot wait to meet new people, engage with them, make them laugh. I adore it.

My husband decides on a beer and it’s my turn.

The bartender looks at me, his smile falters, and then dies. The temperature in the bar drops several degrees.

At this point, I am unsure what has happened. I wasn’t at the time aware Australians had any particular attitude towards Balkan people.

So, there I was, trying to order a juice for my pregnant ass and the bartender wouldn’t look me in the eye. He wouldn’t tell me what juices they have. He’d just spent five minutes combing through cupboards and fridges to make sure he’d offered the most suitable brew for my husband, but he wouldn’t bother to peek at the juice section for me.

My sweetheart ends up ordering for me. I know something had happened – something which involves bigotry and ugly thoughts – but I am unsure exactly what.

Today, I know. Today, if you ignore me, I just know to be louder.

There were fliers coming regularly to the box at my address, with calls to ‘DRIVE THE FOREIGNERS OUT OF BRITAIN AND TAKE BACK OUR COUNTRY’ written in big bright letters.

One weekend, I couldn’t go out because a nationalist group was organising a protest against Slavic and Middle Eastern immigrants at the city centre. I couldn’t do my shopping for the week. I was reduced to hiding in my room, alongside numerous friends and neighbours just like me.

“Oh, you are BUL-geeeeh-rian. I see.”

What? What is it you see?

Here’s a story you wouldn’t expect happened.

My in-laws have always kept close ties to old friends. They were the type of people whose jolly attitude had many from our small town running up to us at random places just to say hello. That very same friendly and open-hearted approach had me falling in love with my (then) boyfriend’s parents in no time.

So here we are, this one time, in the middle of their old friends’ and long-time colleagues’ house. It’s a lovely home and the fact the hosts had two children just a bit younger than myself was a great bonus.

We had a great conversation for the most part, even if I was excluded from the main topics due to a language barrier. I have since learned not to mind it so much, but at the time I relied heavily on my loved one translating.

Now, at the time, I was a student in the UK; there were no certain plans about where we’d be settling, if we’d be settling anywhere together at all. So, my grasp on the Finnish language remained basic, and I had no reason or desire to change that.

My hostess, to my endless surprise, had other plans for me.

She of course insisted I attempt speaking Finnish (an impossible task since I knew none of the grammatic rules), and was too excited about telling us all how the exchange student they hosted had been quick to pick up the language. I was of course already weary, but new to this “being an immigrant” thing. Coming from a poor place had not done much for my self-esteem anyway, and I was among people who had – due to their country’s social system – never had to worry about choosing between food and new clothes to replace the broken ones.

So, I accepted the only thing interesting about me is my potential to speak a language I wasn’t interested in. I accepted it while she probed and questioned and kept insisting people who “let me try” the language. I accepted it until the last drop of my patience had been drained.

And then she pushed further.

Engaging the rest of the party in her game, our hostess endeavoured to turn me into an experiment. She demanded nobody translate her words to me; she was to address me without saying my name, so they’d find out whether I understood she was talking to me.

The thing with Finnish is, you’re bound the understand more than you talk, at first. It’s a tough language but I had been exposed to it enough to know what she’d said. Or understand enough.

When she spoke and the entire table remained silent, engaged in her experiment—in her treatment of me as a science rat, a sub-human, a person not worthy of consideration but rather just there for her eternal amusement—I could not stop myself from tearing up.

I was utterly alone, surrounded by people who were unaware they were doing something wrong, and one person who was so deliberate in her actions, she surely understood way-too-well exactly what she was doing.

She invited us to her wedding years later and I spoke English to her with a polite smile.

The cold shivers down my spine when I found out the person who was going to wed us is running for a position in the government with the Finnish far-right party.

I gave birth in the middle of 2015. It was warm and nice and beautiful. The first hours of contractions were painful, annoying, and long, but I felt safe and happy with my husband next to me and an attentive midwife making sure everything was going smoothly.

The shift changed the moment labour began.

The midwife began the entire ordeal by proclaiming she had not come to work today with the intention to speak English. She admitted she understood it well, although she ignored every word I spoke in it.

She ignored me when I said I could not breathe.

Again.

And again.

I lost consciousness for a few seconds due to lack of oxygen. Sheer willpower kept me afloat through the last moments of labour. I had to somehow gather strength to yell “I CANNOT BREATHE” for her to offer me an oxygen mask. She also called another midwife though, to help her handle the rowdy foreigner.

Suffice to say, I did not trust her with my new-born, breakable daughter. Suffice to say, I had no choice in the matter.

I only prayed – atheist as I am – that she would not be that great of a monster.

“What is this Bulgarian gibberish? I speak three languages but in this country, I speak its language, as one should”

– A person sitting at my table, in my home, listening to me speaking my language to my daughter.

Nobody knows anything about Bulgaria, much beyond the fact they must hate us for being poor. Of those who do not hate us, they still are unaware of who we are.

Our country was established in 681 according to official accounts, although a Great Bulgaria existed already during 635. Our country was formed through the alliance of (what is estimated to have been) over a thousand Bulgar nomads and the resident Balkan Slavic tribes. Over the course of the following centuries, Bulgarians spread out to include other Slavic, including some Mid-European. Our lands – although in a constant state of change due to never-ending wars with Byzantine – reached on occasions three seas: Adriatic, Aegean, and Black.

We spent altogether six centuries as an independent empire. Our first universal law extended beyond the limits of status or nobility, threatening all criminals (even those living in our castles) with serious punishment. We were by recent accounts among the first countries in Europe (long before the middle Ages) to bring canalisation and fresh water supply systems to our big cities; the architectural collaboration with Middle Eastern societies is an interesting archaeological discovery: a lot of knowledge was lost to us during the destruction brought upon us by the Ottoman empire. We were also the ones to spread the Cyrillic alphabet among Slavic-speaking peoples, and the first to use it in our churches in the form of Old Slavonic.

We spent five centuries under Ottoman Yoke.

I will be the first one to tell you we must never bring the pain of our past into our present, let alone our future. I will be the first one to tell you we must not blame Turkish people for the crimes of their ancestors. Unless we are met with that maddening, infamous reminder that we have been their “cattle”, it wins us nothing to point our fingers at them. Especially at those who say proudly they are Bulgarians by birth but do not deny their ethnic Turkish roots.

But we must never forget – for our sakes and not for the sake of hatred – that we were denied the right to move freely, denied the right to live under the protection of a law, denied practicing a religion which defined us, denied spreading language or education which humanised us, denied access to a script we’ve developed and popularized. We were denied the right to be people; denied the right to be free.

We were owned, and shipped, and stripped, and slaughtered, and bullied, and managed exactly like—cattle. Our women were taken for unwilling concubines. Our churches and towns and schools and educational centres were burned. Our boys were taken to be owned by the army. Our blood ran as rivers along the lands of our ancestors and although the people who have committed those heinous crimes are long-dead… the pain remains.

We must never forget that if we kicked the Ottoman Master’s dog even though it was nibbling on our leg, we were shot and killed. We must not forget that if we didn’t let the Ottoman militia rape as they pleased, an entire household was slaughtered.

We must not forget we lived in peace with common Muslim folk. But we must not forget that we were indeed once cattle.

And even though our suffering was quantifiably different to the pain endured by the Black British and American communities, we must not forget we were slaves too.

It’s because we must never allow ourselves to be slaves again.

We have a story, Bulgarians.

That when the Ottomans first came, they pillaged and raped and destroyed, but if they’d left any survivors, they’d ask them always a simple question: “Do you convert to the Muslim faith?”

We have no certain way of knowing whether this is a story of pride, an anecdote to signify the overall resistance of the people, or an actual account of the events during the conquering of our lands.

But according to what we’ve been told, a Bulgarian who accepted the Muslim faith would shake their head and stand as they are.

A Bulgarian who would deny the offer, would bow their head – in preparation for their execution.

It is, according to this anecdote, the reason why in our culture, we bow our heads for “no” and shake them for “yes” – in contrast with the rest of Europe and the Western world.

Above is one of the reasons I never bow my head or accept a faith offered to me by a bigot.

It’s in my blood to stand my ground, even if it means my downfall. It’s in my blood to be considered cattle but to persevere regardless. It’s in my blood to be ignored, shunned, forgotten, stepped on… and to still bloom beneath the piles of dirt and cheap concrete blocks.

It’s in my blood to be regarded as sub-human; and it is in my blood to shed every tear, every drop of blood, to be better than that. To survive despite it.

It’s why I was ready for a fight the night I was almost beaten up. It’s why I still speak the language I want whenever I want. It’s why I still call people out on their bigotry.

And it’s why I am a proud Balkan immigrant.

Because I’m stronger than they are.

Stay strong, stay true, stay readin’,

Ro-ri

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