#Existential themes | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

Visit Blog

Explore Tumblr blogs with no restrictions, modern design and the best experience.

Fun Fact

In 2020, 27% of US Tumblr users had an annual household income of over $100,000.

cinephilesadeqi · 2 months

Text

MOVIE ANALYSIS AND REVIEW: "Mirror" (1975)

Introduction:“Mirror” (Russian: Зеркало, Zerkalo) is a 1975 Soviet drama film directed by Andrei Tarkovsky. Loosely autobiographical and structured in a nonlinear narrative, the film incorporates poems by the director’s father, Arseny Tarkovsky. Featuring a cast including Margarita Terekhova, Ignat Daniltsev, and Alla Demidova, “Mirror” unfolds around memories recalled by a dying poet, weaving…

View On WordPress

0 notes

blueheartbooks · 3 months

Text

Unraveling the Fabric of Time: A Journey through H.G. Wells' "The Time Machine: An Invention"

H.G. Wells' "The Time Machine: An Invention" catapults readers into the fascinating realm of speculative fiction, offering a gripping narrative that transcends the boundaries of time and imagination. Originally published in 1895, this novella has solidified its place as a classic work of science fiction, exploring profound themes and propelling readers through the cosmic corridors of time.

At its core, "The Time Machine" is a tale of scientific curiosity and its consequences. The protagonist, known simply as the Time Traveller, constructs a machine that enables him to traverse the temporal landscape. His first-person narrative unfolds as a dinner party yarn, where he recounts his astonishing adventures to a group of skeptical friends. Wells masterfully employs the frame narrative, immersing readers in the suspense of the Time Traveller's extraordinary tale.

One of the novella's strengths lies in its imaginative world-building. Wells introduces the reader to the distant future, a world divided into two distinct races—the Eloi and the Morlocks. The Eloi, frail and childlike, inhabit a utopian surface world, while the subterranean Morlocks, eerie and industrious, lurk in the shadows. This stark dichotomy serves as a social commentary on class division and the potential consequences of unchecked technological progress. The novella acts as a cautionary tale, urging readers to contemplate the long-term implications of societal choices.

Wells' writing style is both engaging and thought-provoking. The vivid descriptions of the futuristic landscapes and the Time Traveller's encounters with strange beings evoke a sense of wonder and curiosity. The author skillfully weaves scientific concepts into the narrative, challenging readers to grapple with complex ideas surrounding time, relativity, and the consequences of scientific advancement.

Beyond its scientific and social commentary, "The Time Machine" delves into the existential and philosophical dimensions of time travel. The Time Traveller's experiences prompt profound reflections on the nature of existence, mortality, and the inexorable march of time. Wells invites readers to contemplate the fragility of human civilization and the transient nature of life itself.

The novella's enduring appeal lies in its ability to resonate with readers across generations. Its exploration of time as a narrative device and its examination of societal structures and human nature continue to captivate audiences. Wells' legacy as a pioneer of science fiction is cemented by "The Time Machine," a timeless work that invites readers to contemplate the mysteries of the universe and the consequences of tampering with the fabric of time.

In conclusion, "The Time Machine: An Invention" is a literary gem that transcends the boundaries of its era, offering a timeless exploration of scientific, social, and existential themes. H.G. Wells' narrative prowess and imaginative vision make this novella an essential read for those eager to embark on a thought-provoking journey through the corridors of time.

H.G. Wells' "The Time Machine: An Invention" is available in Amazon in paperback 10.99$ and hardcover 18.99$ editions.

Number of pages: 129

Language: English

Rating: 8/10

Link of the book!

Review By: King's Cat

0 notes

blueheartbookclub · 3 months

Text

Unraveling the Fabric of Time: A Journey through H.G. Wells' "The Time Machine: An Invention"

H.G. Wells' "The Time Machine: An Invention" is available in Amazon in paperback 10.99$ and hardcover 18.99$ editions.

Number of pages: 129

Language: English

Rating: 8/10

Link of the book!

Review By: King's Cat

1 note · View note

lucidloving · 25 days

Text

D. Alan Holmes, Enlightenment // Signet Amenti // @cryptonature // Alan Wilsom Watts // Evan M. Cohen, "Oceans" // Nikita Gill // @pauladoodles // Julian Gough, "Minecraft End Poem" // Sleeping At Last—Saturn

4K notes · View notes

fumifooms · 10 months

Text

Dungeon food, ah, dungeon food

Laios Touden and the Winged Lion

Dungeon Meshi, Ryoko Kui

^ 1: Margaret Atwood, You Are Happy / 2: Grouper, Poison Tree / 3: Anne Carson, Plainwater: Essays and Poetry / 4: Emma Rebholz, No Good Boodsuckers / 5: Natalie Diaz, Postcolonial Love Poem / 6: Tanaka Mhishi / 7: Jenefer Shute, Life-Size / 8 : Yves Olade, Belovéd / 9: Lara Williams, Supper Club / 10: Ovid (tr. Henry T. Riley), The Story of Erysichthon from Metamorphoses / 11: Alex Lemon, Another Last Day / 12: Kathy Acker, Empire of the Senseless / 13: Grouper, Poison Tree / 14: Neil Hilborn, A Place Where Someone Loves You / 15: / 16: Bon Iver & St. Vincent, Roslyn v 17: Jess Zimmerman, Hunger Makes Me / 18: Yves Olade, Dark When It Gets Dark, “Topograph” Special credit: Entroponauts gathered most of these

#dungeon meshi #laios touden #web weaving #dunmeshi #the winged lion #dungeon meshi spoilers #spoilers #angst #did someone order some food themed autistic wrath and existential despair #i could have inserted a canon panel of the whole party hugging Laios... If there was any #touden siblings #tfw u’ve been beaten down by other people all ur life and suppressed ur trauma until it all bursts up in your face again #you were only a kid…

2K notes · View notes

molinaesque · 6 months

Text

On the topic of Raphael and him "being bad in bed".

Okay I'm only ever going to talk about this at length once and then never again. I've been avoiding talking about it until now because bringing it up always just seems to keep this topic in circles and it becomes an endless pit of nothing.

First of all, I know most of the time (like maybe 70% of the time) it's for the lolz. I get it. Hell, Raphael fans will be the FIRST to quip about this.

BUT

For those taking it seriously one way or another... It becomes such old hat VERY fast.

Those who use it as a jab towards Raphael havers are... Kinda dumb. Because it's like... Okay, and? You act as if somehow negates the entirety of his character somehow just because "HAR HAR HANDSOME DEVIL MAN IS BAD AT SEX" and it's so... vapid and boring? Also it seems a lot of people keep thinking "bad at sex" = JUST that he finishes too fast and nothing else but they seem to forget that the player character came up with that insult on the spot (rather than seeing it as a commentary about his pure selfishness and where it stems from). Haarlep is also a bias source. There's a semblance of resentment from them AND they're a damn incubus. EVERYONE'S terrible in bed in comparison (have you seen Tav? Little shit just lays there like a sack of potatoes during the Haarlep scene). This isn't me saying "Oh it means Raphael is terrific in bed because Haarlep's word cannot be trusted". HELL, no. Quite the opposite, actually. I'm saying "okay... What can I glean from that set of information?"

I feel like this goes for Raphael havers too who have this conversation. I feel like many tend to fall into this trap of odd desparity when they realise that "oh no our magnificent hot man is bad at sex" and somehow treat it as if it's forever a caveat and somehow negates the ENTIRETY of Raphael as a complex character. My first reaction when I got this information during House of Hope was laughing and then going "mmm that's so interesting and adds such a great layer to this already amazing character. Where else can I take this to". In fact, House of Hope as a quest does SO much in adding all these tidbits that make Raphael not just another boring, all knowing, god like, ineffible character. It made me love and appreciate his character even MORE. instead of going in circles and lamenting in how this is somehow "the worst thing ever", I think it's way more fun to explore it and delve into where the root of his narcissism and self esteem issues come from. The dichotomy and complexes of his character. There's SO much to talk about there and yet we're still just stuck on "haha devil man is a bottom and bad in bed" (which is another ridiculous thing btw because people seem to misconstrue bottoms as JUST being submissive. Y'all need to be more open minded 😂).

Apologies if this came off as ranty/condescending maybe. But it's coming from someone who's just minding her own business but have to see a variation of that line CONSTANTLY in the notes/tags on my art/gif posts and as I said... It gets so old REALLY fast. Like please be more imaginative than this, I beg of you. 😭

#bg3 raphael #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #I'm definitely missing on some thoughts here but I'm typing this while starving and tired #Aaaand I won't talk about it at length ever again because again #It's SO boring as a topic holy god #The dude is a goldmine of endless directions and topics and themes #We could talk about his childhood - his existential crisis of his upbringing and being half mortal and devil #We could talk about about his obsession with absolute control and freedom and power and want of that in the hells #We could talk about the myriads of ways he and Tav could continue their odd relationship if they went Team Raphael route #We could talk about his diaries #We could talk about his endless dichotomies and why it makes him such a well rounded character without giving away too much #We could talk about his obsession with the arts and literature and how much of a nerd he is for it #But no #All we talk about is his goddamn prowess in the bedroom... And that's a damn shame #Bg3 thoughts #There's the new goddamn Chains of Asmodeus out too... There's SO much we can talk a out concerning Raphael and all that new info #Come on now

99 notes · View notes

yonpote · 2 months

Text

i know ganp is cringe because youtube evil but its probably one of my fav recent dan things esp as like a follow up to coming out like he managed to turn a therapy session into a fun but also deep jaunt into his mind and all the phannies in there are cuties and rage rooms and abi the dommy mommy guardian angel and phil my beloved perfect wonderful guy just casually traipsing thru the corridors of dans mind its good idc if its cringe youtube promo

#i should put it in the existential crisis playlist #i think it fits the existential theme and as like an aftermath of BIG and

56 notes · View notes

cas-backwards-tie · 11 months

Text

Chapter Two: Cruel New World

Heiress of Gotham

Masterlist | Previous Chapter

Bruce Wayne x Daughter!Reader

Summary: It's your first-day living life in Wayne Manor. A new house, a new school, and of course there's the new siblings thing too.

Warnings: Negativity, Damian's Jealous, Talks of Death, Numbness, Depression, Disassociation,t Misandry, Crying, Suicidal Thoughts (if u squint), Existentialism, Cursing, Yelling, Outbursts, Anti-Police Rhetoric, Injury, Blood, Catcalling

Mentions of: Suicide, Body Fluids (mucus),

Words: 6.7k

A/N: POV kind of switches in some points, but I think it's fine. You know when it's the reader and when it's more of a third-person pov.

"Please take a seat, Miss Wayne," Alfred suggests as he pulls out a chair directly center of the long black cherry wood table. Your father sits at the opposite end of the room at the head of the table, while a smaller black-haired child sits with his back to the kitchen doors. There's one other person who sits directly across the table from where Alfred stands behind the chair meant for you.

"Are you serious? We really have to do this today of all days?" The child whines.

"I thought I told you no technology at the table this morning, Tim," Your father tells the person you're meant to sit across from. Ipad propped up on the table beside his plate, the teenage boy's grayish-blue eyes remain on the screen for a few moments as he shovels forkfuls of eggs into his mouth. In a tacit conversation, they make eye contact for a moment before he flips the cover back over the device and shoves it into the backpack by his feet. "Thank you.”

"You know, Bruce, I really need to get this essay done by this afternoon.” Tim—as you now know—explains.

"Oh? And what's it on?" Always wanting to get more involved in the kids' lives, Bruce attempts some sort of civil conversation other than indulging the begrudging eye-roll Damian throws him from across the table.

"It's on-" Tim begins to explain.

"You're really making us eat breakfast all together at-" Damian interjects.

"-the table like the nice, loving family we are? Pssh, you're lucky everyone's actually here this morning!" Dick cuts Damian off in an attempt to dissuade the boy's frustrations and some of his, perhaps just, points. Walking over to his chair he pulls it out enough to plop down.

"Everyone's coming?! Just for her?!" Damian, as you now know, complains.

"I'm afraid Stephanie has a doctor’s appointment, and Jason is... well," Bruce doesn't finish his explanation as he glances around the table.

"Jason," Dick defends, even if he's still somewhat suspicious of the man's current motives. "You'll meet them later, I'm sure," he tosses toward you as he sits at his chair between Tim and Damian still tying his tie.

"Why are you even here? Don't you have work? It's a Tuesday!" Damian chastizes Dick.

"Well if you must know, I have a few suspects I need to bring in for interviews today. They're extraditing a few people since the uptick last week."

"But I thought that-" A look from Dick makes Damian's thoughts linger in the air for a moment as he cuts himself off. Right. Next subject.

"I'm a detective over in Bludhaven," he explains to you, "Luckily I don't live here anymore, so... hopefully that lessens the overwhelming sense of a constant presence of people," he jokes in an attempt to lighten the mood.

With a nod, you finally reach for your fork. It’d been bad enough that it seems more and more people are continuing to engage you when really, it’s been hell enough to process all the transitions currently taking place in your life. While it’s nice in some sense that you’d have breakfast with your Mom on school days like this, having someone cook for you, let alone push in your chair is… well… strange.

“Hello? He’s talking to you,” the sassy child spits at you, garnering your attention. Eyes flitting from him to the person sitting across from you beside Tim, you offer what you can in an attempted smile. It comes across more as a grimace than anything. The Detective politely calls your name, finally tightening his tie as he finishes dressing.

“It’s okay, I get it. This is all a lot. I asked if you ate breakfast with your—“ he spares a quick glance at your Father before it settles back on you, “—Mom, often before everything?”

Though he smiles and has a jovial and pleasant attitude, you can’t bring yourself to really return the favor. While he’s extending an olive branch of friendship, one you’d usually take up, you’re unable to. “Yeah. Nothing like this though,” you mutter, voice surprising even you with the quiet quality to it.

While the rest of breakfast is filled with questions and trivial conversation, you feel off, with a weary sense of the world. It’s almost like everything is a dream. Once you’ve finished your food, your eyes raise to take in the vase of flowers and candles on either side of it in their ornate silver holders sitting in the middle of the table. “Can I be excused?” Suddenly turned toward your Father, you await his hesitant permission before getting up and heading back to the room they’ve deemed yours just last night.

“She didn’t even look up at me when she answered any of my questions. That’s not good,” Dick points out. There's a hint of concern in his voice as he eyes Bruce.

“She’s probably still grieving her Mom. It only happened yesterday,” Tim proposes with a shrug as he looks up at Dick, who sits to his left.

“Shit,” Dick whispers.

“Do we even know how it happened?” Damian asks from the end of the table, hands clasped in front of himself like a miniature businessman.

“Damian,” Tim whispers with hostility, eyeing him for the inappropriate nature of his comment. Though he’s also curious, as it seems Dick is too, as they all look toward Bruce.

“What? I mean, her Mom dies and suddenly she’s a Wayne? No way,” Damian speaks with confidence.

With a clearing of his throat, Bruce stands. “It’s true. I… hadn’t-“ he begins, though hesitates as this wasn’t really a conversation he’d wanted to have with his teenage son of all people. “It wasn’t planned. It was a one-time thing back when I was a little more reckless with keeping up my image.”

“So during your Party Bruce years? Oh my god,” Dick quietly laughs with incredulity. He’d known about it, sure, that ‘phase’ of his Father… yet he hadn’t anticipated him to be that reckless. The look of guilt upon Bruce’s face is all it takes for them to know it’s true.

“I did the math, I looked into her mother’s history, and… it all adds up. I wouldn’t have taken custody of her yesterday if I wasn’t certain.”

“So she was an accident? Ha!” Damian laughs as if he wasn’t technically an accident on his Father’s behalf as well.

“Hey! I will not hear any jokes or have any information imparted on her with dislike. It wasn’t her fault, and I won’t see anything but acceptance and welcoming from you three, will I?” His stern voice sends chills down their spines to some degree. While Bruce doesn’t often take up a fatherly role in terms other than the awful jokes and rare wistful advice, this is a side none of them have ever gotten quite used to.

“Fine. But I’m not changing my entire life around for her. Jon is still coming over after school,” Damian announces with a click of his tongue and a cross of his arms over his chest.

“Good. Now I know this absolutely will not leave the room but I looked into her cause of death last night and it was a car crash.” With that, Bruce leaves the table.

“Sometimes things are just life, I guess,” Dick thinks aloud, still processing the information.

How cool is it that this room has a window seat? Absolutely awesome! Unfortunately, that’s not something you can fully appreciate as everything has already started to feel numb. They’d explained at the hospital that it’d been a car crash. You know the number of stitches they’d placed, the degree of burns she’d taken as they attempted several grafts to save her life… yet it wasn’t enough. There was nothing they could do. A frown overtakes your expression as a pinch of immense sadness pricks your heart.

“I’ll do it-“ you hear his voice from outside the door, “-I’m sure.” With three knocks and no response, it creaks open. Unbothered to check who it is, you watch as the rain droplets roll down the leaves on the tree outside your window and slowly drip toward the ground below. He clears his throat and shifts on his feet before speaking. “I really hate to do this to you. I know everyone processes things in their own time, but I’ve got to make arrangements on top of work today and so the best thing I can think to do is get you into a routine.” A look in his direction is all it takes; uniform neatly folded in his extended arms, your Father presents it to you with a sympathetic look on his face.

“What about Melville High?” The question leaves your lips, and all he can think is that you’re too innocent for this world. He doesn't even know you, but already the world has taken too much from you.

“It’s… too far, I’m afraid. Gotham Metro Academy is where Damian goes, and it has a lot of better opportunities from what I’ve seen. I’m sure you’ll like it once you get settled in.”

It isn’t the end of the conversation. While you’re barely responding, he imparts as much wisdom and comfort as he’s able, but it goes in one ear and out the other. All too soon you find yourself running your hands over the lapels of your navy uniform’s blazer. A prep school with uniforms was something you’d never imagined in your future—in fact—it’d been far from it! Growing up with enough money to keep you comfortable was fine, but prep school was never in the cards. You and your Mom knew that. Without too much thought to your hair and any accessories or makeup, Alfred is rushing you downstairs and into the awaiting Rolls Royce.

“Had you ever been to Gotham prior, Miss?” Alfred asks from the driver’s seat as you pull away from the infamous Wayne Manor. It looks much more opulent and welcoming in the daylight, yet it still has an intimidating air of aristocracy to you.

“Um… just once, a long time ago.” It hurts your chest to think about; there’d been a weekend you’d gone with your Mom a few years back when she’d wanted to show you all the sights. From the shows to the Financial District, to the historical sights and monuments, it’d been a weekend to remember, truly. If memory serves you right, you even still have a sweater and baseball cap tucked away somewhere from that trip.

Expecting some sort of snarky remark from the child you’ve deduced is Damian, you finally take him in. Sure, everyone’s heard of him. He’s a celebrity for what it’s worth: ‘Bruce Wayne’s Secret Son’ the headlines read. It was national news at the time, his Mom still remaining a mystery. His skin is darker than yours, and while his eyes are a striking green, you can’t deny that he has a resemblance to your Father. Neither can you deny your resemblance, either, really.

“What?” Damian finally bites. With a quiet, automatic ‘sorry’ and a shift of your eyes out the window and away from the kid on his phone, you can’t help but think about it.

Was Bruce Wayne really as much of a playboy as the media made him out to be? Yours and Damian’s mom would surely proffer the confirmation. Yet, having met the legendary man behind the technological empire, you aren’t sure he really seems the type. As much as your mother tried to keep you from boys and men, you’d met more than your fair share of assholes. Womanizers, scumbags, misogynists; no matter the differences in look or personality, there were always a few similarities they’d have in common, usually in their speech, behavior, or beliefs.

Nevertheless, it’s odd that you’ve been able to place the term ‘Father’ in his grasp so easily. Your mother had feigned a forgetful memory oftentimes when you’d ask during your childhood. Only offering the slightest of details and assuring you that he’d left the both of you as a baby. It was only as you grew that she eventually let you know that whatever relationship the two of them had, it wasn’t as serious as one would expect of a mother and father. She’d never named him, exactly, having always told you it wasn’t important. He wasn’t worth searching for, seeking out, begging for some answer you surely didn’t want to hear. Why? Why did you leave us? Why don’t you care about us? It was all a waste of time. That much, you knew. Never, even in your dreams would you imagine it’d be the Bruce Wayne.

Before you know it, the trees and streetlights are turning into buildings and stoplights. While you're nervous about going to a new school, it also provides a bit of excitement at the thought of reinventing yourself and making new friends. Surely with the funding from Wayne Enterprises, it'll have more clubs, activities, and maybe more sports, too. You'd always wanted to try out for sports or even be on the varsity squads if possible. As the car slows along the street, Alfred meets your anxious eyes in the rearview mirror.

"Damian, I expect you'll be there if Miss--" he says your name, "--needs anything. I'm going to park the car and escort you inside, as there happens to be a bit of preliminary paperwork your Father has requested I accompany you to fill out."

Surprisingly, Damian doesn't refute Alfred's sentiment, though as he parks the car, your half-brother hastily exits, headphones still in his ears as he scrolls through his phone. A quiet 'see ya later' is heard before the door slams shut. Soon enough you've filled out the registration forms and are given a schedule and tour. Alfred offers you a courteous nod and a lingering hand on your shoulder before he departs for the day. "I'll be here to pick you up when the school lets out. You can do this, Miss," he assures with a warm smile.

It was somewhat embarrassing that you'd had to interrupt class to join in on eleventh-grade, American Literature, yet upon introduction, it doesn't go past your observation that many of the kids start whispering to one another. While a few people attempt to talk to you, for the most part, you feel overwhelmed with all the information and the way the lesson quickly continues. Trying to catch up and take everything in, it all feels like too much, and the unintentional tendency to disassociate naturally begins to happen. You zone out for most of the classes, the day passing in whirlwinds and sympathetic smiles from the teachers.

When school lets out, you find Alfred exactly where he'd parked this morning in front of the school. Leant against the car with his hands clasped in front of him, you begin making your way down the steps to meet him. Two boys quickly pass you, both laughing as they playfully smack one another's arms and talk in hushed voices. As you approach the car you realize it's Damian and some boy. He has friends? Who would be friends with him? He seemed so rude earlier, you can't help but think. Maybe he's just upset because you came along.

"Who's this?" The boy in the blue jacket asks as he watches you join Alfred.

"Mister Kent," Alfred greets the boy, "I take it you'll be joining us tonight?" When the boy flashes a white smile full of bright teeth up at him with an eager nod, you take it this is a family friend.

"She's... apparently Dad's daughter," Damian reveals, eyes slicing across the space till the intimidating green orbs land on you. "Don't mind her. I planned a few things we could maybe do when we get to the Manor! I just got Mario Kart Ten and it's supposed to have a bunch of new maps and characters!"

Upon Alfred opening the car door, all three of you slide into the vehicle, the boy separating you and Damian in the backseat. "So... your sister, you mean," He laughs. Despite what he'd said about ignoring you, the boy turns his smile your way with an extension of his hand. "I'm Jon! Damian's best friend. I actually go to West Reeves but I got out early so I could catch a ride to your house. You are..?"

Revealing your name, he repeats it with a fondness as you shake his hand. "I don't know that I'd say best," Damian groans with a roll of his eyes.

"Oh hush it! Yes, you would," Jon argues, nudging your half-brother with his body as the two laugh.

"How was your first day, Miss? Did it go alright?" Alfred asks in the rearview mirror before pulling off the school's sidewalk and onto the street.

While this question was unexpected, you can't answer it. Was today good? You're unsure that any sort of sentiment could capture what today was like, truly. With your mother's death, the move, the new school, new people, and the luxury of it all... you feel unable to describe it all in one simple response. Sufficing for a nod, you purse your lips before opting for a quiet "Thanks." If nothing else, you can't deny that this old man has been kind to you since the moment you arrived. It seems he cares, but... isn't that also his job? You're not sure how butlers work, exactly, but surely that detail encompasses part of his job description, you think.

With the car parked in the driveway, you all exit the vehicle and head inside. Alfred asks if anyone wants a snack, however, you shake your head and point upstairs, signaling your destination.

You aren't sure what comes over you, a wave of hurt--sadness-angst, pain... there are endless synonyms for whatever it is that washes over you. It winds up there, lingering in your chest like a weight you hadn't realized was weighing your shoulders down. Maybe it was the attention, the comments, the questions, the energy it took to put on a 'fine' facade, yet it all finally comes crumbling down. With the click of the lock on the door, you make the final steps toward your unfamiliar bed. Letting the backpack fall from your shoulders haphazardly on the carpeted floors, you flop onto the bed face first, chest hitting the plush comforter before the rest of your body follows, the rebound sending your body bouncing slightly. Face screwing up into one of pain, you do your best to hold it back, and you're not quite sure why. No one's around, no one cares, so why won't you let yourself cry? Would that make it all real? Would that mean you're accepting her death? That she's really gone? That you're letting go? Moving on with your life? Thoughts of guilt consume you as you feel as though you should've known, you should've called her, said something, asked her to pick you up that day. Anything would've changed the chain in the course of events, right?

It's then, with the realization of the butterfly effect that a sob wracks your chest and tears stream down your cheeks. Like rapid fire, the sting of hot, salty tears cascade down your skin leaving streaks of mascara in its wake, you're sure. Screaming into your pillow, you can't help but struggle to breathe as you're not sure what to do. How do you move on from this? Where do you begin? What's left in your life, really? What does anything matter if she's gone? Your mom? The only person who's been there through your whole life from the beginning till... well, now. She was your best friend, your confidant, your partner in crime, your... everything. At the end of every day you always knew you'd have her to go back to. Never has the fear of being alone crossed your mind until right this second. Now you understand why so many people commit suicide each year. If their pain feels anything like this, then you understand. All you can think, wish, and mentally pray for is this to stop. For the tears to stop falling and your breath to stop coming in quick bursts of panicked, hyperventilating heaves. Snot runs down your lips and it's hard to see with the blurriness of the tears in your eyes.

After a while, the crying eventually dies down and you lie--wishfully--lifeless on your bed. A small hand towel you'd grabbed from the bathroom is folded under your face where the tears would fall and you've folded it over the few times you'd blown your mucousy snot into it. Silence consumes the room, and you've found yourself simply staring up at the ceiling for what feels like hours. Constantly caught in your thoughts, between crying and being eerily silent, you're unsure if all this was destined to happen. Or maybe it was supposed to come out sooner. Maybe it's only because you've been pushing everything down into a deep dark place that only feels safe for you to express once you're absolutely sure you're alone.

In the midst of a quiet moment, your eyes and throat sore, head throbbing, there's a knock at the door. "Dinner will be served in just a few minutes." It's Alfred. You hope he hadn't heard your crying, though if he had... what can you really do? Nothing... just like everything else in life. You can't do anything.

With a quick splash of cold water on your face, hands combing your hair down, and making sure you look as presentable as possible, you're ready. Aside from the slight red tinge that lingers around your eyes and the dark circles beneath them that are impossible to get rid of, you head downstairs. While you're sat in the same spot as this morning, you're joined by many more people this time. Bruce and Damian both sit at the ends of the table again, Tim sits across from you, though this time he's flanked by the Detective, and another man you don't recognize. He has a white stripe in his hair and a longer face than the others, but it suits him with his angular features. On your right sits a very tall and broad man clad in a business suit and glasses. Past him, sits Jon--who you'd met this afternoon--and across from him there's one more person who makes the table uneven in terms of people. It's a blonde girl, with an enticing sparkle in her eyes and a charming smile from what you can see from the other side of the table.

"This is my good friend, and Jon's dad, Clark Kent," Bruce introduces, gesturing to the man beside you. Said man holds out his big hand and offers a friendly smile.

"Pleasure to meet you," he recites your name and you reciprocate the handshake. It's good to know that not everyone in Damian's association is a complete asshole, you suppose.

"Nice to meet you too," you respond quietly. With the meal served, everyone dives into eating, leaving you a little unsettled. While your mother had come from a very religious upbringing, she hadn't forced it on you. Yet, you'd still find yourself and your mom praying before dinner to whatever God or higher deity might exist. In a way, it was more to give thanks each day for being alive and having food on the table. Sometimes it was a conversation starter when someone would mention what their day entailed, the good things they'd seen, or maybe the bad things they'd ask for protection from. Nevertheless, it's clear that this family operates differently; digging your fork into the fancy black-peppered pork roast, you use your knife to slice a piece off for yourself. Not in the mood to talk at the moment, you simply listen to what everyone's discussing.

With the lack of response they'd gotten from you, Bruce opts for talking to Clark about business and how things have been. Dick and Tim fill in the mysterious man on the little they knew of you. The blonde girl talks with the younger boys at the end of the table at moments but also butts into the other conversation among the young adults diagonally across the table from you. Stabbing multiple string green beans onto your fork, you don't make eye contact with anyone as you simply try to get through this dinner. Maybe then you can go upstairs and try to relax away from everyone.

"-something we shouldn't really talk about too much, but I can guess the funeral will be by the end of next week with all the arrangements I made today," Bruce speaks to Clark.

"Wait, what?" Your voice is quiet, only drawing the attention of those sitting closest to you. Butting into their conversation, you raise your eyes to meet your Father's surprised blue eyes.

"The funeral will be at the end of next week, I'm presuming. It'll take a little while with all the arrangements," he repeats. Though he seems hesitant, he doesn't keep himself from speaking it again. After all, he's someone who stands behind his actions.

"What? Why?" Your fork clanks against the chinaware, lips parted in shock as you dropped it. "You made the arrangements without me?"

"Yes. It was important that you go to school and it was all right there in the will." Forkful of mashed potatoes lingering in the air as his blue eyes bore into yours, you find your breath beginning to rise and fall at a faster rate.

Of course, none of them know your buttons and what it looks like once they've been pressed, but if your mother was here right now, she'd know. With a screech of the chair being pushed back hastily and a quiet slam of your palms on the table to stand, you're livid. "Why would you do that? How could you do that?!" Hands shaking, you begin to gesticulate, any former semblance of masked placation now fallen. All eyes are transfixed on your figure. "She's my mother! Mine! You don't even know her- I do! I know what she would've wanted, and this isn't it. What, just because your name was on my birth certificate that means you get to take over my life? You, who doesn't even know anything about me, and yet you act like we're best friends! Your children call you 'Bruce' and you have no problem with it! You don't get to just come into my life and fuck everything up! You sleep with her once, what? Sixteen years ago and now you come in and take everything?" A wry laugh leaves your lips, "Well, more for you, I guess! Did you ever stop to think that there's a reason I had no idea who you were? Let alone, why she never told me? She never once asked for your money or your help, and now I'm just here. All my stuff? Gone. All my friends and family? Gone, a-"

"-We can go get your-" The Detective begins.

"-Oh, shut up! You really think anyone wants to hear what you have to say? You're adopted, you're not even related to me! You don't know me. None of you do! The only good thing about this is I don't have to put up with being interrogated by the BPD every goddamn time I walk down the halls of school. But I'd at least take that over never seeing my friends again!"

"-What do you mean?" He follows up, commenting over you. Everyone else looks around the table silently, taken aback by what they're witnessing.

"You want to 'Bring Justice to Bludhaven', I guess, when everyone already knows what happened to Perdy Chapman! Everyone except the BPD, I guess!"

"How dare you?! You can't speak to my brother like that, you-"

"Finally! The only person I'm actually related to here. My half-brother, the mysterious 'Wayne Boy' who doesn't have a mom! You have no fucking empathy for me, you've been giving me shit all day! And yet you're the only person I would've expected to actually give a damn! So sit your ass down, pendejo twerp!"

Without asking for permission you storm out of the dining room and through the living room toward the staircase.

"I'm guessing you're done with your dinner?"

The voice stops you in your tracks, hand on the banister, you let out a loud sigh, shoulders falling before you try to maintain a jovial demeanor when turning to him. "I don't need you to do anything for me, Alfred. I think it's fucking ridiculous to have a servant when it's the twenty-first century, for crying out loud!"

"It's my job. I assure you he pays me, if that makes it any better," Alfred speaks in a calm tone, unfazed by your words or behavior.

"Great! Well, I still don't need you doing things for me that I can do myself. Thank you, though," while the words come out through tense, grit-together teeth, you turn and head upstairs. It doesn't take long to get to your backpack, slinging it over your shoulders. Luckily, this was the one thing you knew you could do with the advantages of not only your room but a backyard. Opening the window, you climb out onto the tree branch a few feet away.

Soon enough, you're on solid ground, out of the boundaries and gate of Wayne Manor. With a heaving chest and shaky hands, you speedwalk down the road toward where you know the bridge will be heading into Bludhaven from the transfer point on the Eastern Seaboard. This time for whatever reason, you can't bring yourself to cry. Maybe all the tears had already flooded from your body this evening, but nothing emanates from your tear ducts. Eyeing the blood that's already starting to dry on your palms from the splinters and the last little drop you'd had to take from the tree, you scraped your palm.

It'd been silent upon your departure from the dining room. Bruce insisted that everyone return to eating, that everything was fine, and that this wasn't unexpected. While things returned normal for the most part, Jason excused himself with a look toward his father. It wasn't until an alarm rang from Bruce's phone that he groaned and pulled it out only to find the surveillance outside capturing your figure leaving the premises. Announcing what the 'emergency' was, at everyone's persistence, Jon ran out of the room before Bruce could elect Clark to go check where you were headed.

It's a lone road, cypress trees lining it and gravel-filled sides. With it only being garnered by private property of the elite, and no real intersections for miles, no cars pass in either direction. As the sound of a faraway motorcycle approaches, you don't let it deter you. It'll be at least an hour or more before any of them realize you've left the property. They all think you're just upstairs crying to yourself, most likely. Rage still swirls in your gut, however, it's drained somewhat, being replaced by the determination to get home. A billionaire, his family, servants, and even a few splinters won't stop you. It doesn't strike you as odd that the sound of the nearing motorcycle slows; after all, not many people hitchhike on this road, you're guessing, and with the speed limit being higher in this area.

Jon had been faster, intrigued for some reason--his justification upon later questioning--to find out where you were going. Clark trails behind him, neither of them bothering to change clothes as they fly above the closest road, trailing you from a distance silently. It's only when they spot the motorcyclist approaching you that they hold their position.

"Where do you think you're going?" The voice is unfamiliar. While being catcalled isn't a stranger to you, it's still annoying that it'll happen in the middle of fucking nowhere. Ignoring the motorcycle that now stalls to your left, you continue walking with determination, eyes ahead and fists wrapped around each strap of your backpack upon your stiff shoulders. "Really? You're gonna ignore me and play it that way? Get on the motorcycle," the man calls your nickname, which elicits a reaction from you.

Eyes widening and lips parting, and eyebrows shooting upward, you finally look at the man. You don't remember his name, but he'd been sitting at the table across from you between Tim and that Detective. Expression immediately turning into one of anger, your jaw setting, you feel reinspired to make your way to Bludhaven. "I'm not going back! I can't," you argue, "plus I don't even know you. Why would I go with you?!"

A chuckle leaves his lips and you hear the shifting of plastic before the motorcycle revs in a way that elicits an automatic jump from your body. The motorcycle speeds a few feet down the road before it does a loop and skirts into a stopped position just a few feet in front of you. Legs on either side of the vehicle, the man flicks the visor of his helmet back up and reaches into the back compartment, producing another. Before you have time to react, he throws the helmet your way. Hands instinctively reach out to catch it instead of letting yourself get hit with the speed of it. You wince; it pushes the splinters further into your palm. You come to a standstill a few feet away from him as you lift the helmet slowly only to see the blood starting to pool around them again.

"I'm Jason," he reveals, "I don't know where you plan to go, running away like this, but you don't think the old man will notice you're gone sooner than later? What's your plan then?"

Irritation and a desperate anger linger in your chest as your eyes finally raise to meet his. "Well, Jason, it's none of your business! Regardless, it doesn't matter. You can't stop me." Approaching him, you're about to shove the helmet in his hands when he raises one of his own, palm facing you.

"Truce? Look, I know you don't know me, but I was like you. I grew up in Crime Alley and had to steal tires for a living. I tried to steal the-" he stops himself, another chuckle escaping his lips, "the old man's, and that's how we met. I get it... it's not easy, and, no one expects you to just go along with everything, alright? If you're thinking about going home, well, that'll take what-? Hours? You really want to walk for hours to... where are you from, again? Bludhaven? What part?"

"Canaveron District, yeah," you respond gruffly, some of the tension leaving your shoulders.

"You won't get there for another three hours walking, at best. If you just want to get your things, well, I can take you there. But we'd have to get everyone else-"

"No! no, I don't want-"

"-If you let me finish," he warns, "I was going to say get the others to help tomorrow or this weekend, we can get the rest. Alright? Just essentials, and I bring you right back here. Got it?" His eyes search yours for a moment before he adds, "That's the best I can do for you, kid. Otherwise, I've gotta drag you back to the Manor kicking and screaming, which I really don't want to do."

"He sent you?" You weren't too surprised, only that if anyone was coming, you figured it would've been Bruce, himself. It's only when Jason notices you looking around and contemplating your decision that he cocks his head toward the Manor, signaling the Kents to leave. He's got this.

"No. I came, because... unlike those other dicks, I actually know what it's like to come from, well, somewhere that's not the greatest," he admits, a look of sympathy and understanding in his eyes.

"And this isn't some scam? You just tell me this, get me on the bike, and then take me back to the White House?" This elicits a laugh from the man, and he runs a gloved hand through his black and white hair.

"Look, I don't know how much they've mentioned about me, but... let's just say I'm not exactly in Bruce's good favor if you know what I mean." Reading the look on your face, he expands. "I'm not exactly the goody-two-shoes of the family. If you want your stuff, I'll take you, but only because I know he wouldn't do that."

"Why?" Standing in silence, the two of you search one another's eyes for any sense of understanding. It's tacit, the question that you both know you were really asking, yet he doesn't make you voice it: why would you do this for me?

"Because I know what it's like to have everything taken from you." A sigh leaves his lips, and you can tell simply from his stance and demeanor that this man has been through much more than he's letting on. "If you wanna do this, we should get going. I can't be out too late tonight. You coming? Or should I call the old man and let him know what your plan is?" With a raised brow and eyes flicking toward the helmet in your hands and back to your eyes, he awaits an answer.

"I'm coming." Sliding the helmet over your head, you approach the vehicle. "Just... don't tell him, please! At least don't tell him for another... fifteen minutes?" The request elicits a questioning look before a smirk replaces it.

"Deal. Hang on," he requests. Shifting the bike to stand upright, he leans closer and reaches under your chin to clip a strap in place you hadn't noticed. He tightens it, checks with you, and then gets onto the bike. "You ever ridden a motorcycle?"

With a thick swallow, your eyes shift from his to the bike. Sliding over the seat, you're unsure where to place your feet, but Jason instructs you, making sure you're comfortable before you slide your arms around his waist and brace for takeoff. Visor flicked down and everything in place, he revs the motorcycle before speeding down the road.

Beneath the helmet, the ends of your hair tickle your arm as it whips through the air. Cool breeze wooshes past your body, arms able to feel the chill through the blazer, your legs gaining goosebumps through the exhilarating experience. Cypress trees turn into willows, which become more and more sparse as gates and brick walls slowly fade with the elitist properties into cemeteries and then into more forest before turning more industrial. As different plants and factories appear, so do the cars. Jason weaves in and out of traffic as he maneuvers his way down the highway and onto the bridge that winds around Gotham and finally goes into Bludhaven. The lights and sights passing this fast is intimidating at the thought of crashing, however, it's thrilling in a way you've also never experienced. Skyscrapers line the island, lights, signs, and monuments only add a sort of fascination and exuberant liveliness to it. As the Wayne Enterprises sign passes, you finally feel comfortable enough to remove one hand from Jason's side for a moment, long enough to flash a quick middle finger at the sign before fearfully grabbing onto his jacket again.

With a laugh and shake of his head, he removes a hand from the handlebar to flip a bird alongside her, eliciting what he thinks is a laugh. Nevertheless, he can feel the fear in her grip so he returns his hand to the handlebars and makes sure to keep his focus on the road. It's not likely they'd crash, not unless someone was out for him and knows his bike, and his civilian identity. Not that he goes too far out of his way to hide it, but it's not impossible. He's confident in his abilities, but considering they don't know each other the best, he doesn't do anything to further scare her.

As he draws nearer to the Canaveron District, he slows down enough for her to give him directions. Parking the bike outside the apartment complex she's identified, Jason helps her off the bike and stashes the helmets in the back. "Lead the way, little lady," he encourages.

~~~~~~

forever taglist: @ohdamnadam , @safarigirlsp , @jynzandtonic , @moonlightsolo

hog taglist: @luvly-writer , @clairese1980

308 notes · View notes

bardic-tales · 7 months

Text

Title: The Legacy of Seraphine

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 541

Fandom: Final Fantasy VII

Warnings: au: canon divergent, graphic violence (including dismemberment), dark themes, main character death, existential angst, cosmic themes, emotional turmoil, romantic themes, fantasy violence, and ethical dilemmas

Summary: In the eerie depths of the Northern Caves on Gaia, Bianca, a celestial guardian, faces a heart-wrenching choice. Prompt: Day 01: Honorbound

Created for: @angstober

Tags: @starryeyes2000 @residentdormouse @megandaisy9 @themaradwrites @prehistoric-creatures @arrthurpendragon

The eerie green light from the Lifestream illuminated her facial features. The green ethereal river flowed past a large rock overhand. Tiny glowing orbs rose from the gleaming beryl-colored river.

Bianca Moore stood in the middle of the large cavernous chamber and gazed up at the gelatinous chrysalis. She smiled up at the disembodied body of Sephiroth slowly reforming within the jelly vessel as her violet eyes glimmered in the natural light.

A severed lower forearm suspended in time next to his entire upper torso. Bits of ropy, gray intestines hung out of his severed bottom half: a testament to Cloud Strife’s cowardice. This was what the great Sephiroth was reduced to: an upper torso and an arm.

A sweet inner voice interrupted her unending vigil in the Northern Cave. “Daughter, your destiny with this man and the creature that inhabits him will lead to innocent bloodshed.”

Bianca ignored the voice. Seraphine, the celestial archangel, had given up her life for Bianca when the latter woman was only an unborn child within Seraphine’s womb. Then Seraphine sent Bianca forward in time to save her from a cosmic threat, but she used her last of celestial essence to accompany her daughter on Bianca’s life’s journey.

Seraphine always reminded Bianca that her duty to the realms was more important than any relationships. Bianca understood that her life was not meant to have an abundance of people in it, according to her mother. It was to be a solitary life as she carried out her mother’s work. Seraphine told Bianca that when the later woman dared to hope for something grander than what God — and, of course, Seraphine — had chosen for her. She was a child with a destiny far reaching mortal understanding. Her own life didn’t belong to her.

Bianca stepped up to the chamber where the silver-haired man currently stayed in stasis. She reached up and gripped the gnarled tree roots that held the chrysalis in place. Her gaze softened as she looked onto his visage: a heart-shape face, white brows, and bottom-heavy lips. For the brief, heartbreaking time she knew him, this man had always been a pretty boy, but more importantly, he was a love lost to Bianca.

“Listen to me, Bianca,” Seraphine insisted. “You will be a guardian of the celestial and mortal realms. This man and the creature within will need to be slain. Our honor and your future duty demands you see it through.”

My honor demands I slay the man that I love? The question echoed through Bianca’s heart. Her heart clenched, and for a moment, she had trouble catching her breath. The only sound was the soothing rhythm of the Lifestream passing through that part of the cave system.

Her large black wings wrapped around her as her SOLDIER suspenders slid down her shoulder. She never felt so torn before.

It cannot be. Bianca pressed her lips together in a slight grimace. Bianca refused to make a choice that would harm him in order to protect her honor. There was no justice in cutting him down while he was reforming. She couldn’t betray her own sense of honor for Seraphine’s zealous drive.

Still, she felt the pull of that destiny that seemed laid out for her. She feared it.

4 notes · View notes

prototypelq · 9 months

Text

did I watch another supercut of an Outer Wilds playthrough? yes. have I done it multiple times before and played the game a lot myself? yes

Will I ever stop bawling my freakin eyes out each time at the ending? No

btw the playthrough I saw was done by a astrophysicist and it was a great watch, I highly recommend it if you for any reason can't experience the game yourself, or if you're looking to try to remember the blind playthrough feelings as a veteran.

youtube

I highly recommend trying out the game first if you've never played it before. There can only be one blind playthrough of this game and it will be the best experience possible. Please try out Outer Wilds.

#i cry about outer wilds therefore i am alive #theres literally no stopping the outer wilds feels #outer wilds #What A Game #if you love space you'll love this game #if you like existential themes youll like this game #if you loved the Everything Everywhere All At Once youll love this game #also please watch this movie if you haven't #its the most profound movie i have ever seen #also play outer wilds its incredible #its the most breathtaking awestriking beautiful fun game ever #its also the scariest game i ever played #its just incredible in every possible aspect #Youtube

127 notes · View notes

cellarspider · 2 months

Text

4/?? Meeting the Prometheus crew. Hmm.

(Previous) | (Index) | (Next)

We return to the movie that I want to fold, spindle, and mutilate, Prometheus.

Time to actually meet the human crew.

Hooboy. I am feeling David’s dead-eyed look here. Content warning for jumpscare Charlize Theron, brief mention of vomit, depiction of smoking, and whatever the hell is going on with these people.

First off, there is Vickers (Charlize Theron). Her reveal implies that she has escaped containment, and is probably scuttling around in the vents somewhere. No, in fact, she is doing pushups. She asks David if anyone’s died with all the concern of an inconvenienced accountant, because she is a Cold Corpo Queen who is going to be an asshole to everyone throughout the movie.

This includes David, who, again, may be meeting his makers for the first time here.

On the other hand, this has more dignity to it than the rest of the crew. They’re currently stumbling around and horfing up their two-year-old lunches, a grand tradition in the Alien franchise.

Charming.

Indeed, this is basically a recitation of a scene from Alien and Aliens: Everyone wakes up and feels like crap, except for a machine-like character and, in Aliens, a Black military dude, Sergeant Apone (Al Matthews), who wakes up and immediately chomps down on a cigar.

youtube

On an unrelated note, meet Captain Janek (Idris Elba). He’s smoking a cigarillo and setting up a Christmas tree on the ship’s pool table, while a nameless white guy appears to have ragdolled in the corner. Vickers disapproves.

We meet the last two crew members who are going to have enough of a presence in the plot to get names: Millburn (Rafe Spall) and Fifield (Sean Harris). Millburn is an awkward glasses-wearing dork of a biologist. So far, so realistic.

Fifield appears to be attempting to channel Sheamus the wrestler during a heel-y season. He isn’t here to make friends, he’s here to get paid. He’s here to win.

He’s a fucking geologist.

Sure, there’s a lot of geologists who work for extractive industries that probably are just there for the paycheck, but I don’t know how one of them ends up being selected for a mission of POTENTIAL FIRST CONTACT WITH AN ALIEN CULTURE.

This was absolutely baffling in the theater. What in the hell was this scene? This character? It felt so out of place. Little did I know that this was, in fact, setting expectations for the rest of the movie.

The human characters are not treated in the same way David is. We are not often invited to consider them as beings with inner lives, they are stock characters that you may or may not have previous affection for. And because we functionally meet David first, their presence is jarring.

Because these aren’t just stock characters from just any genre, they’re stock characters from a horror movie. Several different kinds of horror movie, with one bonus character trait if they're lucky. Elizabeth Shaw is the final girl (plus religious background), Charlie Holloway is the jock boyfriend (plus allegedly scientist), Millburn is the nervous, glasses-wearing nerd. Fifield the geologist is, bafflingly, the mercenary who’s Just There For The Money (plus rocks), Vickers is the heartless corpo, and Idris Elba is the calm and unflustered military guy. The rest of the characters, regardless of their role, are therefore consigned to being nameless dead meat.

This didn’t have to be the case. A different vibe could’ve been chosen. The marketing tied this movie to Alien. You’re introduced to everyone in that movie through the lens of their average, unremarkable jobs (in spaaaaace!), and you understand how the situation they find themselves in is completely, terrifyingly overwhelming.

These are scientists and highly skilled professionals (in spaaaaace!). We have successful horror films out there, where scientists are placed beyond their limits. This used to be a whole thing in the 50s, where Serious Men of Science were sometimes the first and last line of defense against extremely rubbery aliens. Was it mostly goofy? Absolutely. But not always!

youtube

(First, the goofy: Night of the Blood Beast (1958), best known in latter days as MST3K’s Season 7 premiere (1995). The trailer features the amazing voiceover “The first satellite creature to impregnate man with its chromosomes!”, as heavy breathing plays in the background. “It’s true,” says a square-jawed white guy, “I can feel it inside!”.)

youtube

(Second, the straight: The Thing from Another World, precursor to John Carpenter’s The Thing. While just a standard monster movie, it features one of the first and honestly ridiculous full-body fire stunts on film. They repeatedly doused stuntmen in buckets of flaming kerosine.)

These have slowly died off in Hollywood, but there’s still some that pop up every so often: Contagion (2011) being the one that first comes to mind. Sunshine (2007) and Annihilation (2018) are another two that take a similar, slow tactic, all three of them containing horror elements in their premise and execution.

(major content warning on this first one for pandemic themes. Like, all of them.)

youtube

(cw for brief body horror, old self harm scars)

youtube

This was what I’d expected from the premise of the first five minutes: a well-prepared team, traveling to confront something with existential implications for humanity, taking the job seriously. The movie disabused me of that quickly, but it didn’t provide me anything as compelling in return.

If I had to guess what other movie Prometheus was trying to be like, The Thing (1982) is a strong candidate. It features a cast of dysfunctional people who are similarly broad in their characterization, and pits them against a source of alien body horror with existential implications for all of humanity. Unfortunately for Prometheus, it can’t live up to The Thing either. However, what it did manage to do was drive me COMPLETELY insane, starting in the next segment.

⛬

(Previous) | (Index) | (Next)

#Prometheus (2012)#Prometheus 2012 #it is a strange choice to deprioritize characterization in a movie that's trying to tackle heavy existential themes but #they sure did it

33 notes · View notes