#and Lark is like. now being confronted with the idea that someone who’s like him can try to forgive themselves and seek happiness anyways | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

crystalninjaphoenix · 4 years

Text

Guardian Angel

A Horror Septics Story

(Did not mean this to end up so long, but hey, now it’s its own fic instead of a short snippet like all the other horror septics stuff I’ve written! And I’m not kidding, this is looong. But I thought the impact would be lessened if I split it up. Have fun!)

—————

Day One in the New House

The moving truck had vanished, and she’d just gotten done putting all the boxes in the correct rooms, though they weren’t unpacked. She sighed in relief, and went upstairs to check on the kids. The upstairs had two bedrooms, and she’d given them the bigger one. She figured it was only fair, since they would be sharing it. She knocked on the door. “Mathew? Lark? Can I come in?”

A few muffled words of conversation, followed by a giggle and a “Yeah, Mom!”

She opened the door. The two of them had been busy setting things up in here, though it was still a mess. They’d divided the room in half, a bed against the opposite walls with a window in the middle. “How are you two doing?”

“We’re good, Mom,” Mathew said, in the middle of taping a poster to his side of the room. Larkin nodded in agreement, bouncing where he was sitting on his bed.

“Alright.” She was about to say more, but then she heard the doorbell ring downstairs. “Oh, I gotta get that. Let me know if you need anything.” She left, closing the door behind her.

Back downstairs, she peered through the peephole on the front door. Standing on her front stoop was a woman, probably about the same age as her, with dark skin and curly hair. Deciding the woman wasn’t threatening, she opened the front door.

“Hi!” The woman beamed. She was holding a plate covered in plastic wrap. “I saw you just moved in, and I thought I’d bring you some cookies.”

“Oh.” She hadn’t been expecting that. Even though it was sort of a thing to bring housewarming gifts, she didn’t know people actually did it. “Thank you, um…?”

“Oh! My name’s Janet Rovira.” Janet smiled brighter, if that was possible. “And you are?”

“Stacy. Stacy Allen.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Stacy!” Janet handed over the plate, leaving Stacy to take it. “You’re American, right? What brings you all the way over here?”

“My grandmother lived here,” Stacy explained. “She always spoke highly of it. I just thought that...the kids and I needed a new start, and I thought this would be a good idea.”

“Oh, you have kids?” Janet asked, intrigued. “I have a daughter, she’s eight months old.”

Stacy smiled. “Yeah, I have two sons. Thirteen and seven.” She silently prayed that Janet wouldn’t make any comments about how young she looked, she’d heard enough of those.

Luckily, Janet didn’t even seem to notice. “Ooo! Good luck, I hear thirteen is when things start to get difficult. You and the mister better be prepared.”

Stacy felt a shard in her heart. She smiled through clenched teeth. “Ha ha, yeah, I’ll be prepared.”

Again, luck was on her side, as Janet seemed to pick up on something in her tone. Her smile dropped for the first time. “You know, I was familiar with the last resident in this house. Emily.”

“Oh, really?” Stacy asked. “I, um...heard what happened.”

Janet couldn’t hide her surprise. “You did?”

“Yeah, the realtor was, um...legally obligated to tell me what happened.”

Janet’s expression dropped for the first time, sun overtaken by gray clouds. “It was a sad affair. We all wonder if it could’ve been different. I wasn’t too close, but I wish I could’ve been. Maybe it would’ve helped.”

“No use dwelling on the past,” Stacy sighed. “Just keep them with you.” She was familiar with that. Had some practice with that, in fact, in the last year or so. “Well...thanks for the cookies.”

“Oh, no problem, hun, we had some extra. Hey, if you ever need anything, and I mean anything, just come on over. We live right across the street from you, and I work from home so I’m usually there. If I’m not, feel free to talk to Martín, my husband.”

Stacy managed a small smile. “I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks.”

“Still no problem.” Janet backed up. “Well, I’ll be seeing you around, then.”

“See you.”

“Goodbye!”

Stacy closed the front door. As she did, she caught a glimpse of someone else on the sidewalk. She peered out the front window at the street. Yes, there was a man walking along the path. But then he stopped. And he looked at her house. Stacy gasped, drawing the curtain closed. Yet she couldn’t help it. She peeked out again. The man was still there. Janet was walking towards him, but she stopped, and then crossed the street, jaywalking across the empty asphalt. The man didn’t seem to notice. Stacy drew the curtains closed again. It was probably nothing.

But when she went to bed that night, it was hard to get to sleep. She felt like she was being watched.

—————

Day Fourteen in the New House

—————

Stacy had been out all day, as she had been every day for the past week. She needed a job. She’d been looking online, and applied for a few but got rejected for all. She was now dropping her resume off at some places with hiring signs in the window, but she doubted she’d get an answer. She’d had exactly three interviews and hadn’t heard back from any of them, but she was sure it hadn’t gone well. She sighed, deeply. This was...this was tiring.

And upon arriving home, she was not excited to look out her car window and see the same man from two weeks ago standing outside and looking at her house.

Her heart shot up into her throat, but she remained calm. She parked her car in the driveway, unlocked her front door, went inside, locked the door behind her, went upstairs, unlocked the special drawer in her dresser, took out her handgun and shoulder holster, put it on under her jacket, went back downstairs, and the guy was still standing outside. Five minutes later. She took a deep breath, and went outside, walking right up to the guy. “Hey,” she said.

The man looked at her. “Hi.”

Stacy laughed. “Sorry, I was just...I saw you outside a few weeks ago, too. Do you...want to talk to me about something?” She figured it was a good idea to confront him about it.

The man looked back at the house. He...well, Stacy wasn’t one to judge, but he looked sketchy as hell. He was wearing a dirty green jacket, fur around the hood, at five o’clock on an August afternoon. The eye patch didn’t help, nor did the stained bandages around his neck. “There’s something in your house,” he said.

“Excuse me?” Stacy asked.

“Something in your house. It moves in the windows sometimes.” The man said this as if it was perfectly reasonable.

“Well...I don’t live alone,” she said slowly.

“No, I know. The kids, right? Two boys? I’ve seen them.” He smiled. “Cute. No, I mean...there’s a thing in your house.”

...okay. This was happening. Stacy’s hand drifted upward, towards the handle of her gun. “There are a lot of things in my house. But you don’t have to stand outside to watch for any of them.”

He looked at her again. And Stacy realized that, despite the streaks of gray in his hair, he was actually pretty young. Probably younger than her. “Right. I don’t have to.”

Stacy swallowed nervously, then smiled. “So...I’d appreciate it if you didn’t.”

Silence. The man kept staring at her. Then he stared at the house again. And he backed up. “It wouldn’t like me,” he muttered, and then turned and slinked off down the street.

Stacy felt like her house was about to pound out of her chest. She quickly hurried inside, locking the door behind her. And she took out her phone, dialling a number she’d gotten just a few days ago. It didn’t ring for long. “Hello?”

“Hi, Janet? I-It’s Stacy,” she said.

“Oh, hi Stace! What’s up?”

“Yeah, um.” She laughed nervously. And she glanced out the front window. No one was there. “Funny story. There was, uh, a...guy outside my house? Kind of, um, watching it?”

Janet’s tone suddenly sharpened. “What did he look like?”

“Um…” Stacy’s mind went oddly blank for a moment. “I mean, a guy in a green jacket. He had an eye patch.”

“Oh.” Janet sounded a bit relieved. “I know who you mean. That’s John.”

“John?”

“Well, that’s what everyone calls him. John Doe, you know? Cause nobody really knows his name,” Janet explained. “He’s...well, he lives in a tent in the park. Kind of crazy.”

“Crazy?” Stacy repeated, nerves crawling up her spine.

“But mostly harmless,” Janet hurried to say. “Martín’s seen him in the station a few times for disturbances, but he’s never hurt anyone.”

“What kind of disturbances?”

“You know, noise complaints, loitering, some mild destruction of property, pickpocketing. Why was he outside your house?”

“...I don’t know.” Stacy glanced out the window again. She thought she saw a flicker in the corner of her vision, but it must’ve been nothing, because nobody was there. “He said there was ‘a thing’ in my house. Kept saying it.”

“Yep, I told you, kind of crazy.” Janet sighed. “You tell me if you see him again, I’ll ask Martín to look into it.”

“Thanks, Janet.”

“No problem. See you later, hun.”

Stacy hung up, sighing. She closed her eyes. She didn’t want to have to deal with some crazy guy on top of everything else going on. The boys would be starting school soon, she still needed a job, they were all adjusting to the new place and...well, the other thing. She needed a break.

She opened her eyes, starting to head upstairs so she could take a nap. But as she walked past the kitchen, she paused. And sniffed. There was a smell in the air...one that she better not be smelling in a house with a preteen and a child. She poked her head inside the kitchen. There was a puddle of red liquid on the counter, dripping off the side and onto the floor. Drops led to the closed fridge. She walked forward and opened the refrigerator door. Among the normal groceries were two dark bottles, a few cracks in them, covered in dust. She picked one of them up and sniffed it, then looked at the label. Yep, that was wine. What was it doing here? She didn’t own any alcohol, she was trying to give it up, avoid temptation. She decided she’d ask Mathew about it later that night at dinner. He was thirteen, he’d better not be getting into this.

She did talk to him. But he denied it, even when she explained she wasn’t mad. Mathew wasn’t a liar, but she gave him the talk about alcohol anyway, just in case. Because she didn’t want to think about the idea that someone had broken into her house, even if all they did was drop off bottles of wine. That was...confusing. And terrifying.

—————

Day Thirty-Two in the New House

—————

Stacy arrived at the school a half hour before it let out. Just in case. It was another ten minutes before Mathew exited the building. He spotted her car immediately, heading right towards it. “Hey pumpkin,” she said cheerfully as he got in the car. “So how was ‘secondary school’?”

“Okay, I guess. A little weird.” Mathew stared out the window as the car pulled away. “It’s like Harry Potter.”

“Well, that makes sense. They are British books, after all.” Stacy bit back a yawn. She hadn’t been sleeping well lately. She kept tossing and turning, having this strange feeling...that she wasn’t alone. More than once, she could’ve sworn she heard someone whisper directly in her ear, but when she looked around, the room was empty. And last night, she thought she saw someone sitting in her chair, but when she turned the lamp on, it was just one of her cardigans thrown over the seat. These things must’ve been caused by stress. She’d finally managed to get a temporary job at the pool, but that would be closing at the end of the month, so she was still looking. And there was the whole “new city in a new country” thing. And she was worried about the boys’ new schools. And there was...well. All of these things probably added up. She trusted she’d sleep better once they all got settled. “Did you talk to anyone interesting?” she asked cheerfully.

Mathew shrugged; she could see it in the rear view mirror. “Mom...do we live in a ghost house?”

“Hmm? What makes you say that?”

“Well, there were these two guys in my Math class, they said that the last person who lived there died, and now she haunts the place.”

Stacy nodded sadly. “Well...the last resident did...pass away. That’s why we got such a nice house for so little. Things like that lower the cost. But I don’t think ghosts exist, Matt.”

“Huh.” Mathew stared out the window. “They said she...offed herself.”

Stacy bit her lip. “Don’t use that term, please pumpkin, it’s a little...disrespectful. But...yes, that’s what I was told, too.”

“Do you...think that ghosts can talk to each other?” Mathew asked. “Do they all know each other? You think this lady would know Dad?”

This was a tricky space to navigate. Stacy stayed silent for a bit. “Well...maybe they do, maybe they don’t. They...did live in different countries, but maybe things like that don’t matter to them. We can’t really know.” Her voice was soft. “Are you...you know you can talk to me about anything, right Matt?”

Mathew nodded. He didn’t say anything else on the drive. Ten minutes later, Stacy pulled up to the primary school. Five minutes later, the kids all walked out. She spotted Larkin, and waved at him. He was silent as he walked up to the car and climbed inside, sitting next to Mathew.

“Hey sweetie,” Stacy said, putting enthusiasm in her voice. “How was school?”

“Good.” Larkin joined Mathew in staring out the window.

“Did you talk to anyone? Make any new friends?”

“Yeah, a few people. I don’t know if we’re friends yet.”

“I bet you could be!”

“Yeah.”

This was...odd. Larkin wasn’t usually this quiet. “How’s your teacher? What’s her name?”

A silent moment. “Ms. Bloomberg. She’s...okay.”

And Larkin continued to give short answers all the way back home. Once inside, he ran upstairs and shut the door to their shared room, leaving Mathew to hang out in the living room. Stacy watched Lark go, not bothering to hide her concern. She made spaghetti for dinner that night. It was Larkin’s favorite, and she hoped to cheer him up. It didn’t work, but when she brought out the ice cream he perked up considerably.

“Hey Lark,” Mathew said, stabbing his bowl of vanilla with the spoon. “Did you know we live in a ghost house?”

Stacy gave Mathew a look, one of the ones that said not to go there. But then Larkin piped up, “Uh-huh. There’s a ghost here.”

She then immediately turned to look at Larkin. “Oh? Have you seen this ghost?”

“A couple times, yeah.” Larkin shoved a spoon of chocolate in his mouth before answering. “He’s a sad ghost, he walks all over the place but then he disappears. I said hi to him, and he said hi back. Then he went away.”

“Interesting.” Stacy filed this under the “to-be-concerned-about-if-something-seems-off” part in her brain. It could just be Larkin’s new imaginary friend. He had one once before, a talking dog named Boots. But he said he went away two years ago to find his family. So, she wouldn’t be worried unless something happened. But she took note of it.

—————

Night Sixty-Five in the New House

—————

Stacy woke up in the middle of the night, for a reason she couldn’t understand. Her initial reaction was to keep her eyes closed and try to go back to sleep. She’d gotten a new job at the grocery store, and its hours were long. She was exhausted, and needed the sleep.

But then she felt something pressing on her chest.

Dimly, she registered this as a problem. Breathing was difficult. In her tired mind, she thought that maybe she should roll over onto her side and that would fix it.

“hey...”

It was one of those whispers in the night, the ones she’d been hearing lately. But this one seemed less like something between the worlds of waking and dreaming, and more like something firmly real.

“i know you’re awake.”

She couldn’t really identify the voice. It wasn’t anyone she knew, so she assumed—hoped—that it was her imagination. If she had to put an age and gender to it, she would guess it was a man her age, but it would be just a guess.

“can you hear me?”

It was definitely a whisper. And it was definitely really there. She struggled to breathe through the weight, as well as the sudden terror that gripped her.

“can you say something? please?”

Something brushed against her hair. And that convinced her to open her eyes.

There was something in front of her. It was sitting on her chest. It could probably feel her heart beating a mile a minute. She stared frozen at the figure, taking in its reaching hand and the tear tracks trailing down its face. And then she managed to scream.

It vanished, the weight on her chest disappearing. She bolted upright, arms and blankets flailing. Her eyes darted around the room. Where is it? Where is it?! She cast her hand to the side and turned on her lamp. She grabbed her phone from the nightstand where it was charging and dialed a number, panting heavily.

After a long time ringing, it was picked up. “Hello?”

“Janet! I-I-I—” Stacy couldn’t get the words out. Tears were coming to her eyes. “I-I-I—”

“Whoa, Stace, hun, calm down.” Janet’s voice was soothing. “What’s got you so upset?”

After a few more seconds of calming her hyperventilating, Stacy managed to choke out, “I-I think I just saw something.”

“Something?” Janet asked, confused. “What something?”

“I don’t—I don’t know.” Stacy shook her head, even though she knew Janet couldn’t see her. “I-I woke up, and I—and I couldn’t breathe and there was something on my chest. And I heard something whisper, and—and I opened my eyes and there was a thing in front of me—” She broke off, trying to control her breathing again.

“Hey, hey, it’s going to be okay, Stace,” Janet reassured her. “Whatever happened, it’s over now. Sounds like you had a real scare.”

Stacy wiped at her eyes. “Y-yeah...Wh...what was that?”

“I don’t know, hun, but...have you ever heard of sleep paralysis?”

“Isn’t that where you can’t move?”

“Yes, but sometimes people see weird things. You know, hallucinations. They could be really scary. I had sleep paralysis real bad when I was a teenager, and a lot of the time it felt like there was a weight on my chest. Does that sound like what happened?”

“I...I guess.” Stacy nodded. That made sense. That was probably all it was. “Do you think it can be caused by stress?”

“Maybe. If it happens again, maybe you can talk to someone about it. Like, a doctor.”

“Maybe. I’m...I’ll Google it in the morning.” That seemed like the best idea.

“Want me to stay on the line?” Janet offered. “I got up to check on Maggie, but I can stay up.”

“No, no, it’s fine. Get some sleep.”

“You too. Get a good night’s rest. Good night, Stacy.”

“Good night.”

Yet she couldn’t get to sleep until she heard the early morning birds chirping.

—————

Day Seventy-One in the New House

—————

Larkin had been in his room ever since she picked him up from school. It was now almost dinner time, and she was getting worried. She headed upstairs and knocked on the door. “Hey Lark? It’s almost time to eat, what do you want?”

For a moment, there was silence. “I don’t know, Mom.”

Definitely not normal. Larkin always asked for something; usually pasta, it was his favorite. “Do you mind if I come inside, sweetie?”

A long bit of silence. “Okay.”

She gently pushed the door open. Larkin was lying on his bed with his face buried in the pillow. She walked over and sat on the side of the small mattress. “Are you doing okay, sweetie?”

Larkin nodded, keeping his face buried.

“Anything you want to talk about?”

He shook his head.

She quieted for a moment, thinking. “Lark, can you look at me?” He suddenly hunched his shoulders, and she hurried to add, “Only if you want to, of course.”

That seemed to help. Larkin sat up, rubbing at his eyes. They were red. He’d obviously been crying.

“Oh, sweetie, what’s wrong?” she asked quietly. “Is it friends? Or school?”

Larkin suddenly started crying. “Ms. Bloomberg.”

“Your teacher? Do you not like her?”

He shook his head. “She’s mean, Mom.”

“Hey.” She reached out and squeezed his shoulder. “How is she mean? Did she do something?”

Tears slipped down Larkin’s face. “She calls me L-Landon instead of my name. A-and she won’t stop when I tell her to. Yesterday she...she said she wasn’t gonna call me a for-aim name.”

“What?! A foreign name?” Stacy shook her head, baffled. “That’s ridiculous.”

“And she—she thinks I’m cheating in math.” Larkin hid his face in his mother’s blouse. “Because I-I don’t do good in English.”

“Did she say that?”

“No, b-but she always puts red marks on math questions I know I did right. An-and I asked her why, and she said she’s making my math scores meet my English ones.” He took a shaky breath. “Bec-cause those ones are the ‘right’ ones.”

Stacy patted Larkin’s back. She wasn’t looking at the door, but she knew Mathew was standing there. “That’s awful. Tell you what? I’ll go to talk to her after dinner and get this sorted out. Would that help?”

Larkin nodded.

“Alright, sweetie. Now. What if I made spaghetti for dinner?”

“That sounds good, Mom.”

“Alright.” She planned on staying there a few moments more, to make sure Larkin was okay. But she turned toward the doorway, planning to ask Mathew to leave. But her request died in her throat. Nobody was there. Strange...she could’ve sworn she felt a presence. Like someone was watching her. Maybe Mathew had left.

Stacy did indeed make spaghetti for dinner, then called Janet to ask her to watch the kids. Once Janet came over, leaving her daughter, Maggie, with her husband, Stacy got in the car and drove over to the teacher’s address. It was clearly printed in the school directory, which she found kind of strange, but who was she to tell the school how to run?

It was that strange time of day between sunset and evening when she pulled up to the curb outside Nancy Bloomberg’s house. Stacy got out of her car, locking it behind her, and walked up the path to the front door. She rang the doorbell. After a minute of no response, she rang again. After another minute, she went to knock, and when her knuckles hit the door, it opened. Just a bit. Enough to show it had already been open a little, and the force of the knock caused it to swing inward. Stacy hesitated, then pushed the door open a bit. “Hello? Ms. Bloomberg?”

No answer. There was a car in the driveway, so she assumed Ms. Bloomberg was home. She swallowed, and pushed the door open all the way. “Hello?”

It’s then that she saw the puddle of red liquid.

She was curious enough to step inside the house and head toward it. At first, she thought it was spilled wine, reminiscent of the scene in her own house when she first moved in.

And then she looked into the kitchen and realized it wasn’t wine.

—————

Day Seventy-Two in the New House

—————

She’d called the police, of course. And she’d called Janet, to explain what happened and why she would be late. The cops asked her what she saw, and why she was here, and she replied that she’d been paying her son’s teacher a visit. She told them she’d just found the body once she realized the door was open. They believed her.

It was a Saturday, and the kids were home from school. Mathew was playing some game on his Xbox in the living room while Larkin sat on the floor and colored with crayons. Stacy poked her head inside to check on them. “How’re you guys doing?”

“Good, Mom,” Mathew said.

“Good, Mom,” Larkin said cheerfully.

“What’re you drawing?” Stacy walked over.

“This!” Larkin held up the drawing for her to see.

Stacy stopped, staring. This was...this was impossible. But...no, it was impossible. It would be concerning on its own, but she recognized it. The scribble of red on the crayon floor, the yellow dress and black hair on the lying-down figure...it was exactly what she saw yesterday. “Lark...where did you get the idea for that?”

“The ghost told me about it,” Larkin explained.

“The ghost?”

“The sad ghost who lives in our house!” Larkin explained. “He told me a story last night about a mean lady taking a nap in red paint, so I drew it.”

“...ah.” Stacy looked over at Mathew, who paused the game to look at Larkin, a bit concerned as well. “That’s...that’s interesting.”

“You know the ghost, right, Mom?” Larkin asked. “He goes in your room sometimes. Right through the door.”

Her heart was pumping ice. “I’ve never seen him, sweetie.”

“Aw.” Larkin went back to coloring. “He seems nice.”

Stacy nodded, smiling, and left the room.

She called the police again.

—————

Day Seventy-Three in the New House

—————

“So you’re saying your son killed her?”

“No, of course not! He’s seven! But he did hear about what happened...somehow.”

“What about your other son? How old is he?”

“Thirteen. But he couldn’t have done anything!”

“Would he be protective of his younger brother?”

“W-well, I mean, yes, but it’s impossible! He was with my friend Janet all evening, and before that he was with me.”

“So how do you think your son knew about what happened?”

“I’m not sure. He said the ghost in our house told him about it.”

“Does your son know anyone who could be considered ‘a ghost’? Like an older man?”

“No...not that I know of.”

“...we’ll be looking into this, ma’am.”

—————

Night Ninety in the New House

—————

Stacy was pretending to be asleep, keeping her eyes firmly shut and her breathing even. She wanted to check the time—surely it had to be three a.m. at least. It couldn’t be earlier than that.

There were whispers in her head.

She couldn’t say what they were saying, not exactly. She had the vague sense that they were like fog, filling her brain. A heavy fog dragging her down. Occasionally a memory would flash across her mind. Not good ones. Ones she’d rather forget, actually.

“hey. i know you’re awake.”

The time she’d left the house for work in the morning, trusting the babysitter would arrive on time. But the sitter had been an hour late, and in that time period, five-year-old Larkin had managed to fall off a stool, trying to reach a high-up shelf, and broken his arm. She’d gotten the call from the sitter at the hospital. She’d felt like a failure, staring down at her son’s cast.

“why don’t you ever answer me?”

She rolled over, sticking her arm out in an effort to reach a more comfortable position. In her head, she recalled the night she’d got the news. The night she’d been up late, waiting for him to come home. She stared at the phone, noticing repeated calls from a number, but not the number she was looking for. Then the police officer came to her house, saying something about there being an accident. She should’ve answered the phone. And how was she supposed to tell the kids?

Something grabbed her hand. Something that should’ve felt like a human hand, but it was too cold, a layer of dust covering its palm. She tried not to shudder. If she didn’t react, maybe it would go away.

“i want you to stay with me...”

“will you stay with me? will all of you stay?”

The memory of the first time she’d tried drowning her tears. A bottle of whiskey, late at night when she thought they’d both be asleep. She thought it had worked. A little bit of a buzz, and she was forgetting what all the fuss was about in the first place. But Mathew was awake. And seeing him had reminded her. She didn’t remember what she said, but she remembered it was in anger. She’d apologized the next morning. But it wasn’t enough. She was never enough.

“you’re going to stay with me. i love company.”

She must’ve fallen asleep eventually. When she woke up, she thought it had been another dream. Another hallucination brought on by sleep paralysis. But then she twitched her fingers, clutching them into a fist. And it felt...off. She opened her eyes, and her hand. There was a layer of gray dust on her palm.

—————

Day Ninety-One in the New House

—————

Stacy called a therapist, made an appointment for Wednesday. She approached it with the idea that this was all in her head. Which would be...difficult enough to deal with on its own. With two kids to take care of, could she worry about losing her mind?

But she kept coming back to the gray dust. It was there. It was definitely there. She’d washed her hand, but not before finding a mason jar in the kitchen and doing her best to wipe the dust into it. She got some of it...and it was definitely there.

Larkin had said there was a ghost in the house. A ghost that went into her room sometimes. A ghost that told him that his teacher was killed, the day after it happened.

The kids were at school. She grabbed her jacket, and a moment later, unlocked the special drawer in her dresser, grabbing her handgun and shoulder holster as well. She threw the jacket on over the holster, and left the house, walking across the street and knocking on the door of the house opposite hers.

Janet opened the door with a smile. “Oh hey, Stace. You okay, hun? You look a little…” She waved her hand in front of her face. “...pale.”

Stacy laughed. “I...you’re gonna think I’m crazy.”

Janet sensed this was a serious matter. Her smile dropped. “Why don’t you come inside, hun?”

The living room was small and cozy, pictures of Janet and Martín’s relatives on the walls. Janet set Stacy down on the sofa, bringing her a plate of cookies—“biscuits,” she called them. Stacy took one, but didn’t eat. Janet sat down in an armchair across from her. “Now. What’s wrong?”

That was all it took for the whole story to come spilling out. The sleep paralysis episodes, the whispers she’d been hearing that she attributed to stress, the stories her son told about a ghost, the times she’d found strange bottles of alcohol in her house that she knew she hadn’t brought there, and all culminating in her waking up, with dust on her hand in the same place she could’ve sworn someone was holding it last night. At the end of it all, Stacy realized she’d started crying. She hurriedly wiped her face. “I-I know it sounds crazy,” she said. “I’m going to see a therapist next week, but...I-I don’t know, I just needed to tell someone else.”

Janet had been silent the whole time. Now, she looked down at her hands in her lap. “It...it does sound strange, hun, but...well, some of this can’t be a coincidence.”

Stacy let out a deep breath. “I-I know, it is a bit weird—”

“No, I mean…” Janet inhaled deeply, and looked back up. “You remember the person who lived in that house before you did?”

“Emily?” Stacy asked.

“Yeah, Emily Kendrik.” Janet nodded. “A week before she...well. A week before it happened, she showed up at Helen’s house—she’s the head of the Homeowner’s Association. Emily complained about there being a lot of dust in her house. Helen said that wasn’t a problem for the HOA, and Emily showed up here.” Janet bit her lip. “She talked about that, and the fact that she kept hearing things at night...and how broken beer bottles were showing up in her fridge.”

Stacy’s eyes widened. “I—I swear I didn’t know this—”

“No, of course you didn’t,” Janet waved away. “Helen might’ve laughed about the dust thing with her friends, but I never told anyone about what Emily said to me. I mean…” she laughed nervously. “H-how could I have? When a week later, Emily was found...like that.” She tried to say it as delicately as possible.

Stacy put the biscuit she was still holding down on the plate. “So...I-I’m not the only one who’s had this...happen?”

“Apparently not.” Janet looked...well, worried was a mild way of putting it. “I think maybe your son’s right. Maybe your house is haunted.”

All Stacy could do was stare at nothing. Her whole world had just been flipped on its head. “What am I supposed to do?” She asked hoarsely. “Call a priest?”

“I mean, I think that’s what people usually do when there’s a thing in their house.”

Stacy suddenly started. “Wait, what did you say?”

Janet blinked, confused. “I said I think that’s what people usually do when there’s a thing in their house.”

That phrase was ringing a bell. Stacy cast her memory back, trying to think of where she’d heard it, and why it seemed so memorable.

There’s a thing in your house. It moves in the windows sometimes.

Stacy suddenly stood up. “I-I just remembered something. I’ll talk to you later, Janet.”

“Oh, uh...alright. Talk to you later, Stace.”

Stacy wasn’t even listening as she left. Quickly, she walked across the street back to her house. Digging in her pocket for her wallet and car keys, she devised a plan. It was still morning, she didn’t have to pick up the kids for a while. Plenty of time to find a guy whose name she didn’t know.

—————

The city had two different parks, but she decided it would be a better bet to search the bigger one first. And it was. In one corner of the park, the one that had a particularly high amount of trees, she found a small green tent set up, vaguely dome-shaped, probably only big enough for one person. She...wasn’t sure how to check if anyone was home. Did you knock on a tent? That seemed like a good idea. She walked right up to the tent, found an area that looked like a door, and hit it a couple times with her fist like she was knocking on a house door. “Hello?” she asked.

There was a sudden yelp, and the walls of the tent moved as someone inside scrambled about. The door area unzipped, and a man climbed out, standing up and looking around wildly. Stacy backed away as she realized the man was holding a pocket knife—and a rather big one, as well. The man’s eyes—or, eye, the other one was covered by a black patch—landed on her, and he relaxed. “Jesus christ, you fucking scared me,” he breathed, folding the pocket knife closed. “Don’t do that. I thought you were coming to take me.”

“I-I’m sorry.” Stacy smiled shakily. “Um, are you...I mean, I don’t know your name, but my friend called you John?”

“Yeah, that works, it’s the closest yet,” the man said, shoving the knife in the pocket of his green jacket.

“Uh...okay. John.” Stacy swallowed nervously. “I...don’t know if you remember me—”

“You’re the lady in the house across from Martín’s, the one with two kids, boys,” John said, as if he was reciting words from a cue card. “Yeah, I remember you.”

“...oh.” Stacy fought the urge to take a step backwards. This guy was really unnerving her. But what was unnerving her more was the thought of what was happening back in her home. “Well. My name is Stacy. You...a couple months ago, you were outside my house, and I talked to you, and you said something about there being ‘a thing’ in my house. I-I was just wondering...why did you say that?”

“Cause there’s a thing in your house,” John stated clearly. “It’s in the windows. But I mean, it kind of disappears when anyone else tries to look at it.”

Stacy realized that sounded insane. She then realized she might be going insane, but decided to keep going anyway. “A thing like a ghost?”

John burst into laughter, doubling over with the force of it. Stacy took a step backwards, waiting for him to finish. After what must’ve been a solid thirty seconds, John managed to stop himself. He straightened, and grinned widely at Stacy. “No, not like a ghost. Ghosts might not even exist. I’ve never seen one. Unless you count the souls of the damned that are trapped in the mist of an Irish forest. No, this is much worse than a ghost.” His grin faded slowly. “...and...you’re actually looking at me seriously. Like, this doesn’t sound like complete bullshit to you.”

“I mean, it does,” Stacy admitted. “But after what’s been happening, I think bullshit is my new reality.”

“...huh.” John blinked, staring at her. One blue eye looked over her, its gaze piercing.

“I think...I need your help?” It came out like a question. “Things have been happening...c-crazy things.” She laughed.

“...well, then.” John grinned. “We can talk. But on one condition.” At Stacy’s sudden wide eyes, he hurried to say, “Nothing too big. I just want to see if you could buy lunch, or something? We can talk at a restaurant...or something. Not like, McDonald’s. I’ve had enough of that.” He smiled a bit.

“Oh. Um, okay. Yeah.” That didn’t sound too bad. If anything happened, she did have a gun. “C’mon, I know a place.”

They ended up at a local diner, fairly crowded. Stacy wondered if that was gonna be a good idea, given what they would be talking about. She didn’t want anyone to overhear. But then again, maybe it would be too loud for anyone to hear anything. And given the looks John was attracting, maybe anyone who did hear would think she was just humoring his crazy ideas.

It would be a while until the food they ordered actually arrived, so Stacy got right to business. “What you were saying back there. What do you mean, worse than a ghost?” she asked, jumping right into the topic. “Like, a demon?”

“Well, to me, the word ‘demon’ kind of...implies something specific.” John was scratching his nails into the wooden table, seemingly not caring about the marks it was leaving. “Like...there’s a specific idea to it, y’know? Maybe that’s ‘cause of religion or something, I don’t know, but even if you’re not religious, you have a sort of concept in your head of what a demon is.” He chuckled. “These things...don’t really fit into a category. They’re more like horror movie monsters come to life.”

“That’s...not encouraging,” Stacy admitted.

John laughed. “Life isn’t as safe as you thiiiink it is!” he said in a singsong voice. “There’s so many different ways you can get fucked up!”

“...okay, then. That’s even less encouraging.” Stacy scooted her chair back a bit.

John’s smile faded. “Sorry.” He paused. “If it’s any consolation, you...you really did just have bad luck. The odds of actually running into one of these things is relatively small. You just...chose the wrong city.”

Stacy looked down at the tabletop. “My grandma grew up here. She never mentioned the...I don’t know, cryptid horror monster.”

“Well, to be fair, most people wouldn’t. Even if they knew, they’d probably say something like, ‘oh it’s not safe to be out on the streets at night’ or some shit like that. I mean, come on. Would you?”

“You talked to me about it,” Stacy pointed out. “Even before I came to you about it.”

“Yeah, and you thought I was insane.” John shrugged. “Which I mean...jury’s still out on that.”

Stacy laughed nervously, and shook her head. “We’re getting off track. Do you know anything about this...this thing in my house?”

John scrunched his brows, thinking. “Well, I know it straight-up disappears when you look at it in the window. And I haven’t seen it outside anywhere. Have you?”

The waiter arrived, bringing over their drinks. Stacy quietly thanked him, and John did too. The waiter ignored him, though, just talking to her to say the food will be coming out soon. Once he walked away, Stacy returned to their conversation.

“Outside anywhere? Like, outside my house? Um…” Stacy cast her mind back over the last three months. “Actually, come to think of it, I haven’t. I-I mean, when I’m in my house I sometimes see shadows in the corner of my eyes. And I hear these...whispers.” She shuddered. “But it’s never when I’m at work, or when I’m picking up the kids from school, or running errands.”

“So it’s probably confined to a single space,” John said. He took a sip of his Coke. “Some of them are like that, but others travel about.”

“Okay…” Stacy nodded. “So...what should I do about it?”

John shrugged. “Well, I don’t know, exactly. I’ve only been here five months, and I didn’t see it until I stopped outside your house the day you moved in. But I can give you a suggestion.”

“Alright. What’s that?”

“Leave. Like, right now.”

“Wh—” Stacy spluttered. “I can’t do that!”

“Why not?” John looked genuinely surprised.

“Because we just moved here! The kids are still adjusting, I’m still adjusting—”

“Perfect, you won’t have anything to miss!” John laughed.

“No! You can’t handle two moves in such a short period! What would that do to the kids? Mathew has a hard enough time making friends already, and Larkin is only eight, he wouldn’t be able to understand.” Not to mention that she didn’t know if she could get another job, or another house. Or any new friends of her own. “Isn’t there anything else we can do? How do we get rid of it?”

John’s face suddenly fell. He leaned across the table, getting closer. “Do you know what it wants with you?”

She felt like the breath was knocked out of her. “I...I don’t know,” she said quietly.

His head tilted. “Have you picked up on anything? Any sort of intentions?”

She paused, thinking about this. “Um...well...th-the last person who lived in the house...she was—I mean, I figured out she was haunted by the thing, too. And she...um, she committed suicide.” She went quiet for a moment. “Do you think it was because of this?”

“Probaby,” John said casually. “Either it drove her to it, or it killed her and framed it.”

Stacy felt her heart stop. “I-I can’t—” She shook her head. “I can’t let that—my kids—”

“I see.” John nodded. His expression softened. “It would be hard for them. And obviously for you, too. So…” He leaned back. “That’s why you gotta leave. As soon as possible.”

“...maybe.” Stacy settled back in her seat. “I...I guess I could start looking for some place to live. Find a new job.”

John sighed. “Look, the longer you stay here, the more at risk you are. You need to get out before it gets to you.”

“I can’t just leave, though. With no support, no way to get income? What would happen then?”

“Um, you wouldn’t die. That seems better than anything else.”

“It’s not just about me, though,” Stacy said quietly. “I’m the only one who can look after Mathew and Larkin. We have no other family, a-and C—my husband, he’s…” She swallows the lump in her throat. “...he’s gone now. They need me.”

John’s expression softened in a way it hadn’t yet. “...I see.” He sighed. “I...I guess that makes sense. Just...just get out. As soon as possible.”

“Isn’t there anything else?” Stacy asked. “Can we get rid of it?”

John laughed, the sound hysterical. “If you find a way to, please tell me! Because I haven’t yet, and I’d love to hear it!” He sighed again. “I’m sorry, but you really just need to leave.”

Stacy felt her heart sink. But she nodded. “...okay, then.” She swallowed nervously. “Maybe we should just move back to the U.S., then we could avoid all this.”

“I mean, they exist in the states, too,” John said, shrugging. “They exist all over the world. But if you want to avoid the one that currently has its eye on you—wait, does it have eyes?”

Stacy blinked, surprised. “Um..well, I’ve seen it crying.”

“That doesn’t help.” John shook his head. “Well, anyway, it’s just a metaphor. If you want to go to the states to avoid this one, go ahead.” He smiled. “But once you’ve gotten involved in things like this, you tend to...see more.”

The waiter arrived with their food. John immediately began eating, tucking into his sandwich like he hadn’t eaten in a while. Which, Stacy realized, he might not have. “How do you know all this stuff?” She asked quietly.

John took a moment to answer, swallowing the bite he’d taken. “Experience,” he said with a dull smile. “I was a lot like you, once. But I wasn’t lucky enough to have someone there to give me advice.” He fell quiet for a moment, eye darkening with shadows. “Just...just get out, okay?”

Stacy nodded, not saying anything else.

—————

Day One Hundred in the New House

—————

It was getting worse. Stacy had decided to ignore it, for the time being, but she could tell it was getting worse. She could hear the whispers whenever she was alone in the house, always in the back of her mind. The shadow of the thing would linger in her peripheral vision, watching her. The longer it stayed, the more details she could make out. And sometimes, she walked past the boys’ room and heard Larkin talking to someone when Mathew was still downstairs.

It seemed like John was right; leaving was starting to look like the best option. Stacy began looking for options online for places to move to. But only outside the house. She didn’t want to risk the thing catching onto what she was planning, so she’d take her laptop and go sit on a bench in the park, browsing houses for sale in nearby cities. She also continued a job search online, looking for openings in those same cities and applying to anything she could find, just in case they moved to the area.

She did tell Janet about her plans. In person, at Janet’s house. Luckily, the other woman was understanding. “If you told me a week ago, I would’ve asked you to reconsider it, after some therapy,” she said. “But with your problems lining up with Emily’s, I...I’m the one who’s reconsidering.” She chuckled nervously.

“I probably should talk to someone anyway,” Stacy sighed. “I did cancel the appointment I made, but I can make a new one in the new city.”

“That sounds like a good idea, hun,” Janet said, patting Stacy’s shoulder. “And if you ever need a friend, you’ll still have my number.”

Stacy smiled softly. “Thanks, Jan. Hey...whoever moves in after I leave, just...look out for them, okay?”

Janet nodded. “I will, don’t worry.”

—————

Day One Hundred Sixteen in the New House

—————

Finally, Stacy found something.

A lovely little house, in a city two hours away. She got the feeling that it was being advertised as being far away from the current town, but it didn’t seem too far to her. The house was cheap, though she’d still have to dip into her savings, and big enough for her and the boys. The realtor offered for her to come and take a look, but she said that she preferred to purchase now, thank you very much. That probably hiked up the price offer a bit, but she didn’t care. They had to get out of here.

She tried to break the news to the boys gently, taking them out to dinner and telling them there. Larkin seemed to accept it, but Mathew kept asking questions.

“Why are we moving? We just got here!”

“It’s complicated, pumpkin. I’ll explain later.”

“Where are we going?”

“It’s a town called Rysbuwich. A little ridiculous sounding, but it’s a good town.”

“Can we come back here?”

“We can come to visit, sure, it’s just a couple hours away.”

Eventually, Mathew seemed satisfied as well. He had his one friend’s number and email saved on his phone, so the two of them could still chat, and he could still come visit for events and such. That must’ve been what convinced him.

But then Larkin piped up with a question: “What about the ghost? Are we gonna leave him?”

Stacy smiled tightly, hoping it didn’t seem too forced. “Well, I suppose we’re gonna have to.”

“Aw…” Larkin looked down at the restaurant table. “He’s a lonely ghost, he’ll be all alone and sad.”

“Well, someone else will move in soon enough, so he won’t be lonely anymore.” Or maybe the house would stay empty. Hopefully that would be the case.

—————

Day One Hundred Twenty in the New House

—————

She knew that once she told the kids, she wouldn’t be able to keep the move a secret from the thing in the house for long. Mathew and Larkin would be talking casually about the move with each other, and she couldn’t tell them to just stop doing that and not explain why. So she waited to tell them only a few days before the moving truck arrived.

And arrive, it did. She’d managed to get the boys to pack up all their stuff the night before, and they spent the morning helping the movers put the boxes and furniture in the truck.

There had been no whispers or shadows that whole morning, or the night before. And though that sounded like a good thing, it put Stacy on edge.

“Alright, that’s everything,” she said cheerfully, trying to hide her worry from the kids. “Say goodbye to the house.”

“Um...yeah,” Mathew said, shifting awkwardly.

“Goodbye house!” Larkin said, waving. “Goodbye ghost!”

Stacy tried not to flinch. “Alright, let’s go.” Stacy slung her purse over her shoulder, reaching inside for her car keys. But there was nothing. She opened it, staring inside and pawing through. They weren’t there. But she was sure they’d just been there…

Her heart froze.

“Shoot.” She looked back at the kids. “You guys go ahead, okay? I misplaced my keys, and I’m gonna look for them.”

Mathew nodded. “Alright, Mom. C’mon, Lark.”

The two of them disappeared through the front door, closing it behind them but not closing it all the way. Stacy didn’t bother to close it the rest of the way. She swallowed nervously, and turned back, into the house.

The rooms were empty now, completely void of any decoration. It looked emptier than when they first moved in, since the house had come pre-furnished. But now, they were taking the furniture with them. And all that was left were faded spots on the walls where there used to be chairs, pressed carpet where beds stood. There weren’t a lot of places for her keys to be. They were nowhere in the living room or the first floor hallway, neither on the floor or hanging from the hooks left where photographs used to hang. She headed towards the kitchen to look next.

Stacy was immediately met with an overwhelming sharp smell. She gagged, covering her mouth. The floor was wet, covered in puddles of pale amber liquid. It was trickling from the water main where the fridge was once plugged in, dripping down the cabinet doors, pooling on the tiles. But she saw her keys sitting on the counter. She took a deep breath and walked forward, trying to step over the worst puddles.

The keys were in the middle of the counter. Somehow, in the thirty minutes since she was last in the kitchen, the faux marble countertop had become incredibly dusty, a layer of gray covering its surface. She picked up the keys, stuffing them in her purse.

And then there was a hand on her shoulder.

“where are you going?”

Stacy stiffened, shrugging off the hand. She could feel it standing right behind her. She couldn’t turn around to look at it, so she headed to the open doorway that connected the kitchen to the dining room. It followed her, staying close behind. It was close enough that she should be able to feel its breath on her neck. But there was nothing. Somehow, that was worse.

“you’re leaving…”

The dining room was completely empty, scuff marks on the wooden floor where the table and chairs had been. There were dust motes flying through the air, suspended in the beams of sunlight drifting through the windows. Stacy coughed, and quickly circled around the perimeter of the room, feeling it close behind her. She headed back towards the kitchen entrance.

“please don’t leave…”

She sidestepped around the puddles on the floor again, heading back towards the hallway.

It grabbed her shoulder again.

She shook it off, and it grabbed her wrist.

She couldn’t help but yelp this time. Deliberately not looking backwards, she pulled her arm away and ran for the entrance again. She was two steps into the hallway when it grabbed her. Its arms wrapped around her torso, pinning her arms to her sides.

“stay with me…” It whispered into her ear. “Forever.”

Stacy didn’t bother to answer. She wriggled against its hold, but it squeezed tighter, choking out her breath. Her foot kicked backwards and connected with something solid, but it didn’t react at all. She struggled to breathe, chest rising and falling. Every time she breathed out, it tightened its hold, giving her less and less room to gasp for air. Black spots were starting to appear before her eyes.

With one last breath, she wrenched her head to the side to look at the thing behind her. She caught sight of a face, liquid trailing down like tears. And then it disappeared. Bending over, she breathed deeply, gulping down as much air as possible. She didn’t even wait to fully recover to run down the hall, back towards the living room and the front door.

She made it to the front room when her vision flickered, and it appeared in front of her. She skidded to a halt, but then it disappeared. It grabbed her from behind again, but this time she shook it off, running for the door.

When she was halfway across the room, the thing started to scream.

No, it wasn’t a scream, it was a wail. A long, keening sound that started on the edge of her hearing and grew to fill her entire mind. She staggered, pressing her hands to her ears. But the sound didn’t lessen. It was like a drill spinning into her brain, a sound that dragged down her heart and filled it with longing.

Stay, it said. Stay, please stay, it said in a voice that wasn’t hers, and it wasn’t the voice of the whispers either. Stay with me, Stacy, it said, mimicking perfectly the voice she’d never thought she’d hear again. Please stay, Stacy, please I’m so lonely, stay, stay—

Stacy turned the knob of the front door and burst outside. The wail suddenly cut off, leaving her strangely breathless. Tears were flowing from her eyes. And for a moment, she still heard that voice, speaking from a place of deep grief. But she knew it wasn’t really him. “You’re gone,” she whispered. “I’m sorry, but I need to stay here. Maybe I’ll see you again one day. But not before it’s time.”

“Mom? What are you doing?”

“What’s happening?”

She took a deep breath, and then straightened. Mathew and Larkin were standing by the car, staring at her with identical wide eyes. “I just had a moment there,” she said softly. “C’mon, let’s go.”

Strangely enough, neither of them pressed the matter. Maybe they didn’t want to think about their mom crying. Stacy promised herself she’d tell them what happened one day. Some time in the future, when they were old enough to understand.

—————

Heading out of the city, they drove past one of the parks. As they did, Stacy suddenly got an impulsive, probably stupid idea. She parked the car, asked Mathew and Larkin to wait, then headed out to the spot she remembered.

The tent was still there. This time the doorway was unzipped. John was laying on the ground, half inside the tent, half outside, turning a small wooden flute over in his hands. He heard her footsteps approaching, and looked up, grinning. “Oh it’s you again. How’re things working out with the thing?”

Stacy walked right up to the tent, stopping a couple feet away. “Pack up your tent and stuff, we’re leaving.”

“Um…” John blinked up at her, suddenly wary. “Are you gonna kill me? Cause if you are, at least tell me beforehand so I can prepare. I mean, I’m not gonna let you, but—”

“What the hell? No!” Stacy shook her head, shocked. “Sorry, my boys are waiting, so I want to hurry instead of leaving them alone. Anyway, we’re leaving. Like you suggested. And I-I mean, if you hadn’t suggested that, I don’t think I would’ve ever...well.” She paused. “So I thought I could, I don’t know, repay you by offering for you to...I don’t know, stay with us? Not in a romantic capacity, of course,” she hurried to add. “You’re not really my type.”

John stared up at her. “You want me...to come live with you.”

“Yeah.” Stacy shrugged. “I mean, only if you want to. It’s the least I can do.”

“You...really don’t want me to come live with you,” John said. “Trust me.”

“Why?”

“Just...you just don’t.”

“Well the new house should have room,” Stacy remembered. “And if you don’t want to stay in a house, you can just put your tent in the yard. Because apparently a lot of places in this country don’t have yards, what do you know? Lots of urban areas, not a lot of suburban ones. But anyway, I figured it would be...nice, to not have to worry about...a lot of things.” She smiled softly.

“I mean, it would,” John admitted. “But there will still be things to worry about. Things that you really, really don’t want to be bothered with.”

“What, you mean like your criminal record?” Stacy asked. “Yeah, I know about that. I just—I think that if—”

“I don’t have any records,” John muttered. “Listen, do you have a computer?”

That was an odd question. “Um, yes, I have my laptop and we have a desktop too.”

“And you have a smart phone? Do your kids have smart phones?”

“I do, yes, but they don’t. Mathew has a flip phone, but I’m not getting him a smart phone until his next birthday. Then Larkin can have the flip phone for emergencies.”

This clearly wasn’t the answer John was looking for. “Look, it’s best for both of us that I don’t go anywhere near you. We had a small visit, but that’s it. Good luck on your...life. I guess.”

Stacy frowned, not one to give up. “Look, I can tell this isn’t...a good situation for you. You don’t even have to interact with me that much if you don’t want to. But you saved my fucking life, so stop being stubborn and let me pay you back.”

John kept staring at her. Then he sighed. “Fine. I’ve been in this town for long enough, anyway. You can give me a ride to wherever you’re going.” He crawled out of the tent and stood up, stretching. “Give me a few minutes to pack up.”

Stacy nodded, smiling brightly. “Great. Thanks, John.”

“‘Thanks’? Shouldn’t I be thanking you?” He chuckled. “Here, hold this.” He tossed the flute at Stacy, and she fumbled to catch it.

“You play the flute?” She asked, examining it.

“I’m trying to. I used to play drums but, you know, it’s not quite portable to have a drum set around.”

“I played bass once. I should take it back up.”

“You do that.”

A few minutes later, Stacy was back in the car, introducing John to Mathew and Larkin, saying he was a friend of hers. Larkin, being the friendly kid he was, cheerfully took to the stranger, but Mathew seemed a bit wary.

“Is your name really John?” Mathew asked, leaning forward from the back seat to talk to John in the passenger’s side.

“No, but you wouldn’t remember my name anyways.”

“What happened to your eye?”

“Ah well you see it’s a long story,” John said grinning. “Starting with both of my eyes bleeding and ending with this one getting sewn shut. And yes, you heard that correctly.”

Mathew glared at him silently for a moment. “Do you like video games?”

“Dude I love video games. I used to play them for a job.”

Mathew considered this. “My favorite’s Breath of the Wild. What’s yours?”

“I like Shadow of the Colossus. You heard of it?”

“Yeah.” Mathew nodded, and settled back. Apparently that had convinced him that this guy was normal enough.

Stacy glanced over at John. “You really think we wouldn’t remember your name?”

“I know you wouldn’t,” John said, staring out the window. “Within a week everyone in this town will forget I was ever here.”

“Surely that’s not tru—”

“It is.”

Stacy fell silent for a moment. “Well, I think you should tell me your name anyway, just in case.”

John sighed a bit, but nodded. “Yeah. Alright.”

The car passed beyond the boundaries of the town. And soon, it wasn’t even visible to the town anymore. The sun set, and life went on as normal, in the small city that hid a secret of its own.

—————

Day One Since She Left

—————

She’d come back.

It was waiting.

#jacksepticeye #jacksepticegos #jacksepticeye fanfiction #septic egos #septic egos au #chase brody #tw: horror #tw: suicide mention #tw: stalking #brigid writes fanfiction #horrorseptics

23 notes · View notes

pluckyredhead · 4 years

Text

Daredevil 101: What Happened to Milla, Part 1

For the past while in Daredevil 101, Matt has been somewhat rockily married to a woman named Milla Donovan. Sharp-eyed readers may have noticed that Matt is no longer married in comics continuity. What happened?

*sigh* “To the Devil, His Due” and “Without Fear” happened, aka Daredevil v2 95-105 by Ed Brubaker and Michael Lark. Aka an absolutely interminable parade of pointless cruelty riddled with dangling plot threads and misogyny. Yes, the team that gave us the masterful “Devil in Cell Block D” has now gone off the rails so hard that Amtrak is still working on the repairs. (Sadly, their run never improves, so strap in, I guess.)

Now, Milla is not exactly my favorite character, but very few things in DD history make me madder than the way she was written off. It’s so clear that Brubaker wanted to fridge her but realized he couldn’t get away with a fifth dead Daredevil love interest, so he figured out a different “fate worse than death” (hoo boy we’ll have to unpack that in Part 2). No price is too high for a woman to pay if it means Matt Murdock suffers, amirite?

And with that tempting introduction (?), let’s get into it!

Content Warnings: Ableism, sexual assault and implied threats of sexual violence.

We begin with Melvin, who is in jail thanks to having attacked Matt back when he was blackmailed into doing so. Specifically, we begin with Melvin in a room with a bunch of dead bodies he swears up and down he isn’t responsible for.

Matt and Foggy and most especially Becky Blake believe him and take his case, but just a few days later it happens again - Melvin is found surrounded by dead bodies and claiming to have no memory of what happened but that he didn’t do it. The psych eval doesn’t go well, in that, well, he passes:

According to the doctor, this isn’t Melvin being taken over by his Gladiator personality or an actual second person stepping in - this is just Melvin himself killing people. Which for Melvin’s legal team (and friends) is the worst possible option, of course.

Meanwhile, Milla appears to have taken up therapy:

Aside from what this story does to Milla and Melvin, part of what makes it so bad is the structure. This was partially due to a couple of company-wide crossovers that we’ll see marching through the book in a little bit, but also just lots of things being set up and then dropped without going anywhere. Here we see Milla in therapy, which is never returned to or discussed. The sinister way this is framed makes it clear that the person she’s speaking to is the villain of the piece, but the fact that he met Milla at therapy is never revealed or mentioned at all. Later in the scene he says something about how he hasn’t told his wife that he’s in therapy but he should stop underestimating her, which is clearly meant to get under Milla’s skin in regards to her relationship with Matt, but that kind of subtle manipulation is too interesting for this story and leads absolutely nowhere. And of course we don’t get to actually see Milla talking to her therapist, which would require her to have an interior life.

Which means we have an entire scene that could have been replaced with a single panel of Milla bumping into someone on the street that would have had exactly the same effect on the plot. And the pacing problems only get worse from here, folks!

Anyway. The state decides to move Melvin, but he escapes his prison transport - and attacks Matt, who’s been keeping an ear on things:

Melvin kicks the crap out of Matt and escapes, but Matt realizes that there’s something wrong with Melvin - it may not be the Gladiator taking over, but this isn’t his friend, either.

The next day, Nelson and Murdock receive a surprise guest: Lily Lucca, who you may remember as she of the Karen-smelling perfume who aided and abetted in multiple murders and lured Matt into a confrontation with Vanessa Fisk:

As you’ll recall, the perfume Vanessa gave Lily to entrap Matt with makes her smell like every man’s fondest memory [INSERT GIANT EYEROLL HERE], which is why Foggy’s falling all over himself here. But now she has a problem: even though she’s not using the perfume anymore, she still smells like it, which means men are constantly creepily following her around, getting into fights over her, etc.

This is...sigh. There’s an aspect of “female character is punished for using her sexuality” here that makes me super uncomfortable. Certainly 90% of comic book villains have some kind of monkey’s paw in their backstory (“I tried to make a cool suit of armor and now I have robot tentacles!” “I tried to cryogenically freeze my dying wife and now I am really cold all the time!” etc.), but there’s a way in which it’s weaponized against certain types of female characters that’s deeply gendered and often kinda rape-y. (I got this vibe with Debbie and Micah Synn as well.) Lily wanted to control men through their desire to her? Well, now they might desire her so much they’ll assault her! That’ll show her! I guess. Ugh, it just grosses me out.

Anyway, Matt reluctantly agrees to help her, or more specifically have Dakota help her, since she won’t be affected by Lily’s scent the way he and Foggy will. Even with this caveat, when he meets Milla for dinner she does not like this:

I think we’re meant to be reading Milla as not being entirely rational about Lily because she’s so jealous of Karen’s memory and Lily reminds Matt of Karen, but she’s not wrong. I have no idea if we’re meant to read Matt as being sort of a douche in this scene but if my husband was like “Keep your voice down” and “Don’t be so hyperbolic” I would walk out of that fucking restaurant.

Or run, as the case may be:

Matt distracts Melvin so that Milla can get away (lotta Ms in this storyline), then somehow quick-changes to Daredevil for a fight. Melvin knocks him out and Matt wakes up handcuffed in the back of a police car:

The cops are arguing because it’s the middle of Civil War, which didn’t touch the Daredevil book very much but Matt was firmly on the anti-registration Team Cap side, unsurprisingly. As an unregistered superhero, just being out in a mask made him a criminal. (They don’t do anything with the fact that his secret identity was basically an open book at this point, which would have been interesting.)

Anyway, The Mysterious Voice Speaking On A Frequency Only Matt Can Hear gleefully tells him that he left his wallet at the restaurant, which has his home address, which means Melvin knows where to find Milla. Of course, Melvin was one of Matt’s bodyguards when his identity was first exposed and definitely already knew where he lived, but whatever.

Milla is, of course, wandering around the apartment in nothing but a bra and panties when Melvin shows up, because Daredevil artists apparently love putting her in her underwear to terrorize her and this is the last chance they’ll have to do it.

Melvin takes Milla up to the roof to wait for Matt. I’m including this exchange, where Milla tries to talk him down by appealing to his better nature, because it’s basically her last moment as herself. Reminding others of their better angels has always been one of her strengths, and she deserves to have that highlighted before...everything else.

Matt shows up. Melvin throws Milla off the roof:

Matt miraculously saves her and returns to fight Melvin, but Melvin has pretty much given up at this point and it’s all over but the crying. He’s bundled off to maximum security, and that’s...well, that’s the end of Melvin. This storyline came out in 2007, and this sweet, interesting character who has been around since the Silver Age has been unusable ever since. So thanks for that, Brubaker.

Matt’s furious, and determined to figure out who did this to Melvin:

“What did your sensei say about fighting angry?” always makes me laugh. Also, why would you ever suggest Matt follow Stick’s advice, Foggy, honestly.

(Foggy is A+++++ in this storyline and it makes me mad that I can’t even enjoy it because he’s just frantically trying to salvage a steaming pile of shit the whole time. Also given the overall ableism in this story I’m a little :/ that he basically takes over being the functional adult like Matt’s incapable of it.)

Matt runs into another dropped plot thread here because he gets on the trail of a street drug that makes people angry, which, like, how would Melvin have even gotten that in prison anyway, especially nonconsensually? Also, every other depiction of this drug shows it putting the user into a senseless rage, but Melvin sure was able to find his old lair, put on his Daredevil costume, track down Matt, and kidnap his wife when the plot required him to. How very Guardian Devil.

Anyway, Matt starts tracking the drug to its source. Meanwhile, Milla shows up at N&M:

Yeah, from here on out Milla is all tears and hysteria. Sigh.

Foggy decides to take her home, and Lily tags along, even though Foggy thinks that’s a REALLY REALLY bad idea because a) she's upsetting Milla, b) she fucks with Foggy’s head, and c) every dude in the subway is going to be all over her. But Lily insists, because she’s...manipulative? Genuinely feeling guilty and choosing the absolute worst way to fix that? Flimsy plot reasons? Let’s go with flimsy plot reasons.

While waiting for the train, Milla pretty much loses her shit at Lily, and also the world in general:

“I don’t know what I’ve done to you” is pretty rich, Lily. YOU LURED HER HUSBAND ON A MURDER CHASE ACROSS EUROPE.

Meanwhile, Dakota is still trying to figure out where Vanessa got Lily’s original perfume from - and Matt has followed the drug trail back to the Enforcers, a bunch of goofy-ass Silver Age villains we haven’t seen in decades. (They are specifically named the Ox, Fancy Dan, and Montana. They are ridiculous.) They clobber him and take him to their leader:

LARRY CRANSTON. MISTER FEAR. He made the perfume. He drove Melvin insane. And he’s the reason behind what happens next:

Lily lives. The random bystander does not. And when Matt, having been literally thrown out of the window and into the garbage by Mister Fear, returns home, Foggy is waiting for him:

Next Time: Milla is taken into custody, and Matt searches for a cure.

#daredevil #daredevil 101

25 notes · View notes

stars-and-rose · 5 years

Note

Can you make an AU where Virgil and Logan are supervillians and Patton and Roman are the heroes? I see a lot with the vice versa, but I want to see some villainous Analogical! But, of course, they start falling for the other two and vice versa. And if your not going to write it, can you point me in the direction of one or someone I ask for one?

really? i thought it would be the opposite!i thought i being creative when i made Ro and Pat supervillains in a.s.h.es, ashes (we all fall down). darn it! anyway, i don’t think i’m capable of writing another superhero au, butttttttt will a bullet fic suffice?

also i’m taking this as LAMP because i think that’s what you’re asking for here but a) i have one working brain cell and b) i’m in a mood to write some LAMP

also trigger warning! violence, blackmail, kidnapping

so i’m recycling the powers from my au and the aliases because i’m ridiculously proud of them, so Logan is Glitch and has a control over technology and can teleport, Virgil is Adrenaline and has super strength/speed/etc, Roman is Knight and controls illusions, and Patton is Nova and controls energy.

ANYWAY ON TO THE FIC

Logan and Virgil are roommates, both living in a busy city and hiding their superpowers.

but Virgil accidentally revealed to one of his coworkers than he has powers, and in a panic said he’d do anything to keep his secret hidden

the coworker is an ass, and uses his knowledge of Virgil’s superpowers to blackmail him

Logan has been trying to convince Virgil to stop letting his coworker blackmail him, but Vee refuses to listen to logic and Logan eventually agrees to allow Virgil to handle his own issues

until Virgil comes home with a black eye

and Logan loses it.

(it’s definitely not because he likes Virgil. no. not all at. illogical)

Logan uses his ability with computers to track down the coworker, dig up some dirt on the man, and after dressing in dark clothes, teleports to the coworker’s place.

he confronts the coworker, threating to reveal the man’s secrets if he keeps blackmailing Virgil

it gets physical

Logan was not prepared for that and gets punched in the face

and just when the coworker is about to hit him again, the man gets thrown into a wall

when Logan gets up he sees Virgil, also dressed in dark clothes, looking at his coworker and disgust, and then his eyes meet Logan’s

they both realize, at the same time, what they’ve done, how many laws have been broken and Logan gets them out of there

but not fast enough, as a neighbor managed to get video footage and know they’re being labeled as SuperVillians on the news

and after an hour of panic, they decide to screw it

why not become SuperVillians? people are assholes, society sucks, both Logan and Virgil are bitter, so why not go against that?

within two months, they’ve become the top SuperVillians in the city. labeled as Glitch and Adrenaline, they run unchecked, none of the SuperHeroes able to stop them, and people fear seeings glimpses of violet and navy after dark

and no one suspects them. serious Logan and anxious Virgil would never be considered SuperVillians

(however, Virgil’s coworker stays far away from him)

but in their third month, something changes

The duo is robbing a bank, and are coming out of the bank when their surroundings change. the bank becomes an alley, and the money fades to dust

‘that was too easy.’ another voice enters the alley, and soon the voice becomes a figure. two figures, actually.

the four stand in the alley in silence, studying each other and ignoring the heavy beating in their hearts

realizing they’re not equipped for the situation, Lo and Vee teleport away and spend the rest of the night trying to figure out who that others are

they quickly learn the duo is the SuperHero team Knight and Nova, from the next city over, come to stop them

their nights suddenly become more interesting

at every crime, Knight and Nova are there to stops. nights end in impossible victories and bitter defeats, nights end in bruises and blood, and now, reporters are waiting up at night, waiting for the streaks of red and blue and violet and the sounds of battle to fill the dark

but there was a spark that first night and that spark began to grow

the battles become filled with thinly veiled flirting and suddenly the Heroes and Villians are unable to truly injure the other side, and now the battles are lasting longer and longer and the people are confused. why are there no victories?

until an anonymous post goes viral, talking about how the Heroes and Villians are infatuated with each other

and since honestly the civilian’s lives have gotten boring without interesting battles, they jump on the idea like twelve-year-old girls at a boy band, shipping them like crazy

but the fun part?

said Heroes and Villians are obvious.

and by obvious, i mean completely utterly clueless

let me back that up for a sec, actually.

other villains and heroes are aware of their own feelings, but there’s no way that feeling is reciprocated, right?

and then someone gets sick of their obviousness. it has bene going on for almost a year now, this pining game. he isn’t anyone special, he’s just sick of these SuperHeroes and SuperVillians lying to themselves

so he forms a plan

a week later, the news is interrupted by a recording of a masked man holding the mayor captive. he threatens the mayor’s, a kind man who had just stepped into office, life. they only why he claims the mayor will be spared is if both Nova and Knight, AND Glitch and Adrenaline show up to a secret location.

our SuperVillians are curious and our SuperHeroes want justice, so they show up at the location. they find the mayor tied to a chair, and the masked man next to him, but the strange part?

the four chairs on the opposite side of the room and the powerpoint set up

‘have a seat’ the masked man says.

they don’t

the man rolls his eyes and then starts his powerpoint

the four were expected a plan for world destruction.

they were given a powerpoint explaining how all four of them are madly in love with each other

at the end, the room has four blushing SuperHumans

the mayor smiles at them, before looking at the masked man. ‘can i go now? the masked man nods, untying the mayor, and they leave

the next morning, Roman Aurum and Patton Lark ae waiting at a cafe when Virgil and Logan find them

they order coffee, and the spark they’ve been feeling for months grows overwhelming, and the day ends with two fewer SuperVillians, two fewer SuperHeroes, and more dates on the way for a group of soon-to-be-boyfriends

the city is sad they don’t have any more action, but soon more action appears through the SuperVillian DreamWalker and the SuperHero Animator, who are clearly in love-

(i’m sorry, this is definitly not what you wanted-)

#roman sanders #virgil sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #thomas sanders #sanders sides #sander sides au #superhero au #supervillian au #LAMP #romantic LAMP #superhero! roman #superhero! patton #supervillian! virgil #supervillian! logan #im so sorry #this is not what you wanted-#i actually took about an hour and half to write that #oh my god i cant believe myself

92 notes · View notes

therapisttothedevil · 4 years

Text

Good & Bad || Linda & Lucifer

When: Before The Riots Where: District X - Linda’s Office With: @apollyon-morningstar - Lucifer

Lucifer has another stumbling block with Billy and decides to consult Linda on the matter...

Lucifer: Being in a fight with Linda was tiresome. Lucifer relied on her to help him tease out the introspection that he just refused to do. He had said to her that he was going to use a failsafe. That he would leave the moment Lucifer began to feel unsettled by the whole thing. But now he was in a predicament because he felt unsettled and wouldn't leave. And why not? He had just met the other. It was driving him half mad trying to work it out. The fight they had had ended badly, and now Lucifer was relatively sure that he would have to apologize--which, ugh. However, what Billy had been saying about him and being Good and all that... He didn't bother to make an appointment--he rarely did anymore--instead just showing up and pushing into Linda's office. "I've hit a snag," he told her. "In the failsafe."

Linda: There were moments of downtime, even for her, despite the large client list of people in District X. So, Linda had decided to enjoy her salad and green tea at her desk, listening to a podcast about female authors. Given the craziness she’d experienced not so long ago (which she was managing to ignore and get by without examining thank you very much) a sedate experience like this was exactly what she needed to feel better about things. And she was ten minutes and four bites in when the door opened without knocking and one of the biggest pains in her ass showed up. Much as she still considered him a friend, despite his behaviour, Lucifer was very difficult at times. “A snag?“ she repeated, turning off her podcast and eyeing him for a moment. She put her fork down and sighed, biting back any other comment in favour of, “Come in, sit down, tell me what’s happened.”

Lucifer: Lucifer moved into the office, settling down on the couch where he usually sat. Or at least, he had usually sat on the couch in LA. He looked over at Linda before quirking a brow. “Are we trying to watch our figure, darling?” He asked her, nodding to the salad. “There’s no need. All that hot yoga does you a world of good.“ Lucifer couldn’t help but joke a little bit. It was his go to initial line of defense when he felt uncomfortable. “I took your advice,“ he said simply. “I decided I was going to explore the new experience which would come from being—“ he paused, giving a playful little shiver before finishing. “—monogamous.” He wondered if Linda had actually thought he could do it. Because Lucifer hadn’t really thought he could. And maybe he couldn’t. After all, he had only seen Billy four times before having to come find Linda once more. “I got mixed results. On the one hand, I really did enjoy some of the time we spent together. But on the other… I cooked dinner. Me. I cooked. And then the first thing out of his mouth when he got to the club, which I had set up with the whole revolting checklist of ‘romantic’, was ‘is this kosher?’.” Lucifer shook his head. “Everyone knows that Judaism is a load of bollocks. I’m the devil. It’s like he missed the memo. Obviously the lamb wasn’t kosher. I am blamed for all of the corruption in the natural state of human history. No I’m not going to humanely slay a lamb.” The moment he started talking, there wasn’t really much stopping Lucifer. “And it’s not as if I’m not trying. I took him to Disneyland. An amusement park. Filled with children.“

He had sat down initially, but then ended up back on his feet. Perhaps he would just forget that he and Linda were fighting. Because talking to her always felt… Better. Even if it took a little while for it to settle in. After all, after a few of her more insistent sessions, Lucifer was always prone to personal attack. But now, he needed her help. Her insight. “And then he gets on a lark about how I couldn’t’ve been a detective with Chloe unless I was a good person. He’s looking for some sort of Saint Lucifer. But I’ve been there, I’ve done that. It was boring, and it was a waste of time. If Good exists, it doesn’t necessarily mean that justice does. And really what’s the point of one without the other? I’d rather just have fun.“ It was a load of bullshit spilling from his mouth, but Lucifer would be offended to be told such. “And where does he get off? What right does he have to give me his assessment of me when he barely knows me? He’s not you, though for all he seems to think he is. So I got angry. And really, I should just be considering leaving him, right?. But it’s not just the way I feel around him. There’s something else. Something magical. I don’t know if I can describe it to you because you’re just a human but the point remains that when I’m around him something happens. I erase matter. I destroy it. That isn’t supposed to be possible.“ It was an overload of information, and Lucifer was just getting started. Still, he allowed himself to pause if only because he knew that Linda would need to speak or at least need to think about what he just said.

Linda: Usually, when she didn’t need to speak a great deal it was an indicator that a session as going well. Or at least, that the patient she was seeing felt comfortable enough to open up. As it was, Lucifer seemed to have forgotten he was even angry with her (or was simply foregoing the rage momentarily) to spin what was rapidly becoming a convoluted tale of many different events. Luckily, she’d been doing this for a long time and as Lucifer talked she plucked the important threads from his rant and began unravelling them. “Lucifer. Did you ask Billy if he had any dietary requirements before you went ahead and cooked a dinner?” Which, wow to that little revelation. “Because in a relationship cooking for someone is an intimate gesture, it’s showing your desire to care for and please a partner. But it’s usually something one person does for another when they know each other a little better.” She wondered if he was rushing ahead, trying to get to the end of the road more quickly (which would be a very Lucifer thing to do come to think of it) “Billy didn’t set out to reject your hard work or your gesture. You have to respect that his religion is a part of who he is, how he identifies. That includes the way he eats. Even if you may not agree with it.“ Which it seemed he certainly didn’t, “Also, is there not even a little truth to the events that founded the Judaism faith?“ She asked, “You’re in that one after all.” She couldn’t help but be a little curious about these things. And if he was pretending there was nothing wrong then why couldn’t she? “My point being, if you put the incident regarding the food you made aside, how did Billy react to the gesture itself? Was he pleased you cooked for him? Took your space and made if something for just the two of you?“ Everything she knew about Billy was second-hand of course but it seemed like he would react well to the whole thing.

Again, she waited a few moments before continuing, giving Lucifer time to digest her words, even if she wasn’t sure he would. “Disneyland?” She couldn’t help but deadpan, “Honestly?” What an awful place for a date. But maybe that was just her. “So, to your understanding, Billy made an assumption about you that was inaccurate and you didn’t like that?” She asked, pausing a moment, “Quite similar to you assuming he’d be happy to eat whatever you cooked?“ She waited and then smiled slightly, “Lucifer, this is how people get to know one another. It will never be perfect at first try. You’re both discovering who the other is. You’re testing boundaries, crossing lines you don’t know are there. Neither of you are setting out to hurt the other. It’s simply how we get closer. When you have a conflict like that you don’t walk away. Not if you’re invested.“ “Though perhaps, you should consider thinking about why what Billy said bothered you so much.“ She looked at him carefully, “He saw good in you. Believed there to be good in you… Why did that upset you? You said yourself that you’re blamed for humanities darker impulses but that you’ve never had a hand in causing them. You don’t lie. You punish people who deserve it. None of thing make you objectively evil. So why the resistance, the push back, when you’re confronted with the idea of being good?”2 February 2020

Lucifer: Lucifer felt his temper flare. “No, I didn’t perform the oh-so-vital interrogation which includes: can you eat a perfectly prepared rack of lamb?” He shook his head. “It’s exhausting, honestly. He asked me for romance and I find the notion of romance to be a colossal waste of time.” He shook his head. “Just because the events aren’t wrong doesn’t mean that the Presence gives a flying fuck how you eat animals. Ridiculous.” He shook his head. “What is it with you and identifies, Linda?” She had lingered on that with him for so long. “And we’ve fucked, we’ve done four of the inane ‘dates’. How well do I have to know him?” He shook his head. “And all he said was ‘is this kosher?’. And like Hell I was going to tell him I had prepared the meal after it was deemed unsuitable to his worthless dogma. He’s with me. How could he think I observed any of that silly human fairytale?” “Don’t say it like that. That’s what he asked me for. I went and got to employ the sin of Gluttony. The amount of food they have there is utterly appalling but also fascinating.” He never would have selected Disneyland in his own right. He narrowed his eyes. “I think trying to define who I am is quite a bit different to not eating something delicious from someone who has been around since they started eating the stuff.” “Weren’t you listening? I tried Good. After you left I did charity, philanthropy, and all that garbage. And then I met—“ He paused before shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter. You once told me that you thought I was enchanted with Justice. And maybe I am. But Good and Just aren’t connected and I’m quite beginning to believe that the latter doesn’t exist.”

Linda: “Lucifer. You do know that a relationship only progresses well if it works as a give and take?” She asked, certain she’d made this point before, “If you’re uncomfortable with traditional ideas of romance then discuss that with Billy. Compromise, good partnerships of any kind romantic, business, familial, they revolve around compromise. Instead of trying to present yourself in a way you aren’t comfortable with think, how would I ‘Lucifer Morningstar’ show someone I value their feelings without bedding them. What about Maze?” She asked abruptly, “The two of you have an intensely close relationship that isn’t at this point physical. What sort of things did you both do that you feel Billy might enjoy? Has it occurred to you that perhaps you thinking you need to be so utterly unlike yourself to be close to this man is causing you some distress?” “And that was an example of a compromise. You went where he wanted and found the food got you through it. Now, try and flip that, what or where would you enjoy and feeling comfortable doing that may have something for Billy to partake in?” She shrugged, “You’d be surprised Lucifer. When it comes to our psyche’s understanding ourselves is the best way to understand our actions and reactions to different situations.“ Linda tilted her head and not unlike a shark scenting blood moved in on that slight pause, “You met who?“ She asked, “Because I think it might matter.“ Linda paused a moment, “Good exists, without it how could measure evil? Justice is something dependent on context Lucifer. It can’t be nailed down simply. Like a relationship can’t. Like an identity can’t.”

Lucifer: Lucifer stared at her blankly for a long moment. How would he, Lucifer Morningstar, show someone he valued their feelings without bedding them? He had no idea. Though her question about Maze had him sighing. "Well, Maze has gone off and left," he remarked. "And somehow I don't think that Billy would enjoy punishing the...wicked." He very nearly trailed off at the thought. Because Billy did punish the wicked. In a sense. He was a superhero. Insofar as humans defined them. "Wait. He is an Avenger. Do you know about them? That team of humans with powers?" He considered. "But I'm not going to be an Avenger. How would I... share that with him? All of the things Maze loved to do with me beyond that aren't really his cup of tea. He won't even do orgies." A shame really. Lucifer remembered the Britneys. He looked up. "Well, that's it, isn't it? Because he is trying to--" But he wasn't, was he? He paused again before humming once. "Okay. I'll even give you a point on that one. Enjoy it, you know I don't give them out often." Normally, he had to argue. All the time. If he didn't, Lucifer was relatively sure he would perish. So now his mind had begun to work. There had to be other ways to be romantic without rose petals and candles and other things. "We kissed," he said simply. "For a long time. It... Because I wanted to. Because the thing he's got... it makes me feel... strange." He looked up at Linda. "Okay... another point." How the Hell had he lived without her for so long?[21:49]He knew she'd lock on. Or he should have known. Sighing, he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Just someone I worked a case for. He's... dead now." Your Father has a plan. No he didn't. More and more, Lucifer had begun to believe that the Presence was just a mean kid with a magnifying glass burning the wings of of the little insects here on earth. "You're right. It exists. It's just completely inconsequential. Whether Good or Evil means nothing. Changes nothing. If it didn't, the man I met wouldn't be dead right now."

Linda: She took a quiet satisfaction in herself when she managed to bring the other to a momentary standstill. It was rare but Lucifer had and did make progresses when he came to see her, he was already so much better than he’d first been. “I’m sure she’ll be back Lucifer. Maze is a much more independent demon now. Like you maybe she wants some time to see how she fits into the world.” But that was a conversation for another day, even if she missed Maze too. She waited as Lucifer talked through things that Billy enjoyed, he was an avenger? Superpowers, trust Lucifer to find this connection in a hero, it was an interesting comparison. “Well, you shared helping Chloe with her investigations. Perhaps Billy and his avengers sometimes need to investigate things as well? Even if you and she may not be the same kind of thing you and Billy are, you still enjoyed the experience.“[18:16]Linda lent back with a little smile on her face when even Lucifer Morningstar had to admit she was right, she often was but getting him to say it was a much rarer event. “Kissing is an initiate thing lots of couples do, it can lead to more or sometimes it’s just about that contact and showing someone you feel deeply for them.” She paused then continued, “Or, maybe it’s sharing a favourite place of yours, a night of dancing, a few drinks, maybe a certain someone showing off their piano skills and voice.” She trailed off. Lucifer loved his clubs, and just because they were sexy places didn’t mean he and Billy couldn’t spend intimate time there that wasn’t physical.

“You’ve worked a lot of cases when you were in LA Lucifer, seems to me that someone sticking in your mind must’ve made quite an impact.” She said, tilting her head slightly. “Lucifer, good, evil, they’re abstract terms. They exist on the meaning we give them and even then, what’s against the law isn’t necessarily evil. And what’s right isn’t necessarily good. But, we still do our best to protect what we hold dear. In the end, that’s all that we can do. It may not be how we’d like the world to exist but it still matters to me, even if not to others.”

Lucifer: "Okay, so say you're right," which he had said but would not say again. "I suppose I'm meant to apologize for the way I reacted? Or do I just... you humans take conflict so deeply." Not just a human thing. Lucifer was showing his hypocrisy again. He was the King of taking things personally. And Linda was probably going to say yes. The idea of saying he was sorry gave him hives, but he had done it for Chloe before. He could do it for Billy. "What's right isn't necessarily good?" Lucifer repeated. "Then what is the point of 'right' or 'good' at all?" He shook his head. "Frank Lawrence's death wasn't right even though he was good." He shook his head. "He was a priest, which usually leaves a bad taste in my mouth but for once I met one that actually practiced what he preached and... he knew me. He knew what I was as he was dying and the person he died for wasn't worth his time. 'No one is beyond saving'. You know, except him."

Linda: “And you’ve never felt an apology necessary from a person you felt had wronged you?” Linda asked, if he didn’t expect her to put that one forward he had another thing coming. “You’ve lived among people for a long time now Lucifer, you know you need to apologise. And then you should explain to Billy how attempting to fit into preconceived notions of romance made you uncomfortable. If he cares about you then I think you’ll find him very willing to compromise.“ “It helps with cohesiveness. We wouldn’t be as successful a species as we are if we didn’t try to hold ourselves to the same standards out of respect for one another. Some do not do that and are punished for it. But that doesn’t lessen the pain of damage they cause.” She narrowed her eyes only slightly as Lucifer opened up about Frank, “Did he think that?“ She asked after a brief pause, “Did he die angry that it was in exchange for another person? Or is that your belief, your pain, quite justifiably, colouring over what he may have thought? It seems to me that, of this man thought no one was beyond saving then he would have been at peace giving his life to save another.“ She paused, “But then, death isn’t for the dying, not really.“ Linda watched him carefully, “Death is for those who’re left behind.”

Lucifer: Lucifer narrowed his eyes. "Now don't get petty, Linda darling." Or he would be forced to be petty back. And Linda knew that Lucifer's petty was most people's mean. And he didn't want to be mean to her. Not when she was helping him. He gave a comical sigh. "I will attempt to find some semblance of apology to muster forth." "I'm not a member of your species," he reminded. "Only trying to navigate your funny little minds. And yes. He did think that. He was an idiot. But a good man. And now he's dead and my Father did nothing at all to save him. We are all surprised exactly none." He shook his head before pushing to his feet. "Now, I suppose I'll leave you to your salad, doctor. Mustn't let it wilt."

Linda: “Wouldn’t dream of it.” She said idly, taking a sip of her water. Being the bigger woman in every conversation was exhausting and frankly she’d deserved that dig. “Lucifer, it isn’t a difficult thing. You just need to be honest. Admit it hurt your pride when he rejected your dinner and you lashed out in response, likely a touch more than was necessary.” And by ‘a touch’ she meant a lot. “No but you live amongst us. You’ve been around humanity long enough now to know how apologies work.” She reminded him in kind, “He was an idiot by your standards. Not his own.” Linda was quiet for a moment, “Lucifer, I don’t think your father gets involved anymore.“ He brought ‘absentee’ to a whole new level. She raised a brow once more, “Treat Billy to a night in Opulence. Sing for him, ask about his family, maybe share some of your detective adventures. Who knows, you might enjoy a date if you make it a Lucifer-Date.”

#Discord #Discord: Good & Bad #apollyon-morningstar #Good & Bad

1 note · View note

aion-rsa · 3 years

Text

Star Wars Victory’s Price Review: Alphabet Squadron 3

https://ift.tt/3uHtkPz

The Alphabet Squadron series has always been about secrets. Since it began in June 2019, the three-book series has essentially filled the role of the old X-Wing novels, following a mismatched group of pilots in the years after Return of the Jedi. Alongside the dogfights were the people hiding histories and motives from one another and from themselves. It’s some of the most complex and interesting work in Star Wars right now. What does a book ostensibly about heroism have to say about people governed by misunderstandings, anxieties, and happenstance? Quite a bit. The third book wraps up the series with a multi-layered, mostly satisfying finale.

Former Imperial pilot Yrica Quell has switched sides several times. Now she’s undercover with her former Imperial squad, and so deep under that her New Republic teammates think she’s betrayed them. Her old mentor Soran Keize has become even more bloodthirsty than the rest of the Imperial remnant in his effort to continue the Emperor’s Operation Cinder — planetary destruction, but make it slower and messier than a Death Star laser. Alphabet Squadron chases Keize’s Shadow Wing across the galaxy to a confrontation that will determine how the New Republic handles ex-Imperials going forward.

Stream your Star Wars favorites right here!

Those stakes — not only Quell’s loyalty, but what to do about anyone who served the Empire — are a brilliant way to make Quell’s story relevant to the whole galaxy. Author Alexander Freed brings video game writing experience to creating the best kind of science fiction adventure ending: one that depends on character growth and themes as much as on laser blasts. It’s a grueling but entertaining look at the complexities of war.

Book three does break some of the perfect immersion of the first two books, with some secrets withheld when the characters know them full well. After the close perspectives in the first two installments, it was jarring and felt artificial to have some key information — for example, about what exactly Quell was trying to do in the finale of Shadow Fall and the beginning of Victory’s Price — left out. But overall the character work remains strong.

Precision and specificity mesh well with broad metaphor. Pilot Wyl Lark’s efforts to reach across enemy lines to form an alliance never really result in a miraculous change of heart, but they do provide entertainment for his own side. Wyl’s arc always felt to me indicative of parasocial relationships, of trying to get to know someone you never really will. And he doesn’t. But along the way, his efforts make real connections between him and the people already on his own side.

While the second book created a strong friendship between the pilots Nath and Wyl, book three focuses on everyone else. Quell, Chaos, Kairos, and Hera all get their due. An adventure to a strange jungle world becomes an odyssey with three women bubbling with possibility for either connection or ruin.

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

Fans looking for more of Star Wars Rebels‘ Hera Syndulla will find a lot of her here. The multi-talented and soft-hearted general doesn’t exactly have an arc in this book; she’s a supporting character. But she’s deftly drawn in a way that both captures her other appearances and feels like she’s been carrying even more of the weight of the war.

While I found Soran Keize, the Imperial commander, to be a weak point in Shadow Fall, his perspective and motivation are much clearer now. The ideological clashes between him and Quell are effectively load-bearing, as is their affection; Keize doesn’t stop being Quell’s mentor even as they move further and further to opposite sides of the war.

It’s not all delicate character interactions, though. Action scenes feel pleasantly suited to either the Star Wars films or video games. The author creates vivid starfighter scenes in part by drawing directly on famous film shots like the opening of the climactic battle in Return of the Jedi. But it doesn’t feel like pastiche or repetition. Instead, it’s alchemy. Sound, physicality, and banter all come together to create a vivid battle worthy of the movies. (Sound is also used in a fun way with the chapter and section titles, all of which are in-universe song titles.)

Books

Star Wars Books: A Guide to Canon Novels in Chronological Order

By Megan Crouse

Books

What Star Wars: The High Republic Reveals About the Galaxy Before the Movies

By Megan Crouse

So, how does Victory’s Price work as the conclusion to a trilogy? The final act is a careful balance between personal and political. Quell and the rest of the Empire have done terrible things: what does a just government do with them? What about a group of people who are trying blindly to make a just government that we know will fall to the First Order in a matter of decades? Victory’s Price even has characters dramatize a common thread in Star Wars discourse, that of whether Luke was right to mourn Darth Vader after all the evil he had committed. Where Luke found Anakin worth saving, this pilot finds the idea of mourning Vader grotesque.

The whole finale is a balancing act: between action and character, between the personal and the political, between epic redemption and damnation, and the more mundane reality in between. In the back half of the book, a rhythm starts on both sides of the war: we have to fight for our people. Be true to one another. An echo: The Rise of Skywalker‘s ideologically empty there are more of us. After Wyl’s arc argued in favor of the morale of the group, Freed doesn’t stop with the simple platitude of we’re right because we’re together. After all, that’s Keize’s argument, too. The conversations between the characters are also conversations about Star Wars‘ morality as a whole, and while sometimes the conclusions feel uncertain, we’ve had three books to explore what exactly is the content of Quell’s uncertainty.

In a book about people searching for unspeakable catharsis, the finale offers mercy that comes in unexpected ways. The book seems sometimes not to deliver on what was promised, to swerve at the last minute like a pilot who seemed to be on a collision course. That perfect tone wavers. But I’ll be fascinated to see what the rest of the fandom thinks. Entertaining, fascinating, at times slow but always thoughtful, Victory’s Price is one of the best Star Wars books to date.

The post Star Wars Victory’s Price Review: Alphabet Squadron 3 appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/2MIrQDs

#aion-rsa #Den of Geek

0 notes

larkwinters-a · 6 years

Text

Winters was a name that everyone know - whether they realised it or not.

There was a chance that, at some point or another, that they had been in one of the many restaurants that the family owned or they had walked past one - and it didn’t really matter which part of the world people where in because there was a chance there was one there too.

See, it started as a little family restaurant in southern Italy, that became more than just a small building in the crook of two bigger ones and slowly developed into a restaurant that tourists came to. After making the daring leap of Immigrating to the USA to expand their business and the hard work paying off, there was places opened in Europe, the USA, Australia. Hence why the Winters were a household name. Not one of the 1% yet there was mansions that bore their name on the deed.

(Naturally, mansions became baby proofed when Derek and Lacey Winters had their first kid. And then their second and then their third. And then a fourth. They were busy.)

Hence, why Lark had gotten into NYU to study Veterinary medicine with the thought that he’d be debt free when he graduated. Hence why he drove to college in a Maserati from his frat house. Hence why he’d never been the kind of person who didn’t think twice about waving his cash around and splashing out. Hence why he’d grown that over confident personality. Hence why he’d always had someone hanging around him. Hence why people loved him.

(Hence why he never had any real friends. Hence why he’d been alone for his entire social life.)

So, it made sense that when his frat threw parties that he provided the alcohol. Beer keg after beer keg, wine case after wine case, - protection too because he might have been a backwards cap wearing frat boy but he liked to think that his house members and their dates were being safe, even when they were drunk. And maybe he bought the alcohol not because he had the money to but so that blame could fall on somebody if something happened and he was willing to be that somebody. Maybe he liked to think people looked after themselves and their friends.

And maybe he learned that that wasn’t the case. But it was too late now for regrets.

Because, you see, it was at these frat parties were they introduced weed and then, a few months later, he was introduced to her and she introduced him to the wider world, told him he couldn’t get buzzed off of just weed and beer. And he was willing to believe her, for some forgotten reason now - maybe he thought she was pretty under the right lighting, maybe he thought she’d love him back, maybe he’d mistaken the rush of a high for love -, so that was how he ended neck deep in a world he hadn’t expected to be in.

A world that was meeting people behind campus at 3am for a deal and flushing down bags of stuff when there was a surprise inspection and he’d rush in, eyes red from using and their hearts hammering at the same time until the coast was clear and then they’d run to their nearest dealer.

His grades slipped to the point where he received notice after notice and had fight after fight with his parents. He would ditch councillor meetings and skip biology classes to get high with them in his car in the parking lot of a fast food place. Without realising it, he’d become the stereotype Leo had always told him he was, with that nasty drawl that made Lark use some more. The stereotype Frankie said she loved as she raked her nails down his back and then used those same hands to pocket whatever cash he had left laying around.

But sooner or later, just like his highs, a crash had to happen. And it did.

It was one stupid party, that was it, and not to fall into the cliche, but it was nothing but a blur; from showing up and consuming, to the occasional waking up in the ambulance to actually waking up in the hospital. From there, it was all vague words and terms (not from him) and crying (also not from him) and the silent ride home (not his choice) and the awkward confrontation when they got home (not his idea).

After one dismissal, the two of them (his mom said nothing, she hadn’t spoken to him since he’d woken up in the hospital) spent the next two hours arguing. The room was a mess of yelling (him) and crying (both of him and his dad) and that was how they to to where they were now, a week after it all had gone down, with him becoming a semi hermit, locked in his childhood bedroom that he’d trashed, found cleaned and then trashed again more times than he could count.

The first time was out of anger, the third because the withdrawal effects had started, and the fifth because NYU sent him the letter. The We’re sorry you almost died but we don’t want you at our school anymore, it’s bad for our reputation letter.

(He also knew there was another reputation he was tarnishing but his I don’t care facade would be ruined if he admitted he cared about whether or not his parents were disappointed in him.)

The letter had been torn up and burnt, the narrative effectively erased, and he’d gotten yelled at for that but he was too angry to have cared at the time. It was after that that he decide he’d have a better time completely isolated in his room, away from everyone else - hello unhealthy coping mechanism - and he’d heard the knocks at the door, smelled the dinner his mom had prepared for him but he never opened the door.

That didn’t stop her, because the previous day, an email was forward to his inbox with the subject line Sober Companion and Lark proceeded to throw the laptop out into the hall. He thought that was the end of it, the bow on the package, the full stop, the end of the story. But it wasn’t because now, the date of which was in the email and he would have known that if he’d bothered to check it, the knocks were more urgent than what he dubbed the dinner knocks and he had tried to bury them out by throwing the blanket over his head but it didn’t work, because he could still here them.

So, he called out from under that blanket, his voice hoarse from not being used; “Go away!”

“You need to come out.” It was’t his mom or dad. It was Ashlynne. “Mom is freaking out and dad’s late for work and this is important.”

“I never agreed to this.” Lark argued.

“Yeah, well,” There was a thump as she leaned against the door. “They didn’t ask for this either, so we’re all going to have to suck it up and deal with it.”

Instead of answering, he reached out from the blanket and picked up the first thing to his hand - his phone - and tossed it at the door. It worked, because he heard the light slam as she hit the door.

“Fuck you too, then.” she announced before, most likely, walking away.

That could have been the end of it except it wasn’t, because a few moments later, he heard the sound of his room door being forced open - the chain effectively broken, along with his privacy - and there was the sounds of footsteps and then, the quiet huff as they leaned over. Lark threw off his covers and saw his dad, looking tired and older than usual - his hair seemed to have gotten greyer. He was holding the cracked phone in his hand.

“You’re sober companion is arriving today.” he said. He spoke softly, like he was approaching a frightened animal who had been backed into a corner. “You have to come down and greet her, whether you’re happy about this or not.”

“This is bullshit.” Lark said.

“Language.” Derek said, but his heart wasn’t in it. It sounded like his heart had packed it’s bags and said You’re on your own with this one, Winters, Ciao. “We’ve worked hard to get this sorted, we interviewed people to find the best and -”

“I don’t care.” Lark snapped.

Derek set the phone down on the desk, his eyes on the leg that now had to be propped up by a couple of the textbooks Lark would never use again. There was an air of disappointment to his actions, to the look in his eyes.

(Except, there wasn’t. Lark was misinterpreting his sadness for disappointment.)

“Come downstairs.” Derek said. “I won’t ask you again.”

He left then, leaving the door open, and Lark groaned, but he got up, pulling himself out of the bed. He might just have been vain (he was) but he thought he was really pulling off the haven’t showered in four days look, but he decided he’d, at least, change his t-shirt. Maybe that’d make it seem like he was actually putting effort into this - which he really, clearly, wasn’t, not with the messy hair and the wrinkled sweatpants and the dark and ugly marks still present on his arms.

And then he walked down the hallway, pausing at the top of the stairs, across from the door to his parents bedroom. The burst of emotion in his chest was abrupt and startling and he quashed it down with reminders that these people didn’t have his best intentions in mind (they did) and that they only cared about how this looked to their lawyer and doctors friends (they didn’t).

When he got to the bottom of the stairs, he could hear voices. One belonged to his dad, he was making polite conversation, a second, more tired one, belonged to his mom, and the third, he didn’t know. She must have been the person who they thought could fix him - which, to him, was bullshit, because he didn’t need fixing.

Still, the manners he’d been taught kicked in when he walked into the room, his arms crossed over his chest in an almost defensive manner. He regarded the other person in the room with a lowered eyebrows, straight mouth expression.

The first thing he noticed about her was that she was tiny. She was much shorter than him and then, smaller still in every other way. From the looks of it, he could engulf her entire hand in one of his -

But why was he thinking about holding her hand?

“Ah,” Derek said, feigning a smile. “Finally. Lark, I’d like you to meet -”

“I don’t want to be a part of this.” Lark announced and then he looked directly at her. “This was their idea, not mine.”

A chair scraped across the floor, loudly and and Lark looked over to his mom. Lacey had stood up, her eyes shining with tears. She held her hand up, as though she wanted to say something, before she shook her head and walked out of the room. Derek apologised softly to the girl in front of them and went after her. Lark almost let himself be sad about it before he looked back at her.

“I’m Lark Winters.” he said, a little more resigned but not by much. “But you probably already know that.”

#2100

13 notes · View notes

cult-of-kai · 6 years

Text

The Sword of Swift Justice

Thoughts on episode eight, ‘Winter of Our Discontent’:

This episode was like the ghost of predictions past for me…

The promo picture called Cheyenne Jackson’s character ‘Dr. Rudy Vincent’, but his name in the show is Dr. Vincent Anderson. Surely this was done to preserve the surprise reveal. Right away, we find out that Vincent is innocent of all but being a lousy shrink. But even then- wait. Is he a lousy shrink? He’s exasperated by Ally, to be sure- but so were we. So was Ivy, for all that she had other issues as well. Rosie, beaming, said that Vincent cured her and he responded by praising the work she’d put in. I thought he had to be loading Kai up on Adderall if nothing else, but nope. Kai steals prescription pads from him. Vincent’s eventual fate stings because it comes right when he’s trying to atone for mistakes he is just realizing he made. I reasoned early on that Vincent might not actually be involved in the cult, but I kind of assumed I was overthinking the whole thing. Nope again. Although… there was something a little creepy about the description of “pinky power” (which sounds even sillier than pinky promise), in my opinion. At any rate- RIP, Vincent.

I guess Bebe Babbitt… went missing? I don’t know, but the ladies of the cult are still pissed about being pushed aside. It’s gotten worse, actually, because now they’re stuck cooking for and serving Kai’s army of blueshirt drones. Ivy mentions The Handmaid’s Tale, which I’ll get back to later, and Beverly relates how Kai is manipulating the city council into going along with his decisions. The bit about the gated community is decent class-war commentary. Then it’s time for story time with Winter.

How did Kai-That-Was become the Kai we know? I think it was after the trailer’s release that I called Kai a manipulative whackjob with a messiah complex. But then back in ‘11/9′, we were given the impression of relative- if perhaps dreary- normalcy until Ms. Anderson commits a murder-suicide. This definitely effects him. A mutual of mine (@loonyloomis) pointed out that this was when Kai stopped cutting his hair- Adam Sheppard tease!- and he later gets into peddling fraudulent prescriptions. But he seems to bounce back for the most part, despite living in a house with two rotting corpses. Then the two younger Anderson siblings go to Judgment House on a lark, which Winter presents as the defining turning point in Kai’s life. Symbolically, it makes sense. In a twisted parody of a church, a horror *house of judgment*, Kai is stripped down to his essence- and found wanting. His first instinct upon realizing that Pastor Charles is torturing and killing people is to rescue them, which he does while Winter runs to save herself. This is Kai at his most genuinely heroic. He saved four people, including Winter, from terrible torment and death- not to mention any other victims Pastor Charles would have found. Now just take a minute to imagine how differently things might have gone if Kai had done as the female victim suggested and called the police. But he didn’t, because the better angel of his nature fails. Instead of shining a light on a great evil, he becomes it. He denies Pastor Charles’ victims the justice they choose to do as Winter suggests and kills him, becoming a killer. This- not his parents’ death- is the crack in Kai’s soul, the fissure in his mind. Everything since has been psychodramatic fallout and Kai bringing others down with him. He’s trying to convince himself and everyone around him that he’s on the rise when he is in free-fall.

I’m not sure how prevalent they are overall, but (fake!) Judgment Houses do definitely exist in the South. I specifically remember going to one that was split between heaven and hell. Everyone kept wandering back to hell because the heaven side- white sheets with scripture written all over them- was boring. Parts of Judgment House reminded me of ‘Se7en’, specifically Sloth. That’s undoubtedly deliberate, especially since Winter already name-dropped Fincher last episode. And randomly, AHS co-creator Brad Falchuk dates Gwyneth Paltrow. Others have mentioned similarities to the ‘Saw’ series, but I’ve never seen any of those. Rick Springfield was fine, but Pastor Charles would have been a nice little role for Denis O’Hare.

Anyway. Winter wants to try to reach Kai, because she believes that can happen. They’re all members of a murderous clown cult, but what do I know? Ivy and Beverly agree to give her some time. Winter and Kai meet, and we learn that Kai definitely knows how Harrison died and doesn’t care. They do a pinky power session and shit gets strange fast. Kai has decided, apropos of nothing, that they need to have a messiah baby. And for whatever reason, Winter has to be its mother. Logically, one’s mind goes to incest. But no- it’s going to be so much weirder than that! Kai says they’re going to have a threesome with Detective Samuels but somehow Winter will remain pure. At first I thought maybe Kai was just looking for an excuse to have sex with Samuels, but later events in the episode turned that idea on its head. Winter eventually calls the whole thing off because it gets to be too much nonsense for her. (I mean, it wasn’t until then?) Between the robes and the song and the behavior of all involved, it was undoubtedly one of the most bizarre AHS scenes ever- cringy as hell, but also hysterical and… oddly fitting in a satirical way? In the popular imagination and in reality (to a lesser degree), cult practices are often oddly sexual, cobbled together, and perversions of religious rituals. Kai has a degree in religious studies. Is he trying to sanctify what he and the cult are doing? His opening salvo during pinky power might lead us to believe he’s simply testing Winter, but I don’t know. The whole scenario also evokes ‘The Handmaid’s Tale’, a modern classic about women’s disenfranchisement via reproductive slavery.

As for Winter, what’s her deal? Why was she trolling “social justice warriors” with Kai? Sibling bonding? She seemed to be enjoying it. Was she perhaps also changed by Judgment House? Was her response to the trauma a hard left turn? But she swears to love and be loyal to her brother, who is politically on the opposite shore. In ‘11/9′, she told Ivy she wants to serve someone powerful. It’s all rather baffling. Regardless, Winter wearing a dunce cap and throwing recycling on the side of the road because Kai “doesn’t believe in global warming” is one of the funniest damn things I’ve seen all season. The following confrontation between her and Samuels- especially the line about losing when Hillary did- might suggest she would get more radical and truly join forces with the other women, but that’s not what happens. Instead, she… sells Beverly out? What? In turn, Beverly reads both Kai and Winter for filth.

We *finally* get a little backstory on Samuels, which I’ve been waiting for despite not caring about the character. I suspected he was a Nazi type way back in ‘Don’t Be Afraid of the Dark’, and I was right. He was also a dirty cop pre-cult, although it’s a little rich for Winter to accuse him of being a criminal when- once again- they’re both members of a *murderous clown cult*. He life is complicated by being gay and internalizing homophobia. Kai sees this and immediately goes to work, feeding Samuels a line of misogynistic bullshit and then fucking him for good measure. Kai seems particularly into it as well, which is interesting. I rather wonder how Evan would describe his character’s sexuality. So did Samuels just not care about Harrison at all? It didn’t seem like their involvement was only physical. I specifically remember them cuddling on the couch and discussing their favorite housewives. Eh. RIP, Samuels.

Finally, we have Ally to consider. We see her holding one of Oz’s toy trucks before inviting Kai over to rat Vincent out. She claims to be afraid of nothing now, and that’s after Kai has already noted a change in her. Their little exchange about Manwich is cute, as is her deliberately calling Speed Wagon ‘Aerosmith’. (Seriously, where did the drones’ names come from?) In the final scene, we see that that some drones have taken to wearing the masks of fallen clowns. Ally, staring Ivy down, is wearing the mask of Kai’s former “favorite”- the only one who impressed him. That’s no coincidence. Rise, Ally.

#it is *dumb* that I'm posting this only now #I've had it half-written since the night the episode aired #I've just been lazy #and busy #american horror story #AHS: cult #7.8 'winter of our discontent'#fandom thoughts #episode recaps #october 2017

7 notes · View notes

inhumansforever · 7 years

Photo

Mosaic #6 Review

spoilers spoilers spoilers spoilers spoilers spoilers spoilers spoilers spoilers

The next chapter of Mosiac begins here from the creative team of Geoffrey Thorne, guest illustrator, Bruno Oliveira, and colorist Emilio Lopez: with an awesome cover by Mike del Mundo. Full recap and review following the jump.

Following the intense melodrama that was the conclusion of IvX, Thorne and company’s sixth issue of Mosaic is the perfect palette-cleanser. ...A fun, smart comic that puts forward lots neat ideas without the burden of stern, over-seriousness and ham-fisted metaphor.

Last issue, the new Inhuman, Mosaic, leaned the terrible truth that his father had essentially sold his son to the biological weapons and development firm known as The Brand Corp. Brand Corp was all about harvesting ‘seeds,’ individuals with special powers and gifts, Mutants, Inhumans and whatnot who could be dissected, reverse engineered and harvested in the development of weapons, medicines, and all manner of high-profit endeavors.

It was all a devastating revelation for Morris. Fortunately he was able to utilize his body-jumping powers to escape and trigger an explosion within the Brand Corp’s downtown headquarters that prevented his father and the other bad guys from getting away with his original body.

In the aftermath, Morris leaps into the body of one of Brand’s search and recovery operatives in an effort to venture into the wreckage of the building and hopefully find his original body. He finds it, along with those of five other poor souls who have been made the victims of The Brand’s sinister schemes. Each have been encased in some sort of protective sarcophagus that Morris hasn’t he faintest idea how to open. He figures he can ride things out inside the body of this Brand operative and wait until the opportune time to reoccupy his body and make good with his escape. That’s when things turn sideways.

Lockjaw, the enormous canine Inhuman comes teleporting onto the scene. …and he seems intent on grabbing the body of the operative Morris is possessing. Desperate and unsure what to do, Morris tries something completely new, projecting his conspicuousness into Lockjaw and possessing the giant bulldog’s mind and body. It doesn’t go as well as hoped...

Lockjaw’s mind doesn’t work like a human’s mind. Senses are overly intense, thoughts are overly simplified; Lockjaw’s canine thoughts are basic, but the variable torrent of heightened smells, and sounds and sights are all so intense that Morris can barely hang on. Morris struggles to make sense of the very different way in which Lockjaw’s neurology works. Alarmed, Lockjaw teleports all over. He goes to Asgard, The Moon, Dr. Strange’s Sanctum Santorum, and finally New Jersey where he finds Ms. Marvel (Kamala Khan).

Throughout, we get a snapshot of how Lockjaw more simple, animalistic thinking views the world around him and it’s pretty neat: The Watcher is ‘Bald Guy’ Doc Starnge’s assistant, Wong, is ‘treat guy,’ Ms. Marvel is ‘Blue Girl,’ Crystal is ‘Wind Girl’ and Medusa is ‘Alpha.’

Ms. Marvel can tell that Lockjaw is in distress and tells him that he needs to go home, that the Royal Inhuman will know what to do. She points him in the direction of New Attilan on the Hudson and reiterates ‘go home.’ Which he does. good dog!

Arriving in New Attilan, Morris and Lockjaw are still struggling over who control whom and Lockjaw tramples through the main square, knocking over various Inhumans. John Storm, The Human Torch (who has been acting as the Inhumans’ superhero liaison (among other things ahem)) swoops in. There’s something special about how Johnny’s powers work and it enables him to see Morris is his spectral form.

Morris exists Lockjaw to take a breather in his invisible form, but Johnny can see him and flies down to confront him. Morris is quite taken aback, how is it that Johnny can see him in his ghost-like form? Fortunately, in his prior life Morris was quite the party-goer and he and Johnny actually know each other from a romp in Rio de Janeiro. In short, the two do not fight and instead Johnny brings Morris to Medusa and the others for introductions.

Only none of the Royal Family can see Morris. Johnny can, but only when he is famed on. When he flames off, Morris again becomes invisible to him. The comic timing in this scene is top notch.

Johnny spent a long time learning to control his flame-based power, which seemed to entail coordinating a delicate balance between his voluntary and involuntary nervous systems. His sister, Sue Storm, helped him in this process and he imparts her lessons onto Morris, getting him to concentrate and tune it, and before long Morris learns how to make himself visible.

Medusa and Morris walk out to one of the verandas overlooking the bay and discuss all that has happened to him. Morris describes the his understanding on how his powers work, how he can utilize a person’s knowledge and skill set in the moment, but only trace memories remain once he leaves and possesses someone else.

Medusa suggests the title ‘Mosaic’ as his new Inhuman name, a reference to the kaleidoscope of disparate memories and skills that is able to retain. Morris is initially reluctant to take on a new name, yet the fact that much of his life as Morris Sackett has been predicated upon lies and deceit, it’s likely that he will soon come to embrace the name (and the new life it entails) wholeheartedly.

Morris’ story thus far has all taken place in the recent past of standard Marvel Continuity. To be exact, Morris has come to New Attilan very soon after Tony Stark had abducted the new Inhuman, Ulysses Cain (as detailed in the early issues of the Civil War II event). Medusa asks Mosaic to run a mission for her… she wants him to use his special gifts to infiltrate Stark Tower, possess Stark’s chief financial officer and use him to reroute the lion’s share of Stark’s funds to a off-shore, impossible to access local. This will be done as a means of motivating Stark to return the abducted Inhuman youth.

Morris isn’t thrilled over the possibility of taking on Iron Man, but he is a thrill seeker at heart and the challenge of it all is too much for him to pass up. So he accepts and fulfills the mission (and this relates to Mo’s first appearance in the pages of Uncanny Inhumans #11).

The whole endeavor is something of a lark for Morris and he takes comfort that nobody got hurt. Unbeknownst, to Morris, Medusa and the others, however, Maximus the Mad has been plotting his own revenge on Tony Stark and Morris looks on in horror as Stark Tower explodes and crumbles down into ruble, claiming who knows how many innocent victims.

And this is where the issue ends, with Morris left likely believing that the Inhumans of New Attilan are murderous terrorists who had coerced him into taking part in a terrible scheme.

That last scene notwithstanding, Mosaic #6 was a hugely fun ride that injected some much needed levity and lightness into what had (in the last issue) become a rather heavy and emotionally disturbing story. Excellent work on the part of Geoffrey Thonre in regards to navigating the tenner of the series.

I’m glad to see the narrative of Mosaic quickly catch up with the standard here-and-now of the Marvel Universe. And even more glad to see Morris interact with the Inhumans of Attilan (and that we’ll get to see more of it in the next installment).

Morris’s quick foray possessing Lockjaw was a highlight of the issue and I really liked how the dialogue bubbles reflected the simple, straight-forward cognition of how a dog’s mind might work. Identifying Medusa as ‘alpha’ was a particularly nice touch.

The ‘burning question’ of the issue is why Johnny Storm can see Mosaic in his non-corporal form while others cannot (others with the exception of Fife that is). It’s an interesting matter to speculate on... although I imagine Geoffrey Thonre already has a very specific answer in mind, I’ll go ahead and offer my interpretation nonetheless:

Johnny can control fire. In order to see while in a flamed-on state, Johnny must possess a sense of vision that can see on a broader wave-length of the visual spectrum. Otherwise he would be blind whenever flamed-on. Mosaic is not a ghost per see but rather a being made up of synaptic energy, invisible to the naked eye but visible on the ultraviolet end of the visual spectrum. Hence Johnny can see Morris when flamed on, but cannot when he is flamed off. Science!!!

As much as I miss Kharay Randolph’s stellar illustration, Bruno Olveria does excellent work filling in. He particularly excels at capturing facial expressions of emotion and this really hammers home that particular scene where're Johnny is trying to introduce the Royals to an Inhuman who doesn’t appear to be there. My only complaint is that we didn’t get to see a ‘Mosaic-effect’ scene (with the honeycomb pattern of disparate memories and whatnot) from inside Lockjaw’s head…. that would have been awesome. Emillo Lopez, as always, kills it on the colors.

Another fantastic issue! Mosaic continues to be one of the better, more unique and innovated superhero comics on the stands. It has been both baffling and disconcerting that the series itself is not seeing better. And I remain hopeful that the upcoming release of the first trade paper back will help to amp up sales. People really need to read this book!!!

Four out of Five Lockjaws!

#Inhumans #Mosaic #Geoffrey Thorne #Bruno Olveria #Emillo Lopez #spoilers #review

32 notes · View notes

sleepykittypaws · 5 years

Text

No Sleep ‘Til Christmas

Original Air Date: December 10, 2018 (Freeform) Where to Watch?: Freeform will air it several times this season, and it’s also available to watch on their app (cable login required) or on Hulu

I really liked Freeform’s first movie of the season, The Truth About Christmas, and my family watched the original Life-Size in November and was looking forward to the Christmas-themed sequel, but after 20 minutes of the off-putting, unfunny and boring Life-Size 2 we bailed and moved on to No Sleep ’Til Christmas and, while it was somewhat better than Life-Size 2, in that we watched the whole thing, that’s a pretty low bar.

The cast here is great, which accounts for why we stuck it out. Real-life husband and wife Dave and Odette Annabelle have, not surprisingly, great chemistry and the rest of players, including Sheryl Lee Ralph, were all really good, and doing their very best to be funny. But, the problem is that while they were valiantly trying to make this weird story a fun, fizzy, frolic it’s…Not. At all.

So much here is played for laughs that’s just not even a little bit humorous, and while Odette in real life is probably lovely, her character was just a truly terrible and thoughtless human being and all of her awfulness was played as a silly lark, as if we were supposed to be charmed by her complete and total selfishness.

For instance, she meets fellow insomniac Billy, played by her husband, by hitting him with her car while driving around in the wee hours wearing sunglasses…As some sort of sleep aid? Not only is the (likely actually horrific and totally her fault) accident played for laughs, but it becomes a running gag in the movie that she blames him, the pedestrian, for the crash. Attempted manslaughter…What a gas. They so commit to this bit that it’s also actually the ending, and we’re supposed to think it’s sweet when she (spoiler alert) runs him down again, this time in a car she stole when abandoning her own wedding. Uhhhhhh…Nope.

The idea that these two can sleep only when (platonically) next to each other, even mere minutes after meeting, is never, ever explored. Nor is that he likely has a head injury because HE WAS HIT BY A CAR. Like, I get that the idea is they are destined for one another, but the movie itself doesn’t even seem to want to show us that. It’s not like they talk or bond or anything; it’s just car accident + weird brief banter = sleep. It’s really sold almost as if it’s some sort of magic, not love, that’s bonding these two.

We’re supposed to think her mother-in-law is a monster stressing her out but, really, while overbearing about wedding details, she seems happy to welcome Odette into her family and extends many an olive branch, all while Odette grows ever more hysterical. Despite the movie’s best attempts, I was #TeamMom all the way.

I was also, you know, #TeamFiance. A hunky, adoring and considerate surgeon, who not only still wants to marry her after finding she’s been sleeping (literal sleep) with another man, he’s not even mad when she ditches him at the alter in front of hundreds of their friends in perhaps the worst, ‘I don’t,’ run-out-of-a-wedding scene, ever.

Not that those are ever good, because, in case this needs to be said…It is never, ever romantic to ditch your nuptials for another fella. I mean, congrats: You’re a monster. But this chick? Wow. She really takes the terribleness cake.

She fell asleep during their vows, then dumped him at the alter, then stopped to chat to her Maid of Honor about her sex life, then, walking back down the aisle, stopped to ask where the guy she really loved went. All still in front of her now, never-to-be husband’s family and friends. And, as a capper, she steals a car and once again runs over the “lucky” guy she really loves. This is all played for laughs and we are, I’m pretty sure, supposed to be rooting for her. (Seriously, though, this is a happy ending for the fiance, who dodged a real bullet here.)

To really cap the hate-fest, they then cut to a “One Year Later” epilogue scene where she and Billy are just getting ready for bed, happy together and just as they close their eyes, a baby cries in the distance. Ha, ha, ha! Get it? Now they can’t sleep cause they’re parents.

Did anyone do the math on this? Because what this means is that, within weeks of running out of her wedding, stealing a car and running over her supposed true love, for the second time, Billy knocks her up, and they’re parents within the year?!?!? That's not a rom-com; it’s a horror story about two of the worst people in the world, and now you’ve brought a kid into it.

There are other, similarly, rude/condescending moments played for laughs, like when she confronts Billy’s best friends, who she met mere minutes before, about not being married and says, in front of the couple's daughter, ‘You don’t need a certificate to have the s-e-x.’ What the hell, lady? (This is also about two minutes before she pretends not to know them while they’re gamely trying to bolster her web of lies.) Like, I could care if people are married or not. My Aunt and Uncle have two grown boys and have been “shacking up,” as they call it, for almost 40 years now. Their marital status is occasionally joked about in the family, but never once has anyone commented about it in reference to their sex life—because we are not HORRIBLE MONSTER GARBAGE PEOPLE, unlike this awful character.

I actually really love the aggressively un-Hallmark-like diversity. People in Freeform movies don’t have to be married, or straight, or white, and all of that is incredibly refreshing and welcome, but it would also be great if those folks weren’t presented so badly. Maybe, as in real life, they could just be people living their lives, like we all are?

There are plenty of other uh-what’s-that-again moments, like how Billy rented a space and opened a bar in under two weeks. (Not a thing.) Or how someone working as an event planner somehow has enough scratch to fully fund such an enterprise, which would take half a million dollars, at the bare minimum. And how he’s “earning” that money by sleeping, platonically, alongside her at all hours of the day and night in a swanky hotel room, but she’s also worried about the minibar tab he might rack up? Or when she totally reneges on their deal, to placate her rightfully angry fiance, taking away the one good thing Billy has in his life, his new miracle bar, without a single hesitation. Or, hey, how about that casually tossed out, and then totally ignored, plot line where Billy is a raging alcoholic, and that’s probably what’s fueling his insomnia? Ha, ha…What a hoot.

Basically, NOTHING in this movie makes even a lick of sense. Rarely have actors so affable gathered together to play people so awful, and not seem to even realize it. They think they’re the story’s heroes, but they’re really villains and, sure, that can be interesting as a choice in a certain type of film, but not in what is supposed to be a light, fun Christmas movie.

It’s not the crazy plot I object to, at all, as I truly love a completely crazy Christmas romp (Holiday in Handcuffs and Holiday Switch are among my favorite made-for-TV Christmas movies ever), but I think the key here isn’t the story’s weirdness, it’s that the characters never realize that they’re acting awfully. There was never that turn where they saw how terrible they were being. And the stuff with the alocholism thrown out there as a quite serious moment and then never brought up again? Wow. Yeah. No. Even if it makes total realistic and logical sense from what we’ve seen, you can’t go there in a movie like this. That is…A very, very different type of film indeed.

The truly unfortunate part is that Freeform’s movies have infinitely better casts and production budgets than either Lifetime or Hallmark, and I bet this one movie cost more than all of UP TV’s and ION’s put together, but, geez, what a tremendous waste of a talented cast and a not totally terrible concept (at least they took a shot at something different, which I absolutely appreciate), but the sensibility here could not be more wrong.

Final Judgement: 1Paw Up for its huge potential and great cast, and no paws at all for this story’s actual execution.

1 note · View note

theliterateape · 6 years

Text

(micro) Chips On The Shoulders of the Collective and The Increasing Problem of the Moral High Ground

by Don Hall

I’m on the Blue Line, heading downtown to get to Millennium Park. I’m tired — it’s been a long week so far — so I’m standing amongst the other commuters, my shades still on, staring blankly toward the floor. I’m not really focusing on anything at all and I’m sort of just drifting into my brain when I hear:

“They’re legs.”

Not assuming it is directed at me, I stay focused on nothing in particular.

“Hey! They’re legs! Surely you’ve seen legs before! Stop staring at me, you creep!”

I look up and she is directing it at me.

Maybe 25 years old, wearing a skirt, and she has come to the conclusion that I was giving her the once over or the long stare at her uncovered gams. I’m caught slightly off guard (and I’m fucking tired) so I mumble, “…No. Sorry. Uhm, I wasn’t…”

“Do you know what it’s like to be a woman on the train? Do you even care?”

She goes into a tirade about being harassed every day by assholes like me. For 20 minutes she drones on and on about her level of discomfort and the toxic masculinity she has to endure. Because I’ve decided to just stay quiet — I could never even come close to explaining that I wasn’t even aware of her until she started barking at me let alone convince her otherwise — she gets angrier. I turn away.

“I’m talking to you! Don’t turn away from me!”

I turn back around to face her. “Don’t LOOK at me!” she yells. She’s now yelling.

According to her, this is yet one more brick in her #MeToo shithouse. She calls me a stalker. She calls me predatory.

The people in the closest range are all looking into their phones as if the fucking secret recipe to Popeye’s Chicken lies within and then it’s my stop. I walk past her without saying a word and head to the street.

I get it. We’re in what we call a “corrective phase” in society. The pendulum has been stuck in the Male Gaze is Normal and Women are Fodder for the Dick for so goddamned long that we are pushing things hard to the other side. While tired and kind of checked out on the ‘L’ I’m not dense. I’m also not one of those unicorns out there who miraculously changes his behavior because I was barked at about it on a train.

On that note, I’d love for anyone reading this who is one of those unicorns to chime in and tell me how and why because I legitimately don’t know how that works for someone.

From a recent Faceborg thread:

“Republicans are going to mop the floor with us if this keeps up... valuing anger-release over effectiveness & impact is toxic.”

“Right, right, it will be our fault. Your somewhat lazily-constructed, blanket statement encouraging us all to be quiet yet somehow effective little mice, betrays your desire to cower in the corner when they finally come to knock at *your* door looking to take your last crumble of cheese.”

“Anger is like fire - we can use it to burn ourselves, or we can use it to build. Stuff like this puts it in the wrong place & doesn’t work, so it’s a question of valuing real impact vs. cathartic screeching. I prefer effectiveness.There’s a huge space between hysteria & silence.”

“Couldn't agree less with you, sir. Unfortunately I don't have the time this afternoon to give you the history lesson you seem to so dearly need. The answer is to be loud about EVERYTHING. Until he is gone, and his swine fucking base sobers up.

Yes, be effective, but as soon as Tyranny reveals itself, there is no more discussion. Only resistance, and only at the top of your lungs. Trump has an end goal; your quiet efforts of compromise and bargaining are not only pointless, they serve him, as they divide us. There is no passive resistance to Tyranny.”

“Do what feels good or do what works - your call. And I’m happy to hear what you have to say at pretty much any time, as long as it’s well-reasoned. Even if I disagree with ideas, they can still be valuable, so feel free to write yours down at some point - I’d be curious.”

“Also, if you keep talking out your ass, I am going to embarrass you here, because people like you, that clearly don't know what the fuck they are talking about, yet act like they do, really, really get on my bad side. You clearly know nothing, or refuse to understand, the mechanics of Fascism and Tyranny. Your uneducated opinion on what our course of action should be, offered in vague platitudes I might add, are what will get us all killed.”

“hahaha ok, will do. As long as it’s not all nazi hitler nazi, it’s cool. Some hitler, ok, but maybe a Mao, Stalin, Pol Pot, or something else thrown in there.”

“You're a monster, sir. Also, my apologies ahead of time, for what I may or may not say further on down this rabbit hole of a thread.”

The whole thread (rabbit hole, indeed) was like this. It reminded me of when liberals go to Ben Shapiro or Dave Rubin lectures to ask him a question as a "gotcha" and look stupid for trying because, of course, stridency in the face of calm looks stupid.

Yes, she has a valid point that is worthy of a genuine conversation but she looks like a complete asshole in her angry attempt to school him. What I'm wondering is why? Why confront him at all? It isn't like her refusal to stop talking at him is going to change his mind. It isn't as if the women chanting is going to shut him up. What's the goal? What's the strategy?

The simple answer is that there isn't a strategy. It's moral posturing and wasted energy. It's an attempt to confront someone on the opposite ideological side of the questions and goad them into admitting some sort of hypocrisy. It's people barking "you lie" at President Obama in hopes that the moment will become a rally cry. It's someone throwing a shoe at George W. Bush. It's theater without a goal. It's a photo op in a YouTube world.

I remember the eighties. I mean, that decade was my Coming of Age time so I hope I still remember them.

One aspect of the eighties and specific to Wichita, KS, was Operation Rescue. As far as I can surmise, it is an extremely rare thing for a mentally stable human to wake up and shout out “Abortion is AWESOME!” The best we can do is to say abortion is a sometimes necessary thing and should be a right for women to utilize but, even then, I can’t imagine anyone adding it to their Disneyland trip as a lark. “Honey! Let’s go to Space Mountain and then go get that abortion — if we time it right, we’ll catch the fireworks!”

The thing is, Operation Rescue (with the help of the Ultimate Warrior in creating Moral Distinctions, the Church) decided that abortion was murder in the eighties in Wichita, KS. And they protested. And when that didn’t do the trick, they stood outside of clinics and screamed at people. And failing to effect the kind of change they sought, some took to shooting and blowing up doctors.

Can you blame them? Once you’ve assigned a legal activity as a morally reprehensible crime you don’t have a lot of wiggle room in terms of context. If you saw a government gunning down second graders like they were taking out the trash, you might protest, then scream, then get some guns and TNT.

From their ideological zealotry, that’s what they saw.

As we’ve seen, you really can’t reason or compromise with a zealot convinced they are on the moral high ground. It’s almost impossible.

From a note to a professor friend of mine:

“I felt the words you used to address me was infantilizing and I want to express my discomfort of you labeling me a “young lady” thus shaming me in front of my classmates.”

What fresh hell…?

How does someone navigate this? In order to avoid any sort of offense, the ability to read minds is required. I'm of a type of white, heterosexual male who is not looking to run around and offend random strangers in normal discourse. Yes, I believe that offense is subjective and I've spent time creating art designed to shake that tree a bit. That said, I'm not the kind of person who engages in shock value tactics (anymore) or shaming individuals because I believe shame to be a pernicious societal tool that mostly suppresses the bad shit rather than providing a pathway to change.

Catcalling guys are idiots. Stalkers and sexual predators are criminals. The 50-something professor who refers to a 20-something woman in his class as "young lady" isn't either. Infantilization is the process of assuming people are too fragile and inexperienced to handle anything but the least of what society has to offer. So, who, in this case is infantilizing her?

It is a failure of strategy.

#MeToo, that vast and disembodied and ongoing protest march, has been subject to similar dynamics: the big tent, flinging its flaps ever wider; the entropic impulse as both a matter of promise and a matter of peril. Does being about everything, though, mean that the movement runs the risk of being about nothing? Has #MeToo, reconfigured as a broad attempt to rectify a broad host of wrongs, lost the plot? Has it dilated to its detriment?

Tarana Burke says, emphatically, yes. At the Aspen Ideas Festival, co-hosted by the Aspen Institute and The Atlantic, Burke pointed back to Milano’s October tweet—which was not, Burke noted, about pay equity, or representation in the workplace, or power dynamics in a misogynistic culture … but about sexual violence, full stop. “Part of the challenge that we have right now,” Burke said, “is everybody trying to couch everything under #MeToo.”

SOURCE

It's as if, anytime there is a large gathering of eyeballs or people in the name of any progressive cause, everyone must have some equal time and must try to shift the focus to them. It is both narcissism and desperation to be heard. #MeToo was about victims of sexual violence until it became about Hollywood actors until it became about black women in Hollywood until it became about equal pay until it became about being offended at a teacher referring to someone as "young lady."

Moral high ground and the assignation of labels like “monster,” “human garbage,” and, with the court of public opinion’s scorched earth approach, “racist,” “Nazi,” and “misogynist,” it all starts to feel strangely like religious fervor and more in tune with Operation Rescue than Civil Rights protestors. A witch hunt, at it's core, was about scaring the shit out of anyone who decided to live a different way from the norm and was ultimately about establishing an agreed upon morality. The Puritans believed that by singling out and "trying" women who didn't fit their moral narrative (and the trial killed the innocent ones) the rest of the flock would fall in line.

The McCarthy Anti-Communist hearings were the same. Any affiliation and any lack of sincere and enthusiastic repudiation was met by wholesale destruction. And protests without strategy don't effect these sorts of cyclical trends.

Conservative witch hunts are well documented against drug users, women, gays, transgender persons, blacks, pretty much anyone not in the white male club. These witch hunts are almost always marked by the moral righteous inherent in the hunt and the moral depravity of those being hunted. As they try to weed out (and scare the shit out of) their targets, others with less patience and less to lose take up the cause and, like the extremes of Operation Rescue, turn to violence.

The protests of old that were most effective (or effective at all, arguably) were non-violent and strategic. In a time when we equate hateful words as real violence, we’ve painted ourselves into a corner in that there is no longer the possibility of non-violent protest. If calling our opponents names is violence, society is as blocked a a colon filled with cheddar cheese.

When everyone is scrambling to claim the moral high ground, there is none left to claim because morality, in order to exist, has to be founded on common understandings of behavior. We don't have that anymore.

“There is no passive resistance to Tyranny.”

So many assumptions made in seven words. That avoiding a moral argument, reasoning with those on the sidelines of the process and resisting by example rather than reaction is passive. That a legally elected asshole who has a very different worldview than you is a tyrant. That his actions will inevitably lead to Nazism. That tyranny only comes in one form. That by labeling something tyrannical makes it so and the need to demonstrate the aspects of tyranny is erased by the charge.

It makes sense, though. In the most Operation Rescue sense, if you have decided that Trump is Hitler and distrust the rest of the country so completely to not see it, of course it makes perfect sense. I mean, if you throw them in the well and they float, they’re guilty, right?

Ask a strident anti-abortion activist to defend their position. If you don’t immediately agree that it is murder, the sparks of obstinence fly, the labels of “evil” and “monster” are thrown out and the barking becomes indecipherable.

“Let's be clear: "Innocent until proven guilty" is for a court of law to decide, if that's where this story eventually goes. The court of public opinion operates under no such constraints, and in the post-Harvey Weinstein days of 2018 we believe the accuser.”

https://mashable.com/2018/06/16/chris-hardwick-nerd-culture-conversation/#PWbjglPnJmqq

Seriously?

The internet is an extraordinary tool. It has provided us with almost limitless communicating possibilities. I can see what friends thousands of miles away are up to and call my mother face to face. We can promote our ideas to more humans in one message than at any time in history. Can you imagine what havoc would have wreaked if Faceborg had been around in the eighties in Wichita, KS? Holy fuck!

I believe we need both the Malcoms and The Martins, the Magnetos and the Professor Xs. It’s just that right now, this magnificent technology has given the truly hysterical and morally righteous a louder megaphone than ever in history. It’s difficult to hear anything else when 10% of the population is screaming their own version of bloody murder and condemnation and it's 5% of morally outraged Trump Supporters vs 5% of morally outraged Identity Politicians leaving the rest of us to run, covering our ears.

The democracy is in rough shape but it is far from over, broken, or destroyed by a single president. Our flailing about is due to the fact that those who do not believe the way we do control all three arms of the federal government and protests aren't doing anything to stop it. Like Operation Rescue, we are doubling down on escalation and it will not go well for us.

Speaking again of Operation Rescue, once it became apparent to them that their protests were wholly ineffective, they changed their strategy. They started running anti-abortion candidates for local office, then state office, then Congress. And, what do you know? Not only have many states placed unconstitutional barriers to abortion over the past ten years but it looks like they're going to get Roe v. Wade overturned.

I’m on the Blue line. Headed to the park. I’m wide awake and in a great mood. I see across from me a genuinely beautiful woman. I take a look — not a stare but a healthy look. She sees me looking and she smiles.

#Operation Rescue #moral high ground for all #Dave Rubin

0 notes

aion-rsa · 3 years

Text

Doctor Who: Revolution of the Daleks Review

https://ift.tt/3ncB8Uw

This Doctor Who review contains spoilers. Our spoiler-free preview is here.

It may be the start of a brand new year, but ‘Revolution of the Daleks’, an episode of Doctor Who that’ll need to tide us over for a while, is more focused on looking back and taking stock than teasing what’s ahead. As the pre-title sequence informs us, courtesy of some Big Chunky Captions that the show currently favours, not only is this episode a follow-up to the events of ‘The Timeless Child’, it’s also a sequel of sorts to the 2019 New Year’s Special, ‘Resolution’.

Things pick up a few short hours after that adventure, which saw a buried Dalek mutant hijacking a human host and eventually constructing a scrapyard casing. It’s the abandoned husk of that same travel machine that now gets carted away by an unwitting driver, a man who’s so obviously doomed from the second he signs the paperwork that you can’t help but feel sorry for him. (But then, who can’t sympathise with someone who gets through their day one cuppa at a time?)

The Dalek shell soon finds its way into a pair of grasping, familiar hands, and this is where a selection of festive snacks are likely to be flung at the screen by some of the fandom. The mastermind behind the theft turns out to be Jack Robertson – the Trump-envying, Scooby-Doo villain last seen burying toxic waste during the divisive ‘Arachnids in the UK’. Robertson, played once again by Chris Noth, hasn’t managed to realise his presidential ambitions, but his character is unapologetically the same.

This time around, Robertson is accompanied by a ruthless Defence Secretary with her eyes on Number 10. Given that this episode was almost certainly conceived back when Theresa May was still Prime Minister, it’s not hard to see the inspiration for this particular pairing. Together, their intention is to reverse-engineer the Dalek technology – which as far as they know is nothing but a very advanced robot – and mass-produce them to roam the streets.

The idea of these caricatures conspiring to build an army of alien neo-Nazis in the name of “national security” is the kind of brute-force political allegory that has proven extremely hit-or-miss in recent years. If the dastardly duo had stayed in control of the Daleks for any length of time and we’d seen Britain slowly fall into the depths of fascism while the companions looked on helplessly, the episode could have come across as both derivative and ham-fisted, particularly when compared to ‘Genesis of the Daleks’. Thankfully, the Daleks themselves are having none of it, but more on them later.

Shortly before the titular revolution, we find the companions kicking their heels back on Earth with no word from the Doctor, and no clue as to whether or not she’s even alive. Yaz is spending most of her time in the new-build TARDIS that brought them home, having gone a bit Zoom-and-Enhance as she tries desperately to concoct a rescue plan. Graham and Ryan, meanwhile, have all-but accepted the Doctor’s fate and are doing their best to look after the planet in her stead.

Alongside the exterminations and screaming that are a given whenever the Daleks are involved, this episode asks itself two questions, the first being: how do Doctor Who companions save the world without the Doctor? Ahead of transmission, the idea that Team TARDIS would need to tackle the Daleks by themselves was played up as being the meat of this story, leading to speculation that Captain Jack would step in as a sort of surrogate Doctor – he’s certainly got Dalek experience.

For better or worse, though, life without the Doctor isn’t really a question the show cares to dwell on for very long once it’s been posed, despite what the trailers might have led us to believe. It seems that what Graham, Ryan and Yaz have learned from travelling through time and space is that when someone’s threatening to take over the world, you should march right up to them, issue a few vague threats before being unceremoniously arrested, then go home again and sulk. Graham grumbles that without a sonic screwdriver or some psychic paper they can’t follow in the Doctor’s footsteps, but given how often the show teaches us that the Doctor isn’t defined by her gadgets, their half-hearted attempt to confront Robertson and save the day still comes across as a bit of a damp squib.

Luckily for the human race, it doesn’t take too long before the Doctor’s broken out of space-prison. Not from our perspective, anyway – as far as Thirteen’s concerned, she spends a good few decades in the company of some returning alien races, all of whom have supposedly gone through the judicial process. (A Weeping Angel on trial is a Big Finish production just waiting to be written…) There’s even an imprisoned P’Ting, which seems a bit harsh, though it might just be locked up to keep it safe from Yaz.

When Captain Jack finally springs the Doctor from her cell, the two characters get their first proper interaction since ‘Journey’s End’ (not to mention a callback to Jack’s favourite smuggling technique). It’s a sweet, slow moment, as is the Doctor’s reunion with her TARDIS, even if it’s all a bit too straightforward to be a genuinely thrilling escape. The Doctor was obviously going to bust out of prison sooner or later, of course, but given all the hype surrounding her absence, it’s hard not to feel her reunion with the companions happens a bit too easily and without complication.

The next few minutes are more interesting. While Whittaker’s Doctor has always claimed to be fiercely devoted to her ‘fam’, she usually can’t wait to get out of the room as soon as she’s required to interact with her companions on an emotional level, meaning they normally have to lean on one another for support. This time, the dynamic is reversed – the Doctor, still stewing over being the Timeless Child, is being particularly clingy while the companions are keeping her at arm’s length, with neither group really able to conceive of what the other has gone through.

These scenes culminate in a line of dialogue from the Doctor that would be wildly out of character in most other situations: “New can be very scary”. The Doctor normally claims to adore ‘new and exciting’, citing it as the reason they travel – so long as it’s new and exciting on their terms. Failing to escape on her own, encountering resentful companions and a loss of her cultural identity have left this Doctor feeling very much out of control.

And then, like a roller-coaster lurching into motion, the episode kicks into high gear and we’re off to see the Daleks.

Doctor Who: A History of Dalek Redesigns and Fan Reactions

By Andrew Blair

Doctor Who: revisiting each Doctor’s first encounter with the Daleks

By Mark Harrison

Having been cloned back into existence by Robertson’s scientist-slash-flunky Leo, the mutant from ‘Resolution’ has been practicing its two favourite tricks – puppeteering a human host, and online shopping. With an army of freshly-farmed mutants just waiting to slither inside empty Dalek casings, it doesn’t take too long before the cries of “Exterminate” ring through Downing Street, putting an end to the new Prime Minister before she’s even had time to feed Larry the cat. Team TARDIS, along with Robertson for seemingly no other reason than so he can betray them later, now need to sort out humanity’s DIY alien invasion. The Doctor’s solution: call the Daleks!

Skaro-variety Daleks, that is, further adding to the cast of aliens we haven’t seen in a while, and they’re not too happy that their racial purity is being threatened by human-fed knock-offs. Dalek civil wars were quite common in the show’s classic era, and there’s definitely mileage to be had watching the pepperpots squabbling among themselves. With so much to wrap up in one episode, though, what we actually get isn’t a war. It is, to borrow a phrase, pest control. The 3D-printed Daleks are so much cannon fodder for the bronze originals, who – thanks to Robertson – decide that taking over the Earth sounds like a bit of a lark so long as they’re in the neighbourhood.

This leads to some running around on a Dalek saucer that accomplishes little. Despite repeatedly reminding everyone just how immortal he is, Jack gets spared a horrific series of deaths this time around, and before long the Doctor arrives to taunt every last one of the infuriated mutants into her TARDIS. Except it’s not really hers – it’s the new-build TARDIS in disguise, and its destruction takes out the Dalek forces and ties up that loose end in a neat bit of storytelling.

With the threat eliminated and Robertson once again weaselling his way out of punishment, there’s one last issue that needs to be tied up. We’d all been made aware that Tosin Cole and Bradley Walsh were going to be departing Doctor Who this week, so when we saw them demand to board a Dalek saucer alongside the immortal Captain Jack… Well, there was precedent for things to go badly wrong.

Companions old and new have died in Dalek stories. A heroic grandfather/grandson sacrifice to save the human race wasn’t too likely, but it wasn’t completely out of the question, either. Here are Ryan and Graham alive and well, and this is where the show has to confront its second question. What does it take for a companion to leave the Doctor?

It was quite common for assistants to jump ship in the classic serials. Sometimes they were travelling with the Doctor only reluctantly and would leave the TARDIS whenever they happened back to their rightful home, especially when the Doctor could barely control their next destination. Others fell in love, elected to remain somewhere they could make a difference or, sometimes, sacrificed their lives. Whatever their fate, there was always a sense they knew that their relationship with the Doctor was a transitory one; a journey into the unknown, but one that definitely had a final destination.

Then came the Time War, and the Doctor was suddenly the most amazing, brilliant, astounding and important figure in the universe. Last of the Time Lords, destroyer of Gallifrey, spoken of in myth and legend. He could take his companions anywhere in time and space and show them the delights of the universe. Showrunner Russell T. Davies made it abundantly clear that if you could handle the challenge, there was absolutely no drug more addictive than setting foot inside that TARDIS.

A few companions still chose to leave, or else got left behind. Mickey Smith lingered in a parallel universe where he was needed and loved. Martha Jones departed to care for her traumatised family. On the whole, though, increasingly convoluted ways have been concocted to forcibly separate the Doctor from his companions without actually killing them. Parallel universes, mind-wipes, temporal paradoxes… For many years now, the Doctor’s friends haven’t walked away – they’ve been ripped away.

Here, Chris Chibnall chooses to confront the scar that ten months has left upon the companions’ relationship with the Doctor. It’s something of a tell-don’t-show moment – Ryan makes reference to having reconnected with friends and family, but we don’t see any of that. It’s clear, however, that the past year has given Ryan enough time to realise how much home and a stable foundation still means to him. His decision to say goodbye doesn’t stem from any close call or tragic loss, but a new-found self-confidence and a desire to grow up. The Doctor may be a Timeless Child, but Ryan is not.

Ryan’s departure means that a clearly torn Graham must also say his goodbyes, although his reasoning is far more straightforward – if he leaves to travel with the Doctor, he’ll miss his grandson taking those first steps into adulthood. And so Yaz is left in a TARDIS control room that suddenly seems a lot bigger, her trust in the Doctor tarnished but intact thanks to a surprisingly earnest heart-to-heart with Jack earlier in the episode. And then, as is fitting for an episode that has spent so much time in its own recent past, we return to the same Sheffield hillside where the companions began their journey – and to Ryan Sinclair, cheered on by his hopeful Grandad, learning how to ride a bike.

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

This is unlikely to be anyone’s all-time favourite Doctor Who episode. It won’t sit proudly in the number one spot when YouTubers rank the Christmas specials. It’s a little too reliant on navel-gazing for that – but what the episode does is try and tackle questions raised by the Doctor always being the centre of the series’ universe, and what it takes to overcome her gravitational pull. Even if you don’t care to chew over those metatextual issues on New Year’s Day, however, ‘Revolution of the Daleks’is still an enjoyable hour-and-change of telly, and one that ultimately chooses to (mostly) wipe the slate clean ready for adventures yet to come.

The post Doctor Who: Revolution of the Daleks Review appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/2Lh4CTW

#aion-rsa #Den of Geek

0 notes