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theheartsmistakes · 4 years

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The Last Night Part XIII

More author’s Notes at the end because it may contain spoilers!

But if you’re just joining us... where the heck have you been?

Here are the previous parts vvv:

Here is Part I

Here is Part II

Here is Part III

Here is Part IV

Here is Part V

Here is Part VI

Here is Part VII

Here is Part VIII

Here is Part IX

Here is Part X

Here is Part XI

Here is Part XII

Part XIII

They had moved Cordelia to the best guest room in the Institute, small but comfortably furnished with a narrow oak bed and a simple writing desk, but pleasantly decorated with blue striped wallpaper and flowery chintz curtains. A lace-skirted sink, with running water, occupied one corner, and a large window stood open to the night and the fragrance of the garden. In the distance, a shimmer of silver indicated the sun on the Thames.

James walked in carrying an impressive stack of literature he’d taken from the library under his arm and in his free hand he carried a lantern illuminated with the soft bluish glow of a witchlight. He saw Cordelia first, her red hair vibrant against the white pillow case. Color had returned to her skin and the thick black veins that ran underneath it were now gone. The thick top quilt was pulled up and tucked around her chest so that her shoulders and arms were out and rested by her sides. She was modestly covered by an ivory cotton gown. Every once in a while, her fingers would twitch against the fabric of the top quilt and it felt as if the weight of the stack of books weighed on James’s chest.

He set the books on the foot of the bed and sat on the wooden stool beside Cordelia. Wishing more than anything, that miraculously, she would open her eyes and turn towards him with a smile.

“Dickens, Chaucer, Wilde, Homer, Sophocles,” said Jem as he sifted through the books James had brought. “Interesting choices.”

“I brought things that might encourage her through the darkness,” said James.

“Nothing like a good epic to encourage one through dark times,” said Jem, as he set The Iliad back on the stack. “She was administered medicine not long ago, so she is peaceful and still, but do not be alarmed if she cries out. If she begins to sweat or claw at the blankets, come and find someone immediately. If you find yourself growing tired and in need of some rest, you will also need to find someone to take your place.”

James remembered his father and the fierce devotion he had shown his mother when she had fallen ill after transforming into her clockwork angel during the war. He never left her side, not even to eat or drink, or so James was told by relatives and maids. And any time Tessa would fall ill, succumb to an injury, or give birth, Will remained by her side until she made it back on her feet again. His parents remained his highest example of love and devotion. After nearly twenty years of marriage, they still seemed to illicit in one another the emotions of young love: a bit reckless, always public, possessive, but demure, and full of endless patience. James hoped to one day find a love as eternal as the one his parents shared, and he thought he had when he met Grace Blackthorn. To learn that his feelings were simply the product of an enchanted piece of jewelry left a sinking feeling in his chest. Not because of the loss, his feelings for Grace always felt burdened, troublesome, and lonely. He grieved for the love that had the potential to burn as brilliant as his parents.

A sharp pain burst across the center of James’s forehead. He leaned forward, his eyes shut tight, and tried to rub the pain away.

“James?” Jem came beside him and placed a light hand on his shoulder. “What is it? Are you all right?”

“Yes,” said James. “It’s nothing. Just a bit of head pain is all.”

“How long have you had it?”

“It comes and goes,” said James, and waved his Uncle’s concern away. “Thank you, Uncle Jem. For allowing me to be here with her.”

“It is what is best for Cordelia,” said Jem. “She needs the familiar voices of the people she is closest to in the world. Your sister was in here not long ago. While I admire Lucie for the incredible talent that she possesses, someone should warn her about her overuse of adverbs.”

“Are you volunteering?” asked James.

Jem scarred mouth twitched.

“Coward,” said James and turned to look at Cordelia. “Can she hear us talking? Even now?”

Jem nodded. “Yes, I believe she can.” Jem placed a hand on James’s shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. “When I return to administer her medicine, I will bring you a vial for your headache. I’d also like to examine you tomorrow, to be sure it’s nothing serious.”

Jem left with a quick click of the door when it closed behind him. Now alone with Cordelia, James felt as awkward as he had when he was a fourteen year old school boy attempting to speak to his crush.

With a sigh, he moved the stool closer to Cordelia and the witchlight that flickered on the nightstand. Her fingers twitched against the bed cloth. He picked up the hand closest to him and held it in both of his. Her skin felt so soft. Had it always been so soft, he wondered. Memories of her finger tips grazing his skin in the orange light of the Whispering Room made his mouth run dry. Unsure what possessed him to do such a thing, he brought her hand up to his face and pressed his cheek into her cool palm.

“Daisy, my Daisy.” The name he’d given her didn’t seem to match her anymore, but there was a familiarity in it that he clung to. He hoped that maybe she could cling to it too. “If you’re able, will you grant me the smallest reassurance that you’re alright in there? When we were young, Math and I would communicate through small signals in class when our Instructor would be droning on about the history of runes, which I should have paid closer attention to, but my mind was otherwise detained on some personal dilemmas at the time… Forgive me, I’m rambling.” He brought her hand down.. “Squeeze my hand once if you can hear me?”

His eyes went to her face and watched the gentle rise and fall of her chest. He waited for the coveted pressure of her fingers gripping his with the desperation of a sinner languishing for forgiveness.

When it never came, he lifted her hand to his mouth and pressed a quick kiss to her knuckles. “That’s all right. Your focus should only be on healing. I brought some books to share with you. Personal favorites from the library that I thought you might enjoy. Mostly classics, because I thought you might like something familiar and those damned contemporary authors and their quest for enlightenment; squandering on about transcendentalism.

“I thought we could start with…” When he reached for his father’s beloved copy of Great Expectation, he caught a vibrant red leather bound book with gold lettering on the spine that glistened in the light beside the bed.

Layla and Majnun

He picked up the copy and stroked the letters with curiosity. He recalled Sona and Alastair calling Cordelia, Layla, but never understood the reference; being so enamored with another woman and his personal throes, he didn’t think to ask.

Cordelia expressed a desire to read it together some day, but under the circumstances, he didn’t think that she would mind.

James kept Cordelia’s hand in his own. With his spectacles perched on the end of his nose, he propped the book against his thighs and opened the cover and found a small inscription on the left hand corner. It read:

Dearest Layla,

I hope this book brings you pleasant company during your travels. You have always wondered and asked why I call you by the name that this most divine tale is titled after, this may bring you some clarity. Please believe that my absence from your life is in no shape your fault and do not burden yourself with trying to understand it. Please know and forever keep in your mind, that I love you and your brother and your mother. Nothing is forever, my darling, we will be together again.

Be omide khodâ,

Bâbâ

The words were slightly smudged in some spots, as if water had dropped onto the ink. The pages were all wrinkled and torn in some places. For a moment, it felt to James like he was opening something sacred: a journal, a personalized letter, a love note, but he couldn’t help himself from turning the page. He turned until he found where one should always start a new story— at the very beginning.

As he read, he smiled to himself when he approached the part about when Layla and Majnun first met. It reminded him something of the first time that he saw Cordelia. When he really saw her. Away from the blinding manacle around his wrist. She was beautiful, but more than that, she was pure light. When he approached a passage, his tone slowed:

[His soul was a mirror for Layla’s radiance: how could he keep such reflections to himself? She shone in him like the sun at noon in a cloudless sky: how could such light be concealed? How could he turn away, even for a second, from the only thing that gave meaning to his life? Kais’* heart was out of step with his reason, and however hard he tried to hide his love for Layla, he failed miserably. Without her, he felt the arrows of reproach from a thousand bows; without her, the pain of separation cut into his heart like a knife.]

When he finished reading it aloud, he felt the faintest flutter from Cordelia’s hand against his, and when he looked up, her mouth was slightly open. The book nearly tumbled out of his lap as he leaned closer to her.

“Cordelia?” He picked up her hand in both of his again and tightened his hold, bringing it to his chest. “Cordelia, can you hear me?”

Her eyes fluttered back and forth underneath the hoods of her eyes.

“I’m here,” he whispered and climbed into the small space on the bed beside her. Carefully, he tucked her head underneath his chin and straightened the quilt around her again. “I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.”

___________________________

The cottage of Cecily and Gabriel Lightwood was a low, thatched building standing amid the fields in an arrangement of a perfectly tended garden. Ivy grew on the green-painted windows, and the eaves and the plastered walls. The front gate hung open, slightly distressed on its posts, and a bicycle lay carelessly toppled against the porch, where two large glazed pots, of the most intense blue, foamed with flowers in hues of Mediterranean pink, orange, and red. The cottage should have inspired only disdain for its tumbledown air, but instead Grace Blackthorn, who was raised to despise her adopted uncle and aunt, found it strangely romantic.

From the rough stones of a back hall, she emerged into the kitchen where a most egregious ruckus was coming. Since arriving at the Lightwood cottage, she’d spent most of her time either in the garden reading or in the kitchen talking to the housemaid who seemed to be the most interesting individual in the house and who didn’t seem to mind Grace’s presence especially after recent truths had risen to the surface like bloated dead fish. The kitchen was always orderly. On a wooden table in the center, a tea urn hissed above its small burner, a stack of old blue and white china teacups waited to be filled. A cake stand held an assortment of the usual small sandwiches and the plain rock cakes that were popular now. Only today, atop the counter, kneeled someone in tweed trousers, one leg bent on the counter and the other outstretched for balance as they reached for something in the cupboards above. She quickly recognized him as the young, illusive Christopher Lightwood.

She leaned her shoulder against the door frame and crossed her arms over her chest.

Since her arrival at the Lightwood’s, she’d rarely seen Christopher. They’d pass each other in the hallways or sit across from each other at meals, but he would be scribbling in a notebook, his face covered in some type of grime. She never attempted a conversation with him considering her relationship with his friend and cousin James. She had the impression that he didn’t care for her so much.

She could hear him whispering to himself. “Where are the damn tongs?”

“Bottom drawer,” said Grace, “to the left.”

There was a terrible clamber as Christopher looked over his shoulder at Grace, resulting in his leg slipping off of the counter. He reached for a ceramic bowl for stability but ended up taking the kitchen utensil down with him. She could not prevent a cry of fear as he hit his back upon the impact.

“Are you all right?” she cried as she ran around the wooden table. “I’m terribly sorry.”

His glasses were askew, as were the dark brown tendrils of hair that mirrored his father’s, fringed at the ends as if burnt. “Fine,” said Christopher after shaking ceramic out of his hair. “I’m fine.”

“Allow me to help you,” she said. Christopher, she had noticed, had the kindest eyes out of all of his friends. She reached her gloved hand out to him.

“Don’t trouble yourself,” said Christopher, not unkindly, but rather sheepishly. He grabbed a hold of the table��s edge and hoisted himself back to his feet. He brushed his hands off on his trousers, but seemed otherwise unscathed. “Sorry if I disturbed you. I was looking for the—“

“Tongs?” Grace pointed to the drawer by Christopher’s left hip. “They’re in the top drawer. And there is no need to apologize. I was the one who startled you.”

“Not at all.” He turned and opened the kitchen drawer, moved things around a bit, and finally retrieved the tongs from the far back. “A-ha!” He clapped them together several times. “Wonderful. Thank you. Our housemaid likes to hide them from me.”

“Why is that?”

“Possibly because I’ve melted the last several,” he said, and though she could not detect any note of humor, she couldn’t help but laugh into the back of her gloved hand. Christopher looked at her perplexed, his cheeks turned a soft shade of pink.

“Melted them?” she asked. “How on earth did you manage something like that?”

He examined the tongs in his hand. “Uh, it’s difficult to describe.”

“Could you show me?” she asked, shocked by her own bravery, or her desperation to escape her lonely isolation. “I’ve heard so much about your experiments and I really admired your discovery of the cure for demon poisoning.”

“I conduct most of my experiments in my Uncle Henry’s basement,” he said. “He’s not really my uncle, but I’m close enough to Matthew that he might as well be. I have a few experiments in my bedroom, but I don’t think that it would be appropriate for us to be alone in that regard.”

Grace hesitated, but there was no hint of condescension in Christopher’s tone, and his blunt face showed worry in a single vertical crease between his eyes. He was trying to treat her well. She understood that in the past couple of months, or years, she had lost some trust in how people would treat her. She blinked her eyes and nodded once without a word.

“Of course,” she said. “I’m embarrassed for suggesting it.”

“That’s quite all right,” he said, as he examined the tongs. “You must be terribly bored here.”

She was, but she felt it rude to say it. “It was very kind of your parents to allow me to stay in their home considering the grief my dear mother has brought to them.”

“Lucky for you my mother does not share my father’s grudges.” He meant it in fun, but he noticed the dubious look on her face. As she ran her finger through a spilt pile of flour on the counter, he wondered how all of the time he could have mistaken Grace for being so cold and plain when she looked saddened and lost. “Perhaps you could help me with something.”

Her gray eyes lit with curiosity. “With what?”

“I need an assistant to conduct one of my experiments,” said Christopher. “Since Thomas is spending time with his family after their recent loss and the four of us are not meant to be spending too much time together as punishment, but perhaps we can conduct some sort of arrangement for you to be my assistant of sorts. If it’s not too forward to ask.”

Grace fought to keep her emotions respectful, but inside she felt the quick bubble of anticipation that she had not felt in some time swell in her stomach. “As long as I wouldn’t be in the way and your comrades wouldn’t mind us spending the time together.”

“There’s no need for them to know,” said Christopher, straightening his glasses up higher on his nose making his eyes appear abnormally large. “Besides, they don’t seem to take much interest in my experiments anyway. Thomas is with his family. Matthew is under Charles’s watchful eyes, and James is—“ Christopher flushed.

“Is what?” she asked.

She already suspected that they all knew the truth behind the bracelet that she had given to James, but no one cared to ask for her side of the story. Why she did what she did? It was probably for the best. She wasn’t entirely sure she could tell them the truth of it anyway.

“James is with Cordelia.”

“It’s all right.” She pressed her lips together, and began to wonder if it was a mistake to have entered a conversation with him. “What I did was terrible and I won’t pretend to see it otherwise. I understand if you are disinclined to trust me.”

“Can I ask how you did it?” he asked. “How did you enchant the bracelet?”

The question took her off guard. Most people that have approached her with the question asked her why she felt the need to do it. James Herondale was more than inclined to give her his affections on his own; there was no need for an enchanted bracelet. Her answer was often some variation of the same lie.

“I would prefer it if you didn’t ask me that question,” she said. “Only because I cannot answer it. But would it help to know that it wasn’t me who did it?”

“It would,” said Christopher. “It does.

Grace folded her hands in front of her and felt a strange weight removed from her shoulders; grateful that while her truth remained hidden, some of it could be shared with someone else. And while she didn’t believe herself to be entirely innocent, there was some relief in not being entirely guilty either.

The housemaid entered through the swinging doors from the servant’s quarters, humming a Irish melody, which was cut short when she found the two of them in the kitchen. Her cheeks flushed as her watery eyes drifted down to the tongs in Christopher’s hands.

She switched her basket of fresh veggies over to her other hip. “Are you doing the cooking for supper tonight, boy, or are you just polishing the silver again?” she asked. “Because I know you’re not taking my good pair of tongs to use for your little experiments.”

(Author’s notes: Hello! Thank you for reading. I appreciate each and every one of you for indulging me through this quarantine while I pine and wait for Chain of Iron to be released. So a few things, I think everyone knew the book James reads to Cordelia would be Layla and Majnun... it would have been insulting if it was anything else. If you’re not familiar with the story (here is a link if you want to check out a preview), Majnun’s name at the beginning of the story is Kais. SPOILER: when Layla and Kais separate, he becomes mad with sadness and the town people call him Majnun, which means ‘madman’, so that’s why in the passage he is referred to as Kais... in case you were wondering. It’s such a beautiful story. I highly recommend everyone to read it. It gives me strong Romeo and Juliet vibes. There are so many variations of the story, but I really liked this one, and I believe it’s mostly accurate to the original source-- correct me if I’m wrong.

Also, I’m not sure where that Christopher and Grace scene came from. I wanted to experiment with their characters in a friendly way and I wasn’t mad at it, so I thought I’d share. There is a purpose for it in the story. I hope you enjoyed it. As always, if you liked it, please give it a heart, give me a follow, pop in with some comments about what you liked and even what you didn’t. I really appreciate you all. Next update will be Sunday, 7/26. Cordelia is waking up and things are about to get messy.)

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docholligay · 4 years

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What are some of your favorite adaptations of books you enjoy? Or, if you want to rant, some of your most hated?

Hm. This is going to be off the top of my head. I think the two I like the most actually deviate HUGELY from the books, but they do it in such a way that the story they are telling is EQUALLY good.

Everything is Illuminated, I know I mentioned before, but the movie and book end differently, but the movie is also very god. If asked, i would say the end of the movie is a little weaker for being a little more emotionally clean and neat, and that it doesn’t ask the same things from an (especially goyische) audience that the book, does, but I think they’re both fantastic.

The Haunting of Hill House is also a really fantastic story, but is it even really an adaptation of Shirley Jackson’s book? I don’t think I would count it as one. I think its conclusions are different, what it’s trying to do is different, I mean they took some character names and situations, but that’s about it. But I think the show is very good! The book is amazing!

Mowgli, the Netflix adaptation of the Mowgli stories from the Jungle Book. Knowing exactly all the trouble with the Jungle Book, it was one of my favorite books as a kid, and I’ve never seen a Mowgli adaptation that I think went to the heart of what made them so good. Mowgli does all this while making a REAL attempt to navigate around the colonialism that runs through Kipling’s books, in a way I’m a little in awe of. I would read this adaptation easily to my kids if it were a book itself.

True Grit, 2010. True Story: True Grit is the only movie I ever went out to the lobby and bought another ticket for right after it finished. A lot of adaptations of Western stories very much softened or eased the way western WRITING was, and the original film of True Grit was no different, stripping out a lot of what made the story so compelling. The Coen brothers version completely fixes all that, and does more besides. It shows a real love for the source material and makes the story both as brutal and as charmingly human as it always was. (Bonus answer here, same vein, but short story: 3:10 to Yuma, new version)

Brokeback Mountain. I was actually talking about this movie last night and how its my favorite Heath Ledger film. It’s an intensely faithful adaptation of the story, beautifully acted, and using the landscape and silences of the places I grew up to create a mood and feeling that almost moves me to tears in parts. I DEFY someone to watch this movie in seriousness and not think of me.

A short list of the terribles:

A Series of Unfortunate Events, both the movie and the netflix

Doctor Sleep

The Shining

Pet Sematary

Actually, nearly any King horror film utterly misses the point of the book or story its based on. non-horror adaptations do better.

Except the Dark Tower. That was also horrible.

A Clockwork Orange

Watership Down, both adaptations

World War Z

I am Legend

THE FUCKING BBC ADAPTATION OF THE NIGHT WATCH I HAVE NEVER BEEN SO HEARTBROKEN AND DISAPPOINTED IN MY GODDAMN MOTHERFUCKING LIFE

#Anonymous

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skonnaris · 4 years

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50 books read in High School Worth Revisiting

The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald: High school students who go on to college can quite easily nurture a firsthand understanding of the self-serving hedonism found at the center of this beloved classic. And then they’ll either despise it even more or relate all too well.

Beowulf by unknown: Pick up the popular Old English epic after forgetting the seemingly endless lectures and settle in to a thoroughly enjoyable adventure tale.

The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger: Depending on one’s circumstances when first picking up The Catcher in the Rye, protagonist Holden Caulfield is either a counterculture revelation or a whiny, pretentious brat. Revisiting him later in life will inevitably shift perceptions to some degree, be it major or minor.

Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston: Some high school students may scoff at the soapier elements found on Zora Neale Hurston’s Harlem Renaissance essential, but older adults are more likely to see and admire the strength, courage and resolve of heroine Janie Crawford.

Romeo and Juliet by William Shakespeare: The real tragedy of Romeo and Juliet isn’t their mistaken, needless deaths. It’s their staggering myopia and selfishness.

One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest by Ken Kesey: Anyone who has ever personally suffered from a psychiatric disorder — or loves someone who does — might find the marginalization of the mentally ill in this undeniable classic both disturbing and tragically accurate. It may take some time and experience between high school and the next read for such bitter facts to really seize hold.

Les Miserables by Victor Hugo: Les Miserables is huge. When reading it in English class, deadlines might preclude many students from really picking up on the book’s myriad juicy nuances. Revisiting it later offers far more time to sit and ponder everything Hugo wanted audiences to see.

War and Peace by Leo Tolstoy: As with Les Miserables, time constraints and other academic obligations make it difficult to really become absorbed in War and Peace. When picking it up and reading on a more personal schedule, visitors are more likely to forge a far more solid grasp of the material.

Ceremony by Leslie Marmon Silko: More sensitive high school students may find protagonist Tayo’s spiritual, emotional and physical healing process too intense for their tastes. But as they age and gain more life experience, Ceremony could very well prove exactly what they need one day.

Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe: As long as there are nations battling it out over land and squashing indigenous cultures beneath their boots, postcolonial literature will always be relevant. Chances are, anyone reading Things Fall Apartas a high school student will probably be able to apply many of its tenets to current events. When they re-read it as adults, they might find themselves sadly noting how little things have changed.

The Jungle by Upton Sinclair: Both at the turn of the 20th Century and on into today, most readers (even teachers) tend to emphasize Upton Sinclair’s visceral descriptions of unsanitary food production — especially since it directly spawned hefty legislation. In reality, though, he wanted it to shed light on the plight of exploited workers. Give his classic another visit later in life and see how the story changes when reading it with this in mind.

Beloved by Toni Morrison: Toni Morrison deliberately left many elements of her celebrated novel ambiguous, so any subsequent readings will inevitably churn up new perspectives, details and interpretations.

The Joy Luck Club by Amy Tan: Because family stands as this classic’s core theme, The Joy Luck Club never goes out of style. Whenever issues with parents arise, refer back to it for solace and insight.

The Color Purple by Alice Walker: When life grows too overwhelming, timeless heroine Celie provides inspiration to press on — no matter what sort of adversity and cruelty stonewalls happiness and stability.

The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain: The sociopolitical elements driving this famous narrative are incredibly important to understanding it as a whole, but focusing too much on them — as one would in an English class — glosses over the comparatively more lighthearted adventure elements.

Frankenstein by Mary Shelley: Understandably, many first-time Frankensteinreaders dive into the novel expecting a green-skinned simpleton with bolts in his neck — and find themselves shocked when encountering something completely different. Give it a re-read and see what may have been missed when consciously or subconsciously making comparisons with the iconic movie.

The Old Man and the Sea by Ernest Hemingway: High school students sigh over this leisurely-paced classic, but older adults seeking something more philosophical than frenetic might find it exactly what they want.

Death of a Salesman by Arthur Miller: Hopefully, picking up the searing Death of a Salesman at just the right time will prevent many students and adults from falling into the same lifestyle traps as tragic Willy Loman.

The Stranger by Albert Camus: Existentialism probably seems intense and somewhat inaccessible to many high schoolers, but one of the philosophy’s cornerstones warrants further consideration once they pack on more life experiences.

Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad: Puncturing through allegory after allegory after allegory grows tiresome after a while, and a fair amount of individuals might enjoy Heart of Darkness far more if they didn’t have to so painstakingly dissect every word.

I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings by Maya Angelou: Maya Angelou’s poetic autobiography is at once heartbreaking and inspiring — an ultimately uplifting tale perfect for anyone needing a dash or two of courage.

Slaughterhouse-Five by Kurt Vonnegut: An American treasure, Kurt Vonnegut may not necessarily appeal to harried high schoolers lacking the time to really sit and think about his statements regarding society, religion and politics. Approaching him with the proper time frame and mindset will make Slaughterhouse-Five and his other works burst with life and lessons.

The Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka: "Monstrous vermin" Gregor Samsa serves as a viable literary outlet for anyone, anywhere feeling as if the world treads all over their stability and happiness. Reading about the horrific abuses his family heaps upon him provides a strange, comforting sense of solidarity.

Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte-: Though fiction, Wuthering Heights makes for one of the most prominent lessons in how mentally and emotionally abusive relationships operate – something women and men alike absolutely need to know if they hope to keep themselves safe.

Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck: Most of Steinbeck’s oeuvre deserves multiple reads, but his story of a developmentally disabled man and his devoted caretaker remains one of the most heart-wrenching American novels ever printed. And one whose tragic ending merits a wealth of conversations.

Don Quixote by Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra: Because Don Quixotepossesses such a rich history and left an indelible mark on popular culture, bibliophiles of all ages find themselves coming back again and again to enjoy the adventures of the eponymous dreamer.

The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath: This semi-autobiographical novel sheds considerable light on a life wracked with mental illness — a somber, realistic lesson every adult must understand. The Bell Jar also serves as a reminder that anyone emotionally struggling doesn’t always do so alone.

A Clockwork Orange by Anthony Burgess: Readers who don’t understand Russian or cockney slang (aka most of them) need to read this warped dystopian novel multiple times to understand what in God’s name the characters are even saying.

A Doll’s House by Henrik Ibsen: Written before the feminist movement rose up and fought for women’s equality, one of Henrik Ibsen’s most popular plays toyed with the scandalous notion that some housewives may pine for a life outside their husbands, homes and kids.

The Awakening by Kate Chopin: Another recommended read for the liberated woman and the men who appreciate them, though many fans of this book find themselves divided over whether or not they fully agree with the central figure’s actions.

Gulliver’s Travels by Jonathan Swift: English classes spend so much time zeroing in on the wealth of social, political and religious commentary found in Gulliver’s Travels, they oftentimes forget to address just how much fun the book actually is.

Invisible Man by Ralph Ellison: Dense and intense, Ralph Ellison’s brutal analysis of pre-Civil Rights race relations is required reading for any students and adults hoping to end bigotry in all its twisted, ugly guises.

Maus by Art Spiegelman: Maus currently holds the honor of being the only Pulitzer-winning graphic novel, a status that rightfully earned it a place on many a syllabus. Despite its grim content — Art Spiegelman’s very real talks with his father about his Holocaust experiences — the valuable lessons about family and history remain timeless.

Inferno by Dante Alighieri: All three portions of Dante Alighieri’s epic poetry trilogy The Divine Comedy are required reading, but his bizarre, highly detailed depiction of hell holds the most influence over the literary world today — not to mention pop culture as a whole.

1984 by George Orwell: No literary history aficionados will argue that George Orwell’s terrifying totalitarian dystopia birthed the entire genre, but it certainly left the biggest impact. Political pundits enjoy trotting out parallels to 1984 when discussing administrations they hate. Citizens familiarizing themselves with the novel’s tenets and context can tell whether or not they have a real point or are just resorting to paranoid fearmongering.

Nectar in a Sieve by Kamala Markandaya: Despite the many hardships heaped upon protagonist Rukmani, hers is a story of strength and perseverance that many students and adults may want to consult when seeking comfort in times of trouble.

Cry, the Beloved Country by Alan Paton: Though apartheid may have ended, its legacy of intolerance and discord provides future generations with the tools to identify and stop such practices before they even have a chance to start.

Catch-22 by Joseph Heller: Readers of all ages with a particular affinity for absurdity and political commentary — especially as it relates to wartime — keep coming back to this novel again and again for laughs and truth bombs.

The House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros: Bibliophiles looking for a great bildungsroman to read over and over again have plenty to love about and explore with this compelling story about a young Chicana and her life in an impoverished Chicago neighborhood.

A Good Man is Hard to Find and Other Stories by Flannery O’Connor: Though an obviously subjective statement, many consider Flannery O’Connor one of the best American short story writers of all time. In such a confined space, she thrived with some incredibly provocative, influential narratives well worth reconsideration.

Night by Elie Wiesel: In his autobiography, Elie Wiesel recounts his gruesome experiences in Auschwitz and Buchenwald with the hopes of educating the world about the Holocaust’s horrors. Giving Night more than one look helps drive home its major historical themes, imbuing readers with the knowledge needed to better recognize hate and genocide.

Persepolis by Marjane Satrapi: This new classic is at once hilarious and heartbreaking. Through deceptively simple art, writer and cartoonist Marjane Satrapi recounts her childhood during the Islamic Revolution in Iran and the different set of prejudices faced as an expatriate in Europe.

Gravity’s Rainbow by Thomas Pynchon: Gravity’s Rainbow necessitates multiple reads because it involves over 400 characters embroiled in increasingly absurdist, surreal situations. Anyone who says they understand everything in one read is probably lying just to seem smart. Punch him or her in the face.

A Separate Peace by John Knowles: The comparatively cushy lives of private school students in New England are juxtaposed with young men forced to the front lines of World War II, with a strange and interesting friendship right in the center.

A Confederacy of Dunces by John Kennedy Toole: Not only is it a provocative read — especially when one factors in author John Kennedy Toole’s tragic life — this posthumous Pulitzer winner also happens to be one of the most hilarious novels ever published.

A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens: Charles Dickens attracts such a massive audience, most of his oeuvre could’ve easily made this list. A Tale of Two Cities oftentimes bores high school students, but as they grow older they may come to love its history and memorable characters.

Flatland by Edwin A. Abbott: Aside from the fact that this novel exists as one of the greatest satires ever written in English, it also warrants multiple reads for the sheer originality and imagination.

A Room of One’s Own by Virginia Woolf: In her book-length essay A Room of One’s Own, Virginia Woolf opines on feminism, sexuality (most especially lesbianism) and the importance of financial autonomy and personal space for writers.

Interpreter of Maladies by Jhumpa Lahiri: Short stories of Indians and Indian-Americans intertwine thematically, raising some excellent questions about multiculturalism, family, relationships and plenty of other subjects bibliophiles delight in discussing.

Siddhartha by Hermann Hesse: Both the spiritually-minded and those adhering to no religious credos at all appreciate this reflective classic and turn to it for meditative advice.

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istheresomebodywhocanimagine · 5 years

Note

Sorry for the bother but may I get a Queen and BoRhap ship please? I have that awful sense of direction, I got lost in a restaurant. I also will never admit publicly that I like someone. Hate to be told what to do and people prying into my life. Always calm and would never be rude to people. A caring and a friendly person. Ambitious. I'm 158 cm tall, a bit chubby. Metalhead. A bit of a tomboy. Major introvert. Hard worker. Overthinker. Open-minded. I'm good at learning new languages.

figured i should get one of these bad boys out of the way tonight before i rlly dive into my homework so here goes

i LOVE that you love metal i fuck with pantera so hard idk if thats the kind of metal you’re talking about but i’ve also seen FFDP and korn live so that was fucking unreal hi everyone yes i have the broadest taste in music ever sorry

ANYWAYS ships r below the cut :^)

For Queen, I ship you with Roger Taylor!

I almost said Brian, but I think you two would be too alike to last. However, you and Roger? A match made in heaven.

Roger genuinely loves that you’re a metalhead - he’s always up on trends, so the fact that you’ve got an in on the metal scene gives him the insight he needs to keep up with what’s hot and what’s not.

Also, Roger would love that you’re shorter than him - I mean, he probably constantly gets hell for being shorter than Brian, so that fact that you’re much shorter than him would be a source of great enjoyment/relief for him.

When you first met, you were in the same class as Roger, and it was a discussion-based forum class that you absolutely loathed - a group of maybe 20 of you, sitting in a circle, discussing what went wrong and what went right in your labs earlier in the week - it wasn’t required, but you got extra credit, and you always wanted to be able to improve on your grade if at all possible.

And since Roger didn’t want to piss off his parents with low marks while he was supposedly off at college ‘studying,’ he showed up too.

Roger was the only person that made the class bearable - he sat next to you, and he was constantly peeking over at your notes, chuckling when you wrote things like ‘instructor has no earthly idea what they’re talking about’ ‘this is wrong’ and ‘how does he even have a degree to teach this’

One time, Roger was so amused by your notes that he laughed out loud, interrupting a discussion between another student and the instructor, who looked at him and asked him to say what he thought, if he was so amused by what they apparently got wrong.

He glanced at you, hopeless - he hadn’t been paying attention, but you had, so you nonchalantly wrote ‘control group is not tablet and water - just water,’ then underlined it a few times. Roger glanced down, then nodded imperceptibly before folding his hands together and leaning over the desk.

“You lot are talking as if the control group is the antacid tablet AND the water - it’s just the water.” You marveled at how confident he sounded as he said so, and his blue eyes quickly met yours, sending you a charming grin before he was called upon again.

“The control group is the tablet fully dissolved in water, mate.” The student who had been bantering with the instructor was clearly upset Roger had insulted their intelligence, so they decided to challenge his.

“Actually, he’s right,” you chimed in, your voice quieter. Usually, you’d only speak when called upon in this class, but you knew Roger couldn’t bullshit his way through this one completely. “The control group is technically the water, untouched by the tablet. It’s affected by no variables, making it the control group.”

It was Roger’s turn to marvel at your sudden burst of confidence, and after class, he caught up to you in the hall to thank you. He’d always thought you were kind of cute, so this gave him his excuse to talk to you outside of class.

“Hey, I owe you one for what just happened back there,” he said, matching your pace as you headed for the front door of the building. Although he had class immediately after, he made a snap decision to skip so he could go wherever you were headed.

“Oh, it was no big deal, they’re morons,” you replied, a rosy blush creeping up on your cheeks when you glanced up at him, finding his gaze to be directly on you. When he held open the door for you, you thanked him, and he continued to walk with you as you headed back towards the dorms where you were living.

“I’m Roger, if you didn’t know,” he introduced, holding out his hand for you to shake as you walked, and you shook his hand gently, smiling at him. “We should study together sometime - you seem like you know a hell of a lot more about this than I do. Actually, are you busy right now?”

And that’s where it all started.

Your ambition and drive to learn satiates Roger - both of you feed off of each other’s energy, constantly teaching each other new things and always trying to participate in new experiences.

But for smart people, you and Roger (especially Roger) can have your moments of being airheaded. What would life be without those moments anyways?

If you had a good sense of direction and Roger wouldn’t be so stubborn about neglecting his glasses, you would have never ended up in book club in Lower Manhattan instead of an actual club.

It was one of their later US tours, and Roger had flown you out to NYC to see them play Madison Square Garden. Afterwards, you’d opted to go out alone, and it was a nice night out, so you two took off in your rental car with the top down, enjoying the only slightly smelly NYC air and the sound of relentlessly honking cars.

Quickly, you found yourselves lost as you tried to follow the directions the manager had given you, which was a pointless attempt. You were humorously exasperated, but your calm nature let you continue to be more amused than anything.

“Roger, please just let me turn around and go back to the venue - you know I’m bad with directions.”

“Absolutely not, I’d rather die,” he dismissed, making you laugh in slight exasperation as you stopped at a stoplight, dropping your hands into your lap. “Now where are we going next, sweets?”

“I don’t know, Rog,” you groaned, holding your head in your hands. “What does that street sign say?”

“I dunno, it’s blurry to me,” he grumbled, making you laugh again at his horribly serious need for glasses. “Don’t laugh at me! I’m crippled.”

“Did you bring your glasses when you left for the US?” you asked pointedly, and Roger nodded furiously as you pressed on the gas when the light turned green, advancing forward towards God knows where. “Then why were they on the nightstand when I left a couple days ago?”

“Imposters!” he joked, distracting you and making you laugh as you shook your head. When you were unmoved, he leaned over the center console and pressed a noisy, wet kiss to your cheek, making you shrug him off and laugh. “I’m just taking the piss, please don’t put me in time out for forgetting them. I love you.”

“Uh huh... forgetting,” you replied, using a playfully disbelieving tone before you sighed and looked around at the street signs, spotting one makeshift sign on the sidewalk that had an arrow and said ‘The Club’ and nothing else. “Well, that’s convenient. The Club. Let’s stop there.”

When you finally made it to the door, you walked in hesitantly. It didn’t seem like the type of building to be housing a dance club, but Roger was all for the simplicity of the name, so he led you in, quickly realizing that you were not in a dance hall, but a library.

“Oh my god, Roger,” you whispered, looking around at the stacks of books before meeting eyes with a group of middle-aged ladies who were holding copies of A Clockwork Orange. “This is a book club. They’re reading A Clockwork Orange. We’ve got to go.”

“Ooh, I love that book!” he said out loud, approaching the ladies without a hint of fear in him and turning your nerves all the way up to 11 as you reluctantly followed, still laughing to yourself at Roger’s unbelievable extroversion. “Come on, Y/N! Now ladies, what do we think of Dim and Georgie so far?”

And for BoRhap, I ship you with Joe Mazzello!

You’re a tomboy? Joe genuinely nuts for tomboys, for lack of better wording.

He loves taking you to baseball games, whether they are for the Yankees or for the team that his brother coaches. You don’t mind the down and dirty nature of the game - after all, you aren’t exactly the ribbons and bows type.

Speaking of baseball, you two met on the set of Undrafted. You were actually an old friend of Duke’s who lived in the area where they were filming - Joe had cast him as Ty, a tense character, and Duke had brought you along, saying he needed you as an extra body to sit in the crowd.

But really, he’d brought you along so you could zen him out when he needed to relax on breaks - your calmness always helped him chill, and he knew from the script that quite a few of the actors could use your balance when they were filming the high intensity scenes.

Joe was probably the most intensely angry character in the movie, and you noticed that very early on. You were seated near their dugout, pretending to text on an outdated Blackberry, when a bat came flying at the fence in front of you, making you jump slightly as it hit the chain links and bounced to the ground, rolling away from you.

“Sorry, bad aim,” Joe grumbled as he came to grab the bat, still partially in character, and you couldn’t help but send him a smile as he straightened back up, bat in hand.

“It’s alright, don’t worry.” The mellow sound of your voice intrigued Joe, and he gave you a slow nod before smiling a bit and turning back to go do the shot again. In fact, your mellowness was infectious, and exactly what he needed - the next shot, he absolutely nailed his intended target with the bat.

Once everyone had decided to take a lunch break, Duke came over to join you on the small set of bleachers, shaking some dust out of his hair before replacing the ball cap.

“What’s good for grub around here?” Duke asked, sitting down next to you. As you opened your mouth to answer, you heard a pair of baseball cleats crunching over gravel as they jogged nearer, then stopped in front of the two of you.

“Where are you two headed? Can I bum a ride?”

In front of you stood Joe, far calmer now, and far more attractive when he was up close.

“That’s up to Y/N here,” Duke replied, standing up to join Joe and helping you off the bleachers. Now that you were standing, Joe was easily taller than you, and you almost wished you were at eye level again due to the bleachers.

“Y/N? I’m Joe.” He held out a hand as he introduced himself, and you shook it gently, giving him the same smile you’d given him not too long ago and gaining a goofy grin in return.

From then on, you became Joe’s right hand set therapist for when he got too into his angry scenes, and he became your random baseball facts plug once he found out you had at least some interest in the game.

Joe’s extroverted nature balances well with your tendency for introversion, but sometimes, it causes small clashes. Thankfully, you’re so calm and have such a mellowing effect on Joe, clashes never escalate to the point where you’re actually arguing.

Your overthinking also sometimes clashes with his impulsive tendencies. He’s a bit of a serial Instagram poster, while you have to stare at your posts for 20 minutes before you reword the caption and then post it after proofreading twice.

One time, you’d been listening to some of your dearly beloved metal when Joe had come in, phone raised as he took a video of himself headbanging to the music, turning so he could get you in the frame. When you waved him off and covered your face with the other hand, laughing, he pouted playfully before ending the video.

There was a moment of silence as you heard him clicking away at the keyboard, then he joined you on the couch, wrapping his arm around you and pulling you into his side gently. “Work, work, work. Whatcha working on now?”

You snuggled into his side, resting your head on his shoulder, and a small smile formed on your lips as he gave you an affectionate kiss on the head.

“Just replying to some emails.”

“The grind never stops!” Joe then pulled out his phone again, texting something to Ben on Instagram that intrigued you.

“Why was Ben asking about me?” you questioned, sitting up a bit as Joe smiled sheepishly and hid his phone from you.

“Definitely not because I put that video on my story.”

“Joe! We’ve talked about this,” you laughed, sinking back down into a slumped position as you shook your head. “I swear, I’m going to delete Instagram off of your phone one day and Facebook Live the meltdown.”

“Please, at least Instagram Live it. Who uses Facebook?” You rolled your eyes at the exaggerated haughty tone that he took on as he said so, then raised an eyebrow when a notification from Chace Crawford also popped up. “Oh, no, your boyfriend is messaging me!” he gasped dramatically, opening the notification.

You snickered at that, shaking your head again and watching as he read the message.

When he was done, he made a weird look before pulling up the camera and starting to record a live video. You barely had time to react and cover your face as you laughed, Joe putting on a serious expression. “Joe, you’re fired,” you mumbled, holding your laptop over your face as Joe switched to a pout. Chace popped in first to watch, followed by Ben and Gwil.

“I’ve just been fired as resident boyfriend and now I think Chace is moving in. Can anyone please let me bum on their couch? Ben??”

You giggled and scooted away from Joe as he talked to the growing number of people on his live, lamenting that you were kicking him out. At one point, he fell against your side, whining as he read Chace’s comment.

“Chace says he loves you and to come over. Your response?”

“On my way,” you mumbled as you went back to your emails, barely loud enough for the camera, but the chat went nuts when some people caught it, Joe zooming in on his face.

“Chace, she hates you and says she never wants to see you again.”

“Not what I said,” you gently corrected, grinning as you kept yourself just out of frame of his camera.

“Yes, it is. I’ve just decided it is... Love you.” He paused for a moment, looking up at you expectantly, and you raised an eyebrow, glancing between him and his phone. “Say it back,” he whispered, still loud enough for everyone to hear.

“I’m gonna go take a shower,” you resolved, closing your laptop and sitting it on the coffee table as Joe complained loudly, calling after you in a mock sad voice.

“Say it back!”

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its-the-bliss-talking · 5 years

Text

Domestic Affairs JosephXDeputy

At the start of this mess Rook had fought Joseph every step of the way. Didn't want to fall into the role he had laid out so perfectly for her. The demure, quiet housewife was the exact opposite of who she was. But they had a deal. A deal that, if broken, would end with her friend’s blood on her hands and she’d still be stuck with Joseph anyway. A dramatic self sacrifice that she regretted more and more everyday. The ideas he had on what a wife’s duty was in the household turned out to be archaic at best. Some old school bullshit she had a sneaking hunch that he remembers seeing from his own fucked up childhood. An awful combination of his parent’s interactions and what he always dreamed of having as a kid. He shrouded it in the guise of wanting to keep her safe. That she was meant to be by his side during the collapse, he would never even tease the idea of putting her in harm's way. That's why her days were the same monotonous boring bullshit. It was like clockwork. Save for the minute changes that barely kept her sane. She learned quickly that Joseph was an early riser. That he didn't need an alarm clock by the bedside table to rouse him, he’d simply keep the curtains wide open to allow the first rays of the sun to brighten the room up until all he could see was a fiery orange behind his closed lids. That was him though, she's always needed something more. Would shove her face further under the blankets to escape the morning. Joseph fixed that real fast. Was more than happy to be the one to wake her with soft touches reserved for people who truly loved one another. Not whatever this sadistic form of marriage was that he conjured up and forced her into. There were prayers each morning. Hands on her shoulders as he shoved her down onto the hardened floor by the bed first thing in the morning. Instinct by now to clasp her hands before he grabbed them, enveloping them with his own. Placing pressure on them to make it feel like he’d break her fingers if she didn't comply. When her bones creaked she knew not to fight him, that he was serious about this time where he spoke to his God. That he would stand directly behind her, a presence that was unavoidable with his hot breath ghosting across the nape of her neck while he whispered prayers in her ear. Making sure she couldn't tune him out. With the way things were going she was starting to learn bible verses off the top of her head just as well as he could recite them. She found how he had warped her way of thinking in that respect. That a line would pop into her head given a certain occasion. It frightened her. Not like she could avoid it. Eden’s Gate was all around her. He’d place a book in her hand, the white bound book whose copies were floating around Hope County, circulating like the plague. She’d read aloud to him as he showered. Speaking loudly over the downpour of water that slammed into the porcelain tub. Rook would never look up. Couldn't stand how he wouldn't keep the curtain closed, that he'd always have his eyes on her. Smiling and nodding along his encouragement whenever she would pause. It was like he knew when to step out, limiting them to ten pages in that time period. They’d swap places then. His hands wandering over her figure and helping her out of the nightgown he had chosen for her. Something sheer and see through that made her cringe whenever he looked her way. He’d stand back for once, keeping his eyes forever roaming as she scrubbed down. Not taking the time to enjoy the sweet comfort the hot water would normally bring her given any other occasion, she was all about efficiency now. Quick to get clean so she could toss on whatever clothes he placed in her hands. Usually something modest because god forbid his flock, or even his family, had lustful thoughts of his ‘wife.’ Rook couldn’t complain, knew that he would keep her locked up in their small bedroom with barred up windows, buck naked at her refusal to get dressed. Either that or he would drug her up, force bliss into her veins as he's done a few times before when they had a sermon to go to and she just had to be there. The bliss would be enough for him to dress her properly. Leading her to the church like everything was okay, like she wanted him and all his crazy. Joseph was, unsurprisingly, a busy man. Never in their small house for long before he left. He’d pull her from the shower, smelling of lavender and wearing soft clothes decorated with lace that irritated her skin. He never forced her to do the housework as he went wherever the hell he was needed that early. But what else was there to do? The house was one level and not too many rooms for her to explore. No technology for obvious reasons about the Seed family’s aversion towards the cloud and status updates. The library was small, old classics she’s only ever read in school years ago and never picked up after that. It held her interest for all of two hours before she did the things that only her parents expected of her when she was a child. Chores, cleaning and re-cleaning to ease the storm in her mind. It was a numbing task to do, something so simple that she could daydream in the midst of it all, pretend she was anywhere else but on the floor, scrubbing between small cracks of the fridge when everything else was already spotless. Joseph would pop in and out of the house. Lingering in doorways, urging her to acknowledge him. To greet her husband with a hug and kiss on the cheek. “This is new for you,” He’d tell her constantly. “I’ll give it time. I can be patient and wait for you to come around.” Rook knew he spoke the truth. That it was only a matter of time before he wore her down and stockholm syndrome would kick in amongst her will to live. She’d give into the man who sat across from her eating dinner and speaking of his day with enthusiasm. Waving his forked hand around animatedly and smiling at her behind yellow tinted glasses. She kept her face blank, pretended with each new morning that came that she wasn't leaning into the parting kiss he would lay to her temple as she cleaned the dishes. She would lie to them both as she told him that she hated his barbaric ways of life. That when he forced her down on bended knee each night by the bed to pray that she only prayed for his and his family’s quick, painful deaths. That someone would come along just as she did and he wouldn't be able to trap that person. She’d toss his words back at him when they got into an argument, though those were getting fewer and far in between. Rook would say that God worked in mysterious ways as he was always fond of reminding her, that his fate would come to fruition one day and she’d be free of him. Joseph would give her that sympathetic pity filled smile as they slipped into bed together, blankets shrouding them along with the darkness that filled the room. He’d cradle her against his chest and mumble in her ear about all the ways she was fitting in so nicely. That she was already getting used to him, even if she didn't realize it. That she was smiling for him and casting sarcastic remarks his way, jesting like they were friends. “So keep up that facade if it really makes you feel safe, child. I’m here waiting, always. And once you feel you no longer need to hide behind made up fallacies then I’ll be here to keep you protected. But I see it in your eyes.” “See what?” Rook got closer to him as she said it, trying to make out his features in the darkness. Could only really see the outline of his jaw and his bright contrasting eyes. “Your undying love. Your devotion. Your wanton need for me. The fact that if the collapse fell upon us right this second then the first place I’d find you running to would be my arms.” The next day she didn’t pray for his death.

#far cry 5 #joseph seed #far cry #domestic #dark fluff

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kfawkes · 7 years

Note

Could you write some married eggsy and reader pretty please?

[MARRIED EGGSY AND READER!!!! Oh man this is gonna be so much fun. I feel like… I want to make a bunch of these little shorter ones for this. Cause I always go SOOO fucking ham with my Eggsy x Readers for some reason and CREATE SO MUCH EXTRA LIKE WHY AM I LIKE THIS hahahah. This one is much shorter by comparison, and super fluffy with some smut as well because I couldn’t help myself. Hope you like!

Pairing: Eggsy X Reader

Words: 1.5k

Warnings: Cursing, some smut? Yeah some smut!

—Read on Ao3!]

If there was one thing you knew about yourself, it was that you did not want to get married. Ever. Getting married, having a family that whole… thing. Let’s just say it was a lot. Just, not really your cup of tea so to say.

It wasn’t that you disliked children or dating. It was that you could never imagine finding another human you loved so much you wanted to spend the rest of your life with them. It was hard enough for you to share your bed and living space with someone else… How could you actually be expected to share your entire life with another person?

The truth is you couldn’t. You never thought that would change either… But there were a lot of things you used to ‘know’ about yourself before you met Eggsy.

Before you met that cheeky son of a bitch, you’d have said you would live your life out with 20 cats and be completely content with that– more than content even. That you’d spend your youth galavanting and breaking hearts. Or maybe you’d live in France and learn how to make wine while writing a book or something just as dramatic and starving artist like.

You had a lot of ideas about what your life would be like, where you’d end up… the things you’d do. And you can honestly say that this was the last thing you expected.

But here you were… married and very much enjoying it.

To Eggsy fucking Unwin of all people and if there was one thing you could say about being married to a man like that?

It’s that it was fucking amazing.

Maybe being married to someone else would have been the hell you always imagined, but being with Eggsy was pure perfection. He fit you like a puzzle piece and there wasn’t a day that passed where you weren’t laughing your ass off with him. There wasn’t a night where you two weren’t wrapped between those sheets, pressed warm skin to skin… and there wasn’t a minute where you weren’t incandescently and utterly in love.

Every day with Eggsy was just like a dream, and you really did know how cheesy and awful that sounded… If 16 year old you met the married you now, they would have probably slapped you and laughed in your face.

Okay, they definitely would have– 16 year old you was a total bitch.

But you’d just hit that version of yourself back and tell 'em how fucking wrong they were. How in a few years they’d meet someone that could fill that hole and would make every bit of darkness disappear. You’d tell them they were just scared of love and commitment… But that once that person came along– everything would be alright. That they’d know and wouldn’t have to be afraid anymore.

That you weren’t afraid anymore.

Good thing you got to skip that part though, because current you was very much enjoying the married life and all of its benefits. One of which was a very handsome husband– that was not in bed right now with you…

“Baby?” Your voice was croaky from a night of sleeping and… other things. You eyed the empty space beside you as you rub your tired eyes drifting into consciousness.

When you slid your eyes to the clock it read 8:03 am. Eggsy was usually asleep well past 10 on the weekends. So… just where was he?

“Eggy?” You called again as you slipped from your covers being sure not to disturb JB or Prince from their slumber at the foot of the bed.

After kissing and offering them both soft pats you placed the first shirt you could find over your chilled skin; one of Eggsy’s button ups. After you found your slippers you made your way from the room with a yawn and long stretch. Once you reached the base of the stairs you could smell and hear the soft sizzling of bacon echoing in the kitchen.

“What you doin’ up… get back t’bed, yeah?” Eggsy threatened teasingly with a smile slipping from the corner of his lips as he flip each piece of bacon on the skillet; extra crispy, just the way you liked it.

“What am I doing? What are you doing? Is Eggsy Unwin actually cooking right now? Where is my phone– I need to document this, Merlin’ll never believe me if I don’t…” You teased back as you made your way towards the coffee machine, he’d already had your favorite mug sitting next to the fresh pot. But of course he did.

When you looked back to him the face he held was one of the cutest you’d seen him wear; and you’d seen that man make a lot of faces over the years. Eggsy was focusing so hard that his brows were lowered into a fine line with his tongue poking just slightly out of the corner of his mouth. He didn’t realize the flour decorating his forehead either and you couldn’t help but smile and wonder how the fuck you got so lucky?

“Gonna make me say it again, Mrs. Unwin?” He repeated with a wink as he check the waffles in the iron, then the pan cooking eggs.

“Course I am. When have I ever made anything easy for you?” You smiled walking closer to him holding two cups of fresh coffee. Eggsy grabbed his mug– an orange T-Rrex in a suit of course, then wrapped his free arm around your waist; pulling you closer.

When you felt him against your chest, that same wave spread over you and for a moment you weren’t in your kitchen anymore. You were somewhere else entirely and you were reminded yet again that Eggsy really was it for you. The one everyone always told you you’d find…

You’d had that very same feeling ever since you met him, and now even after 2 years of blissful marriage, you still had it– stronger than ever.

Every. Single. Time.

“Never.” With a smile he kissed you finally. Softly at first, but with more feeling as the seconds passed; and damn did it feel just as good now as it did then. “But, I ain’t jokin’ luv. Be a good girl an’ get up there, will ya?”

“What are you gonna do to me if I don’t? Are you going to punish me, Mr. Unwin?” You whispered innocently in his ear as he lifted you to the bar, placing himself between your thighs like clockwork.

Eggsy pressed the tip of his tongue to the bottom of his teeth as he raised a brow, eyeing you like you were the meal. The look he held behind his eyes was fervent, almost desperate and all of a sudden you couldn’t have him soon enough.

He slid his hand between your legs, running his fingers over you softly as he whispered. “If that’s what you want, luv.”

You pressed into him harder with eyes closed, feeling each soft motion bringing you closer to release… Each movement done perfectly and just when you were about to—

“Ah, shit!” Eggsy yelled pulling from you as the fire alarm began blaring loudly in your ears. “Exactly why you should be in bed, innit?”

You couldn’t help but laugh again, pulling your hands to cover your mouth bashfully. “Typical. Blaming me for your almost burning the house down…”

“You ain’t gettin’ outta this one, babe. Everythin’ was perfect ‘til you got down here, wasn'it?” By the time Eggsy finished both dogs were at his feet, barking softly at the noise. He signaled towards them then back to you with a playfulness behind his eyes and in his tone. “Now you done it.”

The alarm settled, and the both JB and Prince slunk back upstairs to continue their slumber in peace. When you looked to Eggsy again, you held that same fevered look from before as you leaned back on the bar with head tilted slightly. “Am I in trouble then?”

Eggsy narrowed his eyes as he turned slowly towards you. He pulled his bottom lip in tasting you on them as he stepped forward with a fire behind his eyes. When he reached you he placed both hands to your hips and pulled you into his quickly.

“That what you want, Mrs. Unwin?” He whispered in your ear as he slid a hand up the back of the shirt you were wearing, pressing his nails lightly across your skin.

“Every day… for the rest of my fucking life, Mr. Unwin.” You wore a wholesome smile as you wrap both arms around his neck staring into those gorgeous azure eyes dotingly.

“That’s a pretty good answer, babe.” Eggsy smiled kissing you again as he pulled you closer getting lost in every inch of you. Paying no attention to the lingering smoke, or the smell of blackened bacon…

It was just you and it was just this.

And if there was one thing you knew about yourself, it was that you didn’t know shit. You may never have wanted to get married, or be madly in love… but here you were and now that it was yours, you weren’t letting go. Ever.

#Eggsy Imagine #eggsy x reader #eggsy unwin x reader #Eggsy Unwin #Kingsman #Kingsman fic #fanfic #Eggsystential Crisis #prompt #<3

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purplesurveys · 6 years

Text

287

What is your favourite dinosaur? I don’t have one. I was never into dinosaurs; although it is pretty fascinating how a huge bunch of kids today know so much about dinosaurs? When did it start happening??? Why??? How??? How can you tell apart a stegosaurus and a tyrannosaurus and a diplodocus and a spinosaurus at just 3 years old??? Would you rather live with wolves or tigers? I don’t know but I have the feeling tigers are less likely to eat humans so I guess them? Correct me if I’m wrong though. Have you ever forgotten what a certain kind of pain felt like? For sure. I’ve only experienced death of a close one once. I don’t know if I want to go through that again. It was a different kind of pain and it didn’t tighten my chest or anything; it was just numbness, persistent denial, and the hard acceptance that I’m simply to move on and all the dead get left behind. The world won’t stop for my passed grandfather. That was the hardest pill to swallow and only after accepting that did the pain come. It was bad and I barely remember anything from those 2-3 weeks. Do you prefer water from the tap or bottled water? Bottled. You can’t actually drink tap water here. That concept would be so foreign if ever brought up. Do you actually use any of the shampoo hotels provide? Yes. My family goes to a lot so it’s nice to experiment and have variety hahaha.

What do you remember the most about your childhood? The trauma. Do you feel as if someone has robbed something from you? Yeah, my wallet from high school that should have stayed on the seat where I last left it .It wasn’t in the lost-and-found bins, not with the janitors, not with my teachers, not in the admin’s office where some of the lost stuff go. My only hunch left was that someone stole it and I will never understand why someone saw it fit to steal a wallet with just an Instax photo of me and Gab, and my fucking retainers. Have you ever stared at the sky and wondered if it was all worth it? Yup. On one of my worse days several months ago I literally took a photo of the sky and posted it on Twitter and my caption was along the lines of is this even worth it. Kinda dramatic but I was in such a bad place and was just asking the skies to take me. Would you rather have a pet dinosaur or have mythical creatures be real? I guess have the dinosaur, if it were (not forcibly) tame. What age did you get your first hair cut? I’m guessing I was 3, because I have photos when I was 2 and had a ponytail and suddenly my hair is up to my ears at 3. Do you have a favourite toy from childhood still? No, I think my mom threw all of mine out when we moved. The only toys in this house now are Joaquin’s, since he was still a toddler when we moved here and so all his toys (and the newer ones) came along. What are your thoughts on the end of the world? The pessimist, suicidal me wants it to happen. Otherwise not so concerned as it won’t happen for another several billion years. Which sports do you enjoy watching? Pro wrestling, even though it’s half-theater. Tennis is also fun to watch. I play table tennis but don’t really watch it as a sport. Would you ever have a breed of dog that is considered aggressive? Absolutely. Break the stereotypes, people. Have you ever made bread? I don’t think so. Maybe in one of our home economics sessions in grade school since I remember using yeast, but my memory for that period is very fuzzy. Would your childhood self be disappointed? No, actually they’d be quite surprised I’m still sticking around. 12 year old me thought I would be gone in five years. Do you think in the future you'll have done yourself proud? If I just make it to the future I think that’s enough to make younger me proud. Did you read The Great Gatsby before seeing the movie? I haven’t even done either. What do you feel about movies made from books? Not the right person to ask as I'm generally not a fan of book-to-movie adaptations. I think the only exception is if they’re old hahaha e.g. A Clockwork Orange, Carrie, Misery, Breakfast at Tiffany’s, etc. I would include The Shining here but I know Stephen King was dismayed at how Kubrick portrayed his book. Has anything ever fallen asleep on you? Dogs. Do you have to use the bathroom? I did right before this survey. Is the above question too invasive? No, surveys have asked more intrusive ones. What do you feel about surgeries? Do they worry you? I hate them. They worry me, they scare me, I hate needles, I hate the possibility of waking up in the middle of surgery. Do you have a tumblr? You tell me, Sherlock. Would you rather have an open book shelf or one with doors? One with doors so like a library? Hahahahaha no, I’d rather show off the books. Although in this case it would be Gabie’s books, since she has way more books than I do. Do you need a large or small place to live comfortably? Large. I love a minimalistic home. Would you ever consider moving to another country? Absolutely. My lifestyle and who I am is everything frowned upon by Catholics in the Philippines. As a person in a same-sex relationship (who wants to get married and have a family) and atheist in a predominantly Catholic country, all I’m asking is ostracism for life and they are more than ready to give that to me. Have you ever dropped everything and reevaluated? Sure. Do you play Minecraft? if so, feelings about servers? No. I have no clue what you’re talking about. Do you long for easier times? Don’t we all? Do you believe that life gets easier or we just get stronger? Stronger, more like more numb. Does it weird you out to think that humans are just more advanced animals? Not really. Do you ever wonder why religion came about? Lmao yes all the goddamn time, although I am talking as someone who was treated badly by their birth religion and thus is questioning it for life. I would never question or invalidate anyone and their religion. Would you ever consider shaving your head? I’ve thought about it, but I don’t think I would ever seriously consider it. Would you rather belong to a cult or a religion you feel is wrong? Uh. Freedom? Have you ever considered murder? Just for our current president sometimes but idk. Kill a man or a woman? Can I live worry-free instead? Would you like to live in a realm where the zombie apocalypse is possible? I mean, sounds cool but preferably nah? I’m okay with our zombie-less reality. Are you afraid of any animals? Reason? Yup, cockroaches are fucking ugly. Our old house had flying cockroaches all throughout my childhood which is why I hate them to no end now. Someone knocks on your door three times right now, do you answer? Yeah, it’s probably my dad. Do you read creepypastas? No, they aren’t intriguing to me. Can you sleep afterwards? I just woke up, so no I can’t do that.

#survey #surveys

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surflove808 · 6 years

Text

Fan Wars: A New Hope. Damnit.

I sure do hope you like reading lots of words!!

Here's the remix (Edited. Longer. Angrier. Yay!): I’m about to get all fire and brimstone up in here. I apologize in advance.

Regarding my blog post re: The Joke Debacle, most everyone has been so thoughtful, mature, kind and open minded about the discussion matter, even if they didn’t necessarily agree with me. So that right there, shows me that it’s possible for all of us to be more understanding with each other regardless of our ships or faves or whatever. And I’m an open-minded, open book, so even if you don’t agree with me, this is a safe place to vent concerns or frustrations with what I say. We can all respectfully disagree, meet in the middle or go just back to our own corners. Whatever.

I'd like to encourage those of you who are taking your frustrations out on anyone who agrees with points made in my article (on Twitter or wherever) to come speak directly to me if you have an issue. I wrote it, after all. My blog is helpfully linked right there in the article. I don't bite. And for those of you who aren't overly familiar with what's going on, please check out the many, many comments attached to my actual blog post, and you will be able to see that there are far more people that are fed up with these bad apples, than there are bad apples. I hope. And if there are apples that don’t feel like they’re being given a fair shake, I’d like to hear from those apples too.

When I posted my angry rant last week, I didn’t expect it to gain so much traction. But it did…and it showed me I wasn’t alone, and that there are a lot of fed up fans out there, and justifiably so, who are looking for an end to this ridiculous inner-fandom civil war. I'm relatively new to Tumblr. I wasn't expecting to become the unofficial mouthpiece for this issue.

I was approached by movietvtechgeeks.com asking if they could use my blog post in an article about the cyberbullying that’s happening in this fandom, so I said “Sure!” I’m honored that someone would want to print my rambling. But of course, it’s also opened up the floor on Twitter, yet again, for certain people to deliberately misconstrue the content and twist it to suit their own agenda in the comment sections. What they fail to realize is…they’re only proving why we needed this article in the first place. So, joke’s on them!! However…. now I feel obligated to come on here and clarify my intent and that’s friggin irritating.

Here is the article if you want to take a looksee: https://twitter.com/movietvtechgeek/status/927578926397952000

I NEED TO MAKE A FEW THINGS CRYSTAL CLEAR (apparently):

1. I don’t have a ship. I don’t dislike shippers. (Ship away! I just dislike pushy people with no sense of boundaries) So please do not misconstrue anything I say as promoting or denigrating *a* ship. You do you. Let me do me. Well, that sounded vaguely dirty… you know what I mean. I’m just gonna ship me with myself now. Nobody can love me quite like me.

2. I don’t stan an actor, and I don’t think that because someone likes “another” actor (whomever that might be) more, that it’s a direct affront to me or them. I tag all these "relevant to the post” actors because I think they’re all relevant to the success of this show, and sadly….also to this juvenile ridiculousness that seems to be brewing between fan factions.

But, if I’m being honest? Full disclosure: I do have a favorite! Jensen. Heyyyoooo! I think he’s an incredibly talented actor IN MY OPINION, and I like his extraordinarily expressive face. See? Simple as that. Is that a problem? And do you feel better now that it’s out in the open?

We can all have opinions, and favorites without ��throwing feces like howler monkeys” to quote a certain dickhead angel. And as far as personalities and talent go? They’re all amazing, and they all belong, IN MY OPINION. The main cast, the supporting cast, new castmates, former castmates…. they all just…gel. You know? It’s some kind of voodoo magic. And they’re by all accounts, really decent people doing good things out there in the world. Without any one of them, it wouldn’t be the show we all know and love. And if you don’t love the SHOW, well….I guess fucking go watch something else? Right??

Listen....Unless you’re tied to a chair Clockwork Orange-style, and being force fed this show by some evil, covert government agency… you DO have other choices.

3. I sucked it up and joined Twitter because there seems to be an attack dog, hive-mind situation happening that seems hell bent on cowing people into submission. That shit doesn’t fly with me. And if I’m on there and see bullying, damaging misinformation or harassment… I’m going to get in the fray. But I’m going to TRY to do it with honesty, integrity and a sense of humor. I want to sit at the adults table on Turkey Day. Not at the kids table with Weird Uncle Augustus. Know what I mean? Don’t be that guy.

AND ONCE MORE FOR THE PEOPLE IN THE BACK: To be clear - I’m not speaking to ONE specific group of people. However, if you look into the mirror I’m holding up and see your own reflection? I’m probably talking to you.

4. I’m not going to choose a “side”. I choose the show, it’s actors, crew, writers, etc, collectively. Because they all work their asses off, both on and off the set to give us fans so much more than just entertainment.

5. If someone wanted to hold a mirror up to this fandom right now, via a juicy documentary on the ship wars, fighting factions, undermining, conspiracy theories, revenge tactics, harassment campaigns, etc…. I think its safe to say, we’re all gonna be pretty fucking embarrassed. Let’s hope that never happens. I’m cringing just thinking about it. But we deserve it, if we keep on with this petty bullshit, ya know? 6. My blog post was not about for J2 "stans” or about Misha “stans”, for gods sake people. This post was about how splinter groups (for lack of a better term) were being damaging and disruptive (As they do.) and how it’s bad for EVERYONE when we let warring factions steamroll over everyone else, AND each other. This post was a direct response to the organized and brutally efficient Twitter campaign that somehow found its way into the laps of a handful of online news sites in an effort to publicize an off-color joke in order to take advantage of the current climate in the entertainment industry and start a viral witch hunt. *I just ran out of breath. Time for a James Brown pause*

7. My post was also aimed at the Twitter spamming campaigns that Shatner and Pellegrino, as well as J2 had to put up with in the past few weeks. And don't feed us that horsehit about them bullying the poor fans that spoke their minds. NO. You collectively went on, and started shit, kept coming at them, and they defended themselves. And rather maturely, considering. It’s about groups of people that have gotten so wrapped up and out of control, that they’re poisoning this fan family. I genuinely feel concerned that some folks are confusing reality with fiction, here.

8. If you look back farther on my Tumblr page (?) to the good ol days of last Thursday (?) - particularly the Silent Majority post - that post is not in reference to any fan or any actor, specifically. It’s in reference to the majority of fans who want to do the right thing, WANT to help out, WANT to just enjoy the damn show without all this drama and hate. But because they’re quiet, and they’re not able to speak their minds without fear of retribution…. they’re vastly under-represented. And so, the assholes of the fandom run amok unchallenged. THAT’S the majority I’m speaking of. 9. I abhor anyone that lurks around on social media looking for people to mess with. So, imagine my surprise and disappointment that now I’M that person, because of this fucking shit!! I’m only getting after people who are picking on others, but still… lurking, arguing. Utter waste of valuable time. Yours and mine.

Saturday night I apparently pissed off the leader of one of the SPN gangs (what do you call them??) when I called her out on her behavior and was ominously told: “Wanna see what happens when I tell my followers what to think and do”. To which I responded “I already have. And it’s deplorable” And then offered to provide her with my name, # and home address. She didn’t want it. I don’t know why. I thought it was funny! I NEVER get hate mail... and I was looking forward to some postcards. I’m old school that way. Don’t hate tweet me. Send me a hate postcard featuring something cool from your state.

Jokes aside....that’s the kind of crap that mobilized me in the first place.

I tried to have a reasonable conversation with this individual and even asked if she wanted to take it offline and talk. I followed her lead, conversationally, did snark back when required...but just when I thought we were going to have a reasonable discussion, she pulled the rug out. I tried. If you’re reading this and you feel misrepresented, or misunderstood, or you’re trying to misrepresent our conversation - the door is still open if you want to talk. But I’m not going to tolerate your bullshit, and neither should anyone else.

Who ARE these people? And why is this happening? That’s my question.

10. I'm not here to listen to arguments that a 6-year old might find compelling in a court of law, such as: Well, Jensen told that joke a year ago, or Misha said thisthatandtheotherthing back in the day...so why are you only talking about Jareds joke?

Well...because this is not a tit-for-tat thing. I'm talking about the issue that is relevant RIGHT NOW. And this is far from a "blame it on Jared" thing. I feel awful for the guy. For both of them for even being looped into this insanity. The intent of my blog post was to address very current events that have been demonstrative of the current, toxic climate brewing in the SPN fandom. I’m NOT here to write the Unabridged History of SPN Actors and Their Fondness for Off-Color Jokes.

11. If you're all wound up and offended by what I wrote? It's probably because I wrote this blog post not for you, but about you. OR, you've not been provided with context, content or clarity, and you got swept up in this manufactured hysteria and reacted. OR, you think I’m a total asshole, and that’s ok. I get it! And I understand how my post could make some of you defensive and prickly. But hey, as the saying goes... don't start none, won't BE none. On the flip side, as someone eloquently stated (ahem, CarolHansson) "It's ok to be offended....it's also ok to not be offended"

12. I am not a rape apologist. And neither are the actors. And to even insinuate that any of us, by extension of supporting Jared or Jensen in this situation, are pro "rape culture", is appropriating a term and using it so irresponsibly that you're negating the real suffering of sexual abuse survivors. The more you trivialize it, the more you take away its power. Stop using manufactured concern for survivors as your jumping-off point for harassment, and START asking yourself what's really motivating you to use that argument as an excuse for your behavior. BTW, #Metoo, and you sure as hell don't represent ME.

If you want to see a record of this casts achievements for mental health awareness, LGBTQ rights, anti-bullying and womens issues, to name a few - it's a simple Google search away. That's on your time. Not mine. Again....not here to write their autobiography. This piece is an opinion piece. I try to be balanced, but that’s as far as it goes. I'm not CNN.

13. MISHA: Misha was not mentioned in my post because Misha was not under fire last week or the week before over this stupid bullshit. If I SEE that happening, I’ll write about THAT. But HE was not the focus of this mess. So I left HIM out of it. Does that make sense? And also? I'm not here to equally represent all actors at all times. That's not how this works in the context of the subject matter at hand. If you want to see more adequate representation for your favorite actor - write your own op ed. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy.

And Misha as well as J2, are probably more than a little appalled that some of their biggest fans (?) are committing to some shady behavior in their honor and in their names. Just a guess. They’re good guys and this is probably not sanctioned behavior. If you think it is? Show me the receipts. Let’s do this honestly, using facts. Not conjecture.

14. No, I do not excuse anyone's behavior because of their physical attractiveness. Neither do most people. I am not a child (Thank you, Uma Thurman), and I don't rationalize like a child.

15. No, I am not doing this to seek approval from the actors, and neither is anyone else with the #istandwithJ2 hashtag. As previously stated, this is an equal and opposite reaction to the bullshit that brought us all here today. You’re grasping at straws at this point, if that’s the argument you’re going with. Speaking on my own behalf, I have nothing to gain here, except some new Tumblr friends with a side of troll.

16. To reiterate on previous posts - I’m hoping that all of us will collectively start sticking up for each other when we see someone harassing a fellow fan online. Even if you don’t want to comment….maybe give the person being flamed those little heart thingys (likes?). Direct message them if liking their post doesn’t feel safe. Show them your support in some way, so that they don’t feel alone and so that they don’t feel quite so vulnerable to attacks from online bullies. We Have Got To Start Backing Up People who are just trying to express their opinions respectfully and are being slammed with responses that are belligerent, demeaning, threatening, obnoxious, etc. Otherwise - these jerks will just keep steamrolling right over the more gentle viewers out there. And a lot of them, are just kids. And this goes both ways. It has to, in order to be effective.

If you see something - say something. That’s my 2 cents anyway.

The world’s going to Hell in a handbasket, 26 innocent people were gunned down yesterday in a place they held sacred and felt safe in, and it just keeps happening.

Mother Nature has decided she’s sick of our shit and has been upending thousands of lives. There are actual sexual predators in some of our pasts and sadly, in some of our futures. And this “joke” has no relevancy or bearing on that sad fact.

Women, people of color, LGBTQ people, economically fragile people, physically fragile people, etc...are seeing their protections, rights and livelihoods eroded away in an alarmingly short period of time, and the list goes on and on… and THIS is what we’re dedicating our mental and emotional resources to?

This show is supposed to be an escape from reality, guys. Not actual reality.

Why are we harassing the actors and fellow fans of a television show that brought us all together in the first place? This is entertainment, people. I know how important this show is to all of us. And I know how impactful the message of this show has been. And I know that without this show, some of us might not be here today. We are some passionate sumbitches. I GET THAT.

The question still remains.... what in the actual fuck are we really fighting for and about, here? If someone can quantify and explain that to me in a way that makes sense, I’m all ears.

Has it really come to: “Maybe we need to devise a more sophisticated tagging situation so that people don’t keep dipping their chocolate in other peoples peanut butter.” I don’t know. But this is Nth level ridiculousness, and we need to figure it out before it gets even worse.

For now, I’m going to get back to enjoying this show for what it is, and putting my beautiful brain back to work on more important matters. I’ve spent a week in this muck, and it’s been... enlightening. I’ll say that.

And even though I don’t agree with some of you - I can see by the CSI-level attention to detail that a lot of us have applied to all things SPN... that we could actually be mobilized into an almost unstoppable force for real good and real change. If we wanted that.

We could probably figure out who ordered JFK’s assassination. Figure out where Jimmy Hoffa’s buried. Solve the mysteries of the pyramids.... help reunite missing kids with their families...Get Trump impeached... ahem. You get it.

Or we could just keep wasting our pent-up aggression on other fans, and the actors of our favorite show. Because that’s easy. Choices.

But wait! There’s more! Because I keep getting valid messages and concerns, this ridiculously long piece just got longer.

Posting these blogs has opened the door to a lot of private communication from both sides of the fence in the fandom, and I'm going to include some of my recent responses to an SPN fan who felt that her group of fans were not getting a fair shake and felt my blog targeted them. We had a long discussion and she was very cool and had a lot of valid concerns and examples of other bad fan behavior dating wayyyy back, so I wanted to add this in.

I'm just going to paraphrase my own replies and print them here, so that people who may feel misrepresented or angry can see that, there are other ways to discuss these issues and for everyone to see that there's a better way than Twitter Wars.

(Paraphrased conversation subject matter in italics)

What's amazing is that J2 fans AND Misha fans have private messaged me with the exact same concerns. And you have one very important thing in common: You ALL feel victimized. And you have been. Know why? It's because you've been victimizing each other.

(Slaps own face. HARD.) Not because of her. But because of this whole enchilada.

If both groups are concerned about the same issues and both want the harassment to stop, whyyyy are you still at each others throats?

Well, I think it's because good people are capable of behaving very badly, especially online. And all they’re doing is making themselves look ridiculous. And they do not merit support.

A lot of people have been using me as a mediator, or prism, so to speak, with regards to this issue. But you don't need me, when you all essentially want the same damn thing.

It's time to stop participating. All you have to do is take a step back and say to yourself (or others if you’re feeling up to it) I'm not going to support harassment, hate or damaging misinformation. And you can do that by unfollowing abusive accounts, by not "liking" or reblogging abusive content...and/or by not contributing to it yourself. And if enough of us did that, BOOM, on our way to a solved problem.

These are only a few suggestions. There's no cure or quick fix for this.

Only alternatives to current behaviors.

And I know there's a lot of bad blood between these groups as evidenced by the mountains of grievances I've been getting. Can’t un-say or undo any of it. But we can stop doing it going forward, can’t we?

As long as people want to keep concentrating on past transgressions and dwelling on past arguments, no one can move on.

And continuing to keep score with hopes to "win" something on here isn’t working either. I’ve got bad news: There's no "winning" here. No grand prize. Just more of the same bullshit. And if you’re happy to sit in this pile of crap and continue to marinate? That’s your prerogative. By “your” I mean WHOMEVER fits the bill.

It's not my responsibility to make you play nice with each other. Or mediate your arguments. Though, it sounds like mediation is exactly what ya'll might need. I'm just here, publicly stating how this all looks to me: Like a never-ending playground slapfight.

I think that there will always be "haters". That's the nature of fandom, and life in general. But if we stop promoting that kind of behavior with our support, and if these individuals have to lurk in the back channels, as opposed to being allowed to thrive and build fiefdoms all over social media. That sounds like a good compromise to me.

And if you have a lot to express on this matter from your own perspective, there are better alternatives to spamming people on Twitter. For example...

Write a blog! If you’d like to provide an objective viewpoint, and also defend your stance but you’re afraid people will see that you support actor A, B, or C and automatically discount what you have to say? Start a side blog. Compile a list of wrongs that you’ve seen committed by both sides and be the mirror, and show people what they’ve become.

Create your own, blank slate and start fresh.

There, now I can drop the mic.

#Jensen Ackles #Jared Padalecki #Misha Collins #spnfandom #spn family #dean winchester #Sam Winchester #castiel #mark pellegrino #lucifer

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resonanteye · 4 years

Photo

via https://is.gd/IEusfG

horror movie talk with LFR

My friend Lucy F. R. has really great taste in movies.

I don’t say that lightly. You all know (if you’ve been reading me a while) how fussy I am about horror/weirdshit and how many movies I’ve watched. It’s my actual hobby, unrelated to anything else I do, purely for enjoyment. It’s hard for me to find people to talk about movies with, really- my uncle, who first introduced me to horror movies, and weird cinema, and one or two friends. So I’m really happy to have a conversation here about movies with someone.

Sal doesn’t take any shit from no man. (Beyond the Valley of the Ultravixens)

(R: me, L:them)

R: you’re on a grimy southern/grind horror kick right now. But what genre do you like best? What feeling are you after?

LFR: Horror is my favorite genre, I just get very into specific branches. I always want to end up saying to myself “this is a GOOD movie”.

R: What’s the best of the batch you’ve been into recently?

LFR:The Dunwich Horror (the 70’s one), Ghost Galleon, House By The Cemetery, Werewolves On Wheels, and Tourist Trap.

R: Tell me about Werewolves on Wheels. I just watched Dog Soldiers again, and I’ve been on a werewolf kick.

(Swamp Water)

LFR: Wait, you haven’t seen it? It’s about a small biker gang that are on their way to the desert and come across a monastery that they think is abandoned but come to find out it’s not and a mysterious cult interacts with them. The cult takes one of the biker girls and puts her in a ritual. The bikers take her back from them and go back on the road, but don’t know that ~one~ of them is now a werewolf at night.

R: People reading might not have seen it. I usually try to explain a little when I start talking about stuff, especially the lists I make.

I feel like this could turn into a list?

I saw a short film recently also with a werewolf- soldiers are in WWII, surrounded by Nazis in an old police station. There’s a woman in a cell that’s locked herself in and they get stuck in there with her. She’s a werewolf and they turn so they can beat the Nazis.

I feel like- the older werewolf stuff, I think 60s to early 80s, a lot of it was hippie panic. Manson references.

I felt like Werewolves on Wheels is also backlash on feminism, like a lot of gory stuff from that time.

LFR: It felt like a backlash on feminism and hippies.

(Vamp)

R: with werewolves and vampires there’s the whole homophobic/transphobic thing too. “secret monsters” and all that.

what movies would you compare it to? what’s close to it, in feeling?

LFR: In feeling as in how it made me feel while watching it for the first time: Texas Chainsaw Massacre, House Of 1,000 Corpses, Ghost Galleon. I just know it’s a movie that I’ll recommend to everyone and watch over and over.

Aesthetics and mood-wise: Warriors, Clockwork Orange, Hammer Film movies.

R:yeah it’s got that grit to it. easy rider/warriors. I actually haven’t seen Ghost Galleon. Rip it up for me a little.

LFR: Oh man, so

I get really into bands and for the past few years I always look up what my favorite band member’s favorite movies are, or movies that feel like the music genre. So recently I’ve just been super into doom and stoner metal, naturally I’ve been listening to a lot of Electric Wizard. I asked a bunch of doom metal fb groups “what’s the most doom metal movie you’ve seen” and eventually I somehow found Ghost Galleon. It’s a movie that is not good. Very low budget. Like Ed Wood status. But it’s REALLY good.

These swim suit models go out on a shoot and stumble across a ship that should not be afloat still and is completely abandoned. They get stuck on the ship so friends come looking for them. But the ship’s crew is a satanic cult and they come alive and, to keep from spoiling, all hell breaks loose. And it’s THE most doom metal movie you will ever watch. It has it all- mood, aesthetic, and story wise.

R:so bad, it’s incredible. sounds perfect.

LFR: it’s on prime.

R: FUCK YEAH

you guys are always using my prime and my Netflix and my Hulu. you think this is a costume? this is a way of life

R:when I started watching musician friends’ recommendations I ended up discovering Green Room.

The last time before that, it was Pighunt, which is to this day one of my favorite movies.

LFR: You told me to watch that one years ago. I recommend it to basically anyone who will listen to me.

R:it’s like the least sexist least racist southern-USA monster movie ever made.

LFR:Les Claypool’s roll in that has forever changed how I see him. When I saw Primus all I could see him as was a hillbilly preacher.

R: yep completely.

let’s talk about art horror. the weird shit. seen anything good there lately?

(The Horde)

LFR:The Girl On The Third Floor. It was weird and a little comical, but I enjoyed it. I Am The Pretty Thing Living In The House is REALLY good but it’s a little weird and a major slow burn. And, Society, but that’s more body horror than art house horror.

R:Society is a classic. Body horror and class war. So amazing. I thought I am the pretty thing was a lot of fluff- I understand the drive to slow-burn right now, it’s nostalgic. But I think it’s one of the movies where they went too far into the slow burn.

If I’m going to wait 90 minutes, that girl better taste some damn butter. You know?

LFR: I can see why but I also saw it as more of a classic gothic horror story so the pace didn’t bother me too much.

R:I kind of got tired of Gothic horror at some point. The slow burn. I think I was too interested in French and Korean extreme and gore for a minute.

LFR: I’m a sucker for gothic horror and black and white universal monsters.

R:I liked Late Phases- that kind of straddled the line for me really well. Which brings us back to werewolves, strangely enough.

I have been seeing more elderly characters in movies, which I like a lot.

LFR: I love creepy old women and demonic children in films. I feel like The Visit sparked people’s interest in elderly characters in horror.

R: yes! I agree. I really like variety- diversity. ” 5 teenagers on a road trip ” movies… it gets tiring. Bland.

not to mention that there’s actually Black people and elderly women in movies now.

LFR: Road trip gone wrong horror is good but, you gotta do it right.

R:tell me about one that you think gets it right.

LFR: The original Texas Chainsaw Massacre. It paved the way.

R: it did pave the way. that there were pockets of deep weird hate in this country- I think the suburbs were really shocked by it. but if you grew up in bumfuck nowhere it was less shocking.

I think Dead End is the ultimate “road trip gone wrong” movie. Urban legend plot, Ray Wise, Lin Shaye. Just incredible pacing.

LFR: I haven’t seen that one, I’ll have to watch it.

R:oh, you’re going to love it.

I feel like the Hills Have Eyes deserves a mention here. though it’s more a “trapped on purpose” movie than a road trip.

LFR: That’s a “vacation gone wrong” horror movie, and it’s definitely one of the best ones. Vacation and road trip movies are two different branches of a genre to me.

R:I think of them as “wrong turn” vs “bad directions”. like they stumbled into trouble is one genre. they were purposely hunted/trapped, is another.

LFR:Yes, exactly!

R: like a vacation movie that’s a trap- hills have eyes a vacation movie that’s an accident- Jurassic Park

Texas chainsaw massacre is both a road trip and a vacation, an accident and a trap.

tell me about a movie that’s got a plot hole, or has kept you thinking afterward, lately. for me it’s been resolution/the endless, and residue. residue in particular. how do they keep that book? why such a dumb ending? resolution/endless bugs me and I have to watch it again- time loops force me to do math, and I end up a little obsessed with figuring out timelines.

(Requiem for a Vampire)

LFR:Horror wise, 3 From Hell. I keep thinking about how different of a movie it originally was going to be. But also, still, HOW did they survive the shoot out from Devil’s Rejects just… miraculously??? And how come this new Firefly brother was never mentioned previously whatsoever??

R:OMG yes. I couldn’t. I got too wrapped up in plot holes to enjoy it!

LFR:I still enjoyed it for what it was but yeah, I was like WAIT WHAT??? every ten minutes.

R:what about not-horror?

LFR: Picnic At Hanging Rock.

We’ve come for the crites.

R: oh yeah. that’s the kind of movie you think hard about the rest of the day. what’s your theory on the ending?

man I just went to find a photo from it and they made a show? what the hell.

have you seen The Fields? It’s set where I grew up, it’s got…a vibe. Stuck with me.

LFR: Honestly? I can’t come up with a theory on what happened. It just really feels like they simply vanished.

I haven’t seen it. Tell me about it.

(The Fields)

R: There’s a menacing thing in the cornfields. A kid has shitty parents and is sent to stay with family. The farm is in the middle of all cornfields… there’s an abandoned little amusement park that lures him. It’s based on an actual place- a tiny amusement park that flooded and was shut down. it’s still there abandoned, right next to the town I grew up in!

cornfields are extremely creepy. it’s so easy to get lost in them.

The main characters- it’s got all the bad mountain people shit going on, abuse, drinking, violence, and then more because of the presence in the fields. pretty good stuff.

not a slow burn. a medium burn.

LFR:I’m definitely watching it

R: you’ll like it. big Jughead mood.

(and then I got tired and they I think did too, so that’s all for today)

I hope I get to do this again soon: I fuckin LOVE to talk horror.

Not your baby.

If you want to support LFR in some way, wear a mask, stay the fuck home, support BLM and trans rights, and get your government reps to continue unemployment payments for gig AND other workers. Seriously.

#halloween #horror #horror art #horror movies #interview with the artist #morbid art #movie reviews #weird #deep thoughts #journal #learning #love #macabre #posts with lists in them #reviews #true stories

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fabermemorialrink · 7 years

Text

some mistake, part 3

This part marks the end of what would be chapter one! Still a good handful of sections to upload after this one, but uh I should warn you I probably left off in the middle of writing the most important part, so I hope y’all don’t mind some suspense later on haha. Thanks again for reading!!

So Derek takes Dex’s advice to heart and tries, he really does, and...it kind of works. There are some people in each of his classes that he becomes friendly with, that he can grab a bite with or have study sessions with. And the team has several guys he's pretty close to now. There's Shitty, who’s easy to talk to and shows his support for Derek in his free-spirited, oft-naked way, and Ransom and Holster, who take him under their defensive wing. Ollie and Wicks, Indy and Alph and manager Sierra who treats them all like her out-of-control little brothers.

Derek likes them all but just even being in school drains him every day, over time. There's nothing wrong with any of them, per se, but they're all part of the same system, and it's like a vortex of bleakness that everyone at Andover is caught in. So he goes to class and talks to the tolerable people, and re-learns every single morning how to ignore the intolerable ones, and he goes to practice and bonds with the guys, and when it starts cascading into the always present shadow of pressure and prejudice, he escapes to where he can take a moment, just to be himself without being berated for having the audacity to exist.

He doesn't usually see Dex when he's just meditating in his hidey-hole, his head poking out to rest on the roots and stare up at the treasured glimpses of sky that are revealed to him through the shifting leaves. But he realizes soon enough, shortly before he heads back to the city for Thanksgiving break (because all three of his parents are actually going to be home simultaneously for once) that when he dares to delve deeper, and the woods entangles itself around him slowly and imperceptibly until he's lost in a dark corner again, Dex appears like clockwork to rescue him.

It's an accident at first, just a genuine attempt to try and teach himself more about the outdoors. He read up on camping and shit, and some Thoreau for good measure, but putting what he read into practice doesn't seem hugely successful for Derek. Inevitably, he ends up stranded in the unknown - in the inner ring, as Dex finally tells him one day when they're sitting by a pond Derek's never seen before and eating trail mix he swiped from the dining hall - where his sense of direction fails him.

Dex is nothing if not supremely reliable and strangely, suspiciously, always aware of Derek's whereabouts, so Derek is never left waiting long before Dex storms out to chastise him for endangering himself. Derek still doesn’t get it, because literally nothing seems to live in the goddamn woods except his ginger stalker/self-appointed bodyguard/friend, so he continues to tell Dex to chill and make half-baked promises to not get himself murdered. Dex always does this hilarious hand-clench of frustration when Derek brushes off his concerns, but nevertheless semi-reluctantly puts up with his company until he deems it too dark or too cold for Derek to stay any longer.

Soon it becomes habit to search Dex out whenever Derek's feeling numb. On good days, they get along, talking about the junk they’re interested in. Dex isn’t up to date on the newest shows or movies that Derek likes, but they bond over the nostalgic films of the past, and Derek gives quick and dirty summaries of all the shitty books he’s read on long plane rides. If he exaggerates the inanity of some of the plots, well, it gets a laugh out of Dex, so whatever.

On not-so-good days, at least he has someone he can argue unapologetically with. Sometimes it's important stuff, because Dex is still very much a know-nothing white boy who doesn't understand what Derek goes through on a daily basis. And though Derek still doesn’t actually know much about Dex at all, he does know that Dex thinks he’s too damn rich to understand his hang-ups about buying nice but frivolous things, and dropping more than eight dollars on brunch. So they fight about these things sometimes, but because Derek can’t physically find his way back home without Dex’s assistance, it becomes a forced learning experience for the both of them, to learn to listen to one another without tussling like elementary-schoolers. It works more than it doesn’t, but they’re also both dumbass fifteen year olds who don’t know when to quit, so there are nights that Dex dumps Derek at the field without another word and Derek spends the next day moping in his bed, then moping in his hollow until one of them has enough guts to go and apologize.

And sometimes, their arguments are about whether the pet rock was the best cash grab of all time, or how much money it would have cost to fake the moon landing, or whether it’s a terrible idea for Derek to try a backflip on the ice.

What it comes down to is this: even when they fight, at least Derek feels alive. At least he knows the person he’s talking to cares, about something. They’re not always in sync about how they see the world, but Dex is real in a way the kids at Andover never are, and willing, in his mulish way, to consider Derek’s point of view after a shouting match. And, for all the faces and weird noises he makes, he’s a good listener. Derek practices his public speaking assignment on him and his oral presentation for Spanish; Dex claps in the right places and throws pebbles at him when he’s avoiding eye contact too much. He asks after Derek’s family and his team, and almost always remembers to ask Derek about his games. Derek thinks he probably follows Andover hockey more closely than Shitty’s parents do. Several invitations to their home games have been extended, but Dex always apologizes before turning them down.

Derek doesn’t put it into words until the day Dex sets him to work gathering herbs “for reasons” and they’re sitting in the dirt and fog picking through weeds and chirping each other about their bad hand-eye coordination. Derek has mist in his face and there’s soil caked under his nails from digging up tiny sprouts and silvery roots, but it’s been the best part of his day by far.

“How’d you get dirt on your nose?” Dex asks when Derek delivers another handful of shoots to him.

“Just living that natural life, Dexy.” Derek swipes at his face with the back of his hand, but from the look that crosses Dex’s face he’s not finding much success. He makes another attempt with the heel of his palm this time.

“No, you- there’s even more now,” Dex says irritably. He reaches up, as if to brush the smudge away himself, but aborts the motion halfway and digs him hand harder into the ground instead.

Derek grins, and tries again. “Did I get it?” he asks as he deliberately streaks dirt from the bridge of his nose across his cheek. The corner of Dex’s eye twitches as he fights with himself, until Derek slowly and deliberately digs up a solid handful of muck, ready to plaster it to his own face.

Dex dives for him as he brings his hand up in slow-motion, flattening him to the ground as they battle over Derek’s hand.

“You’re a literal child, I swear to god,” Dex hisses, wrestling Derek's arm in place long enough to smear most of the dirt off.

“Lots of adults enjoy the rejuvenating properties of a mud mask, bro.” Derek pats his cheeks gently with what's left of the soil on his hands, and offers the remainder to Dex. “Give it a try. Refreshed skin will bring out your freckles more.”

“Why would I ever want that.” Dex has to pin Derek’s arm down with his shoulder to protect his face.

“Seriously? People would kill for the Look you got going on, dude.” Dex’s eyes narrow when he hears the capital L, but Derek continues. “You're like a concept painting of autumn. All gold and red and orange.”

“What does that even mean, you weirdo?” Dex groans into the dirt as he rolls away from Derek, ending in a patch of brambly leaves that stick in his shirt.

“It means you’re beautiful inside and out. Own it.”

“Were you put on this earth to torment me?”

“Maybe! Aw, that's cute. Like we were made for each other.”

“What.”

“Well, like, if I exist just to annoy you, and you exist to be my bff, then it's kinda like we were made for each other, right?”

“Wait- are we even having the same conversation right now?” Dex asks, confused. He bounces up like a pop-up book insert to give Derek his classic squint of suspicion. “Who's what now?”

“You’re my best friend, Dex, is what I’m saying,” Derek tells him, smiling at him sideways from where he's still tipped over into the mud. This is what it should feel like, right? This comfortable, unfiltered ease that Derek has grown used to in Dex’s presence. No pretenses, no fear of letting his chill slip or his anger surge. Derek is Derek, and Dex, even with all his secrets, is Dex, and that's all they need.

“Oh. That’s not where I thought this was going. Are you sure?” Dex asks, scratching awkwardly at his hair tucked under his cap. He cut it recently, choppy and slightly uneven; Derek suspects he may have done it by hand himself. Hopefully not with the hatchet. He seems to be in disbelief, so Derek solves the problem the only way he knows how: by being extra annoying.

“No, actually, now that I think about it more, I don't know if I can be friends with someone who’s afraid of barbershop quartets.”

“Oh my god, I'm not afraid of them, I just think the striped vests are fuckin’ weird! And the hats, too, Jesus. It's creepy, okay?”

“You are legit the strangest dude I know. You scared of 90s boy bands too? Leather pants, frosted tips?”

Dex undergoes a deep, full body shudder of disgust, visibly trying to shake the memory off himself. “Quit it, Nursey-”

“Matching track suits! Bandanas and denim overalls!”

“I don't understand how the hell we’re still friends,” and Derek’s smile must be embarrassingly real, because Dex flushes that nice shade of red he gets when he's flustered but not angry, and half-heartedly gives Derek a “yeah, okay, me too,” which, in the current flow of the conversation is a non-sequitur, but Derek gets it.

When it draws close to six, Dex packs up his basket and walks Derek back out, even though Derek has got a pretty good handle on navigating the outer ring by now, where the forest isn't yet labyrinthine and dim. Like always, he halts at the edge, but this time, he stops Derek with a hand to his arm, his skin warm despite the biting coldness in the air.

Dex is about to say something, but Derek word vomits on him before he can speak up. “You wanna come visit my dorm? We could watch Netflix, eat stale pop tarts.” It's such a fantastic proposition that Derek is surprised Dex doesn't immediately begin heckling him.

“Sorry, but I, uh, also gotta get home. Besides, you know they'd never let me into your prep school dorm room. Blue collar cooties,” he says with the sort of uncasual shrug that says he's accepted long ago there are places he isn't meant to go.

“I can't believe you just used the word cooties in a sentence,” Derek says, trying to lighten the mood, because even he's more than willing to sneak Dex in, doesn't mean his friend wants to go. He probably wants to keep their lives compartmentalized. They can share the woods; everything else is off-limits. That's okay. Derek can handle that.

“Some of us have to make do with our dollar store vocabulary.”

“I didn't say I didn't like it. You have the best cooties,” Derek says solemnly and clasps Dex’s shoulder.

Dex shakes him off, but cracks a smile, so it's a solid win. “Shut your face, Nursey. You know I wouldn't fit in with those guys. You'll just have to bring your pop tarts here. Not the laptop though; electronics don't work right in the woods.”

Derek swallows thickly, suddenly overcome with this invitation. It's new. Dex almost always sees Derek off with a demand that he watch his back and stay in school, like some kind of twisted after-school special. He never makes any indication that he actually wants Derek to visit, though Derek’s learned enough of his tacit signs by now to know that Dex doesn't mind his company. “Yeah? What flavor?” he asks when he unties his tongue.

“Wild berry. Extra stale.”

“I'll open a pack and leave it in my math binder for a week.”

Dex must remember that Derek avoids even touching his math materials if he can, because he laughs, and gives Derek a little shove closer to the field. “I'm counting on it. Hey, we need to make some ground rules though.”

“Rules? Like the name prohibition.”

The first couple of times they ran into each other again Dex had reiterated the ironclad importance of Derek never, ever uttering his name while in the woods. Dex nods now, relieved that Derek’s been bludgeoned with that information until it stuck.

“Right. Never tell anyone your name; that’s the most important one. Rule number two: don't trust anyone you meet in the woods. Got it?”

“Uh, what's that supposed to mean? Didn’t I meet you in the woods?”

Dex makes a complicated face and a jerky, ambivalent motion with his hand that Derek does not understand at all. “There's just some strange people in here sometimes,” he says, still hedging around something. “Be wary around them. If they ever try to make you break rule number one, get the fuck outta there. Even if it’s me, okay?”

What? Why would Dex ever…”Okay? If you say so?” What’s Dex afraid of? Brainwashing? Doppelgangers? Clones??

“Promise me, Nursey,” Dex says intensely, gripping Derek’s elbow tight. “I might not always be around to watch out for you.”

Derek must look too hesitant still, because Dex pinches his arm and he lets out a yelp. “Alright, chill, Dex. I promise.” Then, narrowing his eyes, he ventures to ask, “Is this a cult thing? ‘Cause my parents know people. We can help.”

“It's not a cult thing. And if it were, it’s not like I’d admit it.”

“Hmmmm.” Derek looks around, giving the woods a leery once-over, before leaning in to hiss, “Blink twice if they’re watching us. Blink three times if they’re holding you against your will.”

Dex stares at him for a few seconds before blinking deliberately twice (!), then a few more times for a total of five. Derek’s brain flies into overdrive as he tries to decipher this. Is it five as in two plus three? Is he giving Derek a signal? Or is he just messing around?

While he dithers over this, Dex purses his lips and blows a sharp stream of air right into Derek’s eyes. He recoils, clutching at his face.

“Ow, what the fuck, Dex!”

“That’s enough cultist bs for one day. Time to go home, Nursey. Walk slowly; wouldn’t want you to trip on literally nothing again and ruin your pretty face, city boy.”

“Ha ha,” Derek grouses, still rubbing his eyes. He’s well aware of his bad skin and awkward legs. Dex doesn’t need to rub it in. “D’you practice those lines on the squirrels before you try them on people?”

“Don’t be dumb. You ever seen a squirrel around here?” Dex snipes back, but the corners of his eyes crease in a smile and he mutters, “I practice on the trees.”

Derek is still laughing as Dex shoves him out onto the field toward home.

#nurseydex #nursey #dex #omgcp fic #some mistake #nursey's parents are a beautiful loving poly triad if that was not made clear yet

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cinemamablog · 5 years

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And So... Who Do You Want to Be?

I hadn’t been asked the question before and my answer surprised me.

“What filmmaker do you want to be like?” asked Bahati.

“David Cronenberg.”

And so it was true.

As a teen, I worshiped at the altar of Stanley Kubrick, despite only seeing the Shining once on VHS on a 12″ screen TV. I religiously watched A Clockwork Orange and read a Goodwill copy of the book until I became fluent in Nadsat slang. The moral ambiguity both thrilled and flummoxed me. After a childhood of anime and sitcoms, where everything was painted in glaring shades of black and white, I enjoyed having to ask myself: is it wrong to enjoy this story as much as I do?

In my college years, I “moved on” (without dipping my toes any deeper into the Kubrick pool) to polar opposite filmmakers: David Fincher and Wes Anderson. Besides serving as textbook examples of auteur theory, I don’t think they have much in common. I enjoyed the gritty procedural style of Fincher and the candy-colored and stilted flair of Anderson. I felt like I was a member of a secret club that “got” it. Little did I know, while I thought I was being subversive by even knowing a select few directors’ filmographies, I had joined the ranks of a big ol’ boys club.

I found out about #52FilmsByWomen through Marya E. Gates’ blog and project “A Year with Women,” where she only watched movies directed by women. At first, I approached the challenge to watch one film by a woman a week as something impersonal: I was supporting them, I wasn’t paving the way for my own aspirations. But one evening, I had been ranting to my husband about a mediocre screenplay I read, and let it slip:

“I could do better.”

“You could.”

“Wait… Really? You mean it?”

And so after many “but do you really mean it”s, a seed was planted.

I always considered myself “just” an actress. I take other people’s work and make it come to life. I never considered that I could do it all: I could envision the art, I could write it down, I could create something without waiting around for someone to cast me in something Good. I could be the reason something Good exists.

And so I wrote my first screenplay. I started taking notes on theatrical productions I’d like to produce and direct. I researched playwrights and screenwriters I respected or wanted to learn more about. I watched my first David Cronenberg movie, my first Ken Russell movie, and I watched early John Waters movies for the first time. I found my inspirations and felt prepared with the tools they gave me, prepared to take on the world.

Except I wasn’t. I was scared of rejection, of being judged. I submitted my work to a few places, applied for writing jobs, and got turned down. It hurt. I put my creative projects on the back burner and grew bitter.

But things are different now. A few weeks ago, after the baby went to bed and I was scrolling through my phone in the dark, I read yet another mediocre screenplay, written by a guy who considered his efforts to be God’s gift to cinema. I got annoyed, then jealous, then angry at myself. “What am I doing?” I thought. I put together this blog the next day. That week, I finally submitted a screenplay again, just for the thrill of knowing someone, somewhere, will read it. I submitted another. I wrote and wrote and wrote. I actually had something to write in my “aspirations journal,” after months of blank pages.

Now I create something every day. I want to be a good example to my son: don’t give up on yourself. Just creating something for yourself is enough. Other people don’t have to like or appreciate it. If you see value in what you’re doing, that’s what matters.

And so I want to be the next David Cronenberg. And if others don’t see the potential for that in me, that’s fine and dandy. To quote every girl ever on Instagram: “I contain multitudes.” I’m going to keep writing body horror, historical fiction, and pieces on my dreams and favorites. Don’t believe me? Just watch.

#personal

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writingsofawanderingwonderer · 7 years

Text

Right. So this is a response to @norbezdraws video, "Should We Fix Our Mad Geniuses?"

Norbez, you asked me for my thoughts on Twitter, so I'm gonna go post a novel of an explanation here, so get comfy in a nice reading chair. :)

If there's anyone else reading this, go listen to the video first, it's really interesting and it poses a rather fascinating question.

Also, sorry for the long wait for my response. ^^;

Also note: Everything I write here is about and from a storytelling and media perspective. Not real life.

I’m gonna use bullet points for my thoughts.

- On a moral level, the character should want to change. This is why Rick's capture in Rick and Morty and the protagonist in A Clockwork Orange (I haven't seen this film) are considered tragic. Because even though their capture will save people from getting hurt, they don't want to be captured or changed.

- I feel like drugs and other forms of addiction should be separated from mental illness, and that abuse should also be separated in the character examples list of flaws, because audience members' views on those different subjects could be contradictory.

For example:

Drugs/addiction is self-harming (a character flaw), so viewers may likely say, "Yes, the character should be fixed and have this removed."

Abuse (emotional/physical--and quite honestly, I think these two type should also be sub-separated; they're so different) harms other people who are around that character. This can make characters who have this type of flaw more villainous (Gothel from Disney's Tangled has been cited as an emotional abuser to her daughter) because if they don't want to change, then we as the audience see that as bad and/or irredeemable because they’re hurting people they care about and/or are close to.

Mental illness affects the character's mind. The mind is linked with personality. Therefore, if you "fix" the character by removing their mental illness, do you make the character no longer "them"? Who do they become?

Additionally, many works (such as Hellblade--which I haven’t played) frame the main character’s mental illness as not something to be cured. Rather, the story frames it as a part of the character. The challenges in the story come more from the outside world not understanding the main character’s different perception of the world.

Particularly with mental illness, opinions will vary depending on the viewer (as well as the individual character), as to whether the character should be "fixed."

Also, some examples, like Sherlock, make the addiction a flaw rather than a trait that is required for them to still be themselves/a genius. Sherlock would still be a genius without drugs. The drugs are his flaw[1], not his strength (intelligence). Take away Sherlock’s addiction and he’s still Sherlock. He’s still a detective.

*Footnote: In the BBC series and in original novels' canon, Sherlock supposedly only uses drugs when he has no case to solve. So drugs actually equals "Sherlock is not acting like a genius." BBC Sherlock actually wrecked this idea with the plot holes in season 4, but I'm going off tangent at this point (and at this point, a lot of BBC Sherlock fans--myself included--are currently not considering season 4 to even be series canon, given the amount of plot holes, out-of-character moments, and retcon-ing it contained. Seriously, what was up with that last episode?! THAT GUN DIDN’T LOOK ANYTHING LIKE A TRANQUILLISER! ARE YOU KIDDING M--).

- When I read the title of the video, I at first thought you meant "eccentricity": Characters who act outside social norms and don't follow the status quo/expectations (in an unharmful manner). Quirky characters. Characters who walk to the beat of a different drum. I understand that's not what you meant, but I might as well say my opinion on eccentric characters: It takes all sorts to make a world. They do not need to be "fixed."

- I also think misanthropic characters don't need to be fixed. I have to be clear on this, because SO many writers get misanthropia wrong: It's disliking humanity. Not wanting harm towards humanity. They just don’t want to want to deal with humanity. It's like being a hardcore grump/hermit rather than a jerk/murderer/rude person. A misanthropic person can have strong bonds with other humans, they just don't like dealing with strangers (often because they have been "burnt" before in past experiences) and can be very caring, selfless individuals with healthy relationships. Misanthropes are often the way they are because they care a lot, rather than a little (the latter being the stereotype I see a lot in fiction). Often, you can’t even tell if someone’s a misanthrope just by looking for them. A misanthrope looks at a smoker and thinks, "Why do THEY get dibs on the clean air?", etc. There is a difference between a grump and a jerk.

- I think series like Rick and Morty and BBC Sherlock have mad geniuses that treat their partner badly/questionably, yet we still like them as characters is less because of their “gifts,” and more because we see that when push comes to shove, Rick/Sherlock will act selflessly to protect Morty/John.

That’s how I interpret it anyway.

Rick is showing signs of being more caring (and hopefully less abusive) towards Morty. As Mycroft predicted, Sherlock is showing his heart more by being with John.

Their characters arcs are actually “fixing” them.

Another example of this type of relationship (or a similar type of relationship) is Eddy and her daughter Saffy’s relationship in Absolutely Fabulous. There’s an episode where Eddy protects her daughter from a guy who keeps bothering her (Saffy). Even though Eddy and Saffy constantly insult each other, at the end of the day, Eddy cares about her daughter. We don’t necessarily see their relationship as good, but we understand why they stay together.

And Eddy doesn’t even have “mad genius” nor traditionally heroic qualities. She’s the epitome of a “UK Comedy Series’ Unsympathetic Protagonist.”

Okay, now some character examples:

I'll start off with examples of abuse/addiction that are either BAD, start off as bad/questionable, or in a grey area:

These examples don't inherently make the works bad. I like all of the works listed below. These are just examples of problematic portrayals that we should pause for thought and reflect on.

- Bullet in the Face (a Canadian-American series about a criminal mastermind helping cops track down a bigger criminal mastermind) has Gunter attacking other characters to help solve cases. Gunter is portrayed as a villain protagonist, and most if not all of the characters he attacks are villains as well, making the protagonist ironically less problematic than if the writers portrayed him as a heroic character. The series basically says, “He’s a villain. So he does villainous things.”

- Dirk Gently: (We're talking BBC-2010-TV-series!Dirk, not the original books/other adaptations, nor the 2016 series.) Dirk is a detective who can solve mysteries others can't because of his odd philosophies. He has a partner, named Richard, who he hypnotises into giving him money, uses as a guinea pig (he injects him with a computer chip without warning him), and steals money from him. Yet Richard still stays with him (which is considered to be one of the biggest plot holes the adaptation has).

- Rick and Morty: Rick still continues to be abusive towards Morty, his own grandson. Rick's selfless act at the end of season 2 hints that Rick may slowly be trying to change his ways. Unity's note to Rick when it dumps him also implies that the writers are self-aware that Rick's abusive traits are a flaw, not a "kooky trait," so Rick could be interpreted as a "good" example too, because the series shows the negative effects of his behaviour.

- BBC Sherlock: As I said above.

Okay, now some examples (you asked for) of GOOD examples of abuse/addiction being portrayed in a non-romantic/kooky/positive/problematic light:

- Captain Haddock: In The Adventures of Tintin: The Crab with the Golden Claws album, Tintin meets an alcoholic who is the captain of a ship. Together, they escape the ship's crew and solve a mystery together. Haddock wouldn't really be considered an archetypal "mad genius," but by being with Tintin, his alcoholism decreases (though never actually disappears completely--writer Hergé liked to portray things realistically). His alcoholism decreases because of Tintin's support and friendship, which is really heartwarming to me.

- Dirk Gently: Here, we're talking book!Dirk. Irony, eh? In the original novels, Dirk is still abusive to his crime-solving partners (he, again, hypnotises Richard into jumping into the River Thames--which is not a nice place to go swimming, unless you like plastic bags and abandoned shopping trolleys). What makes the books different than the BBC series however, are the endings: Every partner Dirk gets, in each book, dumps him by the end of each adventure/novel they have with him because of his abusive tendencies. They don't want to be with him. That paints Dirk’s abuse as a more negative thing, instead of a “quirky” thing.

- Croak: The main character or this novel, Lex, is introduced as a teenage girl who recently developed anger management issues. She lashes out at people, especially at her school. It’s portrayed in an untraditionally human way: She describes it as feelings she knows are harmful, and she doesn’t enjoy these feelings of charged anger. She struggles to stop herself from lashing out. She also takes great care in making sure she doesn’t hurt her sister. (I haven’t finished the first book yet, so I don’t know how her character arc ends.)

- The Jennifer Ann Group’s yearly game jam focuses on creating games that educate people on teen dating abuse. The game Grace’s Diary is a notable example.

I hope this answered your questions on what my thoughts were on this subject.

#series #literature #films

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dont-be-rude · 7 years

Text

.:. I Will Smite All Thy Borders With Frogs .:.

The Story so Far with @unstableempathy

Summary: After solving the Stammets case, Will quickly finds himself working on another case with a violent killer. The deaths center around frogs found in the victims’ throats, and Will embarks on a journey of violence through the mind of the killer. He’s losing himself in the anger, and quickly finds himself discussing the case with Hannibal. The doctor has a choice: help Will find himself grounded once more in reality or encourage the young male to embrace this new violent nature.

unstableempathy

A simple decision is all it took to possibly change one’s life forever. From the first day he accepted Hannibal’s invitation for breakfast that one morning, he hadn’t expected anything in his life to change so drastically. It had just been a simple breakfast and it was nothing more than that. However, as the day crawled on, he found himself in the most precarious situation and by the end of that afternoon, the Minnesota Shrike had been killed. He had killed him. What suddenly had clicked within Will Graham’s mind proved that he could inflict pain upon another? He didn’t understand what had suddenly clicked within his mind to suddenly trigger such a horrific reaction from him. Before that incident, he hadn’t even been able to pull the trigger, so what had changed? He didn’t know and the fact that the question remained unanswered was another factor that continued to irritate him.

The sensation that flooded his veins upon seeing his shots make contact with Hobbs, had filled him with pure glory. It raced through him like liquid fire and slight acted like an addiction. He had been craving to kill again, with the beast that had been planted within him roaring in an answer over the fact that he was resisting. Maybe had been wise to allow this to happen but how long could he really hold off such a powerful force that resided inside of him? Hopefully for as long as he lived. Upon shooting Eldon Stammets, he felt that rush of gold through his blood again and it made his mind sing in pleasure. It almost made him sick to realize that he was enjoying this. But he did not kill Stammets. Again, he stopped himself from allowing the beast free.

Exhaling deeply, he waited outside of the door that lead to Hannibal’s office, with a mind full of questions and statements that had been eating away at his mind. There was something about his own doctor that intrigued him and constantly drew him back with his curiosity perking every time he set foot in the room. There was a sort of elegance to Hannibal Lecter that was unique and it attracted him like a curious fish to the light of an angler fish. His chocolate curls had remained in their usually slightly disheveled state and his eyes still contained the glimpse of someone who had seen way too many horrors of the world. His expression was worn and laced with exhaustion that never left him. The rim of his glasses that rested upon his nose bridge were perfectly positioned to block eye contact from others and he was still not feeling comfortable enough with Lecter to remove them yet. His glasses acted like another barrier that protected his mind against those who wished to peak into the horrors that rested within his mind palace. He shifted lightly upon his feet before the sound of the door being opened grabbed his attention and Will’s gaze slowly rose.

dont-be-rude

As the doctor opened the door, he gave Will the smallest of smiles. He could see the man before him was beginning to fall apart, recognize the darkness inside of him. It left many different pathways for him to follow, and Hannibal was curious what directions he’d go down. What directions he himself could encourage William to follow. William: a resolute protector; willpower. Would he be able to resist even Hannibal’s influence and persuasion? So few could. Perhaps that was part of what made will so fascinating.

“Ah, William. Right on time. Please, come in.” He stepped back, holding the door open for his friend, patient… An hour or more of pleasant conversation. Graham was always the last appoint of the day for just that reason. An appointment to look forward to. Discussions, a dance, a thought here and influence there to help encourage Will to reach his true potential. He lead Will into the room, and took his usual seat. At times, Will sat. Others, he stood. Rarely, he paced. He allowed the other to decide on his own while he flattened the front of his plaid suit: blue hues, with dark red pieces, an eggshell pocket square, and matching shirt. One of his more muted, though colorful ensembles, contrasting with the dread falling so easily from Will’s expression and hitched, erratic movements.

“You have something on your mind.” It wasn’t a question, such was obvious. “Was there another case?” There was. He’d read about it already, thanks to a certain nosy reporter, but reading facts were often far different from what William could concoct in his mind. That, truly, was far more interesting.

Though he couldn’t deny the interest in the murders, so unlike his own. There was a flare of poetics to the diabetic bodies buried and meant to become one with nature. Hannibal was taken by art, the majesty of it. Humans couldn’t connect with nature, just as they couldn’t with art. Not truly. Art was something that only one person could see, create, and hope the viewer could get a glimpse of their world. Their own nature. This man was more interested in being a part of what was already there.

Certainly a different motive, and one Hannibal had no desire in recreating. There were some crimes and murders that inspired him, or sickened him to the point of needing to correct. This was not one of them. Instead, he found himself with yet another person shot by Will’s hand, and the male slowly sinking further into darkness. Beautiful.

He pressed his paintbrush into the dark charcoal color, hints of red and oranges, of passions Will had yet to fully accept, painting the other’s mind in a way to leave lasting influence.

“Tell me what happened.”

unstableempathy

Cases were always an interesting topic when it came to these sessions and if he wasn’t being forced to attend therapy by Jack, Will would have kept the information to himself. However, he discovered that maybe sittings were just another opportunity to allow his thoughts free. As an introvert, he found inspiration within himself and he occasionally took the ideas of others to add into the equation.

He never liked being called by his first name. He was never sure why but he assumed that he never particularly enjoyed how it sounded. As a result, he preferred being called the famous nickname that others with his same name had been addressed by. It’s just what he preferred, but he wouldn’t necessarily complain if one didn’t. For now, hopefully, it would just be Hannibal who called him by such a title.

Stepping into the office, he allowed his gaze to survey his surroundings. Nothing had changed since the last time he was here and everything still had its orderly place. The books were still placed neatly upon the bookshelves, with a few of them in a different position since he last remembered them. But there was nothing too jarring. The room was still extremely organized and it held a certain tone of elegance to it, like it’s owner. Will was orderly, but tended to stick to smaller atmospheres.

Like clockwork, the daily sessions were always at the same time and the schedule never shifted unless there was a sudden cancellation. It was another hopeless routine that Will had fallen into and Jack wouldn’t allow him to allow the habit to break. For now, the empath would have to carry on and soldier through the meetings.

“Stammets was taken into custody,” he started slow before taking several steps forward until the notion of walking fell into place again. He settled to take a slow approach to getting closer to Lecter. There was still something that was pricking at his nerves about this man that made him feel slightly uneasy. The feeling would most likely fade over time so for now, it would have to advance at a steady pace. “But I assume you’re already aware of it.”

Journalists. Damn reporters. Damn them all. They were just a pesky fly that bothered a water buffalo. One of them in particular seemed to take a special interest in him and in all honesty, he had already had enough of her. If her body was suddenly found in a roadside ditch, Will would be silently applaud the killer who had done it. She was a vulture that was ruthless in her ways of gaining information on him and there would come a time when her determination would eventually get her killed. Being a journalist in this field was not something someone should ever take lightly.

“He was only captured because of what I did.” Stammets had made a careless mistake in going after Abigail Hobbs and Will had been exceptionally quick to react when Jack phoned him to give him a warning. “Now, that’s not what I’m here to discuss, I mean it is, but,” he paused slightly as if to collect his thoughts, with his stride stopping in place. “Reports had flooded in this morning about bodies being found with a…rather peculiar lump within their throat. When Zeller and Price decided to dissect one of the said bodies, a toad was found in the esophagus. The rest of the corpses had the same assessment.” The empath swallowed hard before exhaling. “And the toad is what ultimately what the victim choked to death on.”

That was the highlight of his day. A toad in the throat. One could hardly find that amusing, but somehow Price managed to make a joke about it that had the whole room groaning. But the beast inside of Will was stirring again and it was flashing an outcome across his mind of this killer meeting a rather gruesome end by his own hand.

dont-be-rude

Hannibal was patient, as he always was when it came to the other. Will had a tendency to be flighty, and anxious when it came to sharing information. However, after the first step when Will began to talk, when a conversation began between the two, he would settle into himself and the rhythm that so naturally beat between them: two of a kind, simply separate sides of a coin.

His eyes trailed after the man, waiting for him to look around and grow used to his surroundings. Hannibal was sure in some way he felt out of his element, and yet Will was straightforward enough to not let it stop him. Will’s connection to his environment wasn’t the problem, it was the people within it. It was part of why Hannibal was always so calm around the other: attempting to be the rock, the solace within the crushing waves that surrounded Will’s unique mind.

Ground him first, and make sure he was the one to leave the other changed.

With the first jarring statement, Hannibal simply nodded. The disappointment of such had already been felt, as it would have been preferred for the man to be dead. However, it did leave him being able to focus on Will’s first victim, and the benefit of having been able to witness such occasion.

How lovely it would be when the two could hunt together.

“I am aware, but I don’t care much what the reporters have to say, so much as your interpretation.” His words were soft, easy, helping to surround the other with what little comfort he could manage. Something he wasn’t particularly good at, but years of his psychiatric practice had drilled other methods into him. And Hannibal always strove to be the best at whatever he did, no matter how small the action.

He could see the anger brimming within the other, and knew it had to be a mixture of Stammets and reporters. It didn’t take much to assume his mirth was directed at one reporter in particular; one rather rude Freddie Lounds. Hannibal couldn’t quite blame the other for it, and wondered if one day he’d be coaching Will through the death of the reporter that seemed just as fascinated by the empath as he was. Though perhaps wonder wasn’t quite the right word, as he found himself devising patterns and words to help lead William down that road in particular.

“And what did you do?” he asked, leaning forward slightly, head tilted and eyes taking in the expression playing so easily over Will’s face. “By all accounts, it seemed as if you’d shot him and protected–” our “– Abigail. Something we are both thankful for.” Though who was included in ‘both’ he left up to Will.

It seemed that the empath didn’t wish to focus on the crimes recently solved, wishing to move ahead to another one entirely. A shame, really, as Hannibal wished to help hone that defensive instinct within Will until he was less merciful with his protection.

Hannibal was a patient man, however, and knew they could easily cycle back to it. Pushing too hard too soon would merely leave Will on the defensive, calculating, aware–all things necessary to avoid for proper movement.

Instead, he stood as Will began to go over the crimes, giving the other the illusion of privacy as he went to pour them a drink. Scotch, two fingers, nothing he was sure the empath couldn’t handle, and something to help loosen him up. “It surprises me how quickly Jack can find cases to bring you on,” he offered with a smile, lightening the mood before he returned to the seating area. He stood for a moment next to Will, before holding out the glass to him. Even this much was part of it. Making small jokes and smiling while discussing the horrors of crime. Not that Hannibal viewed death or massacres as such, he merely needed to lead Will down that path as well.

“What did your instincts tell you about this killer?” he asked, as he moved to take his normal seat.

Drinking with a client was usually something that was never to be done. But, as Will kept insisting that he was not Hannibal’s patient, he thought to play into that slightly.

He pressed the glass to his lips, allowing himself a little sip before resting the glass on the table next to him, on a black coaster to match his chair. Perhaps if Will grew used to taking drinks with their appointments, he could slip him something here or there to help encourage a looser tongue.

“A rather creative death,” he started, allowing Will to see his own humor in the act. “Perhaps not a graceful one, and lacking in the beauty of the death Stammets provided, but interesting all the same. How many bodies have you found?” And where? While he’d shown no interest in repeating or bettering Stammets’ work, this had a certain biblical element to it. How interesting would it be to involve some of the other plagues of man?

The Copycat Killer may yet have something to contribute.

unstableempathy

Oh questions. The world would stop rotating if it weren’t for questions that were always asked on a regular basis. If the number of inquiries could fill jars, there would be thousands upon thousands of them that held unanswered questions. But they were apart of the equation when it came to getting certain answers. They were a powerful aspect of what helped solve a case, but they could also make one doubt what they thought was correct. It was a dense maze with the only exit being the one that stood beyond many obstacles. One would have to carefully navigate through the winding paths and traps that may litter the path. He was a maze-master and this sort of puzzle was something that he had strengthened his ability to solve over years of putting it into use.

His empathy made this possible. It was more of a curse than actual gift for it gave him the ability to access the mind of a killer, but it made him vulnerable to manipulations and certain ways of the murderer. This was his burden to bare and he would deal with it as long as no one else had to. His mind worked in a very different way and it was impossible for others to profile him. He would rather someone not attempt to draw a psychological description of him. He knew he had certain issues, but didn’t wish them to be voiced by those who didn’t fully know him. It was just another way of setting off his anger that rested deep within him and stirred occasionally. Maybe this was what made him so unpredictable. He had a very strong handle on his emotions, but there were very rare instances when he would lose control over them. He was just a highly emotional person.

Instincts was like a little voice that whispered to him from the depths of his mind and added either an outcome or a detail to cases. He usually relied heavily on them and they helped steer him on a course that lead to success when it came to his occupation. He rarely ignored his instincts. “I feel like we should be checking pet stores to see if any missing toads have been reported.” It was a dry joke, but it earned himself a slight chuckle as the statement slipped from his lips.

The words from Lecter circled through his mind and he slowly was able to come up with proper answers. He recalled information like he had memorized them purposefully and the pieces popped into the front of his thought process on command. “We’ve found four bodies and they lack a pattern in location. Two women, two men.” He rubbed his temples slightly for a moment before allowing a long breath to escape from him. This was a rather peculiar case and it wasn’t like any others that he had been investigating. Each assessment had their own numbers of odd things, but this one was certainly high on his list. It would make the book of the ‘Strangest Things You Will Ever Find As A Criminal Profiler.’

Jack had a certain skill for assigning him to cases that represented one’s intense madness. Will, himself, appeared like a magnet to the insane and it followed him around everywhere. He couldn’t escape the madness that resided within humanity, revealing the darkened side of such a flawed race.

His steps continued as his mind clicked and turned constantly. Details swarmed him like a flurry of mosquitoes and he steadily attempted to sort each one out into their own proper category. The lack in pattern when it came to locations was something that most cases lacked so that wouldn’t be much assistance. As for the toad situation, as much as Will found it slightly amusing, he knew this madman had to be stopped.

The media hadn’t yet titled the murderer and the empath was silently regretting to hear whatever title was given. Even Price’s nicknames for the alleged killer were cringeworthy. Surely, journalists would think of something even worse, but until then, he had time to carry on before having to hear the statement.

Hannibal seemed to have a massive adornment for wine and it was something that Will could never understand. He didn’t have the particular palette for such a alcoholic beverage that he rarely consumed. Sticking to something stronger, whiskey and occasionally scotch was what he went for. The burn the liquids left as it traveled down his throat was satisfying and his tolerance was moderate, however he never found a reason to drink himself senseless.

dont-be-rude

Hannibal didn’t take his eyes from the other. While Will had, at times, problems meeting other’s eyes, Hannibal had no such reservations. ‘Eyes were the windows to the soul’, and Will’s soul was something he was very curious about. Whether he spoke or not, Will, in many ways, wore his emotions easily on his shoulders. It was part of why he found the autistic spectrum analysis incredibly wrong. However, it didn’t surprise. Perhaps the only person who truly understood Will’s abilities, and where it could lead him, was Will himself.

At least until Hannibal came along.

Removing himself from a field of power was certainly a way to help Will maintain some semblance of control, but Hannibal had every intention of fixing that.

William had been playing a game of chess his entire life against himself. Now he had a proper opponent, he just simply hadn’t realized it yet.

He paused as the other began to speak, raising an eyebrow at the little pattern that Will had stumbled across without realizing it.

Two genders, four bodies. Perhaps this was far more biblical than he thought, as that was rather Adam and Eve. Now that God was no longer administering punishments, maybe this killer was. Humanity’s punishment was truly never-ending, though some deserved it more than others. Hannibal found himself far more curious now, and decided that, in this case, the Copycat Killer would certainly make an appearance.

It was interesting watching the frustration on Will’s face. So few killers left Will confused and uncertain. He must have, on some level, recognized and identified the pattern. There must have been something in himself he saw in these kills, as the only time Will hid information from himself, it was to continue his ever-present denial on his own darkness.

There was the possibility that Will understood and agreed with this killer, on a level only his darkness recognized, and it left the conscious portion of his brain wishing to remain unawares.

If Hannibal was able to see the connections without even seeing a picture of the corpses, there was no reason Will shouldn’t. Though, Hannibal did have the upper hand in that he was also a killer. It wasn’t entirely difficult for him to follow the mentality of those who perform such acts, even if his were better.

The design, the desire: it was all very much present.

“I’m certain you’ll find him,” Hannibal offered, and it was true. His eyes expressed as much, and it wasn’t so much a statement of encouragement as one of fact.

He turned then, glancing to his own glass and letting his fingers brush along the outside of the glass where the amber hue of the scotch shone through. Hannibal’s lips parted, taking in a breath before seeming to change his mind and turning his hardened eyes to the other once more. He thought of William Blake’s art, particularly his Judging Adam piece. He wondered if Will would appreciate it for what it was, but Will seemed to lack the appreciation for that particular knowledge. That would change, in time, or so Hannibal was working towards. All knowledge, whether realized or not, was useful.

“Melius enim iudicavit de malis benefacere, quam mala nulla esse permittere.” He smiles at the joke and reference within, unsure if Will will understand, but it’s relevant regardless. He lifts his glass, places it to his lips, and finishes the liquid inside. “Would you care for another?” he offers, though he doesn’t plan on drinking more himself, he won’t stop the other.

Instead, he crosses his legs, undoes the buttons of his jacket to reveal the matching vest beneath it, and returns to observing the frustratingly interesting gentleman sitting before him. “You seem more frustrated about these murders than the last. Why is that?”

unstableempathy

He was one for literature. He did quite a lot of reading in his spare time when he wasn’t paying attention to his dogs. In the winter, he enjoyed cosying up with his furry companions in front of the tiny fireplace. He had a collection of Robert Frost’s poems on his shelf at home and he’s basically been able to memorize all of the works, like-by-line. It may have been one of the reasons why his speech sometimes took on such a poetic life. Similes and metaphors can easily to him and he often was able to create a very lively sentence with ease. He was educated in various other literary works such as the Bible and the Odyssey and could easily understand a reference that was spoken from the novels that were said within the lab. It was usually Zeller who incorrectly match a line to a poet or an author.

He wasn’t a massive fan of art though, but respected the pieces, nonetheless. The colors that were used to create such vivid masterpieces blended together and created an image that seemed all too real to him. The pictures seemed to remind him of the very scenes he saw within his mind on a day-to-day basis. They seemed too real and one could say that he was bothered by them. They might have been right, but he would never confess no matter how many times he was asked.

He was educated in Latin and was able to understand French and Italian, as well as speak the languages, but he wasn’t completely fluent. He could easily get by with a several words and a simple phrase, but he didn’t think he would be able to carry on a whole conversation. He was fluent in Latin though and even though it was said to be a dead language, one would be surprised to see how frequently it was used today. It served as many roots in English words and easily created ties between the other Romance Languages. Maybe that it was made the tongues of the word so elegant. They were all related to each other in some manner and it was truly beautiful to see and hear how certain phrases in different tongues escaped the mouth of others.

Even though Hannibal attempted to reassure him, Will couldn’t help but worry. It was astounding to see how quickly a killer could murder certain people. How could one simply set aside their humanity and resort to gruesome methods of killing another? He understood that certain events in one’s past could easily trigger violence within someone and cause them to react violently. There could be hatred towards certain races of people or genders for a reason that remained all but personal to the murderer. But no crime scene was erased fully of the evidence that a killer left. Will could always find the hidden aspects that were thought to have been buried.

He glanced up at the sound of the phrase with recognition could be seen in his optics before he exhaled deeply. “For God judged it better to bring good out of evil than not permit any evil to exist.” The phrase flowed easily from his mouth and he was able to speak the translation as if he had been rehearsing it for ages. Shifting his eyes to the glass that Hannibal was holding, he gave a gentle nod. Another drink couldn’t hurt and he was fine with accepting the invitation. “Yeah…sure.” Usually, he’d be more cautious when it came to receiving a beverage from another, but he needed to get his mind out of the state that it was currently in.

He slowly approached Lecter with a slow gait and his arms loosely crossed over his chest, but his appearance clearly showcased a high level of irritation about a combination of subjects that he was currently investigating. “This killer is so frustrated with not only himself, but the world around him. It’s like every person he’s able to rest his eyes on, becomes a possible target to his anger.”

dont-be-rude

Hannibal paused, giving the other a rather bright smile. Though was no surprise hidden within, as he was very aware of how intelligent Will was, otherwise the older male wouldn’t find him fascinating. There was a draw, an attraction to those who could verbally spar as easily as Will could. Yes, Hannibal did, in fact, have a type. Even his temporary companions were all intelligent, though not all could be as brazen.

He poured another drink, and turned to hold out the refilled glass. Will was suddenly much closer, something the psychiatrist did not mind, though he wondered how aware of this Will was.

The frustration that rolled off of Will was rather palpable, and Hannibal found himself delighting in it, however minute. “Why do you think he’s acting out of anger? Outside of the necessary force to do the work, of course.” He didn’t move away from the other, not bothering to return to the chair he’d abandoned. Instead he found himself leaning slightly against the wall, letting his arms relax in front of them, one hand collapsing the other’s wrist as he tilted his head to take in Will’s expression.

It was interesting to think of Will’s particular talent, something usually reserved for children or people who grew up in rather unfortunate circumstances. He was aware, at least partially, of Will’s background, though it didn’t account for the talent he was able to retain through his life. To so easily be able to connect with other’s mind’s, to see the very darkness a murderer holds within them, as if he committed the acts as well. There were certain mental scars to be had from said act, and each death, each crime scene he witnessed, only helped to feed his own disconnect and ever-growing abyss.

For all purposes, it was rather perfect for his own intentions. It was a direction Will would fall into eventually, even without Hannibal’s pushing and influence. Though at least in this regard, he could ensure Jack continued to use Will’s talents.

Eventually, it would break the other. But the pieces– how lovely they would be. Though it would be nothing in comparison to what Will would become. Breaking does not necessarily mean something has broken, merely that it has evolved. He was curious to see what Will would become and had every intention to be there to witness it.

“Is that why you’re so angry, Will?” Perhaps this level of empathy was stronger than even Hannibal predicted, or perhaps Will identified more with this one. Hannibal didn’t act out of anger, as anger lead to mistakes. His intentions were of a more simple intention– the matter of value. There was little a rude person could add to the world, but as his own canvas, a piece of art, a beauty could stand in their place. A unique mixture to create something new in the world.

He stepped closer to the other, head turned down in an attempt to capture the other’s eyes (as while Will claimed to have problems looking other’s in the eye, he certainly didn’t seem to have any issues looking at Hannibal’s). “You see the anger within him, and your unique ability allows you to feel it so intimately?” he whispers, as if to suggest the very implication is a secret between the two. And it is intimate knowledge, as knowing another’s mind so thoroughly. Even in his position, where he understands the brain’s function both as a trauma surgeon and as a psychiatrist, he could never truly understand a person as Will does. Only guess, manipulate, persuade; but never fully see their perspective so clearly.

Perhaps that is why Will avoids eyes. He doesn’t wish to see their perspective, yet Will has already seen his on several occasions, though he is unaware of it for the moment.

unstableempathy

Intelligence was what seemed to make the world spin. Without such a trait, the human race would fail to evolve as Mother Nature commanded them to. It also assisted in placing one on the social hierarchy, but Will could careless of where he placed on such a chart. He didn’t believe in rankings that placed people above one another.

Taking the glass with careful fingers, he held it correctly, with the neck of the crystalware. He swirled the liquid before watching it create a small whirlpool before he returned to his thought process. Raising the glass to his lips, he took a tiny sip, holding back a slight grimace as the bitterness washed over his tongue.

He didn’t believe in a figure who deserved the title of God. If there was a such person, then there wouldn’t be this much suffering in the world. If God really did exist, then he wasn’t doing anything to assist this world. It was either that or…a such figure did exist, but was just refusing to do aid anyone because it was inelegant. Beliefs in religions were something that Will lacked and he avoided conflicts that involved such trouble.

“There’s a possibility that he’s lost control of his emotions and are allowing them to suddenly burst from his being. Like a volcano, calmness can only last so long.” Randomness was never expressed within a killer’s actions and there was always a pattern, rather one wanted one or not. Sometimes, these sequences held hidden details that could be the key to solving such a mystery and he seemed to be the only one who could figure out these difficult traits within one’s work.

Anger was clearly laced the doings of this particular murderer’s masterpieces and the tendrils of such a powerful emotion were beginning to infect his mind like a virus. Spreading quickly through his habits and taking hold of the control center that accessed his own emotions. He seemed to be irritated more easily and even Jack had noticed the slight change within his agent’s attitude. However, even when he was suggested that he should step down from the case, Will refused to do such a thing. His determination drove him and pushed him to continue. It was clear that without him, the murderer would never be caught. He would deal with the changes that were happening within him later even if the outcomes were timely to fix.

A mirror could only take so much of a beating before the pressure of the blows became too much. Slowly, shard-by-shard, pieces would fall from him in jagged edges that were sharp enough to cut through diamonds. He would refuse for anyone to aid him in placing himself back together, for he still believed he could do this task on his own. His own shards would bite into his skin as he attempted to replace them, creating cuts that bled crimson and inflicted a soft burn.

“I feel his rage like it’s my own,” He took another sip before exhaling deeply. “Except it’s been maximized, like someone had gathered my wrath into a contanime to and released it all at once.” This particular case was affecting him more than others had been and part of this was a combination of the outcome of the Minnesota Shrike. Will would never be the same after he pulled the killing shots that ended Hobbs’s life.

Eyes were a complicated instrument with a fair amount of positives and negatives. Emotions could be easily showcased within one’s optics and only a skilled mastermind could hide such reflections of the feelings that flickered within their soul. Perspectives could be easily given away by the look in one’s eyes. They were portals to another world that was all but foreign for intruders.

dont-be-rude

It wasn’t quite a possibility, as Will losing control of his emotions and his brief outbursts were apparent even to the doctor. The younger man always had a bit of a spark, a deep whit and sarcasm that made him quite interesting to talk to. One could never be certain if they’d receive an interesting quip, sarcasm, or a mixture of the two while also being entirely honest.

“Are you suggesting you’ve begun your own explosion? The ash before the fire?” He could see it. Even Will’s normally calm demeanor and gestures were becoming rather erratic. Jack was wielding his new weapon far too frequently and would soon push Will into a breakdown if he wasn’t careful.

There were several options he could take advantage of. Many points and suggestions to make, though he wasn’t entirely sure what to start with. Will never reacted how he wished him to, but again that was part of what made the man interesting. The anger and agitation were growing by the second, and his frustration with himself was exacerbating it. Will was becoming unfocused, drowning within his thoughts and Hannibal allowed it for the moment.

He listened as Will admitted the rage felt like his own, only maximized and unable to be contained. “Passion,” he offered. “It will be this man’s downfall. You’re well aware that this will probably be a quick case for you.” It wasn’t his decision whether Will would continue or not. Jack was pushing Will beyond his capabilities, but it was his job to put him back together. In a way.

He made his decision then, stepping ever closer while Will seemed to zone out in thought. Gently, he reached out and put his hand on the younger man’s cheek to draw his attention. “Will?” he asked, concern in his eyes. “I’ve been calling your name for some time. Did you not hear me?” He hadn’t been, though Will didn’t know that. “You were very deep in thought, William. Where were you just now?”

After realizing his hand was still lingering on the other, he pulled it away from the soft warmth of Will’s cheek. With a quick thought, he stepped back as well and put his hands in his pockets. It was crossing the lines of patient and psychiatrist, but William was, on occasion, very vocal on the fact that they were simply friends who talked, whether in his office or not. A grey area, so to speak, and one that Hannibal may be taking advantage of. He needed to be more careful how he pushed with Will, otherwise there was the risk that Will would run.

Besides, the touch was selfish, for his own pleasure, and he wished for Will to decide on his own to instigate that between them instead of himself.

unstableempathy

He relied heavily on his emotions and intelligence to guide him through the world and he knew that his feelings were what made him powerful. They could be used in different situations and even be the fuel for something much darker. He had the potential to be overly sarcastic and he often got into trouble because of it. Jack didn’t take too fondly of his wittiness and scolded him. But Will found no need to fear his supervisor, who had intruded into his mind and demanded for assistance.

His thoughts provided a sanctuary where he could disappear into and block out the world around him. He could easily duck into one of the rooms and have reality be nothing more but a world that he wished to depart from at the time being. It was a perfect escape and he used to find solstice within his mind, but now, his thoughts seemed to be much more sinister. It was as if they adapted the darkness that he felt within him and was slowly attempting to convince him to allow the beast free. Something he couldn’t risk doing.

Departing from the current situation, he found himself walking briskly through the halls of his memory palace. The walls were bare and built of dark brick, which gave the surroundings a much eerier presence. It was home for him and behind every door rested a memory. The darker ones resided deeper within the fortress, locked with chains and locks to keep them safe. However they always seemed to find a way to escape and invade his consciousness. He couldn’t do anything to stop them for they had a mind of their own, which couldn’t be controlled. His nightmares were caused by these wandering scenes and they kept him from sleeping.

The sight of the toad that was extracted from the most recent victim’s throat lingered within his attention. The poor amphibian’s belly was exposed to the world and the limbs were spread out like someone had pinned it up on a dissection board. It’s eyes were dilated and widened in shock. Surely, this creature had no idea what was happening to it until it was too late and it was submerged in a massive wide tube. The toad eventually croaked of astonishment. Price’s words had become nothing but background noise that was drowned out as the empath eyed the deceased animal with a curious glance.

Someone was calling him but he found himself temporarily trapped behind the door the memory’s containment. The terrors would come soon. His imagination would take over and drown him in scenes weren’t even real. He had to escape. But how? The door wasn’t opening.

Blinking, he slowly became aware of everything that was happening around him. He was still standing, but the hand on his cheek was warm and stable against his own skin. He used the sensation to grapple onto and pull himself into the reality that was awaiting him. Exhaling, he eyed the other as he withdrew his hand. “Sorry,” he muttered, unsure of what had just occurred. “I must have zoned out.”

He rubbed his temple, realizing that his brain had begun to hammer against his skull, causing him strong discomfort. At that given moment, Will didn’t chose to make anything of the touch, but he stored it away in the back of his mind to examine later. He took another sip of wine and lowered it before setting it on the small table. “Did you ask me something?”

#unstableempathy #Smiting With Frogs #Story So Far

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