#it's muddled. it is like he's nosferatu in a way. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

rametarin · 2 years

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Speculation about Pyotr.

Sooo. Semaphores. Those military flags they use to communicate across boats and stuff, largely before radios.

Did you think this symbol meant, ‘peace’? No. It meant, ‘Nuclear Disarmament.’ All along. It was the cold war mentality against nuclear bombs, as well as, nuclear power. Civilian or government run. They conflated Nuclear Disarmament to mean peace, and so it became a peace symbol.

I’m still old enough to remember stateside, the people that were 15-20 years older than I was in the 80s. People that lived through the 60s and 70s. I’m 38, so they’d be in or nearing their 60s by now.

But if you find a person that today would be called an SJW, you found a person that probably had a negative opinion about, at least, the capitalist west using nuclear power- because they deliberately would conflate nuclear weapons with nuclear power. And I remember hearing many the passioned rant about how one could not exist without the threat of weaponization of the other.

So why do I bring it up in the context of Hunter: the Parenting?

Look at Pyotr’s shirt.

It’s like when metal and goth musician aesthetic wear upside down crosses. But I don’t 100% understand what this means. Is he against nuclear disarmament? I don’t know. It’s the “peace” symbol, upside down and red. Either he’s pro-nuclear (civilian nuclear power, weapons) or pro war, and I don’t know which is intended. That may be intentional.

Well. Pyotr was embraced/died in 1985. He can’t be over 40- I’d wager he’s not even over 35. Pyotr strikes me as a vampire born in the 1950s, grew up and matured in the 60s, went through his 20s in the 70s and was 35 by 1985. Just passed the two decades of conscientous objectors, the Viet Nam war and the hippie movement.

He sounds like an American to me, but I’ve been deceived by how well Scandinavians and East Europeans can speak English before. Like, props, because some of yall consume western media like crack and I could confuse your accents for midwesterners at times- which is supposed to be the flattest, most basic kind of American English. Not drawling like the Deep Souf, not twangy like other parts of the south, not sounding like a Californian or New Englander. Just.. that sure is some American English, there.

So Pyotr could verywell be someone that learned English. Given the era it wasn’t especially common to find an American named Pyotr during the Cold War. There’s a tradition of immigrants coming here and naming their kids more anglicanized versions of the names. So, Pyotr becomes Peter.

So the big question is whether he was a native of Europe or one of its former colonies. Was Pyotr his real name, or did he name himself that?

We know by his long, greasy hair that he couldn’t have been military- at least, not at the time he died and was embraced. His shirt doesn’t seem very Hippie-like. An underwater welder with really long hair? I guess it’s possible that his employers could’ve allowed it because they just intended to kill him anyway.

Pyotr died under the water, embraced by a Nosferatu, presumably beneath the sea. Or perhaps a lake. Some body of water, somewhere. Possibly even in a sewer or sewage system? By his own superior- which raises even more questions.

What was Pyotr working on, beneath the waters? Was it related to nuclear power? Was it an above-the-board job, or a secret organization that he was employed for, being paid on the sly? We don’t know.

Initially I thought that going by the vulgar names of Shitbeard and Ape Boy, Pyotr might have decided to call himself the Russian name for, ‘faggot.’ But, after reaching out to the local Russophone I know, I can safely conclude, no, Pyotr PROBABLY did not name himself the English phoenetic of the Russian way to say and spell(anglicized) Peter. I was wrong in assuming he was over pronouncing it to muddle it between, ‘Peter’, and, ‘faggot,’ but the Russian word for faggot does sound more like the way Peter is said in English. So, this would’ve meant he either didn’t know how to properly pronounce it as a Russian would, or overpronounced it to distance himself from the term. Piotr = yes, P-Yo-Tur = no.

So then I started wondering if perhaps Pyotr might be a Russophile during the Cold War. Supposing Pyotr was English/British and not American, this might mean Pyotr was a Western Sympathizer for Socialism, Communism and the Soviet Union. One of those people in England that sided with the USSR and saw them as morally/ideologically right, no matter what they had to excuse them doing.

Also known as, a tankie.

So I’m going to guess his name is definitely not wordplay/vulgar or problematically sneaking in calling himself a faggot. Just.. if anything an anglophone with possible Russophile leanings.

Assuming Pyotr was possibly some sort of conspirator or terrorist in life, being a long haired counter-culture underwater welder, he could’ve conspired to do something constructive for some not-so-good guys. Which, wouldn’tyaknowit, would bring him smack dab into his sire’s web.

We don’t know for sure if Pyotr was embraced by a Camarillan Nosferatu or Sabbat. Were I to hazard a guess, I’d say Sabbat, but Nosferatu delve between both equally. He could just as easily have been honeypotted by a patriotic Nosferatu guarding the region wherever Pyotr and presumably his other welders got ate and turned, as he could’ve been just extorted for illegal, questionable labor underwater and then disposed of to not have to pay them.

Perhaps I’m just following trails that are not there, seeing shadows and leads that don’t exist.

Or, something very terrible is in motion and may involve nukes under the sea, in Hunter: the Parenting.

#Hunter: the Parenting #Pyotr speculation #vampire: the masquerade #theory #spoilers #longpost #long #long post

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mostlygibberish · 1 year

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"It's Morbin' time."

I liked the part when he Morbed on those guys.

No, really, I actually watched Morbius. I figured there's no point seeing 365 movies in a year if I'm not going to include the single greatest accomplishment of film-making released in it. It wasn't the most offensively bad thing I've ever seen, like some would have you believe, but it was certainly a shitty movie.

The plot made very little sense, none of the characters had comprehensible motivation for their actions, and things just sort of happened like they had a script framework they had to fill out, because they probably did. The tone shift between any two scenes was completely unpredictable, and it was never clear why anybody was reacting the way they were to the insane shit taking place.

Multiple people watched somebody Morbing out (literally transforming into a Nosferatu looking monster) and just took it ridiculously casually. When he jumped like 25 storeys up a stairwell, the cops said "Hold your fire!", like they were dealing with a regular fleeing guy and not a magic vampire. The best part is that approximately ten seconds later the main cop was somehow up there on the roof confronting him.

Jared Leto seemed incapable of emoting even before he became a CGI monster, and I found him as annoying as always. Matt Smith, despite already looking vampiric to begin with, was horribly cast as the villain who entirely lacked motive. Turns out his stupid dance scene is just as funny in the movie as it was context-free on youtube, because it actually has no context. It just hard cuts from a serious laboratory scene to him dancing and Morbing out, to remind you he exists.

Adria Arjona was pretty good, but her character was presented as a love interest without bothering to include any actual relationship development. I hope appearing in this didn't hurt her career too badly, though it looks like she might be signed up for a sequel if and when one eventuates.

There were these two cops that kept showing up, but ultimately they contributed absolutely nothing to the movie. I think they may have been intended as audience surrogates or comedic relief, but whatever the plan was it didn't work.

All the fights were dull and entirely rendered in terrible CGI. You couldn't really follow what was happening spatially because of the way everything was just muddled blobs smacking against each other in dim lighting. It all looked shocking dated.

Morbius had the power of flight because he had bat DNA and bats can fly. Obviously that's the thing that lets the bats fly, right? Their genes and ability to... see wind currents? The wings are really just for show, everyone knows that.

Even the end credits were a confusing mess; Neon vector graphics bombarded the screen like we just watched some retro 80's callback, accompanied by music that made me think I was in a day spa awaiting a relaxing mud bath.

The most egregious sin of Morbius is that it had not one but TWO sequel hooks, assuredly planting the seed for the living vampire's triumphant return to the silver screen, and a cinematic universe capable of effortlessly overthrowing Marvel and DC.

A literally perfect piece of pure kino that everybody should immediately watch. Also an entertainingly shitty movie.

#morbius #morbius 2022 #movie review

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mattzerella-sticks · 4 years

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hi! i’m new to reading dc, because i hear new 52 and rebirth kinda suck, do you have any batfamily recommendations?

Welcome aboard! I’m gonna say something controversial - new 52 and Rebirth aren’t totally bad. Don’t get me wrong, before Flashpoint Batfamily was GOING PLACES. But I think they started strong with Batman in new 52 (like the Court of Owls wer fantastic and Julia Pennyworth is amazing) but then the aftermath of this Batman v. Joker fight during Scott Snyder’s run kinda fizzled the Batman run. And don’t get me STARTED on the bullshit Tom King has done. Not even James Tynion can save the Rebirth Batman title (but that’s because the powers that be probably had a vision that’s most likely been canned given how a lot of the brass was let go). I digress...

For New 52, I highly recommend: Batman (up until the Batman mantle gets passed, which is 50 or so issues in), Grayson (I enjoyed the spy atmosphere, plus the introduction of Helena Bertinelli, Tiger, and Midnighter - officially), Red Hood and the Outlaws (although the early issues and how they treated Kori are iffy), DEFINITELY Batgirl (especially the Gail Simone run and then the Babs Starr run, Batgirl of Burnside ftw) and - I’m including her into the Batfamily - the Harley Quinn series, because that’s good no matter WHAT. Things I’ve heard good things about but haven’t fully in-depth read were We Are Robin and Catwoman, although the former ends kind of unsatisfyingly. And, again, not Batfamily but adjacent - Gotham Academy. I was SO MAD when it ended because it was one of the best comics DC was producing. Oh and there was a Robin series where he has a giant bat!!! That was really good, too.

Rebirth they really fucked themselves over for the Batfam. Don’t even look at Batman, the first few issues are okay but then it gets muddled in this Bane plot and ‘War of Jokes and Riddles’ which was the WORST Batman storyline ever. Went on too long imo because you kind of forget this is all Bruce telling Selena about his ‘worst sin’ even though she’d be DTF no matter what. Plus there’s so much emphasis on Kite Man (i think even an issue is dedicated to his POV which makes no sense given the context the story’s being told but again Tom King SUCKS). It’ll make you feel like you read a comic book of How I Met Your Mother. Only Batman issues I recommend are the ones that are Flash crossovers because those are my favs for obvi reasons. What you want to do is get into first year of Rebirth Detective Comics because 1) Cassandra Cain 2) Stephanie Brown 3) Kate Kane 4) Clayface!?!?! 5) Tim Drake 6) Dr. Oktober; Honestly it was such a good ensemble piece (James Tynion is an awesome writer, he’s not a miracle worker unfortunately). That was a good run, although it does change plot at a certain point - which was sad - but it still feels like a Batman book even after the ensemble leaves, better than the actual Batman title. So sticking with that over the Batman main series is good. I think Rebirth Outsiders was trying to capture that magic except the writing isn’t that good plus there were a bunch of creative differences that delayed the first issue and I lost any excitement for it (which was sad because I love all the characters in it - Duke, Black Lightning, and Katana). Batgirl, again, although you’ll come to a point where it stops being amazing - and that is when she ditches her Babs Starr costume for something AWFUL. #BringBackBurnsideBatgirl Once you see the costume change either lower your expectations or move on because it doesn’t recover. I’ve heard good things about the Catwoman series but I haven’t read it. What I have read is Harley Quinn (again unofficial Bat family member) and that has been consistently amazing (even if the last few issues gave Harley questional/straightwashed tastes). DEFINITE reads though that shouldn’t be too long (because DC likes ending good things) are Batwoman and Batgirl & the Birds of Prey. The Batwoman comic was too good for this world, we need more Kate Kane in our lives. And the Birds of Prey series felt like the movie a bit. They definitely seemed like friends (unlike the new 52 version, which was AWFUL) and there’s one story where the men of Gotham get sick that is so good I’m waiting on DC to turn it into an animated feature. Those titles are both like twenty or so issues. There’s a Midnigther and Apollo miniseries that was so great (also unofficial member). Red Hood and the Outlaws I liked, but after Roy leaves it lost the magic. Rebirth Nightwing was good at first, but Tom King ruined it even though he doesn’t write for that title. Best storyline was when he gets involved with this group for reformed criminals while in Bludhaven. The most recent storyline wasn’t bad, in a sense. The characters brought on were interesting. It was just apbrupt and clearly not what the actual writer had in mind, but they had to write around Tom King. And overall the character of Nightwing suffered. Young Justice doesn’t feel too canonical (and Drake is a stupid name); Teen Titans is okay but Damian is an edgelord.

Moving on from that, outside of Rebirth and New 52, some other titles that I’ve enjoyed featuring the Batfamily were: Cassandra Cain’s Batgirl, Stephanie Brown’s Batgirl, Gotham City Sirens, Batman, Inc., Batman & Robin (with Dick as Batman, Damian as Robin), the Outsiders (the spin-off from Titans, probably in the mid-2000s with Dick Grayson leading)...

There was an interesting Detective Comics arc I read about the GCPD starring Renee Montoya that dealt with her ‘coming out’ (in the loosest of terms given how it happened).

A Batman/Superman arc I love revisiting is when they re-introduce Supergirl (and speaking of Batman/Superman, find the issue(s) where Superman gets affected by silver kryptonite and turns into a stoner because THAT was funny)

I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention No Man’s Land or Batman Year One because those two kind of establish Gotham and the Batman character... You could read the Killing Joke but you can easily sum the entire story up with one panel (probably one of the first images that pops up when you google The Killing Joke). A better, edgier Batman story - imo - is when he gets addicted to Venom. Or the Death of Jason Todd - which reminds me Under the Red Hood is a good story! (I didn’t read the comic lol but I did watch the movie - Jensen Ackles ftw).

If you’re looking for kooky, anything from the 40s up to before Crisis on Infinite Earths where ANYTHING went. From World’s Finest to the Batman title, they got to some pretty insane shit. Very campy. Although the nineties-early 2000′s were campy in their own way, like so on the other end of the spectrum from ‘camp’ that it became camp again. There’s two different Batman storylines that were VERY anti-drugs (Shadow of the Bat was the running title, I think; one story against weed and the other against LSD) that were so ridiculous and trying to push kids away from doing drugs that you couldn’t help but realize how ridiculous and over-the-top this was.

Finally there are Elseworlds titles. Everyone always raves for Batman: Gotham by Gaslight but I think two very interesting takes on a Batman of a different world are: Batman - Holy Terror, and Batman: Nosferatu. There’s also an Elseworlds with Barbara as Batwoman and a female Joker (Batgirl: Thrillkiller I believe) and one that has Catwoman as the hero of Gotham and Bruce Wayne as a sadistic killer.

Hope at least one of these suggestions helps 😀

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hazelenergy · 4 years

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☕️ Gehenna

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Sometimes y’alls ramblings about Gehenna feel like idiots online screaming the world was going to end in 2012. For some of you, its like how people freaked about computers exploding on New Years in 2000. You rush to unplug all your devices before it’s too late, only to realize nothing bad was going to happen- you just made everyone freak out or possibly destroyed your computer.

No worries. I get it. The end of the world is terrifying to everyone.

But, I found it a bit odd that immortal beings would have a doomsday story. But then again, no one seems to have read the fine print on immortality where it clearly says terms and conditions apply. Regardless, my actual feelings on Gehenna have always been pushed down because a lot of kindred acted as if I personally was going to bring about the end times. But I can’t deny, I have experienced some weird stuff besides my general existence.

Living as the Tremere lab rat meant that no one would dare lay a finger on me directly without fear of Mary’s wrath. But it did mean I got subjected to their apocalyptic speculations. Most of the time I had no idea what they were talking about. Sometimes for fun, I’d just roll with it.

Once, a kindred asked if I’ve ever been pregnant. Which first off, rude and invasive. Secondly, I’m a big lesbian. The likelihood of me being pregnant isn’t zero, but it is slim. But this Malkavian had my attention. She looked older, maybe in her 50s and had streaks of silvery hair covering her eyes. I laughed and told her no. She smiled at me and then asked if I liked the name Wendy. I spoke before I had a chance to organize my thoughts and said Wendy is a cute name. She looked at me gravely and said I knew the time of thinblood would be upon us again. She then said, “Keep your legs crossed, Daughter of Eve,” and then left Elysium. Needless to say, I went back to Mary’s Haven instead of home with a new partner.

Within 24 hours of every Elysium we were ordered to spill our interactions and reveal any learned secrets to Mary. When I told her about this interaction she raised her eyebrow and got up to her filing cabinet. She pulled out a thin file labeled Dhampirs. The first article was a medical autopsy on an infant named Wendy- the research done by a Dr. Douglas Netchurch. Mary explained that it is rare, but thinbloods can and have carried children to term. And like the presence of thinbloods is a portent of Gehenna- their physical offspring is as well. She then laughed harder than ever before, wiping a bloody tear from her eye. I asked what was so funny. “You must forgive me, but the idea of you mothering a child is utterly amusing.”

I suppose this falls under the Gehenna where there’s too many of us and masquerade breaches are bound to happen. And when the mask is completely shattered, we are all in danger of humans destroying us. And I can’t imagine explaining to a toddler how to contend with the Beast and not hurt others with their powers. Seems like a recipe for disaster.

When I was much more settled in my Elysium routine, I had caught the attention of one of the younger Toreadors of Atlanta. Naturally, the Harpy made me extremely aware of everything about her and then Butternut, my nickname for the Nosferatu Primogen, told me everything else for 20 dollars. She was fond of the stars and their silvery light. I had offered to take her stargazing a little outside Atlanta in exchange for some vitae. This was a fairly normal transaction for me and I understood the price was steep for many. So I always tried to make it worth their while, with a nice night or a wild night depending on their tastes. She pointed out several constellations to me and their varying mythologies. I’ll admit, it was fascinating to hear what different cultures thought of different constellations. I could point out the obvious ones like Leo the Lion or the Little Dipper. She could point out ones that I could barely see, calling them things like Lyra and Crux. She told me of stories of constellations far beyond our sights, some of which can only be seen on clear nights in the Southern Hemisphere. That’s when I noticed it. A bright, gleaming red star in the center of the Big Dipper. It almost looked like an eye in the bright sky. I couldn’t help but feel a sense of dread. But I willed myself to ask about it. She turned to me and playfully said, “Don’t be silly. There’s nothing there,” as she curled closer. I gently explained it was still there and asked her to tell me what it’s story could be. I think she thought it was some sort of game and made up some story to humor me. The rest of the night went as expected. I got to taste and temporarily brew Presence, she got the closest to Mary’s Haven without revealing her true intent and a one-night-stand with the Camarilla’s thinblood kitten. But I continued to see the star for several months.

I finally got an idea of what I saw when I met with a Salubri by the name of Nils. He explained that he foresaw something terrible would happen in the city of Atlanta, but the only way to stop the Wyrm was to travel to a city with a Salted Lake. It took a while for us to understand what he meant, and we don’t know if he was successful. To show his good will, he offered us gifts for the night and hope for eternity. For hope. he explained how thinbloods from his domain could walk this path and return to being mortal. For kindred such as himself, the sun is no longer an enemy. When he took Solomon’s hands, he quieted his raging beast for the night. When he took mine, he flinched for a moment like he wanted to let go. He looked into my eyes and said, “You poor childe. You willingly accepted madness to keep your heart from being poisoned. My soul aches knowing you have suffered so much.” Its then, I swear, his forehead began to faintly glow in the shape of an eye. When it opened, it glowed with the same red of that star. I wanted to run away as fast as I could, it didn’t matter how far I had to run. I pulled against his hands, but couldn’t get away. Then, my mind quieted. The thoughts that raced around my head stopped...I didn’t realize how muddled my mind had become. I looked back to see his eye closing, the red starlight shifting to gold. He released my hands and said, “You saw Ixion, no? I think a fledgling like you shouldn’t be weighed with the powers of an Oracle, but I am not one to cast final judgement. The power will return when your mind is clean.”

Turns out, in 2002, A red star was visible with a telescope and NASA named it Ixion, which is the Greek equivalent for Cain. I jokingly mentioned how Cain sightings are another portent of Gehenna but didn’t expect him to be such a star. Tommy and I laughed. Cass didn’t and then demanded to know how long I could see Wormwood. I explained that first saw it in early spring, 2019 and I haven’t seen it since October 1st, 2019. She made a series of frantic phone calls- I think she was checking up on kindred she used to run with. I’ve known for quite some time Cass used to be with the sabbat. I don’t know what happened between her and her pack. She usually is very willing to explain things to me, but her past is still a complete mystery- aside from her weird fling with Mary. ew. I can respect when she tells me to just drop it. But I can smell the strange shifting aroma from her resonance. She’s angry, then she is filled with sorrow, then she’s afraid.

I think about Gehenna more than a fledgling probably should and more than is probably healthy. It does make me uneasy for reasons I can’t explain. I guess since everyone else is so afraid- I should be too. However, I am curious to a fault. I have done some research into our doomsday myth. From what I’ve gathered, signs have been occurring for quite some time. And, we are all still here. Bad things seem to happen regardless, it doesn’t mean its Gehenna. But it is a nice scapegoat when things go wrong. Blame it on inevitable destiny rather than cascading consequences of poor leadership. The world is going to keep turning with or without us. Simple as that.

#ic #gehenna #//thanks for the ask!#long post #hazel answers questions #vtm rp #this is what we in the biz call heavy handed forshadowing

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ursoself-satisfying · 5 years

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All Things Must Pass

this was a request!!! hes so young here wow

Joe Mazzello x F!Reader, sad/comfort fluff

A/N: i have so little time to write this was a struggle,,, i projected a lot onto this fic, using the language i use when im in a negative headspace n such so i hope it doesnt thro anyone off,,, i went thru a lot of what i felt then wrote that cus i deal w mental health issues n tried to portray what i go thru in a semi-accurate way but not one so specific its not readable u kno??? y'all that peep my references here tho get bonus points

Warnings: none rly,,, its kinda vague n sad like dealing w not discussing whats wrong n such,,,,, nothing bad tho,, not even any language wow!!! jk one language wh00ps

The warm mug in your hand didn’t improve your mood. The steam of the drink drifted up from the contents and swirled in intricate patterns near your face. You pursed your chapped lips and blinked your drying eyes. A feeling had been swelling in you for days, but you couldn’t quite identify it yet. With soft blankets curled around you and your body folded up on the couch, you pondered it again. This wasn’t an unfamiliar experience. It had been happening for years. The bite of the sharp night air bled through a crack in your draping covers and you shivered, conserving your heat by pulling further into yourself. Though familiar, this state you were in was anything but comfortable. Even if you really were comfortable like this, you wouldn’t have wanted to admit it.

The kitchen light was the only thing shining through the apartment. It wasn’t your apartment, no. This wave had to come crashing down on you when you were far from the safety of your home. This apartment was safe It belonged to your boyfriend and he made you feel safe, but he wasn’t there right now. It was just you and the sound of minuscule little droplets of rain pattering against the window. The street lights made the storm seem like a glitter against the glass, reflecting back the business of the night.

You couldn’t remember the last time you felt like this, but you had to remember it was ok not to be ok sometimes. “We naturally go through emotional highs and lows, everyone does,” she told you, “it doesn’t mean you’re broken if you feel bad- it means you're human.” ‘Remeber that,’ you'd thought, ‘remember it’s ok. You’re ok.’

Your drink smelled sweet and a little burnt. You breathed in the warmth wafting from it before slowly and cautiously tipping the cup to your lips. A hiss escaped your lips at the still scalding temperature colliding with your raw skin and you sighed. Your love of the cold weather had betrayed you and left you weak. The entire situation was stressful and tiring, and you’d cry if you could but for some horrible reason you just couldn’t.

Your mind struggled to focus on one thing at a time that had led to your current emotions but it mostly focused on the bad. Your mind was foggy and muddled and insisted on making a mental list of all the reasons your life was the absolute worst in this very moment. ‘Perhaps,’ you reasoned, ‘if I identify what's wrong, I can fix it.’

You were far from home. New York City was scary and big and loud and dirty and new to you. This was exciting and terrifying at the same time. You wanted to see everything, and Joe wanted to show it all to you, but of course, he still had work things and you were left alone. You only had so much time there and even less time with him. There was never any way you could have fit in every important place you wanted to see into the few precious hours you could share.

That led into your second reason, which was that you just desperately missed Joe. He hadn’t wanted to leave you alone, but duty does call and he had to answer. “I love you, ok? I’m so sorry, I- I wish I could have planned for this but-”

“You couldn’t have known! It’s ok,” You’d smiled at him and he kissed you before he left. Every morning and every night and every time he had the chance, he kissed you. God, it gave you life. His face just seemed to fit into your so perfectly, like your hands were molded against his cheeks. You closed your eyes and could almost feel him there with you, his warmth keeping you sane, but when you opened your eyes, he was gone.

Maybe the third reason was that your relationship was fairly new and you were insecure in the commitment for a number of reasons- or maybe it’s just that the holiday season was upon you and that ‘seasonal depression’ was hitting you hard. There was so much to do, so much to not miss out on, and so little time to relax and actually enjoy this time of year. Joe hadn’t managed to decorate for anything yet and had actually planned to do so with you, but it didn’t look like you’d have the chance to now. There were no lights up anywhere, no festive knick-knacks up on the shelves, nothing.

‘Or maybe,’ you thought, ‘it’s not seasonal, it’s just me.’ This was a turning point and you were scared. Joe had never seen you in such a deep, naturally dark headspace before, and you had little explanation for it. There was no one thing you could blame for the way you felt. It was just- Everything. A vague yet overwhelming anxiety rolled through you that made your guts feel like they’d turned to sawdust and were swirling around inside you like you were the floor of some horrible workshop.

The lighter side of your mind spoke up, ‘Maybe that’s not such a bad comparison, I mean, you are a workshop, always tinkering, changing, evolving. You are a human bent on self-improvement. Recovery,’ the voice reminded, ‘is not linear.’

“But any step forward is a good step,” you said out loud.

“What’s that from?”

“Holy fuckin’ sh-!” Your entire body jolted violently at the surprise of the response and your drink sloshed over the sides of your mug, spilling all over your blanket. Thankfully, it was no longer hot. “God, what a- what a waste of a good cup of-” Your curses trailed off into angry murmurs and you stood before looking over at Joe standing in the entryway looking equally as startled.

He’d just come back from a meeting with a potential director for an upcoming film to be met with his girlfriend completely spaced out on the couch. She’d been sitting there for several minutes without knowing he’d come in. When he spoke and surprised her, he jumped nearly as much as she did. He went over to help her clean up the spilled drink with a soft, sorry expression. She’d already gotten up, though, and shuffled to the kitchen without really acknowledging him. Something about the situation made Joe feel sick and guilty. “I’m so sorry. I, uh,” he paused and breathed a laugh as he picked up a pillow slipping off the couch and looked at the form that had moved into the kitchen, placing the empty cup on the counter with a soft click of ceramic against marble.

His breath hitched and he forgot whatever it was he’d intended to say to her. She was cast in odd shadows from the lights of the streetlamps inside combatting with the yellow glow of from above the stove. The scene carried none of the normally blissfull air his lover had. It was sharp and contrasting, like the set of an old expressionist film. He thought she would look fit beside the likes of Nosferatu, her in her cloak of covers and tussled hair barely emerging from the makeshift hood that supported her neck. The way she’d cocooned herself reminded him of a lost child standing alone in the cold, one no passing stranger would stop to notice.

It was silent for a moment as the actor continued absorbing her aura. The cars driving about in the rain echoed through the building. The sounds of splashing through puddles and revving engines drifted by his ears. [Y/N] stared at the sink before slowly meeting her boyfriend’s gaze. They just looked at each other. Joe felt like he wasn’t even there though like she didn’t see him there. She stared through him with the same disassociated look she had when he’d walked in. His shoes suddenly became of great interest to him and dragged his attention from her to the grain of the floor. “I’m,” he gulped and raised his eyebrows in a mixture of guilt and concern, “I’m so sorry I couldn’t be here with you today.” He looked at her again and she finally seemed to notice him standing there.

His sad puppy dog eyes bore you down. You’d fallen so hard for them. Before you’d even learned his name, you knew him by his eyes. You forced yourself to process what he’d said and were quickly overcome with guilt of your own. “Oh- Oh, no! Joe,” you pleaded and sighed as you rushed to him with a sympathetic smile, “I’m sorry, I just, like, spaced out- I’m fine, it’s all fine.” You nodded lightly at him with a stretched smile and looked up at him with hands gently placed on his chest, holding tightly to the coat he’d yet to remove.

“I know you have to work and I could never-” You bit your lip as your mental search for words was shown through the frantic lines your eyes traced, “I never want to be an obstacle.” With a softened gaze, pleading for ease in the oddly uncomfortable situation, you continued, “I’m pretty sure I’m always gonna love you, and I’ll be here,” his mouth parted as you paused, “just for you. No matter how many dates you miss, as long as you’re doing your best.” A pitiful chuckle fell from your lips.

So early in your relationship, you weren’t sure when an appropriate time to address your current emotional state would present itself. Then again, is any time a good time to discuss something like this? You felt he deserved an explanation, at the very least, to ease him a bit from the stiff form he kept since he’d returned that night. ‘Where to begin’, you wondered. Before you could let another sad syllable drip from your clenched teeth, jaw tight in distracted thought, arms wrapped around you and a bristly cheek pressed against your own.

“This is weird.” He whispered, “Why are we weird right now?” The blankets around were nuzzled out of the way so he could bury his face in the crook of your neck. His nose pressed hard against your hot skin. You were unprepared for the contact. All you could focus on was his heavy breathing beside your ear, every exhale slipping down your back and making you shiver. Cautious hands danced up the back of his neck, barely touching the airs that stood on end from the undefinable energy surging between the two of you. Molding yourself to fit perfectly in the empty cavities of space left, you were flush against him, clinging to the back of his head and letting his arms shift under yours to support you.

“I’m bad right now.” Your voice was almost a whimper, choking you on it’s way out. It wasn’t even your voice, the words were breaths you let out at all once. Joe- You weren’t sure he understood, and you didn’t expect him to immediately. He has no context yet, no reference besides what you’d carefully revealed to him. It was never your intention to hide any of your traits or symptoms or past from him, or most anyone, really, but it wasn’t exactly a hot topic of conversation.

He’d remembered briefly her using the phrase ‘when I was bad’ once or twice when referring to her mental and emotional state, but she didn’t often talk about it. Either it was sensitive or simply private, but it was fine. He didn’t push. The last thing he wanted was to make her uncomfortable or drive her away. While respecting her privacy and her past, he still swelled with concern at the thought of not knowing. It was a loving kind of fear that filled his stomach when he’d imagined moments like this; moments where something was wrong, something was off and he was in the dark. He didn’t need a reason to love and support her, but he was unsure of how to help in the best way.

“Bad emotionally,” she started in barely a whisper, though it was louder than before, “not ‘bad’ like-” There was a hot huff of air with a small laugh behind it and [Y/N] sniffled, “not ‘bad’ like- like ‘I’ve been bad, officer’- not in a sexual way-” It was punctuated with a cottony laugh.

Joe shook his head softly and gave the girl in his arms a squeeze. His smile was wide, though she couldn’t see it. Her squeak made him laugh a little and he could feel the air around them suddenly lose about five pounds. It was easier to lift his shoulders in this new situation.

After a moment of breathing in sync, cars passing by, and rain beating rhythmically against the windows, the man broke the silence. “You don’t have to say anything-”

“You know I can’t do that, Joe.” He held onto her for a moment longer then pulled only his head back slightly to kiss her turned cheek while she was still in his embrace. In the warm kitchen light, the patterns of the blanket and the shadows of the passing headlight combined like brushstrokes on the scene and turned them into the likeness of a Klimt painting. Yellow cascading down their backs and an iconic arching connection made this art.

“If you’re bad, then let's make it better.” The words were pressed into her skin by his plush lips. Before pulling away, their hands found one another’s and gripped them tightly, like he was a rope and she was dangling over the ever looming pit of her past.

For the first time, she could feel a wetness pricking at her eyes. Without effort or dismay, she could cry. There were no sobs to accompany it, just silent streaming tears. She didn’t stop them for they were a gift. The damp streaks beneath each eye bent around her growing grin as she looked up at her lover through the filter of emotional release. Everything but the earthy brown around his pupils was a watery mess in her eyes. ‘God,’ she thought, ‘This- He is a good one. He is so- He is so beautiful.’

Joe could feel the pain in his chest as his heart shook, threatening to crack at the image of his love in such a fragile form. “Let’s just-” He could have claimed the rest of the sentence got stuck in his throat but the truth is there was nothing there to get stuck, nothing to follow what he’d started saying. “Is it ok if we just,” he took a deep breath, “be together? Would that- Would that help?”

“You already help. Being here helps.” Her voice was back now, though, physically, she didn’t look in any way improved.

Joe handled his girlfriend gently and urged her to the couch with him, pulling down onto his lap so they both laid on the piece of furniture long ways. Her bundled body blanketed his and he leaned back, letting her warm him. Struggling to slip off his coat as he kicked off his shoes, Joe also snaked his arm into a pocket to retrieve his phone. He pulled it out with a small noise of pride and held it out in front of him. “A little George Harrison makes everything better, right?” There was a sleepy hum of agreement and ‘My Sweet Lord’ played softly from the speaker of his device. He nestled into [Y/N]’s and closed his eyes. He held the phone in his hands, clasped together as his arms wrapped around the woman.

The ‘hallelujahs’ seemed in time with the weather outside as the couple drifted further from the present and into their own billowing comfort. The lights still were yellow outside, as they were inside, and the cars didn’t stop speeding through the puddles. Though you doubted the return of these feelings would stop, for now, you were content. Joe was there with you and it somehow, just his presence, made some of the sadness wash away. He was like a rain on your pity parade, saving you from any continued celebration of your own inabilities. Tomorrow, there might be explanations needed, but tonight you felt blessed. He was safe. He was warm. Your mind wasn’t racing and your eyes weren’t dry. This was better than anything you’d been feeling, anything swelling inside you the past few days. This wasn’t an unfamiliar experience, and you’d hoped it would never become one.

Glancing up at the man beneath you one last time, you smiled genuinely, bliss settling in your center, and you closed your eyes. George Harrison lulled you to sleep that night, and safely asleep you fell, holding tightly to Joe through it all, just as tightly as he held you.

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twitchesandstitches · 5 years

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some crossthicc vampire thoughts

a side note, in case you are concerned: human vampires are not exclusive to the Commonwealth! They are all over!

the commonwealth just lends itself to the ‘aristocracy feed and victimizes the working class’ metaphor of vampirism, but they are hardly the only hominid-descendants who happen to be cool blood-drinking creatures.

In general, one thing vampire ladies have in common is that they tend to get progressively larger the more they feed; not from any beings in particular, but from creatures closer to their own power, or stronger than them. they can get big EXTREMELY fast! But eventually they tend to hit a point where anything strong enough to empower them like that can one-shot them, forcing them to power up more gradually.

Additionally, women vampires have the trait of boosting their curves when they feed; a vampire who drinks blood WILL have her boobs, hips and butt expand to enormous, swollen sizes as she feeds!

most vampires in existence are modeled after the vampire clans from Vampire: The Masquerade/Requiem (following the latter’s trend of broad vampire archetypes settlign into local variants). ALL vampires are like that, more or less, not just the human ones. Assume that Requiem’s clans take precedence, since its easier to rework them to fit, and all vampires across fiction are reworked to fit into the paradigm.

Sanguinius, the father of human vampires, is a kind of uber-vampire who predates all forms of vampirism and thus has no clan. All clans are a little bit Blood Angel. Some guess that he has elements of the physically mighty Brujah (themselves a subset of the warlord Daeva clan) or the more feral Gangrel, but he really is the source of ALL of them, at least as far as humans are concerned.

rainbow drinkers/troll vampires fit pretty closely into the Daeva/Toreador vein. They have a connection of sorts to the other trolls that goes beyond the predator vibe, they are FAST and seem to have a thing for art/society. Possibly Rainbow Drinkers, here, are NOT exclusive to jadebloods; its just inherent to their bloodline, as a result of a mystical connection to the Dolorosa, the mother of all troll vampires. Possibly each caste of the hemospectrum corrosponds to a different vampire type, exaggerating that caste’s role and amping up their predatory attributes to ridiculous extremes.

Discworld vampires are basically Ventrue and Nosferatu, with some hints of Tzimisce or Gangrel muddled up into a unique flavor; they draw a LOT of power from the magical essence of what it means to be a vampire, so they are ridiculously tough on a broad scale (they almost always come back, you know), but they tend to be a bit more limited in how they can deal with people as anything but the dark overlord that feeds upon the world. They work around this by changing what it MEANS to be a vampire, and can even foreswear blood in lieu of some other passion. The implications this has for the vampire condition as a whole is fascinating to researchers of the topic.

Blood Angels are more or less a clan unto themselves, with elements from all of them; they can be considered not exactly a clan, but a mystical state that vampires can develop into through dedication to goodness and righteous thought. As they are fueled with the blood of Sanguinius, they ascend past the limitations of clan and inborn power, transcending it and becoming something closer to Sanguinius himself. They tend to resemble their old selves (Blood Angels of nosferatu origin tend to be still be beautiful, but in a feral, monster girl way).

other vampires can be figured out either by extrapoloating from canon and applying it through the rules I’ve mentioned up top, or by going with what sounds cool. Remember that with the diversity of the sheer scale in this AU, pretty much any variant you can imagine exists SOMEWHERE, so if it makes sense, go with that.

Werewolves and vampires do not have any kind of innate animosity, by the way. (This goes for other werecritters, too.) They do often fight and dislike one another, but this is often for class-based reasons, or interpersonal dynamics. Their natures have nothing much to do with it; while there might be a STEREOTYPE that werewolves see vampires as bloodsucking abominations and vampires see werewolves as insane

#queued #crossthicc AU #i also want to contemplate Legacy of Kain vampires #and nosgoth as a whole #but i was running outta steam there #any other vampires u want me to write about?#LET ME KNOW

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goblinlipgloss · 6 years

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The Bestiary: Strix, Gelloudes, and Strigoi

Settle in, cause this is going to be a long post. We've got a lot to cover here, and it's going to take us from ancient Greece to Romania to early Biblical scholars. Since these creatures are all so related, we just couldn’t justify splitting them into three different posts!

Strix

The strix, a “bird of ill omen” was closely tied to witches and malevolent beings, but whether or not that’s because it was a malevolent being or the familiar of one depends on who you ask. Ovid, Antonius, Pliny the Elder, and even my girl Sappho were just a few to write on the strix, so it’s understandable that the mythology got a bit muddled.

The really early mythology, recorded by Antonius Liberalis, gets confusing. The first strix was Polyphonte, who got on Aphrodite’s bad side and was cursed to lust after a bear. (Look. I don’t know, either. Aphrodite was mean.) From this… er, union… twins were born. They were hulking men who just happened to be cannibals. Zeus, in a strange moment of clarity, decides he doesn’t like them, and sends another god to go and punish them for snacking on innocent travellers. The god sent, Hermes, was going to kill them, but Ares stepped in--the bear men were his great grandchildren, and, well, this is Ares we’re talking about, of course he’d defend cannibals.

Anyway.

Hermes decided that instead of punishing only the twins, he’d take the whole family down with them. He transformed the twins and their mother into birds. Polyphonte got turned into a small owl, which neither ate nor drank normal food. Instead, she spent all that extra free time crying into the dark of the night, which was seen as an ill omen for mankind.

And so Polyphonte was the first strix--or at least, the first recorded usage of the word I could find. She herself has nothing to do with the Labyrinth, so let’s move on.

In Petronius’s Satyricon (1 AD) and Ovid’s Fasti (8 AD), the strix get a little more bloodthirsty. Petronius details the story of the strix (or striges--the words are pretty much interchangeable) carrying away the body of a dead boy after they substituted it with a straw doll. Why a straw doll? I don’t really know--the Satyricon is incomplete, but it sure sounds like something adjacent to a changeling to me.

Ovid described the strix as large-headed birds with grey-white wings and hooked claws, but says himself that he doesn’t know if they were born or transformed by a curse. They were also said to harm or eat humans, infants specifically. He also discusses a more concrete account of a strix attack, in which they attacked Procas in his cradle. The attack was unsuccessful--their screaming alerted a servant, who helped drive them away. It did, however leave him with scars all over his cheeks. Ovid and Petronius both spend a lot of time telling us how evil the strix are, specifically that they’re so evil they specifically attack infants. Pliny the Elder went to far as to suggest that even just saying their name worked as a curse.

...And then you have Horace, who claims that their feathers were used in love potions, so there’s that. Maybe he was an optimist.

But the strix were apparently so evil that medieval sources talked about them too. There’s not much going on here that we haven’t discussed already or that doesn’t get mixed in with Christianity, so I’ll gloss over it a lot. What is important is that John of Damascus equated them with the gelloudes.

Gelloudes

The problem with the gello (singular of gelloudes) is that they already existed in the Greek mythos, and they definitely weren’t the strix. I’m including them here because they were similar and, as we can see, were later conflated with the strix.

The Greeks said that the gelloudes were female demons or revenants. I’m not quite sure if there’s much of a difference in those terms in context, considering this is before the Judeo-Christian concept of a demon.

The gelloudes were notable for killing or abducting newborn babies and virgins--what they did with their abductees, I don’t know. Probably ate them, all things considered. A gello was the “feared bane of children” as far back as 6 BC. By the Byzantine era (~250 AD) they were a class of beings unto themselves, and no longer just female--meaning there could be a male gello, oven if it was considered uncommon.

A gello in both cultures would be blamed for the death of a newborn infant, something we today would attribute to SIDS or other childhood illnesses. These gello-stricken children were known as gillobrota.

Strigoi

The gelloudes were also still discussed in the medieval period and beyond. Later Biblical scholars would discuss their similarities to the strigoi. And speaking of the strigoi…

A strigoi is your OG vampire. Think Nosferatu or Dracula--in fact, the strigoi was one of the inspirations behind Stoker’s Dracula. They were either spirits of the dead rising from their grave or living people with magical properties who just so happened to need to eat other living people. The strigoi were noted to be able to transform themselves into animals (not just bats), be invisible, and drain the vitality from the living through blood loss. Folklorist Wilhelm Schmidt (1865) wrote that the strigoi plagued infants especially, and after the birth of a child, one was to throw a stone over one’s shoulder and say “this into the mouth of the strigoi.” An Authenticated Vampire Story by Franz Hartmann (1909) noted that strigoi were meant to be active in a village in the Carpathian mountains, where they went specifically after children.

So, why Labyrinth?

Well, we've got a creature that through its history has been known to shapeshift--or just generally be an owl--and is known for attacking infants. In the stories, the strix is known to have gone after male infants specifically.

The word strix and the owls themselves are known for their screaming or keening noises, which you can turn into singing, if you feel like it.

I mentioned in a previous post that I think Jareth is a little vampiric, and that explains why I think a strix/strigoi might make a decent fit in Labyrinth lore. Do I think he's going to chow down on Sarah or Toby? No, not particularly. But I do happen to think that in some way he's feeding off of them, or humanity in general. It might not be blood, or flesh, but there are compelling arguments to be made that he's feeding off of Sarah's dreams or imagination. It is because of this that more vampire-adjacent creatures will likely appear in future Bestiary entries.

All of these creatures are heavily tied to magic. Also of note to me is how enduring this creature seems to have been. There are more creatures that I had neither the time nor the space to write about, but I'll mention them below. The creature is very, very old and known to shift over time, so why not bend it a bit to your writing needs?

Further Notes:

Here are some odds and ends that I couldn't fit into the main post but might help you if you decide to use the strix, gello, or strigoi in any future works.

According to Dimitrie Cantemir and Teodor Burada, an encyclopedist and a folklorist in 1882, a person could be born a strigoi under the following conditions: The could be the seventh child of the same gender within a family; be cursed by a witch; die without being married; be executed for perjury; die of suicide; live a life of sin.

"a striga" is the Romanian infinitive for "to scream", which is derived from the Latin "strix" and "striga", the root of which pertains to both owls and blood parasites or diseases.

"Strega" of Italian origin, and "striga" of Venetian origin: both mean "witch."

"Stryge" is a bird-woman who sucks children's blood in French folklore.

Creatures related to the strigoi are the strzyga, a female demon in Slavic (particularly Polish) folklore, the shtriga, a vampiric witch in Albanian folklore, and the shtrigu, her male counterpart.

#labyrinth #jareth #the goblin king #long post #the bestiary

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parrafo451 · 6 years

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Film 451: The Disaster Artist (2017)

Friendship and the movies

By Zeke Trautenberg

Tommy Wiseau’s The Room (2003) is one of contemporary cinema’s most notorious cult films. Fans of The Room celebrate its extraneous subplots, continuity errors, and histrionic dialogue. Wiseau's exemplar of paracinema was released in one theater and grossed less than two-thousand dollars. Yet despite its inauspicious beginnings, the film has since become a midnight movie sensation.

The Disaster Artist, directed by the hyperactive writer, director, and actor James Franco, tells the improbable story behind the making of The Room. Franco’s film is based on the memoir by Wiseau’s co-star and best friend, Greg Sestero (played in the film by Franco’s brother Dave). Franco plays the mysterious Wiseau with the intensity of Daniel Day Lewis and the measured crazy of Wild at Heart-era Nicholas Cage. Franco brings technical skill and a real admiration for Wiseau to his performance. The filmmaker and actor replicates his subject's vaguely Eastern European accent, permanent slouch, and tendency to omit definite articles from his speech with uncanny precision.

The Disaster Artist opens in San Francisco in 1998. Greg and Tommy are enrolled in the same acting class. After Greg botches a scene from Waiting for Godot, Tommy volunteers to take the stage. The camera tracks him from behind as he shuffles onstage. His menacing silhouette, crowned with shoulder-length black hair, gives way to a tragicomic vision as the camera cuts to reveal Tommy from head-on. Dressed like a swashbuckling glam rocker by way of Nosferatu, Tommy proceeds to wail and trample across the stage, a mortally wounded creature set loose from the shadow world.

After the acting class, Greg approaches Tommy in the parking lot and asks if they can do a scene together. Tommy agrees and they plan to meet up to rehearse. Tommy picks Greg up at his parents’ house, and proceeds to pursue the handsome Greg in an absurd day-long courtship in which the duo rehearse a scene at full volume in a restaurant, toss a football, and sip Redbull.

Later, the pair make a late-night pilgrimage to the site of James Dean’s death, the aspiring actors seal their friendship with a pinky-swear. While returning from Dean’s memorial, Tommy suggests that they move together to his “pied-a-terre” in Los Angeles to pursue their dreams of stardom together. After relocating to Los Angeles, the two struggle to break into show business. Greg gets an agent (Sharon Stone, in one of the film’s many celebrity cameos), while Tommy, ever oblivious as to the limits of his talent and how others perceive him, pursues auditions for “All-American” roles.

After a disastrous encounter-cum-audition with a producer (Judd Apatow) at dinner time in busy restaurant, Tommy despairs for his future. Greg offhandedly suggests that his friend takes matters into his own hands and make his own movie. Tommy, a master of doing things his own way, embraces the idea wholeheartedly. After completing a script and casting himself and Greg in the lead roles, Tommy assembles the rest of his cast and crew.

In addition to faithfully recreating scenes from the original film, Franco depicts Tommy’s transformation from an earnest first-time filmmaker into a megalomaniacal director. By the end of the much-delayed shoot, Tommy turns abusive. The director berates his on-screen love interest, refuses to furnish water to the crew, and alienates Greg by insisting that his co-star and best friend owes him a debt of gratitude.

The film's final act takes place during the night of the premiere of The Room and depicts the reconciliation of these two unlikely friends. Retaking their courtship, Tommy picks Greg up in a white stretch limo to take him to the theater. As Tommy's film plays for an audience for the first time, the camera alternates between the screen and the audience. As the film progresses, the audience reaction changes from uncomfortable silence to howling laughter. We are witness to the the construction and reception of the film as a so-bad-it's-good cult comedy. Wiseau, who conceives of his film to be a heartfelt portrait of human emotion, is driven to tears by the audience's laughter and abandons the theater. Greg follows him to the lobby and coaxes him back inside, telling him that Hitchcock never made an audience laugh with such force. Tommy, embracing the audience’s reaction, accepts a triumphant curtain call.

The friendship between the voluble director and his good-natured co-star lies at the core of The Disaster Artist. Although the film repeatedly alludes to the homoerotic nature of Tommy and Greg's relationship—exemplified by pinky swears and Tommy's "Babyface" nickname for Greg—it primarily plays this suggestion of romantic love between the two men for comedic effect. The film is more interested in the power dynamics between the two men. Tommy is both Greg’s friend and his benefactor. Tommy knows that Greg’s friendship is not unconditional: his apartment and money undergird their friendship. Ultimately, Tommy’s poorly executed melodrama, which centers on two friends, mirrors his own convoluted relationship with Greg. In Franco’s film, friendship, a phenomenon rooted in sympathy and reciprocity, becomes a metaphor for filmmaking.

These same tenets of friendship inform the relationship between The Disaster Artist and The Room. Franco treats Wiseau’s film as a source of pleasure (and laughter) and depicts the process of making the film as an earnest, though misguided and poorly executed endeavor. Even as Franco depicts the muddled script and slipshod creation of The Room, he treats it as a production worth dialoguing with and recreating. Like a good friend, The Disaster Artist sets out to make light of its cinematic inspiration, and in the process, cannot help but burnish the myth of the man who made a virtue of indulging his instincts and realizing his dream, not with talent or skill, but with cash. The Disaster Artist depicts Wiseau as a later-day Norma Desmond, determined to bring himself and “Planet Tommy” to the screen for all to see.

Director: James Franco

Running Time: 103 minutes

Country: USA

Photos: New Line Cinema

#the disaster artist #james franco #Dave Franco #tommy wiseau #the room #film #párrafo #paracinema

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