#Motion Picture Sound Editors | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ggukkiedae · 4 months

Text

2sun on and off cameras

Click Below to See the Video

*quotations in the bottom of the pictures are narrated by the video editor. dialogue in italics are spoken in english, dialogue in bold are spoken in chinese. content warning: one curse word*

*did i write this because i miss haechan? yes. yes i did. get well soon haechannie 🥺*

00z lives 2018 vs. 2020

in the 2018 live when talking about spoilers, hannah and haechan both started doing the same choreography, so jeno stopped haechan while jaemin stopped hannah.

they exchanged a look then continued the choreo, so jeno shoved haechan off the chair while jaemin pulled hannah onto his lap, acting like a straight jacket

(then moments later spoiling choreo again while dancing to chewing gum until renjun shoved them both away)

in the 2020 live, hannah and haechan explained the iphone macbook bit to jeno, then haechan reached over her to pinch jeno’s ears while hannah poked his side.

jeno just pinched haechan’s arm and started tickling her side, making them both start yelling

Bonus Clip #3 | Analog Trip NCT 127: Escape From Magic Island

they all agreed to throw haechan into the water, and he runs away and hides behind hannah

and she looks at the older members, grabs a paddle and looks at them “i will splash you if you touch my twin!” but there was a splash behind her.

she turned around and saw haechan dove into the water willingly, so she gave him a look

“i can’t help you if you do stuff like that!” “it was throw or be thrown!”

he was thrown anyway while taeil lifted her in a fireman’s hold, bringing her to johnny

[BE ORIGINAL] NCT DREAM(엔시티 드림) ‘ISTJ’ (Behind)

while monitoring their cuts, haechan’s backhugging her, patting her stomach and she starts squirming before breaking from his hold

he looks at her offended, then there’s a small pause before she pulls his shirt up, making him panic to hold it back down and hide his own stomach

he moves to do the same to until he realized she was in a bralette

“try. try. just you try, lee donghyuck” “don’t test me, lee haeeun”

and he just throws her over his shoulder, and she’s yelling and mark's just following them all “guys? guys? haechan, put her down”

PADO Dance Practice Behind VS Concert Performance

during a break, there’s just a clip of them trying to (for lack of better terms) out-babygirl each other while doing the chorus, and all the other members are just watching all amused

cut to them dancing the chorus after their shared pre-chorus facing each other, eyes intense just until the second “you got me so satisfied” where they turned to face opposite directions, but beside each other instead then fist bumping as the piano chords sound at the end of the chorus

2sun during concerts compilation

cue a compilation of them hoeing it out together during baby don’t like it stages

them stacking accessories on each other during candy stages

their slow motion to normal speed high five during faster stages

their play arguments before mfal stages

2016 Chewing Gum Making Film

taeyong speaking to the camera: “it’s so interesting. our 127 maknae is over there acting like an oppa to our haeeun. it’s so interesting to see, i don’t think he’s like this even with his actual siblings.”

the camera pans to hannah and haechan, but the two are just seen eating, so the camera pans back to taeyong

taeyong: “you didn’t catch it? such a shame, it was really cute.”

2017 Doyoung Hosting the NCT Dream MFAL Comeback Show

“hey, lee haechan, why are you being like this? where’s the maturity you said you’d have because you’re a hyung in dream?” “hyung, are you haeeunie?” “no?” “exactly.”

*doyoung looks at the crowd with an accusatory look while the dreamies laugh*

“no, but it really is weird seeing haechan being an oppa to hannah. he’s like a different person.”

2018 Taeyong Vlive

“haeeunie is my daughter, everyone. now that she’s in 127, i’ll be taking care of her more. but i don’t think i can ever beat haechannie. haechannie is our maknae, but he’s like a real oppa with our haeeunie. he avoids doing it on camera, but he always takes care of her very well. it’s sweet, if you think about it.”

2019 Chenle and Jisung live

jisung: “hannah noona and haechan hyung? they’re with the 127 hyungs right now, working very hard.”

chenle: “right. i feel so thankful to them for working hard for both 127 and dream. i feel sorry whenever i see them go from one schedule to another, it’s like they aren’t resting.”

jisung: “but they’re taking care of themselves for sure! haechan hyung especially makes sure hannah noona always eats and sleeps well”

chenle (imitating haechan): “haeeun-ah, time for lunch” “haeeun-ah, let’s go to bed, you need energy, okay?” “is our haeeunie okay? is she hurt? is she tired?”

jisung: “woah, you sound exactly like him!”

2020 Kun live

“kun baba?” *chuckles* “i am. i’m huanuo’s kun baba… partly. don’t get me wrong, i love hannah and the fact that we’re working together again after two years, but i don’t see her all the time, you know? i can’t be her baba all the time because she’s always off on schedules.” *sighs* “i’m just glad she has haechan. You may not believe it from haechan’s very bright and energetic energy, but he becomes very mellow and caring when he’s with her. it’s like watching him turn into a dad.”

2021 Yangyang live

“do you ever get jealous of haechan and hannah? no, i don’t. maybe once, but that was for, like, two seconds. yeah haechan is actually very big brother to her, you know? you guys have never, like, hung out with just those two without staff or cameras, there’s a switch. i mean, hannah is still her, but just a little more kid-like. just a little. haechan becomes like an extra protective big brother. they really are like actual siblings. them and mark hyung, too!”

2022 Sungchan live

*sounds of the door opening, sungchan looks, bows his head, then looks back to the live*

“i thought it was hannah noona. she likes checking on me every now and then, but i forgot she’s still on tour. that was a staff just now. hannah noona… she’s like my second mom. she really takes care of me well, which is why it’s a little strange for me to see her with haechan hyung. He’s like hannah noona’s personal hannah noona. do you get it? did i say that right? it’s a little bit like if me, chenle, and and jisung have hannah noona, noona has haechan hyung.”

2023 Yuta on Weverse

hannah is ignoring me right now

not by choice

haechan has my kitsune wrapped in a blanket because she has a cold right now

i want to take care of her but haechan said it’s his job and she’s his responsibility

when did he get so grown up, our maknae?

[N’-153] We gon’ resonate 🔥 | NCT 2020💚MAMA 안무연습 비하인드🌟

around 7 minutes and 20 seconds into the video there’s a really quick moment where you can see them behind johnny dancing while the choreographer was discussing details

she was looking down, and he was just a little hunched over to be more at level with her while holding her face, looking like he was asking her something, and she shook her head, then he nodded, and that was all seen before the clip cut

Mark’s IG Story

hannah straight up just walked into a glass door because she was on her phone, then haechan cradles her forehead, lightly scolding her for not looking where she was going meanwhile mark’s just in laughs going “cute, why are the babies so cute”

[Un Cut] Take #3 | ‘Kick It’ Dance Practice

while taeyong’s talking about the famous dance moves in the choreography, you can see hannah and haechan’s reflection in the mirror where he had sat on the floor, making her sit next to him then urging her to drink water while they both marked the choreography in the mirror

2020 앙게이트 20 📝 #1 | 2020 ENQUETE 20 | NCT RESONANCE Pt.2

in the very corner of the video when jaemin is answering the eighth question, they’re walking, and hannah trips. haechan quickly catches her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and helping her walk

DREAM SKETCH : Page #2 | THE DREAM TOUR BEHIND

at the very beginning of the video when jisung is vlogging with the mirror behind him, you can see the reflection of hannah and haechan on the couch where haechan is rubbing something onto her knee

“woah, can you see that? this is rare to see on camera, everyone. haechan hyung’s natural state when he’s with hannah noona. let’s not disturb them, he’s putting muscle reliever on noona’s knee because it’s been bothering her”

Dance Practice Behind | Ep.1 | 2023 NCT CONCERT - NCT NATION: To The World

when jisung, ten, and renjun are talking, you can hear haechan and hannah in the background

“haeeun-ah, have you taken your medicine?” “yes, and i’m fine” “just making sure. i didn’t see you eat breakfast today” “i’m good, oppa, i had a sandwich a while ago, and jungwoo oppa and i are gonna have a big lunch. it’s just a cold, stop worrying” “you know i can’t do that”

taglist: @1-800-enhypennabi @strwberrydinosaur @sunflower-0180 @caratinylyfe @1-800-minji @one16core @kimhyejin3108 @chansols @akshverse @world-full-of-roses @stopeatread @allthings-fandoms

drop an ask or a dm if you wanna be added or taken out of the taglist 🥰 requests are also open!

#hannah.2sun #hannah.youtube #hannah #lee hannah #nct female member #nct female addition #nct dream 8th member #nct 127 10th member #nct dream female member #nct dream female addition #nct 127 female member #nct 127 female addition

108 notes · View notes

sashimiyas · 2 months

Text

cw: gen snippet about the twins; angst

osamu’s in tokyo sleeping on a decade old futon in someone else’s living room. akaashi’s living room.

on the first day, osamu was told that his new bed for the next month was from akaashi’s college days. his impromptu move in finally convinced the editor to purchase a new medium for sleeping. though with osamu’s curious peeping around his doorframe, it looks much less like an upgrade and more like a lateral move.

akaashi’s still out, hardly home, and probably why he was so willing to accept osamu’s residence. that, and because he knows that osamu’s presence means a rumored tokyo location may be in motion.

which is true. it is the reason why osamu is here, but it’s only a week in and though the cook turned entrepreneur has walked many difficult roads in his past, these tokyo ones has osamu with an eye constantly over his shoulder.

he feels out of depth for the very first time, lost despite himself. he never realized how much he’d relied on his community, of the regulars ingrained in his life as much as the grains that have stained his fingers. of jiji and his taiyaki. of the dinging bell of the students who bike past his shop every afternoon. even the sun rises different among the large buildings.

there’s little in akaashi’s home to entertain him. only cartons of cigarettes and books from countries that osamu can hardly pronounce. the man hardly has a working fridge though akaashi is never home enough to even file a complaint to his landlord about it.

osamu sits idly with his back against the wall. he stares ahead of him at a bookshelf that is topped with two small trophies and a couple of picture frames. bokuto is in 90% of them and is probably the brightest thing in akaashi’s home. as dismal as it is, that’s hardly saying anything.

and so osamu dials the closest thing he has to home. atsumu answers immediately.

the sound of his voice has osamu immediately sitting up straight, tucking his legs beneath him. it’s been a while since he’d spoken to his brother. many calls had been left unanswered and unreturned. even this new turning point in his life had began without him. which osamu was fine with despite disappointment.

however, osamu can already tell that something is off just by his brother’s first breath before greeting. the man prides himself with a good nose, smelling the transformation of aromatics seconds before it happens.

“what’s up with ya?”

atsumu’s response confirms his suspicions, “nothing!”

an attack like that is usually met with an equally aggressive quip. osamu already feels like he’s losing his brother. the realization coupled with the isolation he’s been facing in tokyo fills osamu with dread. his stomach is heavy and he wants to expel the feeling by throwing up.

“ya ain’t been right. something up ya ass or what?”

it’s a cheap shot but it’s a desperate attempt to find something that atsumu can respond candidly to.

“fuck outta here! the hell ya want, samu? ya call me up just to talk shit?”

“course, it’s what we always do.”

atsumu’s silence hurts more than verbalizing the reminder.

“i ain’t got time for that right now.”

osamu’s mind blanks for a moment. they had accepted distance. but time? atsumu’s time had always been his and vice versa. they came into this world together, pressed against their mother’s bosom in tandem. every second has been lived twice between the both of them.

and then osamu’s angry.

“what?” he grips his phone tight into his fist, “ya think ya better than me?”

“no!”

“what about ma? ya ain’t got time for ma?”

“what?! no!”

“ya think just because ya some big shot athlete that ya suddenly don’t have—“

“i ain’t a big shot!”

atsumu’s heaving through the phone and osamu can feel the air change yet again.

“i ain’t gonna have a job soon, samu! there’s a new hotshot setter about to graduate high school. they say even better than kageyama.”

the pieces slowly begin to fall into place. osamu’s breath stills but atsumu’s continues.

“and ya know i’ve never been able to beat kageyama.”

“don’t—“

“shut up samu. i know how it is. im a setter and ya know there’s only one of us on the court. i became one because ya wanted to be a hitter and i knew id always have ya to set to. but…”

osamu wishes he brother wouldn’t say it. but they’re both mean. they both say words that are meant to hurt.

“but ya dont need me and i need to find someone else to set to. so yeah, i ain’t got time right now for bullshit, samu.”

and they both never know how to say what they truly feel. because how, after all of this, can osamu admit that he does need his brother right now?

#reinas.inretrograde #i forgot that writing a longer fic #meant that there’s scenes i want to write without the whole fic #but this #is about osamu in tokyo. and is also related to the little blurb of osamu playing volleyball at the rec center #reina.writeshaikyuu!!#idc it’s unedited. i’m just vibing #but always im shaking one piece like a pair of pants wishing that the episodes fall out like loose change and that i don’t have to watch all #thousand episodes of this series

25 notes · View notes

watchmorecinema · 3 months

Text

The Oscars Hate Animation

First I want to say that I don't hold any animosity towards the films that were nominated for best picture. I haven't seen them all but they all seem pretty damn great (Maestro feels oscar-baity to me but whatever).

What I don't like is how animation is put into its own box. They can't ignore it completely, but they can push all animated works into the animated film category and make sure that none of them can possibly take the main awards. Animation is treated as something for children, or hyper-violent fare for edgy teens.

You couldn't imagine this happening to painters. Vincent Van Gogh was never told that he made nice things for children to look at. Picasso was never told that he could be making "real" art if he switched to photography. A single image is art, but millions in a row to give the illusion of motion is somehow less than art.

It's just all so stupid. Spiderman: Across the Spiderverse is a beautiful movie with such fluid animation, expressive characters and just flush with color. The movie isn't happy with just having a single great art style, instead incorporating new art styles and movements as it switches between universes. It's incredible, and it's given the same amount of recognition as Wish simply because they both happen to be animated. The voice actors were not nominated for their work, neither were the producers, sound designers, editors or even the director. The only recognition it can get is "best movie of this selection that we don't really care about but feel compelled to mention".

If you've never really watched an animated film that you thought was really mature and thoughtful, I've got the just the list for you. Personally I recommend Akira, Perfect Blue, Redline, Angel's Egg, Isle of Dogs and Mad God but most of the movies on that list are pretty great.

20 notes · View notes

icedteaandoldlace · 3 months

Text

It started the night of the electrical storm. No one knows exactly where the storm came from or why it ended as abruptly as it started; all Kamilla knows is that one minute, everything was normal, and the next, there were streaks of lightning in all colors lighting up the sky and wreaking havoc all over the city.

And okay, maybe it was stupid to go outside in the middle of it—maybe it was really, really stupid because this is Central City, and the aftereffects of natural and unnatural disasters here are a million times weirder than anywhere else in the world. But as dangerous as this freak lightning storm looked to be, it was also really cool, and even kind of beautiful, in its own way. And Kamilla didn’t want to be a bartender forever, and no one’s ever impressed the editor of National Geographic with their portfolio of senior portraits on railroad tracks, so of course she had to go out to try to get a picture of it and grow her collection of unique and incredible shots. She’s an artist, after all; this is what she does. Photography is practically fused in her DNA.

Of course, it’s not the only thing fused in her DNA—not after that night, anyway. Not after a blue bolt hit the sidewalk just yards away from her, and a dark wave of whatever-it-was rushed over her, knocking her off balance and making her camera smoke and spark, before everything around her went silent.

For a moment, she thought she’d gone deaf. She could see the lightning still flashing, and the people on the streets running for cover, but she couldn’t hear the thunder, the crackling, the footsteps, or the screams anymore. There was no sound anywhere.

The sound of her own breath catching stopped the panic before it could really take hold, but the relief that she felt afterward was quickly replaced with confusion. Her hearing was normal within a very short radius, but everywhere else, it was like she was watching a 3D movie on mute. What’s more, she could sense an odd sort of tingling all around her, like she was surrounded by energy that was in constant motion—rushing, swirling, vibrating—and there was a space where that energy came to a standstill.

A little time spent focusing on that space, and she was able to tell—without really knowing how she could tell—that that space was the same as the space where her hearing range stopped. From there, it didn’t take her long to find that the longer she focused on the edge of her range, the wider that range grew.

“Oh, fuck.”

Coming outside was definitely a stupid idea.

It took some time to figure out how this new ability worked, but now she pretty much has the hang of it. Whatever this omnipresent energy is, it seems kind of like how she imagined the Force, as Obi Wan first explained it to Luke. She can’t control it fully; she can only stop it, either from reaching a certain point, or from moving altogether. She knows that some of the vibrations she feels are sound waves, and she can stop the waves before they reach her ears. This comes in handy at work, whenever a sleazy customer tries to hit on her, a coworker tries to dump their responsibilities on her, or the owner of the place decides to showcase another terrible band. Her coworkers start to joke that she has selective hearing. They have no idea how right they actually are.

Other types of vibrations are trickier to understand. She knows there’s something moving through the atmosphere at all times, and she knows that she can stop it in its tracks, but she doesn’t know where it came from or what its purpose is. She knows she can hold it back so it just vibrates in one place, and when she does that at the farmers market, the fruit flies bothering everyone else can’t pass through the vibration field to buzz her.

She understands now why people say that some people give off bad vibes. This should make reading people’s emotions and intentions easier, but instead it makes some things more confusing. She doesn’t know why she feels a sense of foreboding when she walks into a cute little pawn shop, but it’s strong enough to make her leave without buying anything and never go there again. She doesn’t know why she feels perfectly safe walking past the scary looking guy standing outside her apartment late one night, or why the fact that he lingers and watches her go inside doesn’t give her the creeps. She doesn’t know why the man in the black cap she sees on the subway gives her such a weird feeling—not bad, just different—or why her cell reception suddenly returns the exact moment that feeling leaves. And the day she first sees Cisco Ramon, she feels something unlike anything she’s ever felt before.

Technically it happens before she sees him; she can feel it the moment he walks into the bar, something like a rip current among the usual waves, but it takes her a little while to figure out that it’s him that it’s coming from. It’s only part of the reason why she feels drawn to him; the lustrous, wavy hair, the warmth in his dark eyes, and the fact that he acknowledges her more than anyone else at the bar does (and not in a creepy or contemptuous way), all play a pretty significant part as well.

But then he picks up a piece of the glass that Truck smashed against the bar, and…Kamilla doesn’t know what hits her. Something changes—not for long, but for a few seconds, the vibrations in the bar start moving in all different directions, changing frequencies, and…and she really wishes she understood the science of how this energy works, because she’s no expert, but she’s pretty sure it shouldn’t be possible for it to move that way. She can’t see what it’s doing, but she can sense it, and it is chaotic.

In an instant, everything goes back to normal, and almost immediately after, Cisco throws the glass shard away from him. For one wild second, Kamilla wonders if he felt the energy shift, too—if maybe him holding that piece of glass caused a weird reaction in the universe. But that’s silly—even for Central City, something as simple as a man picking up a piece of glass shouldn’t butterfly-effect a potential cataclysm.

She lets it go, writing it off as a coincidence. But she keeps her eye on him, anyway. He doesn’t appear to be having a good time, and if the hellhole that is Liquid Kitty is just not his kind of scene, he might not ever come back—which would be a shame, because he is such a hottie.

She shoots her shot when the opportunity presents itself, and she finds that he’s sweet and smart and adorably goofy, and he ends up leaving the bar in a better mood. He also leaves with her number.

They begin texting, and Kamilla becomes so taken with Cisco that she almost forgets all about the weird thing that happened with the vibes at the bar. And even though he’s an hour late for their first date and positively radiating with the irregular energy she only feels around him, it doesn’t take long before she starts to feel like she’s falling in love.

One night, she runs into him at Jitters. He’s ordering a lot of espressos for how late it is, and she asks him what’s up.

His answer is vague, just a quick explanation that his team is pulling an all-nighter and he’s providing the fuel, but something is off. It seems a little odd that he’d need to pull an all-nighter now, when the big project he keeps alluding to is already finished. He’s also visibly anxious about something, and not in a rushing-to-meet-a-deadline kind of way.

After a little gentle nudging, he finally comes out with it: someone broke into the lab where he works. The place has been thoroughly trashed, a lot of his equipment destroyed.

It’s clear he doesn’t really want to talk about it with her; he reassures her that everyone is okay and the break-in is being investigated, but he says very little other than that. He just wants to take his coffees and get back to work fixing things up.

Kamilla understands that she needs to just let him have his space. She understands that he needs to deal with this in the way that is best for him, which is apparently to dive right into work with just his team, and to do more than say. She understands that maybe he is capable of talking about it right now, just not with her, because maybe they’re not close enough for that kind of conversation yet. She understands that catching the burglar is a job for the police, and that there really isn’t any meaningful help she can offer him right now. Still, she wants to do something. Telling her as much as he has seems to have made him process the situation a bit more, and now he’s shaking, looking antsier as he waits for the barista to return with his order. She can’t leave him to walk back to his lab alone when he’s like this.

She decides to try something new. Maybe she can’t fix the problem for him and maybe she can’t make his anxiety go away, but if she can get his body to calm down, maybe it’ll be easier for his mind to follow suit. She takes hold of his forearm, causing him to look her in the eyes. She smiles, then she stands on her toes and gently kisses his cheek—distracting him, just in case he can feel it when she steadies the turbulence inside him, causing his muscles to relax.

When she pulls away, he looks at her differently than he ever has before, and when she tells him that she’s there for him if he needs her, he actually smiles.

He leaves with his coffees shortly after, looking much calmer than he was before, and Kamilla smiles to herself. Mission accomplished.

She doesn’t know how Cisco would feel if he learned he was dating a metahuman—because that’s what she is, she’s finally determined; she is a metahuman. Her powers may not be anything spectacular, but she is a metahuman nonetheless. Cisco’s pretty cool about a lot of things, so he probably wouldn’t be bothered by this—if she decides to eventually tell him about it, anyway.

She’s honestly not sure how she feels about it. It doesn’t affect her life in any major way, and if she pleases, she could go her entire life without anyone else ever knowing it. Still, it makes some already uncomfortable comments about metahumans even less fun to hear. At the same time, the majority of the known metahumans don’t do themselves any favors by choosing a life of crime, and she’s not sure she wants to align herself with that kind of crowd. The Flash and the rest of the local heroes are widely regarded as the exceptions, not the rule. But maybe there are more metas quietly living their lives like her—maybe even the true majority of metas are. Would being out and proud about it make it easier for others to do the same, or would it just put her in danger? Would it even make a difference? Does it even matter?

Part of her wants to tell him because he’s a scientist, and maybe he can help her understand how her powers work. And yet another part of her feels like there’s no need to bother. She’s happy, she’s healthy, and while she is unnerved about there being a metahuman serial killer on the loose, she doubts he’ll know to target her. Besides, the Flash and his team can probably handle him, right? They always trump the bad guys and save the day in the end.

Cisco is with Kamilla at the farmers market when she casually brings up the new metahuman cure. She’s pleased that his thoughts on it boil down to being glad that metahumans who don’t want their powers now have the choice to get rid of them. Choice is the keyword here. He doesn’t think metahumans shouldn’t exist, and he doesn’t think they should be forced to take the cure against their will. And at the same time, he doesn’t think they should have to keep their powers if they’d rather live their lives without them. It’s comforting to know that he would support her whether she chose to keep her powers or not (hypothetically, anyway—she still doesn’t know if she wants to tell him about them or if she just wants to keep that information to herself).

He spots a vendor selling tomatillos, and he leaves Kamilla to pay for her mushrooms while he buys the final and most essential ingredient he needs to make his famous Ramon Sauce, which Kamilla is excited about getting to try for the first time tonight.

As the mushroom vendor is handing Kamilla her bag, she hears a creaking sound from above. She turns around, following the sound with her gaze to see one of the big fans on the pavilion ceiling fall—right over the tomatillo stand.

With a gasp, she reaches out and puts all she has into stopping the vibrations over Cisco’s head, her hold on them loose enough not to still them completely, but tight enough to hold them in place.

The fan bounces off the vibration field, crashing into a flower pot display across the aisle and making a huge mess.

Cisco turns suddenly at the noise, startled and confused, but unscathed. The rest of the market quickly becomes abuzz with everyone wanting to know what happened. Some people scurry toward the fallen fan, others away from it, and questions are asked and answers are given. No one looks Kamilla’s way or says anything about her, and even the mushroom vendor, still staring at the ceiling, seems to have been too distracted by the fan itself to notice the way she’s holding out her arm (which she quickly draws back in before anyone can notice).

Kamilla rushes to Cisco’s side, arriving just as the tomatillo vendor is recovering his bearings, though Cisco is still stunned.

“I don’t know how that thing didn’t hit you,” the vendor is saying. “Can’t imagine what would make it land all the way over there, but lucky thing it did!”

Cisco’s breathing deepens. The initial shock appears to be wearing off as he now looks more disconcerted at the knowledge that he was almost taken out by the big hefty thing. He looks around anxiously—for what, Kamilla doesn’t know. It’s almost as if he expects to find the phantom of the farmers market lurking in the shadows and singing about his plan to make some other young engineer the most renowned in the city (okay, so technically Cisco doesn’t hold that title, either—but he does to Kamilla).

“Babe, are you okay?” Kamilla asks, setting a hand on his shoulder.

“I don’t know,” Cisco says bemusedly. “Did you see what happened?”

Kamilla shakes her head. “I missed the whole thing.”

Cisco looks up at the ceiling again, and Kamilla can see the math happening in his head right now. She was never an ace at physics, but even she can tell that the fan’s falling path wouldn’t be possible without interference.

A lady in an apron starting to clean up the mess pulls Cisco’s attention as she rants that she’s been telling the owner of this place that they need to replace those piece-of-junk fans, and maybe now he’ll listen to her. He looks a little reassured by her words (not the work of the phantom of the farmers market after all?), and he finishes buying his tomatillos, though he’s still befuddled about the whole thing.

“I just don’t understand how it ended up hitting the flower pots,” he says as they’re walking out, arm in arm.

“I don’t, either,” Kamilla replies. “But why question a good thing?”

Cisco shrugs. “Yeah, I guess. But it’s so weird—I mean, right before the crash, for a second there it felt like—”

Kamilla’s stomach drops. It shouldn’t be possible for him to have felt the change in the energy. No one else has ever noticed it when she held it still before. For the first time in months, she thinks about the weird phenomenon in the bar the night they met. “It felt like what?”

She must be projecting, because for a split second, Cisco is the one who looks nervous. But his expression looks normal again quickly enough. “Nothing.” He turns to her and smiles. “You’re right. Why question a good thing? I must just have someone up there looking out for me.”

Kamilla smiles back. Or someone down here, she doesn’t say.

She’s starting to think she’s just gonna keep these powers after all. Not that she was too seriously contemplating getting rid of them before, but now, more than a set of pros and cons, she has incentive. She may not be quite superhero material, but if she can keep one person safe with them, that’s worthwhile cause enough—especially if that person is Cisco.

Besides, the Flash and his team can only take care of so much at once. If she doesn’t stop heavy falling objects from flattening her boyfriend, then who will? It’s not like she can speed-dial Vibe.

#The Flash #Kamilla Hwang #Cisco Ramon #Kamisco #posting here because the tags hate my side blog apparently

11 notes · View notes

creative-time · 2 years

Text

The Guardian Interview 2022 (Simplified Bullet List Version Because Its 1 am)

Major Spoilers ahead so read at your own discretion

(They mention the 2019 pilot so I’ll go over that first)

Alright so someone has given me a link to the pdf of this interview, I’m not gonna say who did because I don’t want anyone going after them but they have given me permission to talk about this.

I’m also not going to be linking to this pdf, because tbh I don’t know if that is legal and I’m not taking that chance… but I believe you can find it if you look for it. (For legal reasons this is a joke)

Here are some things that I feel are important takes from this interview

The 2019 Pilot:

Becky Sloan states that Clayhill was “a bit South Park”

Baker Terry adds that they made an attempt to get an element of current affairs, but he whispers it “because it almost sounds like a dirty phrase”

They felt the timelessness and claustrophobia of the originals were missing

So, I guess this means that nearly everything in “The Key to The City” is not going to be present in the tv show, which is a bit sad but I guess is understandable.

They also did not mention if they were ever going to officially release the pilot so we are still on that can of duck organs 🙃

Alright, this next bit is gonna get into the tv show so you have been warned, it does get a little… interesting to say the least.

The TV Show

They wrote this during the pandemic (obviously), over zoom and they felt that is may have helped recapture the oppressive vibe they felt was missing from the Pilot, Joseph states that it was strange writing a show about characters stuck inside while they were also stuck inside, “so maybe there are points where we did actually go insane”

This interview states that Baker does “About 80%” of the voices, and yeah that adds up

Jamie Demetriou, Lolly Adefope and Phil Wang have come on board to voice new characters

Sam Campbell and Natasha Hodgson have joined as writers

Megan Ganz is the story editor

Lolly Adefope is playing an intercom (An intercom character or a character that just so happens to be using the intercom???) and singing a “vocoder-packed pop number about workplace stress management”

Terry says that they have spent their whole adult lives doing this (also adds up)

Just the sentence, “On TV, the homemade ethos remains - which will please fans who have been patiently waiting six years for it to appear.”

Hugo Donkin makes a brief cameo appearance in this interview along with Charlie Perkins

Apparently they went ham on the props, there’s a background prop of a travel pamphlet and inside are felt pictures of holiday locations and that’s actually kinda cute

The trio share a comically large wallet that’s only shown for a second, Joe says there’s gonna be a number and date on the credit card “that no one will notice”

“Everyone’s gone insane of set” -Joseph Pelling

There is a stop-motion area on set where they are working with clay (LETS GOOOO)

… the urinals… are gonna have eyes… and limbs… the urinals are alive and I don’t know how to feel about that tbh…

The prop making area has also been dubbed “The Puppet Hospital”

There’s gonna be a vending machine full of cigarettes and bottles of “Mysterious dark liquid”

Also a robot dog! Hopefully it is wholesome and not bad at all

there is a quiet dark stage dubbed “The Void”

Red and Duck are going to be confused and try to make out felt objects “Through the encroaching gloom”

Josh Elwell is Duck’s Puppeteer and contorted themselves on the floor behind a felt fridge to get out of shot!

Perkins says that bringing in professional puppeteers has added, “so much personality and emotion”

Becky says there’s gonna be scenes with Yellow Guy where the people might cry (what is this a call out post??)

They actually had to stop using real meat for this show and had to use silicon replicas because there was an incident where they used actual beef to fill a “horrible vending machine” and it apparently smelled so bad that crew decided to switch to fakes

Terry’s favorite dhmis theory involves Bosnian Serb war criminal Radovan Karadžić

Becky’s is a huge fan of the “conspiracy-level scrutiny they have attracted”

There is a mention of the Ed Tucker Duck Tree anagram

“They refuse the debunk any of the theories”

The trio says they put a ton of Easter eggs in this show because they know the audience has the appetite for “dissecting things” (yet another callout post)

There is a life-size felt car sitting on stilts, Becky said that the crew dumped the car “in hope that the show’s supersleuths might one day discover its location” (CIPHER HUNT 2 ELECTRIC BOOGALOO)

You’ll apparently have to swim through a swamp to get to the car, but Becky says that people can find it

Joe says that they had to give the characters little desires to fit with the runtime of a tv show, even it the desire was “I don’t want to be in this room anymore”

All the props and puppets are in storage, but the trio hope to exhibit them one day

“At some point, we’ll have built everything in the world out of felt,” says Pelling. Sloan pipes up: “No one can stop us!”

And that’s all I can think of right now, I took me an hour to write this and it’s now 2 am I’m going to bed

#dhmis #don’t hug me i’m scared #dhmis spoilers #the guardian #dhmisspoilers

207 notes · View notes

disneyparksattractionstournament · 5 months

Text

Extinct Disney Parks and Attractions tournament round 1: Group B2

Reminder, you don't have had to experience any of the attractions/experiences to vote! Just read in the info and/or watch the vid,then vote for which you wish you would have experienced more/which sounds cooler!

Videos and propaganda/info dumping under cut

Ice Station Cool: Epcot (1998-2005)

Propaganda:

So Ice Station Cool was just Club Cool but with WAY better theming than either Club Cool versions ! It actually felt like an immersive disney experience, not just a general coke store! Sometimes they had an effect where it was 'snowing' inside/actively putting out ice, and let me tell you, as a kid who grew up with no snow in Texas, that was pure Disney magic xD But the whole theming felt like you were in one of those old polar bear coke commercials! But yet again, they took out all the fun

youtube

Old MK hub/Rose Garden Plaza: Magic Kingdom (1971-2015)

Propaganda:

I get why they had to restructure the hub(for more firework viewing since they added the projections), I still miss the beauty of the old hub! My fav part was the sea serpent topiary! And the rose garden plaza was so beautiful!

youtube

#disney parks #extinct disney parks attractions tournament #poll #polls #tournament poll #round 1 #retired disney #disney world #defunctland #epcot #magic kingdom #rose garden plaza #ice station cool #coke #club cool

5 notes · View notes

marvelousmop · 11 months

Text

Ranking the Songs of Jack the Giant Killer (1962)

Jack the Giant Killer isn't a musical... or at least it shouldn't be. If you haven't heard of it (and I'd assume you haven't), it's one of those fantasy adventure movies with lots of stop-motion puppets like "Jason and the Argonauts" and "The 7th Voyage of Sinbad"... unfortunately, Columbia Pictures saw this similarity and weren't too pleased, threatening to sue the filmmakers.

Their solution to avoid getting sued? Make it a Musical!

No new footage was filmed and boy can you tell. If you saw the musical version without knowing the history, you could probably guess that some of these songs were added in post.

Fortunately, nowadays you can see the non-musical version quite easily (in fact it's up on some of those movie youtube channels and freebie streaming services - it's an alright adventure flick with really good set design and some interesting visuals), but I'm not interested in that. I wanted to see the musical. So I did, and now I just want to talk about the songs, from best to worst.

[Disclaimer: there is no official soundtrack, most of these song titles are just conjecture on my end.]

1) A Spectacle!

youtube

This song has been stuck in my head for days. It is a very ill-fitting ice capade-esque song underscoring an action scene where Jack fights a bunch of monsters... it's also a duet with the main villain (Pendragon) and his henchman, which only serves to make it more bizarre. If you had to listen to any song from this soundtrack, listen to this one, there's a reason it's the only song I could find on youtube without uploading the unlisted clip myself.

2) You Can Do It!

youtube

Picture this: you're near the end of the movie. You think Jack has won, but Pendragon has a trick up his sleeve... in a flash, he raises his red cape, and his form shifts into that of a mighty dragon! Swiftly, he descends upon Jack's ship, ready to take the fight into his own hands in a climactic final battle... and then this song plays. This goofy motivational song better suited for the middle of a musical than the final song.

It has also been stuck in my head for days.

One other confusing thing is that I'm not sure who's meant to be singing this song. Like, it's the same nasally male singing voice used by both Pendragon's henchman (though it can't be him since he has no reason to cheer Jack on) and the Leprechaun (though this song doesn't use the same rhyme scheme the Leprechaun uses, and all his words are accompanied by a jingle which is absent here, so it can't be him either). Maybe it's God?

3) Title Card Song & Coronation Song

These two songs play near the beginning of the movie, with the former also getting a reprise for the end credits. I'm lumping them both together because I couldn't remember what they sound like if you held a gun to my head, though, for the Coronation song, it's quite amusing that they have to hide most of the crowd because it would be very visible that they aren't singing.

4) Just Ask Me

youtube

Quite a boring love song with generic and slightly repetitive lyrics, but what makes this song stand out to me is the editing going on in this scene. You see, the lyrics are barely close to anything the characters are saying, so the editors have to pull out all the stops to make it fit the scene - footage is slowed down, sped up, looped (and it's all very visible thanks to the various background elements) and in the end the woman is still clearly saying something very different to the lyrics. It's honestly like a proto-youtube poop.

5) We Have Failed, Master

youtube

This is where we get into the real good stuff. A keen listener may pick up on the fact that, despite their attempt to make "We have failed, master, we have failed!" into a chorus and the slight rhytmic patter of the henchman's lines, this is very clearly just a normal dialogue scene that has been recklessly converted into a song. Granted, you see this stuff in operas all the time, but it's very bizarre to see in something that's trying to sound like a Rankin Bass musical.

6) To Us

youtube

If you thought the last one was bad, this one is barely trying to sound like a song. There's no clever editing, no rhythm, no chorus, not even a cheeky attempt to add more lyrics while a character is facing away from the camera, it's just a dialogue scene!

Thank you for sticking with me through my inane opinions, and I hope you enjoyed this tour through probably the most bizarrely constructed musical. Credit to this Twitter post for inadvertently informing me of this... masterpiece.

#jack the giant killer #musicals #review #musical theater #Mop's inane ramblings

18 notes · View notes

omg-im-such-a-masochist · 2 years

Text

It Happened Quiet

Pairings: Yandere!Nick Jackson x Reader

Word Count: 1571 words

Warnings: +18, explicit descriptions of murder, violence, emotional trauma, blood and suicide. Read it at your own risk

Editor: @thenightmareismyreality

Thank you to my beloved @theworldofotps for being a beta.

Tag: @theworldofotps , @writtingrose , @letsgivethisonemoreshot @aerynscrichton , @daddyhausen , @damnnhausen , @starwithaheart, @unoficialy-married-to-ace-austin , @sophiewolfheart-blog , @sultryfandoms , @new-zealand-chic , @crowleysqueenofhell , @thealliasylum , @cuzimacomedian , @baysexuality , @josiewrites , @seeingstarks , @sldghmmr , @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch , @whenimakeitshine1234

Eyes blue and hollow

As it rains against their will

Feathers falling out of the pillow

As if time is standing still

“Nick, what the fuck did you do?!” Kenny yelled as his hands covered the large wound across her abdomen “Hold on, okay? The ambulance is on its way” Kenny whispered as he looked into her eyes, that were getting more distant as time went by.

“Oh my God, Nick. Why did you do this?!” Matt gripped Nick's shoulders and tried to push him away from her limp body “Get the hell away from her!” He screamed at his younger brother, using all of his strength to shove him far away from her.

“Don’t” The sharp blade, covered in blood was pressed against Matt’s neck “Do NOT try to take her away from me!” Nick snarled lowly, sharp blue eyes staring intently at his brother as if daring him to do something.

“Matt, I think she’s going into shock” Kenny mumbled once he stared at her lackluster eyes and blue lips “Sweetheart, it’s Kenny. Please talk to me”

I can’t remember much more

But I know it happened quiet

So quiet

Life was slowly fading away from her with each labored breath. Time seemed to stop and everything happened in slow motion, so painfully slow that Matt felt himself taking two steps away from the horrifying scene in front of him. Kenny yelled something that sounded incoherent to Matt’s ears as Nick just stared into nothingness. His fingers played with her hair, twirling the soft strands around his finger. Matt had watched this very same scene so many times before in the past, except now a huge crimson shade stained her bright white tank top as well as his younger brother’s skin.

Words falling out through the window

All that remains is a silent call

Is the earth coloured red?

As I land like a flower on the meadow

Love is wild

Everything around her was dreamlike. The voices were familiar to her ears but they sounded so far away that it was impossible for her to identify who they belonged to. Inside her mind, memories were painted like polaroids - screenshots of the moments worth living again.

Their wedding, their first house, their first pet, the pregnancy plans, the countless trips across the country…sleepless nights where he stood beside her, talking about everything yet nothing at all in a futile attempt to keep her grounded. The stupid jokes and dances, the terrible Muppets impersonations. Everything seemed to flash before her eyes like an old movie until the pictures were consumed by flames.

You fell apart

Like a stone can be broken into sand

A thousand pieces

Spread across a crying land

Nick didn’t know how they got to this point, only that this is what desperation looks like. This was the only thing one who seemed to have lost everything could do. Life is strange, everything is so sudden and unstable. Yesterday there was sun, today there was rain… It’s funny how despair can make you do things you’ve never thought of doing before, and it’s even funnier to see how much despair a person can instill in you just by poisoning you with their love. Now you see, that was the problem. She poisoned him with her love, her smile, her kisses. She offered him everything he could never have: peace of mind, a light heart, constant smiles for no reason, overwhelming feelings of happiness just for having her love and then suddenly she wanted to rip that away from him, leaving him back in the darkness of his previous life. How was he supposed to live like that? Without her? Without her light? How can one survive when each breath they take feels like a burden? How does one manage to live without the only light that brightens their path? The answer is they can’t. So their only salvation is dragging their light into the darkness.

And you can’t remember that day

But you know it happened quiet

So quiet

The interior of the house was a chaotic mess. Blood, along with pieces of broken glass and porcelain covered the hardwood floor, the lighter pieces of furniture were thrown to the ground, the drawer which contained the kitchen knives was trashed and the blades now laid tossed on the kitchen floor.

The contents of her handbag were spread across the living room rug, the suitcase containing all of her clothes was broken and several amounts of cut fabric were strewn from the living room to the backyard where it all took place.

Kenny stared at everything in shock, the feeling of helplessness numbed his emotions as he stared at her deceased body in Nick’s arms. The once so joyful eyes were distant and lacking their usual sparkle as she now stared at the land with semi hooded lifeless eyes. Her blood stained Kenny’s hands, the reminder of his failed attempt of holding the life within her. As haunting as it was to see her in such a state, a part of Kenny felt relieved for her, because at least now she would have some peace. Up to a certain point that’s what her features presented themselves as: ultimate peace. The freedom she yearned for was finally here.

Words falling out through the window

All that remains is a silent call

Is the earth coloured red?

As I land like a flower on the meadow

Love is wild

Matt was nauseous. If it was because of the strong metallic scent of blood, her limp spiritless body or his brother’s brutal action, he didn’t know. Perhaps it was a mixture of everything. He thought about her parents and the effect this would have upon them, the worst fear of any parent would become true. Matt thought about his own parents and how they would react knowing their son had committed the ultimate sin of reaping a life. But more than anything, Matt thought about her and what must’ve gone through her mind as the final seconds of life slowly faded away. What was more disturbing to Matt though was the sense of tranquility that surrounded her and Nick.

Nick was calm in a way Matt had never seen before, it was bothersome to witness someone who just murdered their loved be so apparently unfazed by the current events and its fatal result. But the more Matt stared at him, the more it confused him. Was their tranquility rooted in a twisted form of despair for finally not having to be around each other or was it because they knew the aftermath of not having each other would be devastating to their souls?

Ooh ooh

The sirens of both the police and ambulance resonated faintly in the background. To Nick’s ears they sounded like coyotes in the desert.

Coyotes that were closer and closer to taking away the only thing that truly mattered in his life…her. They would steal her from him and he would never get to have her in his arms ever again. So Nick did the only thing he could do, he held her tighter and buried his face in the crook of her neck, his last attempt of forever imprinting on his mind her scent and the feeling of her soft skin underneath his fingertips. This was their last moment together until the coyotes came to rip her away forever.

Are your dreams as dead as they seem?

All of their pictures distributed across the living room in white portraits were either broken or stained with blood. All were the silent reminder of the once beautiful dream that had resulted into the most horrific nightmare - nothing but a chronicle of a tragedy foretold.

Don’t you speak over my voice

I will return from the shadows

And I’ll bleed in your bed

Turn it red

Like the ground outside your window

The memories of the many laughs they shared in that land seemed to mock them now. Happy moments taunted his loss, reminding Nick of what he could never have again - at least for as long as he lived on this earth.

He never meant to get this far, but despair pushed him down the hill. And now, only one thing could end the pain Nick knew would devastate him once he was no longer able to have her in his arms.

Love is wild

Kenny’s mind processed it all in slow motion. He watched Nick grabbing the knife from the dirt before sliding the blade across his neck.

Matt’s eyes widened and a loud, painful cry left his lips as he ran towards his brother. “No, no, no, no. Nick!”

Matt’s hands covered his brother’s neck in an attempt to stop the bleeding, but from where he stood he could see the cut was too deep “No, Nick. NO!”

Love is wild

Matt’s face appeared blurry in front of Nick’s eyes. He could see the tears sliding down his older brother’s cheeks as a pure sense of peace flooded his emotions. Nick closed his fist around the fabric of her shirt and a small smile covered his lips once he saw her offering her hand to him, silently inviting him to follow her along. And that’s what he did without hesitation, he took her hand and followed her along.

The darkness had found it’s light again.

Love is wild

#nick jackson fanfiction #nick jackson x reader #nick jackson imagine #nick jackson #young bucks imagine #the young bucks #young bucks #masochist writes #Spotify

65 notes · View notes

fatecolossal · 1 year

Text

The Case for Considering TWIN PEAKS: THE RETURN a Long-Form Film

That discourse you dislike is back in style.

“It truly is a film and anybody who would even venture to say otherwise, they’re mistaken.” – Duwayne Dunham, editor for TWIN PEAKS: THE RETURN

“Categorizing TWIN PEAKS S3 as ‘a film’ sits in the same embarrassing school as labeling Ari Aster movies ‘Elevated Horror.’ People so embarrassed to adore something in a medium/genre ‘beneath’ their tastes they have to rewrite definitions to accommodate their own insecurity.” – viral tweet by A.B. Allen

With TWIN PEAKS: THE RETURN being ranked #152 in the extended version of Sight and Sound's prestigious poll of "The Greatest Films of All Time" released a couple weeks ago, the old debate over whether it is ever appropriate to consider TP:TR a film, first begun after the work’s original release in 2017, surfaced for one more iteration. Although it is a small-stakes debate, seemingly only of importance for list-making, media beat assignments, and comparative academic analyses, it has proven to stir up some spirited opinions (and jokes). As in previous iterations of the discourse, many have expressed their difficulty at conceiving of TP:TR as anything other than a TV show. And it is easy to understand why the thought of TP:TR as a film strikes so many as preposterous:

It aired in weekly installments, usually about an hour or so long, and many of which ended in similar fashion, with a musical performance at the Roadhouse.

The communal experience, in the summer of 2017, of participating in weekly discussions about each new installment was quintessentially one associates with TV.

TP:TR’s length, at nearly 16.5 hours, far exceeds that of traditional feature films.

And more generally, there is a tendency at times for some to conflate the medium of TV with the formal artistic genre of TV shows, meaning that most things released on TV will have an uphill battle being considered anything other than (or in addition to) a TV show.

Yet there are also strong reasons for considering TP:TR to be a film, reasons that its lead-creatives pointed to after the work’s initial release as examples of how very different it was from TWIN PEAKS’ two TV seasons in 1990-91, and much more similar to their previous experiences working in film. For instance:

Notwithstanding the fact that TP:TR was broken into smaller segments for weekly airings, episodic form is of almost no importance to its structure, which was built as one long, continuous narrative.

Likewise, its production processes were focused on one single entity, the work as a whole, rather than being segmented into individual productions for each episode.

And it was entirely directed by the same person, and jointly written by the same two people, points that (along with the single production process) make it natural to attribute to it a unitary authorship more typically associated with films than episodic TV.

While it is true that TP:TR is not unique among works airing on TV (or streaming) in possessing these qualities, all this seemingly demonstrates is that other works face the same issues of category confusion; to the extent that it is determined reasonable for TP:TR to be considered a film and eligible for inclusion in film rankings like the Sight and Sound list, then these other works should likewise be eligible. While in practice it may often regrettably be the case that the only long TV works that end up being classified as a film are those “directed by people who are already beloved in the film world” (a concern expressed by critic Emily St. James), the remedy should seemingly just be an advocacy for more long TV works to be classified as film, using a more coherent, uniformly applied concept of formal artistic genres.

Given that the respected lead-creatives of TP:TR, veterans of both TV and motion pictures, have expressed at some length the above straightforward reasons for considering the work to be a film, one might have expected their reasoning to be at least acknowledged in the long-running online conversation on the issue. And yet, to read the back and forth over this on Twitter, one could hardly be blamed for concluding that the only real proponents of considering TP:TR a film are either snobs, trolls, or just wildly illogical—an outlook epitomized by the A.B. Allen thread quoted above, and by these other representative tweets:

(1). Snobs

(2). Trolls

(3). Wildly illogical

While I imagine that there are many reasons for this disconnect, I expect that it’s at least partly because, of the TP:TR creatives who have expressed a viewpoint on this, only David Lynch’s views seem to have been widely circulated, and people seem to be very willing either to dismiss his views as the illogical pique of a kooky individualist, or to suggest that he is driven by a snobbish view of TV (as critic Matt Zoller Seitz put it: “I think some part of him still feels that TV is a step down, no matter how much success he's had in it, and despite all he's done to expand its language”). It’s a shame that only Lynch’s brief remarks seem to have at all been paid heed, since other TP:TR creatives besides Lynch have been much more expansive in their remarks on the issue.

Episodic Segmentation vs Continuous Narrative

Take Duwayne Dunham, for instance. The editor of TP:TR, and a longtime veteran of both TV and film, Dunham stresses that its airing on TV has nothing to do with whether it should be considered a film (“television per se, it’s just the medium, Showtime”), and is adamant on one point: unlike the two seasons of TWIN PEAKS that aired in 1990-91, TP:TR was made with almost no attention to forming coherent and satisfying episodic units—a central aspect of how TV shows, as a unique art form, are often defined. “It wasn’t constructed or wasn’t written in that way (as television), it wasn’t shot that way, and it wasn’t cut that way. It was cut to be continuous.... [I]f you cut the titles off in-between episodes and just started with Parts 1 and 2, which came out as the pilot and you put them all together, you would not miss a thing. That’s how it was constructed.” This is, at least in part, why the show’s creators often refer to its individual segments as “Parts,” rather than the traditional “episode” nomenclature used for self-contained installments of (even serial) TV shows. While some critics have rolled their eyes at this terminological flourish, it is nonetheless based in something concrete. Mark Frost, co-writer of TP:TR (and co-creator of TWIN PEAKS), has confirmed that no thought was given to episodic composition during the writing process: “we just wrote as much as we felt needed to be written. We didn’t even think about it in terms of episodes.”

Although TV critics like Emily St. James have argued that each Part of TP:TR “has a rough episodic structure that helps viewers distinguish one from the other,” one of the only details I’ve seen anyone provide in support of this sort of claim is the basic fact that many of the Parts close with a band performing at The Roadhouse, thus providing evidence of intentional episodic design. As Matt Zoller Seitz writes: “Every episode runs an hour. There's usually a musical number at the end. The thing is very structured. As a TV series.”

Granted, the fact that 11 of the 18 hour-or-so-long Parts end with a band performance at The Roadhouse does at least demonstrate that the choices about how to split TP:TR up into parts were not made exclusively by throwing darts at a dartboard. Yet it hardly undercuts the insistence by Duwayne Dunham and Mark Frost that virtually no thought was dedicated to episodic structure or episodic content in the writing and editing of TP:TR. In other words, all it shows is that TP:TR, despite having been created as a single continuous narrative, was cut into roughly equal hour-long parts to satisfy TV programming needs, with Roadhouse performances slapped at the end of some of the Parts.

(I should add one additional caveat to the above statement that “virtually no thought was dedicated to episodic structure” in the construction of TP:TR. While I do not think this at all undercuts the main point, I think it fair to note that there is at least some evidence suggesting that David Lynch, in line with his long-time obsession with numerology, arranged at least a handful of narrative events in TP:TR such that they fall in specific Part numbers. For example, in Part 3, Cooper finds himself in a strange structure, in a world with a vast purple ocean, where he is faced with two differently numbered electrical outlets: “3” and “15,” matching his Great Northern room number 315. In Part 3 we see him enter the “3” outlet and become Dougie. Later, in Part 15, we see him start the process of exiting his life as Dougie by sticking a fork in a household electrical outlet. It is possible, if not most likely, that these numerical alignments are not coincidental. It is also possible that other examples exist: for example, the Log Lady’s declaration that “Laura is the One” falls in Part 10, a number that elsewhere in TP:TR Lynch’s character Gordon Cole highlights as the key “number of completion.” Yet these types of numerical alignments, to the extent they are intentional, can hardly be called typical of episodic TV series; instead, they are the product of a highly idiosyncratic artist.)

The Example of Part 8

Dunham points to the opening of Part 8 as something demonstrating TP:TR’s lack of concern with traditional TV-episodic form. “I think Part 8 does open with Cooper and Ray just driving along the road forever. A very, very, very slow opening and that’s not how traditional TV would ever open.... Nobody opens like that. You usually have an active opening and a super active ending, but that’s what I’m saying. They were never constructed to be anything other than a continuous narrative.” While I think Dunham overstates the matter (some TV series, like certain episodes of BETTER CALL SAUL, do in fact open that slowly), his general point about the odd structure of Part 8 is worth considering further.

In contrast to Dunham’s belief that the structure of Part 8 helps demonstrate why TP:TR is like a film, I’ve seen multiple instances online of people arguing that Part 8 exemplifies why TP:TR is structurally more like a traditional TV show. For example, Matt Zoller Seitz has written: “The power of ep eight of TP:TR comes from the filmmaking, but also from the break in continuity it represents from the rest of this great series.” And A.B. Allen, in the same viral thread quoted at the top of this post, writes: “This is so far beyond cringe inducing. THE RETURN doesn’t even behave like a movie. That widely acclaimed eighth hour is only as effective as it is *because* of how it sits within a season of TV. Ignoring that this is a series undermines the most interesting things about it.”

What I think these arguments overlook is that Part 8 *does not* merely consist of its widely acclaimed segment, the 40 minutes that begin with the Trinity nuclear test and end with the broadcast of the Woodsman’s dark poem. If it did only consist of those 40 minutes, then perhaps one could rightly argue, as Seitz and Allen seem to, that it shows how an episodic design at a constitutive level—often considered a hallmark of TV shows—is central to the delivery of TP:TR’s themes and story, with particular episodes dedicated to particular themes and story arcs, and intended to contrast and complement other episodes in specific ways. To the contrary, though, Part 8 begins with a full 10 minutes of other material that pick up the main storyline right where Part 7 left off, with Mr. C (Cooper’s doppelganger) fresh out of prison and driving with Ray along the highway; a musical performance by NIN acts as a palate cleanser of sorts before the final 40-minute segment commences. While one can draw a very loose connection between those first 10 minutes and the final 40 minutes—BOB and the Woodsmen make appearances in both, and both are generally dark in tone (although the Senorita Dido segment of the final 40 minutes is beautiful and hopeful)—there is no strong connection between the two segments in either theme or story, and presumably one could draw similarly loose connections between the final 40 minutes and almost any other 10 minutes of TP:TR’s narrative that might have been placed at the beginning instead.

The “break in continuity” those acclaimed 40 minutes represent, then, is not one between consciously-constructed TV episodes, but one between components of TP:TR’s long narrative. And such breaks in narrative continuity are not uncommon in films—e.g., think of the breaks in MULHOLLAND DRIVE, BARBARIAN, PSYCHO, FIRE WALK WITH ME... others can surely come up with even better examples. Part 8 may stand out because it contains that bravura segment, but nothing about the design or placement of the segment indicates that episodic structure, per se, is critical to the way TP:TR’s narrative plays out. If anything, it shows the opposite: that episodic structure is mostly *unimportant* to TP:TR.

Like Dunham, Sabrina Sutherland, the Executive Producer of TP:TR, has emphasized how radically different the process for making TP:TR was from the process for making the two seasons that aired in 1990-91. “[It] was run completely differently from the original. There was only one director. We shot this like a giant film. We shot everything before we edited everything before we mixed everything before we color-timed everything. It was a completely different process and completely different feeling. This was not TV in the usual sense.” While she has acknowledged that some of these production aspects have been becoming more popular in TV production (“I guess in this day, cross-boarding (where multiple episodes are shot at once) and having one director for multiple episodes is not unusual”), she notes that the degree to which TP:TR used these aspects is somewhat unusual (“We just took it a step further and had all 18 hours cross-boarded”), and that it starkly contrasts with the more traditional TV-production approach that was ubiquitous when the two seasons in 1990-91 aired (“This is something quite contrary to television from years ago”).

Filming Every Page of a Novel

While Dunham and Sutherland’s remarks focus on the aspects of TP:TR that make it more like a film than a TV show as traditionally understood, David Lynch and Mark Frost, the two co-creators of TWIN PEAKS, have expressed views that seem to focus more on the blurring of traditional categories represented by TP:TR. Frost, who originally made his name working as a writer and story editor on several seasons of the acclaimed 80s TV drama HILL STREET BLUES, has expressed that he “[doesn’t] necessarily think this is a TV show or a movie.” Instead, given its lack of episodic structure, on the one hand (making it unlike a TV show), as well as its extreme length, on the other (making it unlike a film), he compares it to “filming every page of a novel”—an art form in which he also is well-versed, having written several novels. (He adds that novels “have the the luxury of beginning more slowly... It is not, ‘You have to grad the audience by the throat in the first 35 seconds or you’ve lost them.’”) While the comparison to a novel may strike TV critics as another well-worn cliché used by TV showrunners in discussing the storytelling ambitions of their show, the types of TP:TR’s departures from traditional-TV enumerated by Frost, Dunham, and Sutherland suggest that Frost’s embrace of the “filmed-novel” moniker is actually built upon a more substantive grounding.

Notwithstanding his practice of calling TP:TR "an 18-hour movie," Lynch, for his part, has expressed that the distinctions are somewhat meaningless to him. "Television and cinema to me are exactly the same thing," Lynch has said. "Telling a story with motion, pictures and sound. It ended up being 18 hours." The creative processes, to him, are very similar. "It’s the same thing. You get ideas and you try to stay true to the idea as you translate it to cinema, and back then I saw the pilot as a film and now it’s the same thing. It’s a film. It’s just shown in parts." Contrary to characterizations of him as an anti-TV snob, then, he’s he's not elevating "film" over "television" in these quotes; he's just equating them. In fact, if anything, his quotes in recent years have elevated TV over film: "Television is way more interesting than cinema now. It seems like the art-house has gone to cable." (While he has expressed a preference for theatrical release over home viewing, it is clear that this stems merely from his fixation on the importance of high, immersive sound and picture quality to a viewers’ experience.)

TV, The Medium

These Lynch quotes on TV versus film are illustrative of a phenomenon that has plagued these types of discussions: they elide the differences between TV, as a medium, and TV shows, as an art form. That not everything that airs on TV is a “TV show,” nobody seems to dispute; people seem to have little problem acknowledging (in most cases, at least) that movies do not become “TV shows” simply because their first (or primary) release occurs on television or streaming services. Yet aside from these clear-cut instances of films on TV, there is a tendency for almost everything else that airs on television to be lumped together into an amorphous pile and labeled as a “TV show.” Looking at the “best TV show” lists compiled by major outlets from the past several years, one finds works structured in all manner of forms; from the standalone-anthology-installments of BLACK MIRROR, to the small-sketch-based KEY & PEELE, to talk and variety shows like THE DAILY SHOW, to the short and uniformly-produced FLEABAG (whose seasons, as a whole, have shorter running times than many of the films on the Sight and Sound list), to mostly non-serialized episodic shows like THE SIMPSONS, to the now more-ubiquitous serialized episodic shows like BETTER CALL SAUL.

What do all of these works have in common, apart from airing in segments on television or streaming services? Very little. The mere fact that a work has been cut up into smaller units—absent anything further—does not seem as if it should be significant in itself for purposes of classifying its artistic form. Indeed, anything can be cut up into pieces (as is often pointed out, many classic novels were originally released serially). The important question in this regard is seemingly whether a segmented structure is important to a work’s goals, to its design, to its identity; and if so, then how so. Yet even among TV critics, the fact of works’ original release in the medium of TV is often held to be more salient for purposes of comparative analysis than the formal artistic (sub)genres of those works airing on TV, of which there are seemingly multiple widely divergent ones, as seen above.

Indeed, the term “TV show” itself does not seem to reflect a coherent formal artistic genre, but rather merely to be an expression of a work’s existence in the medium of TV. Part of the conflict over TP:TR’s categorization seems to stem from Sight and Sound (and possibly other film-world lists, like those of Cahiers du Cinéma) making rankings apparently based on formal artistic genre, whereas many of the TV critics’ big-tent rankings seem to be based more just on the medium of TV. There are valid reasons for taking either approach, but we should be clear that comparisons of the two are not apples-to-apples, criteria-wise.

Unitary Authorship, or Auteurism

Apart from the issue of segmentation, and how a work utilizes it in both its structure and its production processes, one of the other main factors people seem to sometimes employ in assessing how a work like TP:TR should be categorized is the extent to which it has unitary authorship, or what we might call its degree of auteurism. The works on the Sight and Sound list of the “greatest films” all (as far as I know) are directed & written, in their entirety, by a single person or set of people, something that distinguishes them from TV shows where each individual installment is typically written and directed by different people than the next installment. (I realize that “auteurism” is typically used in film writing to refer specifically to the work of directors, but given the elevated status often accorded writers over directors in the world of TV shows, I use the term here to jointly refer to director(s) and writer(s) on a work, and acknowledge the problematic aspects of assigning sole authorship to one or two people out of the dozens or hundreds of artists & craftspeople who contribute on any given motion picture.) Here, unlike the two seasons that aired in 1990-91 (and the majority of TV shows), TP:TR is more like the films on the Sight and Sound list, insofar as it is entirely directed by Lynch and entirely jointly written by Lynch & Frost.

Comparing TP:TR to something like THE SOPRANOS, one of the consensus greatest TV shows of all time, is perhaps instructive. TP:TR differs from THE SOPRANOS on three of the major fronts we’ve been discussing: (a) unlike THE SOPRANOS, episodic form is of little importance to TP:TR’s structure; (b) likewise, its production processes were focused on one single entity, the work as a whole, rather than being segmented into individual productions for each episode; and (c) it was entirely directed by the same person, and jointly written by the same two people. Even so, TP:TR is similar to THE SOPRANOS on two major fronts: it is much longer (at ~16.5 hours) than a typical film, and its narrative builds on earlier seasons of a TV show.

Are these two factors—length, and what might be termed narrative contingency, i.e., a story that builds on top of prior installments—sufficient to make it inappropriate to consider TP:TR a film?

Narrative Contingency

Addressing the issue of narrative contingency first: it’s not uncommon for works widely considered films to have some degree of narrative contingency as well. Sequels exist, for one thing; to use an obvious example, THE GODFATHER PART II, #104 in the Sight and Sound ranking, has a story every bit as contingent on previous work as TP:TR. To be fair, the Sight and Sound rankings have, over time, differed in how they have treated sequel films. Starting in 2012, a rule change was implemented that prevented ballots from counting the Godfather film series as a single choice, with an explanation provided that this was being done “since they were made as two separate films.” Note that even prior to 2012, though, the Sight and Sound lists did not reject the Godfather works as “film”; rather, they merely considered them to be one single film, rather than multiple ones, notwithstanding their segmented nature. (However, the choice to consider only parts I and II, specifically excluding the third installment, as a single film ranking #4 on the 2002 list, seems dubious.)

Even some non-sequel films, such as adaptations, those based in true stories, and heavily allusive works, often build upon a preexisting knowledge base expected to be shared by viewers; and every work, to some extent, is created against an assumed backdrop of viewers’ knowledge of society, and of other works in the same genre. Most relevantly for the purposes of classifying TP:TR, consider the film TWIN PEAKS: FIRE WALK WITH ME: it is this work, not the two TV seasons from 1990-91, that acts as the immediate predecessor in release to TP:TR. Notwithstanding FWWM’s relative narrative contingency on those two TV seasons (even though it is mostly a prequel, it is generally recommended to watch those two TV seasons first, given that its story draws significant resonance from its relation to those other works), it is not considered very controversial to call FWWM a film, and its #211 ranking on the Sight and Sound list has drawn little objection on that front.

Media organizations engaging in critical TV show rankings have taken conflicting approaches to classifying TP:TR’s relation to the TWIN PEAKS works from the 90s. For example, the 2021 BBC Culture ranking of “the greatest TV series of the 21 Century,” based upon a poll of 206 “TV experts - critics, journalists, academics, and industry figures,” limited its list to series that began in or after the year 2000. As such, THE SOPRANOS, whose first series premiered in 1999, was excluded from the list, despite the bulk of its episodes airing in or after 2000. Curiously, however, TP:TR was allowed on the list, and ranked #13; presumably, if one views TP:TR as the third season of a single TV show rather than a standalone entity, then it should have been disqualified from the list, like THE SOPRANOS.

(By similar logic, one can argue that TP:TR should not have been permitted in the “Limited Series” categories at the 2018 Emmy Awards, as the Emmys defines a Limited Series as a “complete, non-recurring story.” It mattered little, though, as—in slates that typify the ungainly mess that is TV categorization—Lynch’s work on the entirety of TP:TR lost the Limited Series or Movie directing Emmy to Ryan Murphy’s work on a single episode of THE ASSASSINATION OF GIANNI VERSACE: AMERICAN CRIME STORY, and Lynch and Frost’s work on the entirety of TP:TR lost the Limited Series or Movie writing Emmy to Charlie Brooker and William Bridges’ work on USS CALLISTER, a 76-minute episode of BLACK MIRROR that was classified at the Emmys as a TV Movie. Meanwhile, TP:TR failed to even get a nomination in the overall Outstanding Limited Series category for which it was submitted, being edged by GENIUS: PICASSO, GODLESS, THE ALIENIST, PATRICK MELROSE, and the winner, Murphy’s ...VERSACE....)

Like the BBC Culture ranking, the Dec. 2019 Rolling Stone list of the “50 Best TV Shows of the 2010s” treated TP:TR as a standalone work, ranking it #14; again, if it had been considered the third season of a TV series, it should have been excluded from the list, this time due to the list’s stated rules that, to qualify, the “majority of [a show’s] episodes had to have aired in this decade.” By contrast, the 2022 Rolling Stone list of the “100 Greatest TV Shows of All Time” grouped TP:TR in with the 1990-91 seasons of TWIN PEAKS and considered them a single, three-season show, ranking it #16. FWWM was excluded from this grouping, a choice that also shows the disorderliness of these types of TV-based categorizations, given the fact that FWWM is at least as connected to the narrative of the 1990-91 seasons of TWIN PEAKS as TP:TR is (and arguably more so, given that its production followed sequentially the year after the second season completed).

Does Size Matter?

As to the issue of length, it’s worth noting the diversity of “film”-sizes that have appeared in the Sight and Sound rankings: not only other longer works, like OUT 1 (720 minutes, #169 in 2022) and BERLIN ALEXANDERPLATZ (894 minutes, #202 in 2012), but also short films like MESHES OF THE AFTERNOON (14 minutes, #16 in 2022) and UN CHIEN ANDALOU (21 minutes, #169 in 2022). TP:TR thus fits squarely within the broad, length-insensitive definition of “film” reflected in the Sight and Sound list.

It is fair to note the ways in which a 1000 minute film offers much greater chances for character, thematic, and story development than a 100 minute film, and the ways that a 1000 minute running time also presents different challenges as to how the work might be cohesively structured than a 100 minute running time. Similarly, though, one might equally note the myriad ways in which a 10 minute film presents very different opportunities for (and challenges to) structure and development than a 100 minute film.

Yet the appearance of the 14 minute MESHES... at #16 on the Sight and Sound list has kicked up nowhere near the fuss of the appearance of the nearly 1000 minute TP:TR at #152. One does not see viral Twitter threads painting those who included MESHES... on their Sight and Sound ballots as “people so embarrassed to adore [short films] they have to rewrite definitions to accommodate their own insecurity.” While one might argue that the comparison is inapposite, since “short films” are by their very name “films,” this seems mere verbal contrivance; the substantive issues remain.

Nor do I think it persuasive to argue, as many have, that the thing that separates TP:TR from true “films” (yet would not similarly distinguish short films) is that one cannot watch it in one sitting. First of all, as a mere technical matter, this is not true. While watching literally in one unbroken viewing is challenging (albeit doable), this is usually not the standard we hold and film or even TV shows to, given that bathroom breaks and the like are common for anything. And, at any rate, a number of fans have discussed their marathon single-day viewing sessions of TP:TR, encouraged by things like Showtime’s occasional marathon airings of the entirety of TP:TR on one of their channels. More importantly, “number of viewing sessions required to finish” seems like a pointless way to define a formal artistic genre, and one that rings particularly hollow given the rising prevalence of film lovers streaming movies at home in segments over the course of two or more days. (For example, after its 2019 release on Netflix many people online discussed watching THE IRISHMAN’s 3.5 hour running time over three or more viewing sessions, a breakdown that at least superficially matches MoMA’s theatrical airing of the entirety of TP:TR over the course of three segments on Fri/Sat/Sun in 2018.) Speaking from my own personal experience, the majority of films I've watched in the last three years have been at home, viewed in multiple sessions over the span of two or more days.

A TV Long-Form Film

Notwithstanding the above considerations, I do think it is fair to say, per Mark Frost’s quotes about TP:TR’s novelistic qualities, that the length of a work affects its artistic possibilities, a point reflected in the literary distinction between novels, short stories, and novellas. It therefore seems reasonable to question the appropriateness of classifying filmed works of drastically different lengths in the same formal artistic (sub)genre. Even if one declares TP:TR to be something other than a traditional feature film, though, the upshot is not that TP:TR should be considered a serialized TV show like THE SOPRANOS. After all, the major distinctions between the two works, as discussed earlier, still remain. Rather, it would seem more appropriate to create a new moniker – long-form film, perhaps, as opposed to feature films and short films. Given their length, these long-form films will usually air first, or only, on TV or streaming; this does not thereby convert them into a serialized TV show, but it does make it fair to call them a type of TV film (referencing their use of the medium of TV). Moreover, I think a recognition of the qualities that make it natural to think of long-form films as a formal artistic subgenre of films themselves might yield a surprising conclusion: it would actually be demeaning to and snobbish towards the medium of television for prestigious lists like Sight and Sound to NOT recognize works like TP:TR as films, merely because they air on TV.

Long-form films could possibly be defined as follows: (a) unitary authorship, i.e., their being wholly written and directed at each and every step by the same person or small set of people; (b) a non-episodic narrative (thus something like DEKALOG, with its sharply episodic, anthology-like narrative, would not qualify), where being broken into installments for the purposes of airing is not disqualifying in and of itself; and (c) a length substantially longer than a typical feature-length film – to pick a specific limit, let’s say at least 4.5 hours long, which would exclude most of the longest theatrically released feature-length films (like A BRIGHTER SUMMER DAY, at 3 hours 57m). Some may wish to loosen these criteria; it’s worth noting that of the three works Emily St. James highlighted in 2017 as having similar degrees of auteurism to TP:TR (BETTER THINGS, THE YOUNG POPE, and TOP OF THE LAKE: CHINA GIRL), none of them meet these three criteria as stated. A more fulsome attempt to analyze the growing film-like aspects of long works airing on TV and streaming would need to grapple with these examples, as well as numerous others, such as CARLOS, TOO OLD TO DIE YOUNG, RIGET, and THE KNICK.

As boundaries continue to blur, hopefully film awards and rankings like the Oscars will, following the lead of the Sight and Sound list, open eligibility to long-form films, perhaps in their own category. As is, the Oscars limits many awards to films released in the medium of theatrical screenings, but it permits short films to qualify by screening at a “recognized” film festival, a type of hoop-jumping that feels needlessly arbitrary in a world where anyone can watch almost anything, at any time, at home.

There is no way to get rid of the inherent messiness of any attempts at categorization. (For example, some movies display elements of episodic structure: PULP FICTION, for example. Curiously, PULP FICTION is the same length as FLEABAG Series 2; both are broken up episodically; and both have unitary authorship. The prime formal differences are just that FLEABAG aired on TV, and has some narrative contingency on a previous series. Basically, though, there is a strong case for them belonging in the same formal artistic genre.) Lines will inevitably be blurred, works will inevitably straddle categories. And that’s fine. There needn’t be a binary between individual categories—it should be fair to use multiple categorical terms to apply to a single work, to the extent it exhibits such varying characteristics.

And at least one of the categories that should apply to TP:TR is that of a film. A long-form film, airing on TV.

POSTSCRIPT: I'd like to add a note of regret concerning a tossed-off tweet of mine on this topic, which you can see below, that received a moderate amount of attention on Twitter. (1) It uses a broad brush to seemingly paint as whiny all TV critics who objected to TP:TR's classification as a film, which is neither kind nor accurate; in fact, a number of critics, including some quoted in this piece, set forth thoughtful and principled analyses which carefully considered the reasons and ambiguities of the situation. (2) It also flippantly uses a broad brush in critiquing the reception of TP:TR by TV critics, when in fact it was broadly praised and championed by numerous TV critics, including those quoted in this piece. While I do take issue with the ways some critics addressed TP:TR, I regret making such unfair, broad generalizations.

#twin peaks #sight and sound #david lynch #mark frost #twin peaks: the return #tv criticism #film criticism #long-form film

7 notes · View notes

brian-in-finance · 2 years

Text

The Academy Invites 397 New Members for 2022: See the Full List

The invitations have been sent!

The Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences is extending invitations to 397 distinguished artists and executives to join the organization in 2022. Membership selection is based on professional qualifications, with an ongoing commitment to representation, inclusion and equity. This year's class of invitees includes 71 Oscar nominees, including 15 winners.

Invitees from Branagh’s Belfast

Caitríona Balfe and Jamie Dornan Actors

Simon Chase Sound Supervisor

Úna Ní Dhanghaíle Film Editor

Denise Yarde Production Sound Mixer

Wakana Yoshihara Hair & Makeup Designer

Remember the Academy’s Class of 2022?

Photos: Ma & Pa: Rob Youngson/Focus Features • Jamie & Caitríona: Curtis Buchanan/Chanel & Charles Finch • Caitríona, Jamie, Denise, Wakana: Getty Images • Simon: Focus Features video edit • Úna: IFTA

#Tait rhymes with hat #Good times #Academy of Motion Pictures Arts and Sciences #New member invitations #Class of 2022 #Thanks sunsetmagic85 #Thanks castlemaine123

14 notes · View notes

awardswatcherik · 4 months

Text

Motion Picture Sound Editors (MPSE) Golden Reel Nominations: 'Barbie,' 'Oppenheimer,' 'Maestro' Lead

View On WordPress

#barbie #ferrari #maestro #motion picture sound editors #mpse #napoleon #oppenheimer #spider-man: across the spider-verse

0 notes

dickfics69 · 1 year

Text

Emotional Motion Sickness | Part 7

AO3

Summary: Daryl gets sick before a supply run, and denies it vehemently. He is a big tantrum baby. Rick is constantly worried and drama ensures.

Chapter summary: Daryl and Peri's POV. There is a lot of Daryl hurt and angst in this one, he's really going through it mentally

Content warning: adult language, sickfic, mess, snot, bodily functions, hurt/comfort, vivid nightmares, adult content, 18+ for eventual smut (still deciding hehe), original character\

Words: 5k ish

My personal Daryl playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2PrdzgwtCiUgwDLLBy5C4g?si=c83773b44c964bb1

TY to @dumbslxtclub for being my editor

Chapter 7: To build a home

Daryl felt putrid. His head throbbing, and a crimson nose on fire. Breathing was hard and painful. Febrile sweat matted his hair and his body shook with infection. Any miniscule relief that the man had felt before was quickly whisked away with the fiasco down by the truck. God, Daryl was mad about that. And guilty. He’d fucked it all up because of course he did. Tears were threatening to pool in his azure eyes, but he was so exhausted that he could barely keep them open. Then, of course, he was paired off with the one member of the group that seemed set out on irritating him to death. It was painfully obvious that Daryl Dixon was barely holding it together.

He opened the door to the first room he came across, uncharacteristically showing no concern for any traps that may await him. Maybe it was a little fuck you to Rick. Or maybe the sickly man just didn’t care about today anymore. A dusty haze of pale pink washed around him. Daryl had landed in a nursery, completely untouched by the lunacy of the rest of the dwelling. An antique rocking chair sat in the corner of the space, next to a wooden crib that was becoming a home for spiderwebs and dust. Piles of laundry were spotted around the room in neat piles, waiting patiently to be sorted or worn. Daryl felt a strange tug in his chest. He stood in the middle of the room, solemnly taking in the surroundings when the door behind him creaked open again.

“Hey Daryl, you good?”

“Yeah.” The hunter tried to stop himself from sounding irritated, but in his state it was a hard task. “Ya dond’t have to be here, we cand look for shit separately.”

“Yeah I know, but this house is whack so we should probably stick together for now, yeah?’”

“Hmpht.” Daryl grunted in weak agreement. He settled on the far side of the room and Peri placed herself by a small chest of drawers.

“Tony?”

“Wha?”

“Is that your middle name?”

“Ndah - and we aind’t doin’ that! Jus’ shuddup and look quietly.”

Daryl stepped over to the wooden crib, running a calloused hand along the chipped varnish. The phantom baby girl hadn't lay here for a long time. He looked up at the sad dilapidated mobile that hung above the resting place. A menagerie of spider-webbed little birds moving around together in the October wind. He leaned forward and adjusted his eyes to a small nameplate that sat slightly crooked on the wall. E M M A. Daryl traced a finger over indented letters, trying to picture the baby girl, Emma, that once slept here. Played here. Laughed here. A chubby little Judith popped into his mind and a weak smile spread across his face. Such innocence in a fucked up world.

“You ever seen one?” Peri’s melodic voice rang through the room, obvious that she’d been watching the man reminiscing.

“One what?”

“You know… a baby.” She paused trying to find her words. “An infected baby.”

The question weighed heavily in Daryl's mind. The pleasant images of his Judith being quickly erased away and replaced with the nightmarish visions from his dreams. Gurgling lumps of flesh in infantile form. He shook his head viciously, trying to rid himself of the new images that plagued him, but as always, the traumatic ones lingered.

“Ndah.” He responded weakly. A silence fell heavy over the two, the atmosphere thick with discomfort and melancholy.

“I have.” Peri admitted after a while. Daryl said nothing but turned to face the woman, bringing his blue eyes up to make contact with her hazel ones. “I was just starting my placement at Piedmont Atlanta hospital. I went in on the Thursday morning and everything was fine. By the afternoon everything had gone to complete shit. When the generators were turned off, the paediatric ventilators failed and they all died. But then they came back…” Her vision had drifted towards the crooked floorboards, catatonic to the images she was reliving.

“Mb’sorry.”

“Yeah…”

“So, like you a doctor or sombe shit?” The familiar friend of guilt made a home in Daryl’s stomach for what felt like the fiftieth time that day. He was ashamed that he didn’t know the history of Peri…Peri…fuck! What was her last name??? Daryl had made an effort to get to know the new arrivals from Woodbury but then the weird fucking pig flu happened. And then they ran out of supplies. And Rick happened…Shit, had he really lost that much focus? ‘You’re so fucking selfish you know that?’

“...Yeah, or some shit.” She glanced up at the hunter briefly with eyes that were pleading for respite. Pleading to tell the tale long forgotten by the misery of the world. He gave her a weak nod to continue. Maybe such a conversation would distract the sickly man from his plethora of ailing symptoms.

“So I never actually graduated from uni…I mean university…I mean college!” She corrected herself, forgetting the country she was in.

“I kndow what a undiversity is, dumbass…”

“Right, okay. So yeah, my school offered a placement program overseas and I’d never been to America so of course I said yes, and here we are.”

“So you aind’t a full doctor?”

“Ahh, not really no. Bob gave me a copy of the Grey’s Anatomy textbook though, so I've been boning up a bit.” She huffed and small laugh redirected her attention to the pile of baby clothes in front of her, trying to find some onesies that would fit the ever growing Judith.

“Well…er…thanks. I didnd’t know that.” Daryl tried to smile at the woman but was caught up with an onslaught of thoughts and feelings himself. Judith was alive and well and definitely not dead and turned, but he couldn’t get the frightful images out of his head. He weakly directed his attention back to a pile of plush toys sitting forlorn in the crib. One of them would be perfect for his pseudo-daughter. A dinosaur, a teddy and a penguin presented themselves. The bear was too obvious. The dinosaur might be a little too scary. But the odd-looking penguin seemed just appropriate enough to make it into Daryl’s duffle bag.

“Let’s see what's in here.” Daryl heard Peri move from her place in front of the chest of draws to the small antique cupboard by the window. He turned around as she was opening the tiny old doors. A glint of light caught his eye. Fishing line. A trip wire. Before he could even think, he dove forward towards the woman and knocked her to the ground. Copious amount of books and heavy trinkets fell to the floor with a bang. The shelf above falling, releasing its contents onto any unsuspecting victim.

“You okay?” Daryl asked between gasps of air.

“Ah fuck…yeah I think so.” Her voice strained.

Daryl let go, satisfied that Peri hadn’t sustained any damage in the stupidly placed booby trap. He stood up slowly, ruing the ache that had settled in every single one of his extremities like the plague. A stabbing prickle set itself suddenly in both of the hunter’s nostrils. The shelf spewing its contents downwards had disrupted an equilibrium of dust, sending a cloud into the air and up Daryl’s sensitive airways. He crushed his nose in half with a powerful wrist, voraciously attempting to quell the sneeze attack that was brewing. Of course it didn’t work.

“Fuckheh…h’AATCHoo…h’ESSHuu…ESHHcht…HAH’EESCHshu…shit-heh’eeEITChuuU…ugh…heh…”

“Bless yo-”

“-Ndohiht donehih!” Daryl’s breath hitched fiercely. Nostrils quivering. Eyelids pressed tight. A tongue half hanging out of a gasping mouth. He feared it wouldn’t stop this time, forever leaving him to the mercy of his fever-addled body, vibrations reverberating in the back of neck.

“heh…h’ATSCH uU… h’EITCHEW… Hh’EsTCHUU… Hh’GstcHh, GstcH, GSTCHUuuh…sond of a bitch!” The fit finally ended, leaving the man fretfully dizzy, eyes full of irritated tears and mucus dribbling its way into his gaping mouth. Daryl stumbled, trying to find a wall to hold onto, but was met with a small frame underneath his arm, anchoring him to the spot he teetered on. One steadying hand wrapped around his waist and the other reached up to wipe afflicted tears from his cheeks.

“Fucking hell Daryl! You’re burning up!”

“Mb’finde.” The hunter attempted to say, but it came out as more of an incongruent mumble. He made a feeble attempt to shrug the woman off but she slowly guided him down to a seated position, hovering closely. “Leave mbe be! Dontcha got other shit to worry about kndife girl?” He spat at her with humiliation and rage.

“You’re a fucking annoying dickhead, you know that Daryl?” She stood up from her place near the floor, leaving a keen medical obligation snuffling below. “Look. Just stay here, I’m gonna check out the bathroom, see if I can find any pseudoephedrine or something”

“Sudo-what?”

“Cold and flu medicine idiot.”

“Dond’t need any.” Daryl practically growled his response.

“Looks whatever! You do you, but sure as shit the rest of us will need it, considering you can’t even cover your goddamn mouth.” And to make a point she wiped a hand along the wallpaper, a trail of his own mucus glistening in the fading sunlight. Daryl bore the brunt of one final disgruntled glare, before the door slammed closed with a riot of brown curly hair. He was left in a puddle of his own thoughts once again.

Shame was a scorching hot poker at the back of Daryl’s throat. His unabashed fits of temper should’ve been a thing of the past, but here he was, miserable, weak, losing his shit at those just trying to show him comfort. He was an alien in this meek and feeble body, unable to stand, or breath, or think rationally. Daryl truly believed he was an insufferable burden to everyone, his ornery existence unworthy of approval. Just months ago, he had chosen to abandon his found family and run off with his reunited, one-handed brother. Of course, the deviance hadn’t lasted long, Daryl swiftly returning to the group once he realised how much he’d grown apart from Merle. Still, no one came after him, and they all seemed to do absolutely fine in his absence. Daryl needed them, but the dependence was clearly unrequited. He was a pity case. His febrile mind exacerbated these beliefs. Daryl was damned if he did and damned if he didn’t. Fragile and furious, the sick man slammed the side of his fist hard into the wall behind him, feeling the pulsating blood rushing to the point of contact.

The throbbing, localised pain was a welcome distraction from the tornado that whirled inside Daryl’s head. It wasn’t the first time he’d hurt himself to distract from mental torment, and probably wouldn’t be the last. He wasn’t proud of it. But it worked as a temporary fix when he was drowning in subconscious. Daryl focused his eyes on the side of his fist, narrowing his attention to the lump swelling from broken capillaries. Soon he was able to ground himself to reality. The hard floor numbing his ass. The cacophony of wind outside rattling the windows. The faint murmurs of Rick and Carl talking beneath him. He could ruminate on all the ways he’d let his partner down later. Right now he had a job to do. ‘Focus you asshole.”

Feeling slightly steadier, Daryl hauled his leaden body off the ground, pausing on upright to make sure he wasn’t going to collapse. Satisfied enough, he reached for the handkerchief in his back pocket that had left a revolting damp patch on his cargo pants. He blew his nose with thick, gurgling abandon, finally being alone enough to be void of humiliation. The hunter made his way over to the last untouched cupboard and started picking through the necessities.

—---

Peri worked her way down the dingy hallway slowly, carefully. The slightest misstep threatening danger upon them all. She was nervous as hell, but used the uneasy edge to spur her onwards. The woman knew far better than to wander off alone, but truthfully she needed a moment to breathe by herself. Daryl Dixon was possibly the most confusing and vexing individual she had ever met, but a psychoanalysis on the man would probably turn into a bloody thesis. Peri didn’t know either Rick or Daryl well enough to cast an opinion on their relationship, but a blind priest could see that there were some serious issues there. Not her circus, not her monkeys. Just focus.

A few more steps and Peri found herself in front of a door much like the others branching off into the unknown around her. Instinct spoke. This was the right room. This was the room in which she could prove to the inseparable prison family that she was worth the risk of acceptance. A too long pent up breath hissed out as she entered, unscathed and undetected. A bathroom of very unspectacular proportions unveiled itself, the frigid temperature of the broken tiles rising up through her boots. Peri opened up the tiny cabinet that sat above a time turned grimy basin. Disappointment littered the dusty shelves, nothing to claim but a strip of aspirin and an empty prescription bottle for doxycycline. The barren orange container almost laughed at her, filling her up with red hot agitation. She slammed the wooden door shut, startling when a spray of icy water burst out from the ancient pipes in front of her. Cold, wet and defeated, Peri kicked at a tile that sat ajar from the others. The small slab shattered against the wall, revealing an open hole in its wake.

The opening in the ground was purposed and deep, a little life of goods hidden away from unsuspecting eyes. Peering into it, Peri gasped. A practical Mecca of Medicine revealed itself. Gauze, paracetamol, medical tape, antibiotics. She was damn near tears of ecstasy. There were even a couple of unopened bottles of nasal spray- not a necessity but a certain someone could benefit greatly from it. Peri packed everything into her bag, sparing nothing.

She was about to pat herself on the back, when the sounds of gunshots erupted from deep within the home. Scrambling to her feet, Peri hurled the duffle bag into the hallway, and retraced her steps with resolute haste. Petite hands made short work of unsheathing knives. Peri made it to the open stairwell at the same time as Daryl. He was steady, holding his crossbow up with unwavering grace.

“Rick! The hell happened?” The hunter yelled down, concern and worry dripping from his eyes.

“S’fine…Damn idiot rigged a bunch-a firecrackers to go off!”

“Shit.” Daryl lowered his crossbow and pinched the bridge of his nose, concerned, stressed and disillusioned. A howl of unmerciful wind rattled through the house, slightly drawing the attention of all.

“Rick, the winds are really picking up out there, maybe we should just call it quits before the storm hits?” Peri said, leaning nervously over the bannister.

“No! We’ve already gotten great stuff down here. We got time before the storm, jus’ get back to it yeah?”

Daryl watched Rick turn his attention towards the room where the fireworks happened. A clear sign to keep on movin’- so to speak. He swung his crossbow so that it was hanging against his back, nodding to Peri who remained sceptical.

“I know, it ain’t sittin’ right with me either.” He reassured her as they walked beyond the staircase. “But I ain’t seen so much stuff in long while. Let’s just grab what we cand now and we can combe back with mbore people for the rest later.”

“I get the vibe that no one’s touched this place for a reason Daryl…”

“Yeh, I’mb with ya.”

“How’d you go in the nursery?”

“Finde, got a bunch’a clothes for Judith and found a whole heap-a blankets for windter. You?”

Peri didn’t answer with words, instead she opened the lip of her duffle bag, precious medical supplies bursting at the seams.

“Mm-hmm, ndice. Uh...good job.” He wanted to be more supportive, but exhaustion and downright stress had worn his effective communication skills down. Daryl paused and then pointed towards the end of the dark hallway. “‘M gonna check out that one. You take the ondes on the right, jus’ be-”

“-Be careful. I know.”

Daryl grunted his response again.

Leading the way through the dark corridor, he dodged any wonky floorboards that would deem themselves a threat. Breathing as quietly as was possible through his mouth, the hunter stepped up to the threshold of the door, preparing himself to enter. With a trusty crossbow drawn rigid, Daryl tentatively turned the door knob and braced for anything that might come his way. He’d be damned if some idiot apocalypse prepper bested Rick Grimes and his team of mismatched survivors.

The large room mirrored the rest of the dwelling, a gradual darkness creeping in like a precursor for their time-borrowed lives. An insipid heat rose from the heart of the room, a vast temperature change from where the hunter had just entered from. The atmosphere was sickly, heavy, and pallid. Daryl couldn't smell a damn thing but he knew when he was in the presence of death. Fresh death. Not walker death. His body just knew. Missing a sense or not and it filled him with an unwelcome foreboding.

Once Daryl knew that there were no undead coming for him, he crept over to the window and pulled the blinds shakily. The room needed light. He stared out through the drizzle clad glass for a moment, the grim uncertainties behind him making his mind run a mile a minute. Maybe the owner killed himself? Maybe some luckless cuck bore the brunt of a booby trap? Whatever had taken place behind him was ghastly and unpleasant. He just knew it. Shuddering a wheezy breath, the hunter turned around to satiate woeful curiosity.

The grizzly scene that lay before him was all too clear. A once magnificent master bedroom, now a bloodstained wreck. The body of a tall man was strewn across the crimson bedspread, a face marred with dried blood. Upon closer inspection the deceased appeared to be fairly young, light chestnut hair falling from his head and a messy beard long unattended to. A pistol lay limply from his right hand, the grim solution for a man who simply couldn’t go on. Daryl stepped forwards to claim the firearm, and in doing so noticed a much smaller body curled up on the other side of the dead man. It was a girl. Maybe one or two years old. Ribbons of golden hair tarnished from the bullet wound in the side of her head. Her lifeless body dressed up in lace as if she was a doll. Emma.

‘Fucking coward.’ - A murder suicide of the most snivelling decree. How dare he? How dare he? Having a child in this world was one of the only things to keep a person fighting - a principle made unequivocal by Rick Grimes and his unwavering love for Carl and Judith. Daryl pictured the gruesome scene taking place, a man out of options killing his own daughter before turning fate onto himself. The hunter felt numb, unable to fathom the loss of such an innocent being. Wetness pooled beneath his chin, the realisation that he had been crying jarred him out of melancholic stupor. He sniffled and wiped his eyes, defeated by a house and its haunting memories.

Daryl grabbed the musty blanket that was crumpled below the pair of bodies. He dragged it up solemnly, coving the cowardly man and the little girl, a weak attempt at preserving dignity in their unholy demise. The movement of the comforter caused a piece of paper to fly into the air, landing in Daryl’s outstretched hand.

I couldn't do it without you Robin.

Emma, I’m so sorry.

-Michael.

Daryl crumpled up the pathetic suicide note and tossed it to the floor. Death and misery were not surprising guests for the hunter, having been an audience to misfortune since childhood. Maybe it was his fever or his hair-trigger emotions, but the heartache before him was almost too much to bear. Breathing became harder, shallower, quicker. Black spots of foreboding clouded his vision all at once, causing his head to spin with astronomical pressure. His whole body had had enough, strained under effort and threatening to collapse in an instant. Fuck, he felt weak as shit.

He stumbled away from the bed and braced himself against an old vanity near the door. Squeezing his eyes tight never did much to escape from living nightmares, but he needed to blind himself from reality around him and get a fucking grip! His knuckles were turning white with force against the chipped wood. Daryl needed to focus on breathing. Daryl needed to get over his little episode -Merle’s words, not his. The hunter brought a hand down forcefully on the piece of furniture, wincing painfully. The thick bruise from earlier throbbing loudly.

“Shit.”

At least he could think lucidly again. Well, as lucid as the febrile-feeling-like-pure-garbage man could be at this harrowing point in time. A soft knocking at the door jolted Daryl out of his panic attack oblivion.

“Daryl, you okay in there?” Peri’s soft voice was tinged with worry. Daryl had maybe hit the vanity a little harder than intended if he drew her attention that quickly.

“Yeh, s’all finde.” He croaked out, grimacing at the gratingly sick sound. “Dond’t uh…dond’t combe in here, there ain’t much worth takin’. I’ll catch up with ya in a sec.”

“Okay…”

Peri didn’t need to see what had happened in the bedroom, no one did. It wasn’t fair but Daryl could deal with it. He’d seen worse and there was worse to come. There always was. The tiny girl and her father had left the world, and that was that. Not his problem. He’d wasted enough time expelling useless emotions, it was time to move on. Daryl straightened up and ran his hands over his face, wiping away residual dampness from his ruddy cheeks and nose. He was hot now, his body unable to keep itself within a normal temperature range. He cursed his ailing frame, knowing that in five minutes the feverish sweat coating his body would leave him freezing and trembling. He was very fucking over this.

He left the room and its ghosts behind, narrowly avoiding his own reflection in the vanity as he walked away. If he looked a fraction as bad as he felt, he might confuse himself for a mottled walker and shoot his own damned head by accident. Okay, probably a bit dramatic, but the man felt so goddamn awful.

Daryl inched slowly down the hallway once again, listening out for a sign of Peri behind one of the doors. A shuffling from a room to the left stopped him in his tracks. He listened with highly trained ears. It kept going so he unsheathed a knife from his belt. The sound was probably coming from his companion, but still, he felt safer with a weapon in his hands. Daryl entered the room to be greeted by a small wave from Peri.

“Just me.” She said, staring at the knife by Daryl’s head.

“Sorry, jus’-”

“It’s cool dude.” Peri was only visible from the waist up, her lower half masked by dozens of cardboard boxes strewn around the room.

“Ya find anything good?”

“Yeah, a fair few cans of food. Tinned peaches mainly, but I’m sure Carol can whip up something with them. It’s a hoarders paradise in here, a whole lotta boxes filled with a whole lotta junk.”

Daryl forced a laugh but it came out as a grumbling huff of air. He didn’t feel like laughing right now. Realising that he was just standing there like a shag on a rock, the hunter turned to open the large cupboard next to him.

“Don’t bother in there, just a bunch of broken vacuums.”

“M’kay…” Daryl responded slowly, suddenly feeling very useless. He had been too busy digesting the massacre before him that he hadn’t bothered to look for supplies in the other room. It was a bedroom, it might’ve had clothes, blankets, medicine. He could go back and search properly, he should, but he couldn’t. He wanted to be as far away from that horrible scene as possible. ‘Fucking pathetic Dixon, can’t even pull it togther to help your family.’ He shook the thoughts from his head, absentmindedly squeezing the tip of his raw nose. They’d come back with more people, a bigger car. They’d get the rest.

A dull tickle sprang up in Daryl’s right nostril, prompting the man to scrub vigorously. A wave of hot frustration spread through him, he refused to sneeze anymore today. ‘S’fucking ridiculous.’ Gritting his teeth, he managed to quell the sensation. Finally some control. Snorting back a tidal wave of mucus, Daryl turned to busy himself in whatever Peri was searching for. He just had to hold on for a little longer.

“Whas’ that?” He asked, pointing to a pile of papers filling Peri’s hands. She was standing silhouetted by the last legitimate light of the day, staring down at the documents with a look of beautiful contemplation.

“Some old photos. It must be the family that lived here, see?” She handed him a stack of glossy pictures. He stared down at the first photo, squinting his eyes to decipher the figures in the stormy darkness. A man and woman were stood in front of a pickup truck, arms intertwining and faces filled with candid laughter. The man was undoubtedly the alive counterpart of Michael who now lay rotting on a bed. His light brown hair was much shorter, and face clean shaven. Daryl assumed that the woman in the photograph was his wife Robin. She had kind eyes and a gentle smile, with cascades of golden hair falling down past her waist. Around her neck was a turquoise beaded necklace with matching earrings that peeped out from her blonde curls. They were clearly very in love. Daryl silently hoped that that's what he and Rick looked like when they touched. ‘You can’t even say ‘I love you’ idiot, of course you don’t look like that.’ He quickly shifted the photo to the back of the pile, it was doing more damage than good. The next development hurt him even further, a tiny infant having her first bath. So fresh, so new. An umbilical scab still protruding from her abdomen. The portrait of Emma brought back suppressed memories of Lori’s death and a newborn Judith. Rick’s wailing, and an infant's cry. He didn’t think twice before he left to get formula for that girl. We ain’t losing another one. Daryl had been the first to feed Judith, the first to bathe her - hell! The first to change her dirty diaper. He loved Lil’ Asskicker so fucking much. Tears were threatening to swim in his eyes once again and he refused to be a fragile wuss any longer.

Daryl swallowed hard against the lump in his throat, reaching the stack of photos out for Peri to take back. It was pointless reminiscing in the memories of someone else's life. When hands failed to take the package from him, Daryl looked up from his emotional haze, seeing that Peri had walked away.

“Oh fuck yeah! Look at this.” She reached behind a pile of boxes, pulling out an old dusty instrument that took a moment for Daryl to register as a banjo.

“Uh…A banjo?”

“Yeah man! And its a friggen nice one too…”

“You play?” Daryl asked, feeling a nostalgic pang creep into his stomach.

“Yeah a little in my free time. Or I did. I wanted to take piano lessons as a kid but my ever -so -slightly -overbearing -mother made me take banjo lessons instead.” She ran a hand over the out of tune strings, smiling a little too widely.

“Hmm, mby Ma used ta play too.” Daryl hadn’t thought about his mother in over a decade. Why now, of all times to be inundated with memory?

“Sounds like a good woman. What was her name?”

“Uh, Alice.”

“Alice…” The name played around in her mouth as if she was trying to piece together the puzzle of Daryl’s life. “Your dad play too?”

No. Daryl’s father had other excruciating hobbies that occupied his time. You know, getting drunk, smoking, beating his wife and children. Really happy family bullshit. Silence fell between the pair. It was obvious that Peri had hit a sore spot in Daryl’s psyche.

“You should take it Peri…Maybe Beth and ya can start a prison band.” He tried to force a smile at the woman. It wasn’t her fault that Daryl was on the verge of spiralling out of control. His childhood was a series of harrowing events that the man had worked tirelessly to forget. It wasn't important now. Nothing before was. Peri was about to respond when a muffled struggle was heard downstairs.

Daryl raised a hand, demanding complete silence.

“CARL!” Rick’s panicked voice reverberated through the entire house, prepping the two upstairs companions for battle. Gunshots boomed. There weren't any fireworks this time. Peri dropped the instrument without a thought and followed Daryl’s frantic pace out of the room.

Everything that felt wrong with today was about to come to a head. All four were certain of it.

4 notes · View notes