#and it's just like . . . . a period piece horror thing with a LOT of white men who all look the same! and it was a blast yeah | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lightningarmour · 9 months

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Last Voyage of the Demeter(spoilers)

This was a movie I was really excited about because I really love the premise for it. Like many people on tumblr I experienced Dracula by Bram Stoker for the first time through the viral phenomenon of "Dracula Daily" so I don't have any kind of long love of the book or any particularly deep, personal feelings towards it or anything, but when I first heard about Last Voyage of the Demeter I thought it was a tremendous idea for a movie, and a pretty interesting and novel approach to a vampire story, generally and a very neat idea to take such a zoomed in look at the events of Dracula.

The way the Log of the Demeter is told in the book is obviously a classic example of a horror story. It's like how in every survival horror game you find some journal entry or email or whatever of someone saying "Has anyone else heard the strange noises coming from the vents? oh well, hope it's nothing!" in a room where there's a streak of blood running down the wall from a torn open air duct. You are being given piece by piece the terror and dread of a crew of sailors you already know are doomed to a horrendous death, seeing little by little how the horrors unfold, knowing they can't stop it, and it's all made the more tragic that they (or at least the captain) never know what it is that is doing this to them.

It's prime territory for a slow burn kind of psychological horror movie, where the mystery slowly unfolds and as more and more of the crew go missing, the tensions amongst those remaining grows and they start to turn on each other and yadda yadda.

While overall, The Last Voyage of the Demeter is a fine movie, it's certainly not the movie I went in expecting. I understand, of course, that adapting a single chapter, written basically in point-form, into a feature length film would require not an insignificant amount of padding. I think, though that this movie ended up a bit overstuffed.

It's an aggressively average film, ultimately. I have no real complaints about the technical aspects. It's shot well, all of the sets and costumes and such look good, the soundtrack really pops, and frankly I think almost all of the performances were really quite good. The problem, broadly is the very banal kind of Hollywoodification of the story. The movie I envisioned this being is definitely in the script somewhere, but the edges get sanded off in rewrites, they want the movie to be more marketable, and gradually it becomes a middling action thriller. Still competently made, but not scary enough to really be a horror movie, or suspenseful enough to really keep you engaged with what's left.

It exists, in my mind, in a similar space as the 2017 adaptation of Agatha Christie's Murder on the Orient Express. Both period piece movies about mysterious deaths, but neither really feel confident enough in themselves to just be a mystery or a horror movie, so they try and punch it up a bit and throw in some action and spend a lot of time getting to know a colourful cast of characters who ultimately don't matter that much, and it all results in a kind of genre mush where the stakes never feel particularly important and I find myself nitpicking details rather than enjoying the story.

Much of the bloat this movie suffers from comes in the form of 3 characters. The protagonist of the film, Mr. Clemens, Anna the exposition machine, and Toby the precious baby boy who exists solely to inject an emotional hook into the story. I don't want to sound like a reactionary and complain about "wokeness" in movies because that's not a real thing, but it's probably going to sound like I am. From a marketing perspective, a film studio does not feel confident in having a non-franchise, niche-interest kind of movie with a cast of solely white men. Not that this particular movie would even necessarily have to be full of white people. The Demeter is specified as being a russian ship, and there was mention of russian and romanian crewmen but boats were crewed by all kinds of men so it's a simple liberty to take in making the crew multi-ethnic. It could have worked quite well if it were more of an ensemble cast, rather than having a specific protagonist. So much time is spent on Clemens that it makes the rest of the crew feel incredibly dull and one dimensional.

One reason I think in similar ways about this and Murder on the Orient Express is that both suffer from a very modern Hollywood trend of inserting a lot of very liberal values into movies set in the past in a way that does nothing to try and like, sincerely address the issues of sex, race, class, etc. discrimination and prejudice that existed in the time periods they are set in, but honestly as a way to kind of coddle the audience and assure them that while people may have been racist in the past, we, the studio and filmmakers, and whoever do not agree with such prejudices, and everyone can rest easy after seeing the film and not have to feel uncomfortable about any of that.

So Clemens is presented to us as a Doctor who is eager to return to England, and as we find out later, he was the second black man to ever graduate Oxford or wherever with a medical degree, but he couldn't find work anywhere because he's black. This information serves no real purpose to the story, nor to really understanding who he is as a person or anything. He plays the Agent Scully of the movie. It's sort of like he's there to dispel any mystery or suspense the movie might otherwise have. instead of a bunch of superstitious sailors succumbing to fear, Clemens is there to smartly tell them that their instincts are irrational and whatever. The result is that the movie follows all the same tropes and trappings of it's genre but in a way that is deflated by a guy constantly pointing out said tropes while not being genre savvy enough to prevent all of it from occurring.

Anna is in the movie explicitly to explain to the audience who the character of Dracula is, for those who might have missed the last 150 years of vampire fiction. She's introduced as having been stuffed in one of Dracula's boxes of dirt as a little snack for him on his boat ride. She' unconscious for a third of the movie but once she wakes up she just very directly tells everyone that there's an evil demon on board named Dracula and he's going to eat us all. I really hate her inclusion in the film because similar to Clemens, she exists to drain any suspense or mystery out of the story. There's no longer any fear of the unknown because she tells them exactly what's happening. Yet despite this, it still takes them like 3 days to finally get the bright idea to open up the crates in the cargo hold to see if maybe that's where Dracula is hiding. Again it's doing this almost meta narrative thing where now the characters realize what story they're in, but because that story already has a predetermined end, they can't actually use this knowledge to their advantage, the tropes still play out the same anyway.

I don't want to use the term mary sue to describe her but her and Clemens both have Protagonist power. They're seemingly the only ones on this boat who are smart and capable enough to get anything done, and they do quite explicitly just give Anna super powers. She's been fed on by Dracula so she has a special connection that lets her sense his presence and blah blah whatever. It's all very gimmicky, especially for a character we know is not going to survive and has no greater impact on the story of Dracula.

Toby is the grandson of the Demeter's Captain. He's like an eight year old boy or something and I kind of hate him. He's an utterly nothing character who serves no narrative purpose. At some point when going over the script they realized that there's no reason to really give a shit about any of the characters in the movie because pretty much none of them have any depth, and they figured the audience wouldn't be engaged. So they put a kid in it so that people would feel sad at least once during the movie.

There's honestly nothing to the kid. He's like unbelievably plucky and happy-go-lucky, to the point where I think the actor's performance is undermined by how exaggerated his boyishness is played up, but aside from just being happy and cute or whatever there's nothing to him. Again you're supposed to instinctively feel protective for him because he's a child, and then inevitably when he gets his shit sucked by Dracula, it's supposed to be the like, one tragic part of the whole movie, but it's just hollow. And whats more is that any sense of sadness or loss you get from precious little Toby's death is wrung out because they have a fucking scene where they're going to dump his corpse in the ocean but the Captain is like "No wait, he's still alive!" and you get a really shitty jump scare moment where the kid opens his eyes but now he's a vampire and then he immediately goes up in flames in the sunlight and I laughed out loud in the theatre because it was so fucking stupid.

The new characters are just too out of place because they all feel like hollywood blockbuster protagonists haphazardly tacked onto an otherwise kind of low-key horror story, and I think that the movie would have worked much better if you kept the Captain as the focal character. In the movie he's present but kind of as a side character which feels odd. It also really robs him of his agency. The final log entry in the book has him resolutely sacrificing himself for the sake of his ship and his diligent commitment to his duty as the Captain, so he ties his hands to the wheel, ensuring that he will never be derelict even if it means his death, whereas in the movie it's fucking Dracula who ties him to the wheel as a weird flex, but he's dead before the climax so that the characters invented for the movie can have an epic action movie showdown with Dracula.

And given that the whole dang thing roots itself so adamantly as being part of the greater story of Dracula, it then kind of results as this very silly contrivance where all the stuff about a man eating creature, a dude literally bursting into flames, a woman who explicitly told them about Count Dracula being a horrible demon, just gets conveniently left out of the Captain's log.

I feel like there were some more nitpicks and quibbles I had about the movie but none of it is particularly important. Again, as much as I've just spent like 2000 words whining about it, overall I didn't really hate the movie. It's fine! It was a decent enough movie to go see, even if I left feeling a bit disappointed. I'm having strong feelings towards it because it's one of those movies that is worse than just being shitty. A just awful bad movie can be dismissed outright and I could just say yeah it sucks ass. But this one is so close to being good. There's a lot I did like about it, but it's off by such a small margin that all the things keeping it from being really great feel much more pronounced.

Also I kind of love that Clemens just survives and I guess becomes a Dracula hunter? They should have done a post-credits scene where he shows up 5 minutes after the main characters from the book have slain Dracula and been like "god damn it"

#the last voyage of the demeter #dracula #dracula daily #movie review #rambling #last voyage of the demeter #log of the demeter #david dastmalchian #love seeing that guy in movies!#liam cunningham #he was great too!#tbh i really liked all the performances #the ships cook was probably my favorite character

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sin-sidejob · 2 years

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Cognito Watch Party:

Warnings: sfw, movie genres and references to thrillers, horror films, trashy tv and shows

Content: sfw, television and movie choices, various themes and genres of television and film

Reagan Ridley:

- Movies: unironically loves cult classic “bad films” that’re more popular but lower in quality. Also loves some psychological thrillers, animation, & sci-if stuff and watches them like comfort movies. Reagan watches: Space Jam + the sequel, Silence of the Lambs, The Shining, Grown Ups + Grown Ups 2, Inception, Don’t Look Up, All Dogs Go To Heaven, The Usual Suspects, Ghostbusters I-III, Austin Powers Saga, Harry Potter franchise, and War Dogs.

- TV: Reagan watches documentaries/docuseries, thrillers, clever and dark comedies, and animated shows, and series that get a little therapeutic for her. Therapy seems a bit of a stretch but seeing the family bullshit of others through Fleabag and Shameless help her lots. Reagan Watches: Ozark, Manhunt: Unabomber, The Legend of Korra, Arrested Development, Fleabag, Schitt’s Creek, Drunk History, History of Swear Words, Love Death + Robots, Forged In Fire, Shameless, Arcane, Black Mirror, Mindhunter, Community, and Russian Doll.

Brett Hand:

- Movies: I see this man loving 80’s feel-good flicks and Adam Sandler films. Like mindless, kitschy comedy and classics. Also watches trashy romcoms. Brett watches: Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, The Breakfast Club, The Outsiders, The Goonies, Stand By Me, The Sandlot, Top Gun & Maverick, Happy Gilmore, Grown Ups, The Wedding Singer, The Waterboy, Star Wars (original trilogy), Spaceballs, Die Hard, and Ghostbusters I-III.

- TV: hes a feel-good show person, avoiding spooky or stress-inducing shows and tv that could freak him out. He goes for mindless comedy that’s more domestic, preferring sitcom. Especially family centric ones! Brett watches: Modern Family, The Office, F.R.I.E.N.D.S., Cheers, The Umbrella Academy, and Stranger Things. Also watches Parks and Rec, The Good Place, New Girl, King Of the Hill, M.A.D. tv, Bob’s Burgers, Robot Chicken, Avatar: The Last Airbender, and Gravity Falls.

JR Scheimpough:

- Movies: Watches the classics™️ + organized crime films + white men movies. I don’t see him as a movie watcher like frequently but they’re some of the films he’d choose on a flight or commuting. JR watches: The Godfather part I & II, Casino, Goodfellas, Wolf of Wallstreet, American Psycho, Legally Blonde, Fight Club, The Usual Suspects, Scarface, Heat, The Longest Yard, Silence of the Lambs. He’s also got a soft spot for Finding Nemo, The Devil Wears Prada, Monty Python movies, and Sabrina (both the black & white film and the 90s one)

- TV: This man watches docuseries, drama shows, period dramas, and some business comedies. It’s a blend of boss-workplace dramatics and humor, historical drama, period pieces, and just little bits and pieces that get him laughing and forgetting about his day a bit. JR watches: Suits, Billions, Peaky Blinders, Ozark, Breaking Bad, Better Call Saul, Succession, The Pentaverate, The Crown, The Wire, Ted Lasso, Barry, Fleabag, and The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel.

Gigi Thompson:

- Movies: She’s got the wildest blend of gory slashers and feel-good chick flicks. Unsettlingly funny and ironic. Gigi’s just as giddy and smiley when watching the slashers as she is with seeing Elle Woods pass the LSAT. Movie night truly do be wild with this babe. Gigi watches: Legally Blonde, Carrie, Cujo, Mean Girls, Clueless, The Shining, Silence of the Lambs, Hush, The Exorcist, The Omen, Pretty Woman, When Harry Met Sally, Sleepless in Seattle, Sabrina (the 90s version), New York Minute, To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before, The Ring, The Conjuring, Nightmare on Elm Street, Friday the 13th, Halloweeen, Insidious, Sweet Home Alabama, and Candyman.

- TV: Similar taste in shows as she had with movies but sprinkles in boss bitch shows and avoids thriller or scary shows. She prefers the drama ones and avoids reality tv after the whole K*rdashian fiasco, preferring to keep celebrities far away from her and seen only on a screen. Gigi watches: Gossip Girl, Succession, Billions, Suits, 30 Rock, Veep, The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel, Fleabag, Bridgerton, Disenchantment, First Kill, Dynasty, Ginny and Georgia, You, Insatiable, Villanelle, Inventing Anna, The Queen’s Gambit, and The Chair.

Andre Lee:

- Movies: Silly comedies, romcoms, and comedic coming of age stories. It’s a big ass blend of movies and films that he likes and watches, from spooky to silly and sexy to childish. Andre watches: Monty Python, Jackass, Fantastic Fungi, Osmosis Jones, The Wolf of Wallstreet, Shrek Saga, When Harry Met Sally, Steel Magnolias, Wayne’s World, Caddyshack, Animal House, Hush, The Boy, Fifty Shades of Grey, Ferngully, The Princess and the Frog, and Die Hard.

- TV: Andre watches Euphoria while getting high as blatant irony to the plot line. He thinks he’s hilarious. He also has variating taste of genres, kitschy comedy, animated shows, mindless shit. Half the time it’s stuff to get high to and other times it’s stuff he leaves on in the background. Andre watches: Disenchantment, Neon Genesis Evangelion, Gossip Girl, The Midnight Gospel, Narcos, Gilmore Girls, Total Drama, Tear Along the Dotted Line, Disjointed, The Simpsons, Saiki K, Grace and Frankie, M*A*S*H*, Kim’s Convenience, and Euphoria.

Robotus Alpha Beta:

- Movies: not going to lie, he doesn’t seem like a movie man? Like he’s one to watch them half-heartedly if it’s with you or a group, but he won’t go out of his way to watch a movie. Televisions a bit different for him. I think Ro can be lured into certain movies and he may watch some of your favorites on his own time to better understand you, but personally? Not for him. But if it came to it, Robotus watches: your favorites

- TV: he likes semi-mindless comedies and sitcoms??? He’s seen the foils of man in milliseconds and tries to avoid all the stuff he’s encountered. In turn, he goes to things that’re funny or dramatic that can remind him subtly of those he’s, ugh, friends with, and how they’ve made humanity more bearable. Robotus watches: The Umbrella Academy, Seinfeld, F.R.I.E.N.D.S., Frasier, Succession, Modern Family, Fleabag, The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel, The Boys, and Derry Girls.

Glenn Dolphman:

- Movies: Watches history documentaries, war films, military propaganda films, and period dramas. Also watches southern films too, for some nostalgia and comfort. Reminds him of his mumma’. Glenn watches: Steel Magnolias, A Few Good Men, Saving Private Ryan, Forrest Gump, Fried Green Tomatoes, The Help, The Notebook, Smokey and the Bandit, Jaws, Hacksaw Ridge, The Shawshank Redemption, Dunkirk, Jackie, Spencer.

- TV: mix of history shows, docuseries, military and law enforcement shows, and silly comedies. Some shows are for the similar dynamics to work, to his military life, and etc. others he just enjoys. Strange silly man. Glenn watches: Law and Order NCIS, The Sons of Liberty, Turn: Washington’s Spies, Downtown Abbey, Young Sheldon, Community, Space Force, The Pentaverate, Will and Grace, The Lincoln Lawyer, Bridgerton, Squid Game, and unironically, everything during shark week. And of course, M*A*S*H*

Magic Myc:

- Movies: a Blend of truly random shit that’s somewhat nostalgic but also a crackpot of dumb bullshittery that fits his persona wholly and completely. It’s funny and stupid and clever and smarmy. Just like him!! Myc watches: Animal House, Fantastic Fungi, Grown Ups, Don’t Look Up, Monty Python and the Holy Grail + The Life of Brian, The Usual Suspects, Harry Potter franchise, When Harry Met Sally, 10 Things I Hate About You, The Omen, The Birds, Casablanca, and Chucky.

- TV: i feel that he and Andre hang out and watch shit together but mainly talk shit, like get high or just sit around on a couch and absolutely pick apart whatever stupid shitbirds are running around on the screen. They’ll also make rituals of watching certain shows together and if they tv-cheat they get PISSED. Myc watches: Forged In Fire, The Umbrella Academy, Love It Or List It, Stranger Things, Total Drama, The Midnight Gospel, Bob’s Burgers, Master Chef, Chopped, Cutthroat Kitchen, House Hunters, Cowboy Bebop, Clone High, Amphibia, Gravity Falls, Robot Chicken, Love Death + Robots, America Ninja Warrior, Arrested Development, The Voice, America’s Got Talent, and Squid Game.

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romeulusroy · 11 months

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hii ! how are you? just wanted to say that i absolutely love your works, they're just so so good and congrats on 8k !! And I was wondering if it would be ok to request for a ship and/or a ship aesthetic? hope you have a great day :)

My pronouns are she/her and i'm queer (still trying to figure the whole sexuality bit out).

I'm 5'4" ish so I wear a lot of platform mary-janes but still have a preference for my beat up white adidas. I have long brown hair with curtain bangs, and it's kind of in between curly and wavy. I have green eyes and have to wear glasses for long distance stuff or my computer. I can usually get really tan due to my latino heritage but I currently live in an extremely rainy country that has made me insanely pale. I also have freckles over the bridge of my nose and a kind of round face.

I love reading, writing, painting, watching movies/tv shows, editing and hiking.

I'm technically an extrovert but by nature I'm more of an ambivert, so I can get along with huge groups of people or just spend days on end watching movies alone in my house.

Generally my favorite genres of anything are sci-fi, horror, anything period piece but not with a huge amount of romance and crime/procedural.

My favorite music really depends on my mood at that moment: soundtrack, punk, 80s hits and kind of ethereal music are some of my top genres. Currently my favorite artists consist of FINNEAS, Weyes Blood, Ethel Cain, Kate Bush, Hole, The Police and Men I Trust.

My dream careers are either psychologist, something in business (but definitely not finance) or film (director or producer preferably).

I have a guilty pleasure of watching and reading anything business related any time I get bored. (hence the succession obsession)

My fashion sense kind of consists of suit trousers, button-downs (oversized preferably), long leather jackets, anything black lace or silk, platform shoes, flowy dresses and vintage stuff.

Aesthetic wise I really don't like to pin it down to just one thing but recently I've very much been into kind of grunge with a side of preppy. Some of my fav motifs (??) atm are runway clothes, red, orchids and film photos.

oh my god that's a lot sorry. procrastinating falling back into the depths of studying anyways love your acc and tysm.

Power Couple x Shiv Roy

Omg y'all would be so cute together!!!! Thank you do much my love, you're a gem!!!! I hope the studying is going okay!!! And I really hope you like your ship!!! Xoxoxo💜💜💜

#romeulusroy-ships #shiv roy #ships are open!!

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taeyohonic · 3 years

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the trophy wife (m)

summary: the proposal doesn’t go as planned (established relationship, idol au, fluff and angst) pairing: min yoongi x fem!reader rating: explicit (18+) warnings (containing spoilers): swearing, robbery, pandemic, vomit, description of injuries and blood (very abstract), mentions of depression, insomina and periods, a hella lot ugly crying info: when i tell you that this is a super-duper fluffy piece, i’m not lying! it was 99% sweetness, so i added a little... angst (but like... only 10%) related work: the stalker | baby, what’s wrong? | favoritism (m) | the trophy wife words: 5.7k

“would you still love me if i became your trophy wife?”

yoongi snorts into his iphone, your grimace too adorable to be taken seriously.

“how bad are these papers?”, he asks. jungkook next to him is stealing curious glances at his hyung’s screen. to hear your voice so distressed makes him worry. you’re the best thing that ever happened to his member – your well-being comes right after his need for homemade kimchi.

“how… can they not know which products contain dairy? how yoongs?”, you vent eyeing the ungraded test in front of you.

“i ate… so much yogurt. the whole class did. we tested so much dairy products… like… so much. we drank all of the banana milk… how can they get this wrong?”, you continue. unbeknown to you, the maknae is now furrowing his brows at your words. wait a minute…

“noona, did you steal my banana milk last week?”, jungkook questions and moves closer to yoongi. before you can hide you see his big eyes joining your boyfriend on the screen.

“wow, jungkookie – your undercut looks so good. damn!”, you say. it’s not a total deflection; he does look extremely handsome after his haircut.

“noona, i thought i sleepwalked”, he whines, not caring for your compliment… right now.

“taehyung even made a meme out of it”, he complaints and you have the audacity to coo at him. yoongi tries to hide his smile, but he can see his reflection grinning on the screen.

“it was oppa’s idea!”

and now his smile freezes as jungkook moves his accusing glare to him. you don’t usually call yoongi by this name. and he’d be all too happy to shut you up in your shared bedroom. but now he and the boys are in the outskirts of seoul to film the newest music video, far away from you and your treacherous mouth.

“hyung?”, jungkook asks with the voice of a cheated wife ready to sign the divorce papers.

“it’s for the kids, maknae”, your boyfriend defends himself to which jungkook only huffs in irritation.

“there was a time when i was the kid – what happened? am i not cute enough anymore? noona? am i not the most adorable?”

his deer eyes stare at you – big, brown and full. you can’t help but to take a screenshot of these two – your rapper visibly done with his member and jungkook in the middle of a banana milk breakdown. you’ll have to frame this picture.

“you’re the most adorable thing there is, jungkookie”, you reassure him. yoongi just snorts when he sees the faintest flush on his bandmate’s face.

“that’s enough praise for him, baby. save it for your students.” there is no humor in the smile you send him. after a beat of silence in which you burry all your frustration deep inside the pits of your stomach, you try to change the subject.

“how is nature?” they’ve been in the woods for weeks, completely closed off from all the city drama. you’ve never seen jimin so excited to drive – while namjoon’s sour face reflected how much the latest failed drivers test bothered him.

“jin-hyung nearly died in the water today. it was epic”, your friend instead of your boyfriend answers and you have to shift a giggle at yoongi’s eyeroll.

“be gone, maknae”

rudely blunt – just how you liked your partner. jungkook just winks at you in a silent goodbye and gets up. he’s nearly out of the picture before his upper body shoves against the rapper. his nose is way too close to the screen and you’d be worried about his eyes – if you didn’t know how often the singer spends his nights in front of his computer.

“noona, you’ll replace the milk, right?”

“jungkook”, yoongi growls in responds. the boy is not acknowledging his colleague, so you give in and nod.

“of course, kookie. it’s already waiting in the fridge for you to come back”, you tell him. as soon as these words leave your mouth, the maknae is satisfied and gone.

“you don’t have to baby him that much, ____”, yoongi says while moving the phone closer to his face. you can see the dark circles under his eyes better now.

“what’s keeping you up at night, yoongs?”, you ask instead of answering his complaint. the rapper smiles faintly at the screen.

“you, baby, always you” yu snort and let yourself lie down on the couch – the papers can wait another day, or a lifetime.

“i wish”, you say truthfully. you’d sell one of your kidneys to relax with the boys far away from the pandemic madness. after having yoongi to yourself for two weeks non-stop, you are way too spoiled. even though your legs are deeply grateful for this recovery time, you miss the constant calm radiating off of your boyfriend.

“i’ll be back soon, baby”, he reassures you and draws lines across the screen. your cheeks look colorless and it worries him just as much as his lack of sleep bothers you.

“make it sooner”, you mutter and close your eyes when you hear his chuckle in responds.

“have you had dinner yet?”, yoongi asks but you don’t want to open your eyes, not ready to face his criticism.

“nah, i’ll wait till sungho gets here.” you don’t need your eyesight to feel his disapproval.

“that’s not very socially distance of you, ____.” yeah, no baby anymore. still, you remain shut off.

“he’s just a friend. one friend. one work friend. one work friend that needs help with the new school cloud. the online grading program is a pain in the ass.”

“and why do you have to do that at six on a friday night in our home?”, yoongi notices the tiniest of smiles on your lips as he mentions your shared home. he, too, loves your little flat with a pandora of memories.

“because i am a loner and don’t have anything better planed for the weekend and my boyfriend is camping in the woods and oh – there is a global pandemic”, you snort and open your eyes to watch your boyfriend’s tensed expression.

“if you’re a loner – what am i then? a stone?”, yoongi asks sarcastically.

“maybe a boulder”, you shoot back with a soft smile that melts his jealousy away… nearly.

“just… don’t let him touch my stuff”, yoongi orders. he’d trade his own maknae to be the one at the other side of your door when he hears a distant knocking sound.

“that’ll be him, yoongs”, you say and move off the couch with as much dignity as one can muster after a whole work week and no motivation left in the bones.

“promise to call me back when you’re in bed?”, your boyfriend pleads, reluctant to let you go. with him going on world tours this phone conversation isn’t your first and it won’t be the last. still, his small request fills you with yearning.

“of course”, you promise, eyes still on him as you open the door without a second thought.

a fist connects with your skull while your eyes widen at the sight of two ski-masked men. the pain is instantly blinding your senses and you start to scream with tears clouding your vision. you fall to the floor before they push their way inside your home. one of them, muscle clad with wide shoulders kicks you in the stomach just to move you out of their way. the other, smaller in statue, crushes your phone with his shoe, the cracked screen frozen with your boyfriend starring at you in horror.

namjoon will never forget the bone chilling scream waking him this evening from his nap. he’s never heard yoongi’s voice filled to the brim with pain. not even registering his movements, he tumbles into the living room where is friend is still yelling your name, his face a mask of panic.

“hyung, what’s wrong?”, namjoon asks as footsteps behind him signal the arrival of his bandmates.

yoongi’s hands shake as his eyes stay fixed on the screen of his form. the leader moves first, not able to watch his friend losing himself. when joon steps behind yoongi’s figure to calm him down, a cold shower travels through his body. the screen shows you lying on the floor with red dripping from your mouth. your eyes are closed, but namjoon notices the uneven rise and fall of your chest – you’re breathing.

“jin, call the police”, the leader orders without turning around. his hands try to pry the phone out of yoongi’s fingers, but they are white with pressure and unforgiving. his lungs are still screaming and namjoon’s heart breaks at the scene.

“hyung, - just… calm down”, he says, not quite believing in his own words. he wouldn’t calm down either in yoongi’s position.

“what am i reporting?”, seokjin asks, close enough that the question answers itself as soon as he peaks over yoongi’s shoulder.

“i’d like to report a break-in – there is a person, hurt. the address is-“

yoongi can’t hear his oldest colleague, the voice drowned by his worry for you. at first, he doesn’t register namjoon’s chest pressing behind his back, but then his body shudders when the fellow rapper hugs him from behind.

“hyung, we – sh – it’s gonna be okay. it’ll be okay, she’s okay… we… you have to calm down, yoongi”, namjoon sooths his friend of ten years and rocks them both from side to side.

“taehyung, call the building manager – there should be security in the foyer”, seokjin commands the young man who watches the scene in front of him passively. as soon as he hears his name though, the singer moves to grab his iphone with shaky fingers.

“look, hyung, she’s awake”, joon points out and yoongi shakes his head to move these stupid tears out of his vision. indeed, your eyes are open as you try to even your breathing. it looks like you are crying as well and yoongi has never felt this kind of searing pain before. to see the love of his life in tears and burglars destroying your home while he is in the middle of fucking nowhere, makes him sick. when he sees you trying to get up, only to drop back onto the floor, his stomach turns. yoongi vomits onto his lap and namjoon has to hold his friend upright as he loses consciousness.

you’ve never been this glad for the heavy painkillers your boyfriend has tugged away in the bathroom due to his immense shoulder problems. the icepack pressed to your forehead cools for body down; still, you are shaking with adrenaline as you watch the security guard pace in front of you.

“yes, sir, yes – no, of course sir, negative sir”, he looks at your shaking form and grimaces before answering. “minor injuries”, the guard holds his phone further away when his caller answers a few decibels too loud.

“the paramedics are on their way”, he responds, not daring to look you directly in the eye. after another game of “yes and no”, the security ends his call.

“how are you, ma’am?”, the man in uniform asks, but remains standing a few feet away. when he first got here after receiving a hectic message from his boss, you were crying on the floor – alone. his colleague is already checking the floors, while another is combing through the surveillance footage. it’s been five minutes and you still look like a ghost.

his instructions were crystal clear – don’t touch the subject. but his heart clenches when he sees your trembling form trying to calm yourself down.

before you can answer him, two paramedics arrive through the door. they zero in on the blood drying across your forehead. their hands press gently against your skin and ask you questions you try to answer. soon, they move you to a standing position, with your head wound dressed and your vitals checked.

“we’ll take you to the hospital, ma’am”, the older woman explains. with a few steps you are at the door – there, right on the threshold where your nightmare began half an hour ago, stands sungho, chinese take-out and laptop in hand. your fellow teacher looks at you with widened eyes.

“_____ - what the hell?”, he curses and nearly drops his food when you smile at him – your teeth unbeknown to you still tinted red.

“are you her partner?”, the paramedic asks.

“just a friend”, he answers, not letting you out of his sight.

“we have to get her to the hospital – will you accompany us?”, the medic questions and sungho nods. your little crowd moves to the elevator and the security guard closes your door with a soft click. the police will be here soon, he thinks as he watches your beaten figure step onto the elevator.

“this cannot be the way to do this, ___”, sungho exclaims while you are staring at the iv-drip connected to your arm in distress. you hate needles.

the hospital’s v.i.p room is normally reserved for celebrities, but they made an exception for you, the girlfriend of min yoongi. sejin’s hunched form outside the room might have played a role in that. bangtan’s manager arrived half an hour ago, worried and disheveled. his posture calmed when the doctors reassured him, you’d be okay. now, he’s waiting for seven idols in various stages of panic to arrive.

“it’s the way this works – just… do as i say, okay?”, you huff. there is a part of you not willing to let the last hours crash into you; not without your partner here. so, you’ve spent the last sixty minutes showing him how to use your new school cloud – the easy way, not the right one.

“but the course still doesn’t show in my settings”, he whines, and you roll your eyes while pushing cold pad thai in your mouth. the rich flavor appeases your hungry stomach and you swallow the take-out down in one breathe. songho is a godsend for bringing the ordered food with him to the hospital. it’s a much-needed distraction from the horror of your cracked rib and light concussion.

“you have to set the course to ‘official’ – it’s still private”, you explain with another mouthful of oily noodles slurring your speech.

sungho’s brows furrow in concentration when you hear heavy footsteps in the hall. the boys are there – and they are not slowing down.

before sejin can even try to greet the idols, yoongi pushes through the door – all six of them only a breath behind.

the second you see him, the tears start without your consent. yoongi looks crazy – his eyes gleam with insanity – as he sucks in the hospital air through his mask.

you’re here. you’re alive. you’re safe. you’re here. he’s here. you are both here. his thoughts are running in circles – not ready to slow down, not ready to expand.

your boyfriend resembles a statue; just standing in front of the hospital bed. his face screams for help and it breaks you as the first cry leaves your throat. in a flash yoongi is moving to you, bumping into a shocked sungho. his finger brush against your wet cheeks like you’d break under his touch, while your body collapses.

“baby”, he whispers – the first word his members have heard since he regained consciousness.

“yoongs”, you answer and throw your arms around his neck. the smell of vomit and sweat makes your nose crunch up, but your boyfriend hugs it all away. his forearms rest on each side of your head – supporting his weight – as he lets you hold on to him, the boyfriend who was playing idol life in the woods instead of being at home with his girlfriend. even through his mask he can breathe in your unique smell, clouded by disinfectant.

“noona”, the youngest whimpers from the doorway. jungkook is silently crying, his mask discolored from the tears. every member looks at you with sorrow, the younger ones visibly not as professional at keeping their emotions together. namjoon looks like he’s aged a decade, but there is a small smile pressing his eyes together behind his mask. you try to reciprocate his smile, but yoongi’s head his pressing against your cheeks with vigor.

“why don’t we give them some space?”, sejin says to which your coworker nods instantly. he’s your friend for sure – but this is a level of intimacy he’s not willing to share with you.

the members need more convincing as hoseok tries to gently pull jungkook back. the maknae vehemently shakes his head, not ready to leave you and yoongi alone.

“we’ll wait right outside, kookie”, seokjin coax him out of the room. he’s still reluctant so go, but jimin’s small body pushes against his back. soon, namjoon closes the door, leaving you alone.

your tears won’t stop and you try to move closer to your boyfriend – you want to feel him all around you. without words yoongi understands your need and presses his body down on yours. there is a sharp pain when his stomach meets your fractured rib.

“ah”, you breathe, hurting. yoongi extracts himself from you in a flash; every fiber of his being furious at your injury.

“baby”, he calls out as his fingers ghost across your ribcage.

“it’ll… it’ll heal soon”, you say timidly.

“how could this happen, baby?”, he asks, still more interested in your upper body than your eyes.

“i-i i should-d have che-checked the door before, ah before answering”, you whimper, ready to face the blame.

with yoongi’s lifestyle comes a certain level of danger. you’ve been trained to be more cautious with everyday things like grocery shopping, inviting new friends over, answering the door without checking the cam.

“no, no, no, no – baby – no…”, he hushes you. “they should have never been able to pass the foyer, nor should they have been able to move to the penthouse level.”

“i-i was so scared”, you admit, linking your fingers with his and pressing them close to your still beating heart.

“i know, baby, me too”, yoongi soothes you and flexes his fingertips against your warm skin.

“i’ve never felt this worthless… you got hurt… right in front of me… and i … i couldn’t do anything.” his voice shakes with emotions and slowly his stare moves to your bruised face. the madness has nearly died in his eyes – but there is still so much pain hidden behind his brown iris.

“i- i could have lost you”, he whispers darkly, speaking a truth into reality he is not ready to face. your crying has stopped now that the both of you are calmer and connected.

“nah, never, remember?”, you say with some form of humor behind your words. “i’m your trophy wife. trophy wives don’t die. first, they’d kill their rich husband”, you remind your boyfriend of your conversation half a lifetime ago.

“it’d be an honor getting murdered by you, baby.” his mask is gone in a flash and then you feel the warmth of his lips against your temple. “just let me finish my third mixtape first.”

“don’t move, noona”, jungkook pleads as the warm sunlight irritates your skin. the fresh air is caressing your body while the youngest tries to finish his painting. trees surround the both of you, resting on a soft picnic blanket. it’s the first time since your release from the hospital that yoongi has left you out of his sight. granted, you’re still not totally alone with the strongest bangtan member watching over you like a hawk. but it’s definitely a much-needed break from yoongi’s fretting.

after nearly throwing a tantrum in front of his manager und some staff members who wanted to continue the filming of their new “in the soop” show, all the members knew they’d have to handle their rapper with care. leaving you alone wasn’t an option, so taehyung and seokjin packed your suitcase with essentials and after your doctors determined you ready to rest at home, all eight of you moved back to the chill vacation home in the middle of nowhere.

the last few days have been difficult – the filming staff getting more and more irritated because the members flocked around you 24/7. sejin had to come up with a different schedule allowing every bandmate time to reconnect with you as well as time to do their work. only yoongi was allowed to not leave your side most of the day – him working on the new music being the cover for his absence.

but after days of your boyfriend breathing down your neck, you’ve had enough. so, now yoongi is out on the water with seokjin fishing, while you’re spending time with jungkook.

“when did the police say they are coming?”, you ask the painter. his nose is crunched in concentration as he tries to outline your hipbone.

“they should be here before lunch – if your boyfriend even manages to catch some lunch”, he answers. you snort, messing up his grasp of your proportions.

“i do have faith in seokjin’s ability.” jungkook chuckles but keeps his eyes on your drawing. you look so delicate, so soft, he can’t believe they nearly lost you.

“i got robbed – i didn’t die, kookie”, you read his mind as his eyes darken.

“you got hurt”, he responds through clenched teeth.

“and they’ll pay for that”, you vow. the police had called this morning with the news of your robbers being captured during another crime. you’re still not sure how the officers can be so sure they’re the same criminals, but you’re eager to close this chapter with your statement later that day.

your painting session gets interrupted by namjoon. “the detectives are already here, ____.”

jungkook is by your side in a flash and together with the leader the both of them help you up. the rib is healing and harsh movements still hurt. yoongi had a near meltdown when you tried to ride him yesterday morning only to topple over in pain.

“yoongi and jin don’t have a signal out in the water – but they won’t be long”, namjoon explains and guides you indoors to meet the two officers.

“ms. ______, a pleasure to meet you”, the older policeman says in greeting. the younger one only shifts uncomfortable when he sees you flanked by two famous idols.

“thanks for coming all this way”, you respond and bow slowly, not to put extra pressure on your rib.

“is there somewhere we could talk – uhm- privately?”, the old man asks and you show them to one of the office rooms in the back. jungkook reluctantly leaves your side and joon only squeezes your hand in passing.

“just holler when you need us, _____”, he says before ordering the maknae to clean the art supplies.

with both officers sitting across from you, you nervously fiddle in your chair.

“the two intruders were caught this morning while pawning off their haul”, the younger policeman states and shows you a surveillance picture of two familiar men. their figures alone invoke iced fear in your heart, and you push the picture out of your sight. after a moment of silence, you collect yourself enough to absorb the information.

“what did they steal? i – i didn’t report anything missing, sir”, you question. sure, they trashed the painting yoongi brought for you during your last vacation in italy. and some cloths were thrown across the bedroom – but there was nothing stolen. you even signed your statement last week before leaving for the woods.

the officers look at you like you’ve grown a second head.

“miss, you reported the item missing days ago. there is even a harsh voicemail left with your fiancé demanding a swift investigation.” you shake your head at their words – no, you didn’t.

“which item?”, you ask the men with narrowed eyes. you’d been off the pain meds for days now. but to call yoongi your fiancé? clearly, they’d switched up cases. the older officer opens his briefcase to retrieve a plastic bag with a… ring in it.

“in my days, my wife would have never forgotten about her engagement ring”, the man snickers as you watch the cold metal in front of you. it’s beautiful – it’s so yoongi, you wouldn’t be surprised if he himself crafted the asymmetric diamond set on roughened silver.

you’d dreamed of this moment for over a year – to lay eyes on the ring cementing your future in stone – or diamonds.

never would you have imagined it to be this tainted with two officers starring you down and the jewelry wrapped carelessly in plastic – a piece of evidence – while your boyfriend is fishing with kim seokjin.

“uhm”, you hesitate as emotions swirl around your brain. he was going to propose? to you?

“i had half a panic attack carrying it around with me the whole day – that thing could pay off all my debt, as well as my kid’s college fees”, the officer jokes, still not recognizing your surprise as genuine.

“uhm”, you try again to form words.

“we’ve all the papers here for you to sign; after that we’ll be ready to get out of your hair… for now”, the youngest states and moves different documents across the table. they lie next to yoongi’s engagement ring – your engagement ring.

“uhm”

giving up on forming a coherent sentence, you move along and sign your name on the different protocols. the paper from your insurance company makes your heart still – reading all the zeros on the price of your ring.

this… is by far the worst engagement set up you’ve ever heard of. your hands shack and your signature looks just terrible, but it’s enough for the two detectives. they still don’t seem to find your reaction odd as they collect their stuff and bid you fare well. like a zombie you get up and follow them to the front door, your ring clutched between your fingertips.

jungkook and jimin are waiting for you next to the foyer and jump at the sight of your pale face.

“everything alright?”, jimin asks and places a protective hand on your back. your slow nod does not convince them and their eyes sour at the policemen.

while the younger officer takes a step back, the oldest just chuckles at your idol friends.

“all is well, kids”, he sooths them. then both bow to you and you can only muster an awkward smile, the jewelry heavy in your hand.

“happy wedding planning, ms. ____”, he winks at you before they leave. the soft click of the closing door is the only sound in the hallway. you’re not even sure you’re breathing.

after a beat of silence you flinch at the sound of jimin’s high-pitched squeal.

“weeeedding”, he asks, way too loud and way too joyful. the mochi-cheeked idol excitedly jumps up and down, not really caring that you remain silent.

jungkook on the other hand looks … really upset. “you told the police but not me?”, he whispers betrayed.

you could cry as you feel the headache from your concussion clouding your mind. this is… too much.

“uhm”, you’ve decided to stick with your running-gag answer and push both idols out of your way.

your feet carry you out of the house, through the terrace door and before you know it, you’re running across the green gras. the smell of the lake invades your nose while you search for you boyfriend. yoongi’s boat is still on the water and you spot both men resting against each other with their rods, ready to catch your lunch. sunshine shimmers on the lake’s surface as you run onto the dock. your bare feet press against the wood while your hair rushes around you – the wind breezing through the unkempt strands.

“is… is that _____, yoongi?”, seokjin asks his fishing buddy who’s more focused watching the water for prey than his surroundings.

“huh?”, he hums, not really listening to his friend.

“i- i think your girlfriend wants to talk to you, yoongi”, the old singer says hesitantly as he sees you jumping up and down on the wooden dock. this can’t be good for your health.

swiftly, the rapper turns to the spot seokjin is pointing at. and there you stand – beautiful and barefoot, dressed in his t-shirt and some old leggings. your hair is a mess and the sun dances across your skin like the tiniest firework.

“MIN YOONGI”, you shout at the top of your lungs. your boyfriend flinches hearing your loud voice across the water.

“she sounds angry”, seokjin whispers.

“YOU FOOL”, you continue to yell and see seokjin’s shoulders shake with silent laughter.

“oh, i hope the crew gets this on tape”, he says with glee while yoongi really, truly tries to find a reason for your anger. he’s left you alone today, at your request. maybe you didn’t really want him to go? was it a test to see how much he wanted to stay with you? did he fail?

“I GOT YOUR RING!”, you shout and flash the evidence bag high in the air.

immediately, the rapper shoots up from his sitting position, rocking the boat dangerously form side to side.

“yah, yoongi, what the hell?”, seokjin swears but your boyfriend’s eyes rest on you, holding your engagement ring in a plastic bag. there is no air in his lungs – he’s been thinking about this moment for the last two years. he dreamed of your joyful tears, how soft your hands would feel while pushing the silver banner on your finger.

and now… he’s an ocean away from you holding on to the jewelry that got you hurt weeks ago.

“DO YOU WANT TO ASK ME SOMETHING, MIN YOONGI?”, you scream and your boyfriend’s eyes widen when they see the smile on your lips; do you – do you find this funny?

without thinking, he takes a step forward.

You can only watch seokjin’s helpless grimace as yoongi brings the boat out of balance. both idols topple over and splash into the cold sea.

the icy water doesn’t bother the rapper as he pushes to the surface. the sun shines high up while he speeds to the dock. you’ve never seen your boyfriend this determent – his laps forceful and quick, leaving a still shocked seokjin behind.

your fingers shake as you watch him come closer and closer to you. in mere moments he’s close enough for you to hear his heavy breathing.

yoongi heaves himself out of the cold, his shoulder screaming in pain, and then he is dripping in front of you. your boyfriend looks like a wet dog, the black hair plastered to his forehead as he steps forward. you can smell the sea salt across his drenched clothes.

the engagement ring screams from the bag to be acknowledged and yoongi is just… staring at you deeply.

“i had it all planned”, he whispers wringing his sweater. the gush of water drops on the deck, but the idol only looks at you. “weeks ago.” his fingers wrap around your writs, a silent plea to give the ring to its rightful owner – for now.

“i wanted to take you to the restaurant where we had our first date”, he admits and opens the bag. your first date had been a disaster – you’re still vividly remembering the food poisoning.

“then all the restaurants closed down; we were both so stressed… and… life went on”, yoongi continues as the ring dances between his fingertips. it looks like art without the plastic cheapening its presence.

“i... wanted it to be perfect.” his whispered words fall to the floor as he kneels in front of you. warmth is coloring your face, seeing your idol submitting to you.

“baby… you know how much i love you… how much you inspire me every day to become the best version of myself”, yoongi’s voice cracks against his words and you can’t help the softest coo from leaving your lips.

“i promise i’ll make you the best trophy wife of south korea.”

you snort as you hear boyish snicker from behind you at yoongi’s joke.

“will you spend the rest of my life with this ring on your hand?”, he asks and without waiting for an answer, he pushes the silver band on your finger. it fits perfectly.

“am i not supposed to agree first?”, you respond as your eyes stay on your future husband.

“oh baby, you agreed the moment you ate my burned pasta.” yoongi gets up and pushes a lose strand of hair behind your ears.

“you agreed the moment you moved in with me, a struggling insomniac.” his hands cradle your face, framing the expression of love between his palms.

“you agreed the moment you let me change your tampon because you were too drunk to move.” he gives you airy butterfly kisses.

“you agreed the moment you didn’t kill me for stealing your favorite ice cream from the freezer.”

“that actually was a close call”, you chime in, only to hear his soft chuckle.

“you agreed all those nights staying with holly in our shared bed while i traveled across the globe.”

a kiss is planted on the fresh scar across your temple. “you agreed all these moments where my depression was too much, where i was trapped in my own misery.”

a line of kisses travels to your mouth. mere millimeters from your lips he stills. “you do, right?”

under all the layers of love, confidence and familiarity, there is still a shy boy unsure of his worth. your smile is infused with giddiness as you close the gap, pressing your lips together in the softest kiss.

“i do”, you whisper in his mouth, only to meet his tongue with your own in a joyful dance. the boys around you are cheering, while the soft waves of the lake clash against the dock. you’re in pure bliss, kissing your wet fiancé fiercely.

and then you hear a loud thud, a wet slash on the wood. surprised, you both jump away a step – only to see a heaving seokjin lying flat on the deck, chest rising at a fast pace.

“i near- i nearly died for th-this engagement, ____. if – if i’m am not the be-best man, i’ll… will cast a spell on all- all yo-ur children.”

____

ah, this fic is crazy and totally not what i imagined it to become. i hope you enjoyed the read! there is only one chapter left (the stalker) – who’s excited for it? i hope you are doing well! to you, your family and/or loved ones i wish only the most festive time this week! love, dana

#btswriterscollective #bangtanuniversity #yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #bts x reader #bts established relationship #yoongi idol au #bts idol au #yoongi fluff #yoongi angst #min yoongi

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kikilefangirl · 3 years

Text

New Beginnings For Late Bloomers

Bucky Barnes x Reader

(Word Count: 2.4k)

You answered the Wakandan prince and princess’ call almost immediately. You quietly and swiftly made your way from your room, taking the familiar route south to the lab.

King T’Chaka’s death was so recent that his presence was still very much felt around the palace. Everyone, of all ranks, collectively mourning the loss. As you passed through the halls, you thought of his children—you couldn’t imagine losing your father, especially in such a jarring way. You bristled before turning the corner, bracing yourself for whatever was on the other side.

A pale skinned, dark haired man appeared to be sleeping in a large tube. Beside it, Prince T’Challa and Princess Shuri were in deep conversation with another white man, this one blonde. He stood opposite them and face to face with you.

You weren’t one for rudeness, but you had never seen a white man in person before, and it was strange. You found yourself switching back and forth between the and his sleeping friend. The first and second white men you had seen up close. They both had white skin tinged with pink, and their hair really was bone straight. The blonde gave you a warm smile, maintaining a slight recline and dropped shoulders.

You weren’t very good at interrupting or with strangers; your shyness was a terrible hindrance, and it was a wonder you even had friends in the royal family. The stranger’s reaction saved you the trouble, causing both siblings to do the same. Immediately, your eyes drifted the man in the tube, lightly pressing your fingers on the glass.

T’Challa cleared his throat and gestured at the blonde, “Y/N, this is Captain Rogers.”

You nodded at him and followed his downward gaze––to the other white man. Because you were closer, you could see his breath fog up the glass in front of his nose.

“We need you to watch over Sergeant Barnes while he is within our borders,” Shuri said. Though he looked relatively peaceful, what this Sergeant Barnes was like when he was awake must be hard.

“Your daily tasks will be to tend to him.” T'Challa explained.

Your gaze softened when you glanced at Captain Rogers. His concern was plain to see, enough to make you muster up whatever courage you had to speak.

“I will do as I am asked. Sergeant Barnes will be well cared for during his time here.” You replied. You gave him a small smile.

The man nodded at your reassurance, and you excused yourself. You had a lot of work ahead of you.

…

The sound of giggling and shuffling feet took you out of your reverie.

You were greeted to the sight of children laughing and chasing each other on the river bank. You smiled at their antics, but had to shoo them away. They were playing outside of Sergeant Barnes’—erm, Bucky’s hut while he was sleeping. You noticed how little the man allowed his body to rest, and you did your best to prolong it.

You knew the kids had broken his sleep, so you entered his hut, anyway. As you expected, the man was on his back looking at you with heavy lidded eyes.

“Please, try and go back to sleep,” you whispered, averting your gaze.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him tilt his head back on his bed. You took the opportunity to light an incense on the outer edge of the hut while you went about your daily tasks. It was the one that usually lulled him back to sleep, but Bucky was wide awake.

You occupied yourself with menial work in an effort to ignore his eyes on you. You were taking out an old blanket but when you touched the other side, you felt a thick, runny liquid. The harsh smell of iron hit your nostrils almost immediately.

Blood.

“I had another one after you left.” A raspy voice called from behind you.

You quickly wrapped the blanket in your arms, doing your best to hide the sight. Bucky was sitting up; he may have been looking at you, but his eyes were much farther away. The color wasn’t familiar to you, but the distant sadness in them was. You could see fresh scratches poking out from his tunic and the slight grimace on his face.

Gently, you set the blanket back down and grabbed the tin of shea butter from your supply bag. You unscrewed the cap and scooped the product out. You made your way to his bed, sitting on your knees beside him.

You pulled the cloth down to reveal the familiar nub where his arm used to be.

“Your head therapy with Dr. Amari has been switched to Tuesdays and Thursdays, for now. Shuri needs time to grieve the king and the mind must come before the body, in your case. ” You said softly, applying the shea butter evenly and without fanfare.

Bucky was leaning away from you, but he nodded nonetheless. You never had to yell or shout to get his attention––he always heard you, no matter how quiet you were.

When you were done, Bucky offered you a tired smile, but you couldn’t return it. You felt your face get hot and averted your gaze. It was different when you had nothing more to do, and he was just staring at you.

“I will get you new bedding and clothing when I return.”

You darted out of the hut as fast as you could, only stopping to let out the breath you had been holding.

…

“I don’t know if your treatment is working, Shuri.”

The princess was busy working on a new project. With heavy protective goggles on, and a wicked grin, there was no telling what she was up to. Carefully, Shuri shut the lid on it, and spun towards you.

You held up the bloody fabric, and Shuri frowned.

“Ah, Y/N, Sergeant Barnes’ brain will take more work than his body.” She said, scanning the blanket.

“He claws at himself while he sleeps.” You replied. The memories of his episodes were so clear in your mind. For a man who was fairly quiet and calm, in those moments he was mechanical and unflinchingly cruel. It was the first time a cold feeling settled in the pit of your stomach and it was truly awful.

Shuri was periodically glancing up at you as she read Bucky’s file. The farther she read, the more the princess looked puzzled. She clicked her tongue, then suddenly clapped loudly. The sound made you jump.

“Shuri!” You hissed. The girl was bouncing on the balls of her feet, animatedly. An especially devious smirk made its way onto her face.

“He is from New York City, ah! The city where dreams are made of!” She sang. Her off key version made you cringe at first, but a smile soon replaced it.

The Wakandan princess’s bubbly mood was the thing you enjoyed most about her. She was always so excited to explore and plot anything she wanted; it was refreshing to see.

“Take Sergeant Barnes to the market! It is a city environment to remind him of home.” Shuri exclaimed wildly.

Your eyes widened in horror at her suggestion. Shuri lit up, her ideas kept coming.

“He needs you to go with him. It can be a date!” You nearly choked.

“Princess Shuri!” You cried out. It was actually more of a high pitched squeak.

You gazed down at the blanket. It’s rich brown color was tinged with a darker one. The sickly smell of blood—Bucky’s blood—still invaded your senses. Your job was to care for him while he was in your country’s custody.

You sighed and agreed.

…

Bucky knew something was wrong the second you found the blanket.

The slight downturn of your chin as the realization dawned on you—he should’ve buried it when he had the chance.

The scratches were deep this time, but Bucky healed fast. It had been just over eleven hours since they happened. He had since changed into new clothes, so as to spare you from seeing the gashes, but he didn’t have the tools to get rid of the blood on hand.

Bucky heard your approaching steps, and went out to greet you. It was the height of the late afternoon heat; the dark haired man could see you approach through the vapors.

He knew it had been a long time since he’d been around a woman as Bucky, not the Winter Soldier. That was the exact reason why he wasn’t used to how you looked then. Your deep brown skin glowed as you came closer. A gold armband sat on your upper left arm, shining in the sunlight. You had on a green two-piece, decorated in bright Wakandan prints.

Bucky missed his phantom limb during times like this. It meant he was still capable of being the smooth, confident guy from Brooklyn and not the mess he truly was. He shifted his weight, bracing himself for your arrival.

…

“Would you like to come with me to the market?” You asked.

You wouldn’t look up at him for more than a second, but you did sit near him during the escort over. On his left side, too.

Once you two made it to the market entrance, it was in full swing. Hundreds of people were mingling through the stalls. A woman was haggling a tailor for a shoddy job he’d done. The smell of spices and roots hung in the air.

You snuck a glance at Bucky, giggling at the curious stares he received. And what a strange sight he was—a very white man in Wakanda. It was unheard of.

“I was told you were from New York City. Manhattan?” You said.

Bucky turned to you, mildly offended.

“Brooklyn, doll. Real different.” He said. You watched him inhale, taking in the bustling vendors and patrons.

You put a slight pressure on his shoulder, leading him to a street show. The performance was fun and free as the drummers played their sing song rhythms. Even you felt the urge to sway your hips to the beat.

A crowd had gathered, stomping and clapping as they went along, growing more boisterous as the dancers went on. Lost in the moment, you failed to notice Bucky’s balled fists and his blank stare. The only reason you did, was because in the middle of your small dance, you bumped into a hard body. The way you bounced off of him jostled you back to reality.

You got him some water, pouring it on your hand and then on his forehead. The cold shock worked, but with it came those scared, disoriented eyes. Ordinarily, you wouldn’t try and steer the big man any direction. You never could, Bucky was just kind enough to oblige most times. This time, he seemed so splintered, he followed without protest.

You led Bucky into an empty alleyway.

“I’m sorry. Please, let me take you back.” You said, apologetically.

You thought it would help him, not this. You leaned back on the wall opposite to him, waiting for Bucky to decide what to do. Slowly, heavy breathing subsided and he lifted his head from the ground.

“I don’t want you to think I didn’t like it. I did. But the people and the sounds and the—I know I was raised in a big city, but it’s been a long time since then.” Bucky said, finally.

He met your concerned gaze and almost looked relieved. The man stood up to his full height in one swift motion.

“I don’t think I like them anymore.” He admitted in a low, gravelly voice.

Your heart sank at his omission. Bucky had no idea who he was anymore, or what made him happy. He needed some peace that didn’t come from his place at the river, that was too familiar.

“I know a place you might enjoy, but it will take time to get there.”

Bucky had complete faith in you, and nodded imperceptibly.

…

It was a quiet ride up the mound.

By now, it was nearing dusk. The sky was a vibrant mix of purples and oranges and reds. Bucky hadn’t spoken again, and you hadn’t pressed him.

“It’s an undeveloped hot spring, Prince T’Challa and I found it together as children. No one will bother us here.”

You stalked through the heavy foliage with a clear head, muscle memory guiding the way to the cave. You were very aware of Bucky’s silent presence behind you. He navigated the vegetation with ease, carrying the food and water in a basket.

You huffed just taking the towels and blanket, and he looked unfazed. The both of you finally reached the mouth of the cave as soon as the last rays of sunlight faded. You watched as Bucky’s face darkened in the dim light.

“There are lights on the far end, vibranium powered so they will last.” You said. Bucky had far better sight than you, and he successfully found and turned them on.

He pointed the bright light toward the cave ceiling, setting off a series of shadows and patterns above you. You smiled softly, satisfied with your work. Bucky was still shook up from the market, but once he stepped into the hot spring he physically seemed more comfortable.

“Don’t stay in too long, it could be dangerous,” you warned him. A blast of warm air hit you, and you laid down on the blanket.

“Got it.” Bucky replied.

Occasionally, you heard the sound of water sloshing around, but you were too lazy to turn your head. There was no one around for miles to interrupt the calm, so you finally closed your eyes.

You heard water streaming to the cave floor as Bucky drew nearer. You thought nothing of it, until you felt warm, sopping wet hands wrap around you. You gasped the intrusion—if you hadn’t known who it was you would’ve screamed.

Bucky pulled you into him. Your face rested on his bare chest, catching the heat emanating from his warm skin. You didn’t have time to freak out.

What he did next wasn’t quite like a cry. The noise was so soft you thought you misheard it at first. It was a strangled, ghost of a sob.

“I-I can’t stop saying I don’t know.”

Bucky clung to you, letting all of his frustration and pain roll off him in waves. You took your cheek off his chest, the warm water leaving your face hotter than normal.

You stopped Bucky before he could recoil—gripping his shoulder.

“Horrific things happened to you Bucky, and I am sorry for that,” you started, staring off at the hot spring behind him. Steam rolled off its surface and wafted upwards and into nothing.

“You are rebuilding yourself and that is alright.”

Bucky peered down at you with a hardened kind of fascination. His eyes raked over you and he broke out in a grateful smile. A true smile.

“Thank you.”

He paused as he regarded you, dropping his shoulders.

“Doll? Can I kiss you?” The request sent you toppling over on the inside. You swallowed hard.

“Why?” Your voice was small. It was the cost to stare Bucky in the eyes while you asked. He needed to see how dead serious you were. You could be fragile, too. You blinked rapidly in anticipation, trying to concentrate over the roar of blood rushing through your veins.

“You never asked me to be someone, now I can be someone else.”

Your jaw dropped. You mustered all the courage you had and met his lips. The kiss was hesitant and soft. There were no expectations, just a sweet moment for two people that needed more of them.

#black!reader #poc!reader #marvel mcu #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x poc!reader #bucky barnes x black!reader #bucky barnes #Bucky Barnes has a disability #slightly pre infinity war #idk how tfaws will characterize him and I wanted to post this beforehand #wakandan!reader #Bucky in wakanda #white wolf #tfaws already has my heart #wakanda brought calm #woc!reader #Sebastian Stan is a phenomenal actor #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes angst

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shewholovestoread · 3 years

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Fear Street Trilogy Review

Beware, spoilers ahead.

I love horror movies but good horror movies are so hard to come by. Fear Street grabbed my attention as soon as they released the first trailer, it looked like a call-back to the slasher films of old, back when they were still good. And the best part was the apparent presence of lesbians, count me in!

Fear Street is based on the books by the same name by R. L. Stine, a lot of us remember Stine for another horror classic, Goosebumps. The Fear Street novels were aimed at older audiences and were way more bloody than Goosebumps- lots of teenagers dying. The films don’t adapt any particular book but rather the tone and rough setting and I think that works to its advantage.

The Setting:

Fear Street is based on the fictional town of Shadyside, the poorer and more unfortunate twin of its sister-town Sunnyside. Sunnyside is sunny, wealthy and where nothing bad ever happens. Shadyside in contrast is poorer, the homes more run-down and where, every few years, some resident snaps and goes on a murderous rampage, killing their own friends, family or whoever they can get their hands on. There are those who believe that Shadyside is cursed by Sarah Fier, a witch who was hanged in the 1600s when she cut off her hand and used it to curse the town.

Fear Street Part 1:

1994 functions like the introduction and set-up for the trilogy. It introduces us to the characters, Deena (Kiana Madeira), Sam (Olivia Scott Welch), Josh (Benjamin Flores Jr.), Kate (Julia Rehwald) and Simon (Fred Hechinger). They unwittingly trigger the curse when they stumble across the bones of Sarah Fiers, soon killers are chasing them, killing-machines powered by the curse and who can’t be killed. Deena, Sam, Josh, Kate and Simon have to put aside their differences and work together to survive the night.

Fear Street Part 2: 1978

1978 opens with the survivors of 1994 going to C. Berman (Gillian Jacobs), the lone survivor of the Camp Nightwing massacre. It provides insight into the massacre that saw dozens of Shadyside kids being killed. 1978 takes us back to the day leading up to the bloody night. We meet the Berman sisters, Ziggy and Cindy (Sadie Sink and Emily Rudd respectively), Alice (Ryan Simpkins) and Tommy (McCabe Syle) When an axe-wielding murderer starts butchering the camp residents, Cindy and Alice, while trying to escape, stumble into the cave system that runs under the camp and discover Sarah’s hand and that the only way to break the curse is to reunite the hand with her body. However, they are unable to break the curse when they realise that the body is not buried where they thought it would be. Alice, Cindy and Ziggy are killed by the cursed murderers with only Ziggy being revived thus being labeled the lone survivor. In the present day, Deena and Josh dig out the hand from where Ziggy and Cindy left it, when Deena reunites the hand with the body, she sees visions of Sarah Fiers, leading us into the third and final film.

Fear Street Part 3: 1666

1666, the year it all started. We see the events play out leading up to the hanging. Deena is inside Sarah’s body, seeing and experiencing her life as if it were own. We learn that it was never Sarah’s curse, but in fact it was the Goodes who had made a deal with the devil, securing power for themselves (their descendants are the mayor and sheriff in 1994) Sarah Fiers was just the scapegoat. Every time someone saw a vision of Sarah, she was trying to show them the truth and un-dead killers hunted them to keep them from exposing it.

The films work individually but their impact really hits home once you’ve watched all 3. Leigh Janiak crafts such an intricate story and links 3 time periods, weaving them through each other seamlessly. With 3 films, she also has the time to invest in these different time periods and the characters that inhabit them.

The story, both in terms of individual films as well as the trilogy as a whole, is engaging and engrossing. It keeps the audience on their toes and the edge of their seats, waiting and dreading as the bodies pile up. Janiak also grounds the story so that it feels real even as the characters are fighting off un-dead killers, adding to the nail-biting tension.

There’s plenty to admire for a horror film buff, from the Scream reference in 1994, to Friday the 13th in 1978 and The Witch (or VVitch) in 1666. There’s also a good amount of gore to be found along with some really inventive ways of killing, who knew bread cutters/slicers could be so menacing.

There’s so much attention to detail in terms of costume and production design that you really feel like you’re in 1994, 1978 or even 1666. All of these work to draw you in as the viewer, adding to the authenticity on screen. The clothes and places feel lived-in. The song choices are amazing with popular hits from 1994 and 1978, the soundtrack definitely elevates the visuals. The original score in 1666 was absolutely gorgeous, especially Deena and Sam’s theme.

The sequence of the films with 1994 being the first, followed by 1978 and finally 1666 was a great choice with each film revealing a little more of the puzzle till all the pieces are revealed in 1666. It keeps the tension alive and keeps the characters and the audience constantly guessing. It also allows Janiak to sprinkle just enough subtle clues that become apparent when rewatching the films.

The characters are one of the best things in the trilogy, they are so well written, and I mean that for almost all of the main cast which is rare. One of the best things that Janiak does is repeat actors, especially the principle cast. For instance, a lot of actors we see in 1994 and 1978 appear in 1666 playing different roles but with a similar dynamic. It helps tell the story without worrying about too many new faces and worrying about whether or not the audience will be able to keep track of them. The return of old faces also ensures that the audience is already a little invested in them and their well-being.

Small side-note: I really appreciated that there was no sexual violence. It always worries me when I start a horror show/film and it was such a relief that they did not go that route. There is a lot of violence and a lot of people and kids die but it’s always just slightly campy enough that keeps it from being genuinely disturbing.

One of the things that always irk me with slasher films (especially the old ones) are how white they were, no characters of colour and if there were any, they always died. There were also no queer characters. Fear Street undoes that beautifully, all of our main characters are outsiders, they are people of colour, they are queer. In another film, they would have been nameless characters, among the first to die. Here they are the heroes. I loved all of them and I hated that Alice, Kate and Simon died, to be honest, I expected the core group to survive, Kate especially.

Fear Street is also unapologetically feminist and Janiak does this without it being too obvious. The central conflicts in the story are between women (sister/ friends/ ex-girlfriends) but they also band together and fight for each other. It’s worth noting that most of the core relationships are between women (Deena-Sam, Ziggy-Cindy-Alice, Sarah-Hannah) and those are not coincidences.

I loved how gay this trilogy was, Deena and Sam’s love for each other was the driving force and was at the heart of the story. Even in 1666, Sarah’s crime was not so much witchcraft as it was daring to love someone you’re not supposed to and fighting back against the proprietary nature of the men who sought to control them. Sarah and Hannah loved each other fiercely and we see that same love reflected hundreds of years later in Deena and Sam who fight for each other relentlessly. I also appreciated that Deena and Sam were exes instead of a new relationship. It meant that they already had history, they shared a familiarity and comfort with each other that a new relationship would have had to build onscreen.

The Fear Street Trilogy is one of the best horror trilogies I’ve seen in a while, each film is consistently great and delivers gore and violence coupled with immense heart. It has one of the best queer relationships I’ve seen on screen and spoiler alert, they get a happy ending. I’m sick and tired of lesbian women dying or separating because of realism. Damn realism, give me happy women loving women and who live through their traumatic ordeal. Watch Fear Street for them if for nothing else. Now excuse me as I prepare to rewatch the trilogy.

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whumpingcrow · 3 years

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Ink Poisoning - Chapter 2

Shiny New Toy

CW: BBU and everything in relation to that, drugs/alcohol, party themes/setting, tattoo whump, creepy whumper, scar mention, noncon/dubcon touching, crying, nightmares, bathing, lady whump, noncon drugging, vomit mention (let me know if I missed anything!)

The first thing that Nicko noticed about his box boy was how nice his skin was. He realized how creepy and serial killer-ish that seemed, but it only stemmed from an artistic place, for the most part he wasn't trying to be creepy. He had ordered him that way, to be as pale and smooth as possible. He did have a couple scars around his wrists, what looked like maybe he’d had too tight shackles or ropes there once, and some on his face, around his mouth. But besides that, he looked brand new, despite being recalled, or whatever. Nicko didn’t particularly enjoy the fact that his boxie was used, but it was so much cheaper that way. And so far, in the week and a half that he’d had him, it didn't seem like it mattered that he'd been sent back.

Nicko wasn’t home when he was delivered, he’d gone out to get new art supplies while Rory sat in his living room to wait for him. She had been coming over a lot, recently, unannounced and for long amounts of time. Nicko hoped she wasn’t wanting to move in with him. It was starting to bother him having to entertain her constantly, but right then he was glad that she had been there. Who knows how long the poor boxie would’ve had to wait in that box out in the snow if she hadn’t been. When Nicko got back, Rory had already given him a shower and gone through Nicko’s closet to get him clothes, and she was combing his wet hair out of his face when Nicko walked in. He looked so terrified, his shoulders high and tense and his eyes huge in restrained panic.

Rory took a liking to the boxie right from the beginning, Nicko suspected they might’ve had some sort of bonding moment when Rory let him out of the box and showered him and gave him clothes. Weirdly enough, Nicko didn’t mind so much. When he first noticed it, he was annoyed and jealous that this frail, falling apart at the seams boxie was getting more attention from his girlfriend than he was. But then he realized it wasn’t that bad, that when Rory came over now and Nicko had enough of her, he could stick her in a room with his box boy and they would keep each other busy.

Three days after he got there, Rory decided he needed a name. Nicko had been working on a piece in the kitchen, some dumb still life painting for class, and Rory walked in, her timid friend trailing closely behind her. He saw Nicko, sitting straight in the chair and putting those vibrant colors onto the huge white canvas, and he shuffled right up to him and sank down to his knees at Nicko's feet. That was another reason Nicko didn’t mind how much Rory liked to play house with the boxie, because they all knew who he was loyal to, they all knew who signed the papers and who was in charge of him. And when he did things like this, like groveling at Nicko’s feet and looking at him with wide, nervous puppy dog eyes, it made Nicko high on power.

“I thought of a good name for him,” Rory announced. Nicko turned to look at her, at how she leaned against the wall lazily, eyes droopy and words slurred. She was high, she was always high and Nicko really hated it. He told her all the time how much he hated it, she just never seemed to care. “What do you think about Giovanni? Gio for short.”

Nicko looked down at his boxie, who was now swaying just a little, looking a little pale. When Nicko’s hand found his wavy brown hair, he closed his eyes tight and pressed against the touch for the split second it was there, then he deflated as it was pulled away. “Giovanni,” Nicko repeated thoughtfully, “Yeah, it’s cute. Suits him.” With that, he lowered his paintbrush and smeared some red onto Gio’s nose, laughing at how shocked he looked. Giovanni looked up at Nicko, saw him laughing, and a tiny grin slipped onto his face. Nicko liked the way red looked against his pale skin.

The first time Nicko tattooed him, Giovanni cried. He didn’t move around or try to stop Nicko or make any sounds, he was perfectly behaved the entire time. Nicko was entranced, the needle was sliding across his skin smoothly, the dark ink looked so striking against his skin, and Giovanni was so good and still, he got lost in the moment. He had been working on it for probably a good two hours before he noticed Gio crying. Nicko didn’t say anything, simply pulled his hands off of him and looked back over his work. Maybe he should have opted for something smaller, and in a less sensitive spot, allow Gio to ease into the stinging pain of the needle before starting this huge, intricate bouquet on his ribcage. It was looking incredible, though, and Nicko had to finish it.

He glanced up at Giovanni, who was staring up at the ceiling with huge tears slipping down the sides of his face and into his hair, his bottom lip trembling as he took in tiny, shaking breaths. Nicko laughed softly at him, drawing Gio’s attention to him. When he realized Nicko was watching him cry, he frantically reached up and swiped away his tears.

“It’s ok,” Nicko said softly, “crying’s normal. I’ve seen grown men sob like babies in these chairs. You’re doing great, Gio. Just keep still, like you’ve been doing.”

Giovanni took a deep breath, then smiled at Nicko through his teary eyes. “O-Ok…”

Nicko felt a certain thrill when he tattooed Giovanni. Something about it was different than getting paid to do one, than having to sit in front of a bossy customer who would whine about it the entire time. Giovanni belonged to Nicko, he didn’t have a say in what markings were put on his body, he just had to shut up and take it. It also felt so much better, physically. Giovanni’s fragile ribs underneath Nicko’s hands, tensing occasionally as he tried not to jolt away from the pain, felt sort of similar to choking Rory when they fucked. He thought it was just because of the placement of his hands, the intimacy of touching someone's bare torso, but then when he was doing a couple on Gio’s arms another day it felt the same. His wrist was frail and breakable in Nicko’s hand and his fingers were twitching when the needle caught a sensitive spot, and Nicko was absolutely obsessed. He knew it wasn’t great to do so many tattoos all in a short period of time, but he couldn’t help himself. He caught himself thinking about it all the time, during class, while he was painting, while he was fucking around with Rory, when he was drunk, he was constantly imagining Giovanni's almost inaudible gasps of pain, the way his brown eyes dulled in fear when the tattoo gun started buzzing loudly, how he bit down on his full bottom lip when it really hurt. He just wanted to do it all the time. Even when he couldn’t take Gio down to the shop, he would lock them away in his room and bring out his own supplies. His were cheaper and older, and that meant it hurt worse, and the few times Nicko used it on him, Giovanni couldn’t help but let out tiny whines and hisses every so often. He looked mortified that he was doing it, when Nicko stopped to look up at him, he would duck his head in apology. Nicko wondered if he used to get in trouble for making noises while he was hurting.

Actually, Nicko wondered a lot of things about Gio’s past. Before he showed up, his biggest question was what had he done to be given up by his old owners? The company had listed him as “refurbished”, because he had done something that went against training and had to go back to go through the process again. Nicko couldn’t imagine him doing anything wrong enough to deserve whatever horrors were held in retraining. Hell, he had sat through about 13 hours worth of tattoos perfectly still and quiet, and he never complained, so it certainly couldn't have been because of his inability to do what his owners wanted him to. And Rory absolutely adored him, he let her play with his hair and smear makeup on his face and even pump him full of whatever drug she was using at the time, and he didn’t protest once. Giovanni was perfect. But maybe at one point he wasn’t, it was just hard for Nicko to imagine that.

After he realized that, he also couldn’t stop thinking about what he had done to become a boxie in the first place. From what he’d read, someone had to do something pretty awful for a judge to even consider that as an alternative punishment, it wasn’t something they gave you for vandalism or trespassing. Again, though, Giovanni was so soft spoken, so timid, so afraid of everything, Nicko didn’t believe he could do anything bad. At least not bad enough to warrant what he’d gone through.

That was only stuff Nicko thought of at night when he couldn’t sleep and he could hear Giovanni whimpering and sniffling to himself from his makeshift bed on Nicko’s floor. Once or twice he debated inviting him up into the bed with him so he’d stop crying, but something always stopped him. He told himself it was because Rory would be mad if she found them in bed together, but he knew that wasn’t the case. So for some reason, he just pretended he didn’t hear it and waited until it stopped. Or fell asleep anyway before it did.

The rest of the time, though, he was thinking about how perfect Giovanni was, and how much he liked having him around.

And then Salem came back and started messing things up.

-------------------------------------------------

Giovanni was scared of Salem right away, it was hard not to be scared of someone when they march right up with a huge black bag that looks like it would hurt so bad if it was swung hard enough, and start yelling and cussing. It didn't help that he was already freaked out enough because of the loud party that had been going on for three days now and whatever it was that Rory had made him swallow earlier. He didn’t mean to let his fear show, he was planning on just sitting very still and pretending he wasn’t there so he would be left alone, but he was so high he couldn’t help but react just a little. When Rory noticed, she grabbed his face and leaned in close and said “it’s ok, Gio, it’s just Salem, I won’t let him hurt ya.”

He liked Rory a lot. He was really scared of her, too, at first, with her bright blue hair and black powder smudged around her eyes like charcoal. She looked just as scared as he felt, as she looked down at him through the now open wooden crate he was still in, and for some reason that made him feel a little better. She helped him out of the box, held his shoulders to keep him steady when he stood on wobbling knees. Gio allowed her to lead him down the long hallway, walking slowly and patiently next to him so he wouldn’t fall. She sat right outside the bath on her knees and washed him off, her sharp nails dragging through his hair. She laughed at him when he closed his eyes and melted against it. When she was done rinsing the shampoo out of his hair, she leaned back with a sigh.

“My name’s Aurora, by the way. Like the princess.” When she said it, she smiled widely and her cheeks got a little rosy.

“Like the what?” He whispered.

She laughed at him again, this time it was just in disbelief. “The princess? Aurora?” He shook his head a little. “Sleeping Beauty? You don’t know her?”

He had been silent for a long time, thinking really hard, trying to remember. Was he supposed to know her? Was this part of his training? Did he forget? His heart sank the longer she stared at him, he was stupid and forgetful and she was going to send him back to training and he couldn’t go back there, it would kill him if he had to do it one more time.

But then she was reaching over to drain the bath, and standing up and trying to help him to his feet as well. She wrapped a towel around his waist carefully. “It’s ok, no one calls me that anyway. You can call me Rory, ‘kay?”

After that point, she wanted to be around him almost all the time. She liked to mess around with his hair, tug at it and put it into colorful rubber bands. A few times she had put some makeup on him. She told him that Nicko didn’t let her do it on him, even though she thought it was so attractive when men wore makeup. She told Gio it was ok, cause he looked better than Nicko would anyway, told him he was handsome. He liked when she said nice things like that. He didn't believe her, of course, but he still liked it. She would also give him tiny pills and make him breathe in smoke and put powder on his teeth, it all made him feel so strange and distant, more so than usual, anyways. Some of them made him feel so good he never ever wanted it to end, and some of them were so scary he ended the night hunched over the toilet vomiting in pure fear or sobbing in Rory’s comforting arms. He never refused anything she tried to give him, though, he wouldn’t dream of that.

As much as Gio liked Rory, it paled in comparison to how he felt about Nicko. Giovanni liked him so much that it scared him sometimes. He found himself wanting to be next to him always, felt utterly ruined when he wasn’t allowed to be. The way Nicko smiled at him, especially when Giovanni sat down at his feet while he painted, made him feel like screaming. He thought it was incredible what beautiful things Nicko could create with his hands, he often sat close by and watched silently as Nicko worked with thick, bright paints, completely mesmerized. One time, when Rory was gone and it was just Nicko and Gio, he gave him one of the pictures. It was while they were in Nicko’s room, Giovanni was sitting on the floor and watching the snow fall just outside, and suddenly Nicko was waving his hand at him to get his attention.

“Come here, I wanna give you something.” Gio wasted no time scrambling over to him, watching him intently as he ripped a piece of paper out of his sketchbook. Giovanni heard himself gasp when Nicko extended the paper out toward him and he saw it. It was him, Nicko had been drawing him while he was distracted by the snow. Nicko laughed at him, shaking the paper at him pointedly. “Here, take it. It’s for you.”

Giovanni blinked up at him in surprise, then slowly reached forward and took the paper with shaking hands, like he was afraid it was a trick. Once it was in his grip and Nicko had let go, he looked down at it with his breathing shallow. It was beautiful, just like everything Nicko created, and Giovanni felt so lucky, so thankful.

He was always thanking Nicko, even when he shouldn’t be. After the long, miserable sessions where Nicko would press that loud machine against him until Gio wanted to tear himself out of his own skin so he didn’t have to feel the sharp stinging and burning, he would look at the new design Nicko put on him and he would say “thank you” so genuinely, and it always made Nicko smile warmly. The pain was horrible, and Giovanni was so sensitive, he always had been, and he was so embarrassed when he cried, or when they were alone in Nicko’s room and he couldn’t stay silent. At first he was so worried Nicko would be angry with him for making noise while it was happening, but then he told him it was ok, it was normal, and it eased his anxiety a little.

Nicko was good at that, at making Gio less anxious. All it took most of the time was a small amount of reassurance, a simple “it’s ok, don’t worry”, and then he would feel better. Gio only wished that he did it more often, because everything made him nervous and Nicko could help him so easily, if he wanted to. Like when he would wake up from nightmares he wasn’t even able to remember, crying at memories that disappeared once he woke up. If Nicko just sat up for a second and told him it was ok, he would probably feel better instantly. But he decided not to, for whatever reason, and Gio just had to be ok with it. He would be ok with anything Nicko decided to do or not do, if he was being honest. As long as he didn’t get rid of him, as long as he just kept him around, Nicko could do whatever he wanted, and Giovanni would be happy. He did exist for Nicko now, after all, it was purpose to please him or entertain him however he asked, to do everything and anything he could to make him happy. So really, as long as Nicko was happy, so was Giovanni.

The only problem was Giovanni was secretly miserable.

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thedreadvampy · 3 years

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Thoughts on Melanie?

I think we all know I have Many

Her grandparents are Gujarati and she grew up in a bilingual household. She doesn't remember much Gujarati though and she hasn't had much cause to speak it, especially since her dad died. When she went over to Sheffield it was the first time she really noticed how rusty she'd got.

She was born in Sheffield but her parents moved to Manchester for work when she was about 10

She had two older brothers, both substantially older, one of whom died in a car accident before she was born.

She had a very difficult relationship with her mum, who was very critical and prone to sudden bursts of violent anger or total emotional coldness. That relationship basically fell all the way apart when she was sexually assaulted as a teenager and her mum blamed her.

Her dad was very close to her and they both used each other as support to weather her mum's anger. He was quite mild and quiet, and a bit of a pushover, but he saw the fire in her and he was so proud of it. He was the only person she talked to about her trauma before she went into therapy, and even when he didn't know what was happening sometimes she still had long conversations with him (and then felt guilty afterwards)

She's good at cooking and really enjoys it - her dad taught her. She grows her own tomatoes and okra in window pots when she's able.

She started on YouTube in like 2007 as a vlogger before she got more into urbex and then the paranormal end of things

She moved down south for uni and didn't come back up north until her dad got sick, then she moved back into her family home to help her mum look after him. Being back home with her mum did a real number on her mental health, but after her mum died she really couldn't cope with him on her own, he was wandering and getting to be a danger to himself and she wasn't able to travel or work.

She's still guilty about how guilty she doesn't feel about her mum's death. It was just like a weight lifting, especially with the life insurance payout.

She has five tattoos - the big moth chest piece she got when she left home, a phases-of-the-moon tattoo on her back, a Mary Oliver quote on her thigh, the words 'be brave' in Gujarati on her hip, and a stylised moth outline on her lower arm that she got when her dad died. she traces around it with her finger when she wants to blow up at someone.

she does kickboxing, pilates and arial silks on an evening, and yoga on her lunch break. she's also periodically got into open water swimming.

she's an absolute Instagram lesbian. the vibes are there.

she goes on a lot of dates but she's only had a handful of actual relationships and they've been Committed with a capital C. she's definitely hoped to find The One but doesn't mind having some fun on the way. breakups absolutely crush her.

She used to change her hair colour a lot but stuck on teal years ago

She has a huge collection of weird earrings, and has some arty friends with laser cutters who do custom commissions for her. this is her main Ghost Hunt UK merch other than like. T-shirts.

She's very much the kind of friend who you turn to when you need to talk about your problems - she's funny, she'll get angry on your behalf and she's always available to listen. but it's very much a one-way street, she'll bitch about surface stuff but it's hard for her to open up.

she's not close to her family but she's proud of her roots

she was raised Hindu and while she isn't deeply religious if she had to define a religion it would be that

she listens to a lot of music especially by female artists. big choices would be MIA, Lizzo, Janelle Monae, Meghan Thee Stallion and so on

She started getting a few white hairs when she was in her late teens and her mum used to pull them out so now she's like. fiercely proud of them. she sometimes jokes about naming them all.

her family weren't super well off and she almost dropped out of school during the court case about her assault. she did drop out of uni (she was doing film studies in London) after another series of significant traumas, and her mum never forgave her for that. that in mind, she's justifiably proud of making a career in a difficult field.

she doesn't trust men and yes I'm projecting

she's never lived in one place more than a year or so, except her parent's house. as soon as her dad died she sold the house and she hasn't been back to Manchester since.

she loves cheesy horror films but she's the worst person to watch them with because she is the sort of person whose mode of enjoying films is pointing out mistakes and inaccuracies and laughing when scary things happen. this makes her and Georgie ideal film buddies.

total sweet tooth. loves Indian sweets has a lot of Opinions about mangoes

#tma #Melanie King #tma headcanons

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brentwatchesmovies · 3 years

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Brent’s Top 10 Movies of 2019

Scorsese is probably my favorite living filmmaker, but I’ll be honest, when I heard that Scorsese was making this movie, and *how* he was making it (heavily digital de-aged actors) I was a bit skeptical. De Niro and Pacino haven’t been turning in interesting performances in quite awhile, and Pesci came out of a decades-long retirement for the movie as well. On top of that, the first trailer released did little for me. All that to say I was an idiot to doubt the master.

Scorsese returns to the crime genre that he re-invented many times over the years, this time with the eyes of a man in his 70’s, looking back on his life and career. The movie is very long, but in my opinion, it needs the length. The viewer needs to *feel* the totality of a life, and as is his intent with The Irishman, the *consequences* of this specific life. The final hour or so of this movie feels like a culmination of Scorsese’s career in many ways. The energy and entertainment of a crime/mob epic, with the fatalism and philosophical leanings of a movie like ‘Silence’. It’s a 3.5 hour movie that I’ve already rewatched, and actively want to again, so that alone ought to speak volumes.

Harmony Korine made one of my favorite movies of the 2010’s, the neon-soaked and often misunderstood ‘Spring Breakers’, so I was already in the bag for whatever he did next. When I heard it was a freewheeling stoner comedy where Matthew Mcconaughey plays a guy named ‘Moondog’ costarring Snoop Dogg, I reserved its location on my top 10 list.

This movie doesn’t have the empty heart at its core that defines Spring Breakers, opting instead for a character study about a ‘Florida man’ poet after his life pretty much falls apart. It’s basically plotless, stumbling from one insane, borderline hallucinatory sequence to the next, but I just loved living in the world of this movie. Beach Bum almost feels like a deliriously fun VR simulation of hanging out with Matt McConaughey and his weirdo friends down in the Florida keys. This is one that probably won’t pop up on many top 10 lists but I really adore, and will surely rewatch it a dozen times in the years to come.

Let the record show, I’ve been a huge fan of Bong Joon-ho since I first saw his monster movie/family drama ‘The Host’. Some time later, he went on to make ‘Snowpiercer’, one of my favorite movies of the last decade. All that to say, I think Parasite is probably his best movie, and a true masterwork of thriller direction. It also has his usual brand of social commentary and a script filled with darkness and humor, following a South Korean tendency to juggle multiple tones throughout, sometimes all in one moment or scene.

Parasite also follows a big 2019 trend of commenting on class and social dynamics between the rich and the poor. I think that’s part of why it’s done incredibly well at the box office (especially for a Korean language film), the fact that people can relate in a huge way, regardless of which country your from. Parasite is one of the most entertaining movie viewing experiences I’ve had this year and I’d recommend everyone check it out.

If you were to ask me what the funnest movie-going experience I had in 2019 was, I’d have to pick Rian Johnson’s ‘Knives Out’. Hot off making one of the best Star Wars movies ever made (don’t @ me) Johnson decided to make a passion project in the vein of classic Agatha Christie style murder mysteries, and the results are a total blast. Filled with clever twists and turns, weaponizing the structure of murder-mysteries against the audiences expectations, it stays one step ahead of you the entire time.

Aside from the clever mystery of it all, it’s the actors performances and chemistry that really sell this thing. Jamie Lee Curtis and Toni Collette are expectedly great per usual, and Daniel Craig is having the time of his life as Mississippi private-eye Benoit Blanc, but the heart of the movie is relative newcomer Ana de Armas. She brings an emotional weight and anchor to the movie that always keeps you emotionally invested amidst the terrible, money hungry backstabbing by the other heightened characters. I hope everyone sees this movie and Johnson is able to give us another Benoit Blanc adventure somewhere down the line, I’ll be there opening day.

Nobody makes an upbeat, feel-good movie like Ari Aster does! After last years light and breezy ‘Hereditary’ (which I liked a lot but didn’t totally love) he’s back with a completely riveting and emotionally draining (not to mention horrific) masterpiece. What I connected to most in Midsommar is the journey of Dani, played incredibly by Florence Pugh. The way the film portrays the relationship between her and her dog shit boyfriend played by the (usually) charming Jack Reynor keeps you invested in every twist, perfectly paced out over the movies admittedly long runtime.

I won’t get into spoiler territory, but where this movie goes in the end is what makes this a fully 5-star movie for me. After putting you through hell, like Aster loves to do with bells on, Midsommar ends in a euphoric, psychedelic orgy of music and violence that I couldn’t help but laugh out loud. Midsommar rules so hard and I can’t wait for whatever twisted thing Aster cooks up next.

One of my increasingly favorite brands of movies is a finely crafted, primo slice of dad-movie cinema, and James Mangold has made one with Ford v Ferrari. The story chronicles the partnership of ex-racer and designer Carroll Shelby and racer Ken Miles as they work to make a Ford that can compete in the 24 hour race of Le Mans. Bale and Damon are a blast to watch bounce off each other and the race sequences are pretty damn thrilling, combining (what I expect is) a solid amount of great VFX with practical racing to great effect.

I also didn’t expect it to have as much to say about the struggle to create something special by passionate people and not committees while also inside the very machine that churns out products on an assembly line. Just a random note, this original movie was just put out by 20th Century Fox, now owned by Disney but that’s completely unrelated and I’m not sure why I’d even bring that up??? Anyway, I love this movie and dads, moms and everybody else should check it out.

If you saw my list last year, then it must appear like I’m some diehard Mr. Rogers fan. I don’t really have many memories watching his show as a child, but what the documentary ‘Won’t You be my Neighbor’ and this film by Marielle Heller have in common is a shared fascination of his immense empathy and character. It’s only right that America’s dad Tom Hanks should play him, and I was surprised at the end that I was able to get over his stardom and accept him as Rogers. He’s not doing a direct impersonation, and I think it’s all the better for it, instead opting for matching his soft tone and laid back movements.

On a pure emotional level, this movie was a freight train. It didn’t help that the movie covers a lot of father stuff, from losing your own to becoming one yourself (2 big boxes on the Brent bingo card). Heller’s direction is clever in its weaponizing of meta/post-modern techniques, such as one incredible fourth wall break in a diner scene. It literally breaks down the barrier between Mr. Rogers, we the audience, and the films intent to make us feel something.

I cry a lot at movies, that much is well known, but it’s rare that a movie makes me weep, and this one did. Even thinking about scenes right now, days later, my eyes are welling up with tears thinking about the messages of the movie. Mr. Rogers and his lessons of empathy and emotional understanding have rarely been as vital and important as they are right now in our world.

Robert Eggers first film ‘The Witch’ from 2015 is one of my favorite movies of this decade, possibly of all time, so my hype for his black and white, period piece two-hander ‘The Lighthouse’ was through the roof. Even with sky-high expectations, it still blew me away. With dialogue reminiscent of The Witch in its specific authenticity to its era, to the two lead actors giving all-time great performances, It was one of the most entertaining film viewing experiences I had this year.

There’s something about both of Egger’s movies that I really keyed into watching this one: his fascination with shame and the liberation from it. Where Witch was from the female perspective, Lighthouse literally has two farting, drunk men in a giant phallic symbol fighting for dominance. It’s less a horror film than his first, but still utterly engrossing, demented and specific to his singular vision. I can’t wait to see 20 more movies from this guy.

This is another big movie of 2019, like The Irishman, where you can see the director looking inward, at what his films mean and represent. It initially caught me so off guard that I really didn’t know how to feel about it, but after seeing it again, it’s one of my favorites of the year, and probably Tarantino’s filmography overall. More akin to something like Boogie Nights or Dazed and Confused, letting us live with and follow a small group of characters, it mostly doesn’t feel like a Tarantino movie (until the inevitable and shocking explosion of violence in the third act, of course).

‘Hollywood’ is the most sincere and loving movie Tarantino has made, interested in giving us a send off to an era of Hollywood and artists that have been lost or forgotten (Some more tragically than others). In the end, the movie functions similarly to ‘Inglorious Basterds’ in it’s rewriting of history to give us catharsis. “If only things could have worked out this way.” Luckily in movies, removed from the restrictions of reality, they can. And once upon a time in Hollywood, they did.

Uncut Gems probably tripled my blood pressure by the time the credits rolled. A slice-of-life story about a gambler/dealer in New York’s diamond district, the movie follows Howard Ratner, played by Adam Sandler in easily the best performance of his career. Ratner is basically addicted to living at the edge of a cliff, being chased by violent debt collectors, juggling a home life and a relationship with an employee, and fully relying on risky sports bets to stay afloat. It makes for a consistently tense and unique viewing experience, expertly directed by the Safdie brothers.

Something that might not work for everyone but that I personally loved, is the chaotic way in which the movie is shot. What feels like loosely directed scenes, with characters talking over each other and multiple conversations happening at once, adds an authenticity and reality lacking from most other movies. It’s more adjacent to Linklater (thanks to Adam for the comparison) or Scorsese’s earlier films (also fitting, that he’s a producer on this). Following Howard Ratner as his life descends into chaotic hell was one of the best times I’ve had watching a movie this year.

HONORABLE MENTIONS

AVENGERS ENDGAME

DOLEMITE IS MY NAME

BOOKSMART

JOHN WICK CHAPTER 3

THE FAREWELL

AD ASTRA

#top 10 #movies #2019 #top 10 movies #midsommar #uncut gems #the irishman #martin scorsese

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for-peace-war · 4 years

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No, really. Lovecraft Country sucks.

These are spoilers, but I also don’t give a shit because it’s a bad show and I hope you skim enough to fucking skip it. I took a few days to decide if I hated it enough to write this and well, I do.

I will try my best not to say “X is a bad actor,” but instead stick with the characters as they’re intended save for one particular issue.

The Story

It isn’t very Lovecraftian. And don’t take this as me saying Lovecraft was some kind of master of his craft. I think he was an absurd racist that used xenophobia as his guise for what truly horrified the sane mind. That being said, the element of the unknown is definitely the hallmark of his world and that in no way is represented in this show. It could easily be called “Goosebumps: The Black Version” and it’d be just as authentic--if not more so, really.

The story deals with the Bible (?) and magic that comes from uh, knowing the names of things. You speak a made up language and then you do some kind of confusing magic that has no real purpose or point. I sound dismissive of this because I am, to be clear. They could have just as easily had this language be something whites stole from Africans and then perverted into their own means of power (it’d be a pretty easy parralel to any number of imperialist issues left behind in Africa, huh.)

But anyway, it has a tentacle monster. I think we see a big scary octopus at one point. But the monsters are often in your face and it’s probably less scary than Stranger Things S1.

Honestly, the characters repeat “autumnal equinox” so much that I felt I was going to have a fucking breakdown. Just the writing is very empty and no one seems to really care about anyone else on the screen except for in a rare moment between the only two characters that make it far and matter.

Characters

They aren’t very good. There are tropes present, which isn’t bad at all, but the way the characters interact, speak, and in general move us through the story feels stilted, often nonsensical, and entirely reliant on the viewer assuming that the latest sentence spoken is the only one that matters.

Atticus “Tic” Freeman

A war criminal that derives his power from the white blood inside of him. Again, dismissive but true. We see this man struggle to connect pieces to a puzzle and eventually he pays the price for it, but not in the way Lovecraft would have someone pay for endeavoring beyond their realm. Rather, something about fate and a book. Look, honestly? Who gives a shit. Tic murders a woman in coldblood and it’s never really touched on. There’s a lot that could be said about militaries, oppression, etc, but we often see these characters enact violence and then the story skips merrily beyond it. So yeah, he summarily executes a Korean woman and then is later shown torturing another, but it’s okay because he feels a little bad and fucks the Korean sex demon woman. More on that later. I felt nothing for him. He didn’t have some deep animus over being a torturing war criminal. He was just kind of moving through scenes and having confusing fights with his girlfriend/baby mama.

Letitia “Leti” Lewis

This is what empowerment shouldn’t look like. It amuses me that the show claimed to subvert some kind of norms when the primary love interest (and ultimate heroine) remains the lightest skinned sister in the room. She is able to maintain the appeal of the ingenue while at the same time having the understood attractiveness of her complexion. As far as Leti is concerned as a character, she too seems to be a pretty shitty person. We hear that she has “transactional” friendships and she seems pretty much all about self-survival and rarely if ever puts up where others do. She’s a heroine in the sense that the story makes her be heroic, but it never addresses how her flaws are ultimately all self-inflicted and unnecessary. She could just not be a shitty person.

Hippolyta Freeman

Well. Hidden Figures was an excellent film, and I think that’s where Hippolyta came from. In a more serious series, perhaps she and her daughter could have had a very touching arc that would deal with survival and exceptionalism in a world that maligns you for your very being. Unfortunately, in reality she just comes off as a character that’s quirky in a world that’s also quirky and she doesn’t get to harness her power. There’s an entire episode dedicated to how she discovers who she is and the result is well, her hair turns blue and she makes robots? I think the character TYPE is great, but they misused her here in all ways.

George Freeman

Well, well. If the series had remained about George, Tic, and Leti adventuring through America and encountering sundown towns and monsters both human and otherwise, I think it’d have been okay. The issue is, they wrote this series by the numbers so George is immediately thrown away. He’s a wise and circumspect guy that has his own flaws (he has patrarchical notions built around protecting/babying his genius wife, clearly), but the flaws he has are understandable and well reasoned. George dies early on. Then he sort of doesn’t, I guess? But the fact he did was really the nail in the coffin for this series. The moment they did that, the rest just became empty strokes. A story where George witnessed the others dying and going back to his wife and daughter would have had so much more heart to it, but well. Uncle George is literally one of the few bright spots.

Ruby Baptise

Much like her sister, Leti, Ruby is a terrible attempt at showing empowerent on the one hand, and a masterwork on the other. The bad first: she’s a rapist. I’ve been called a nigger before and while it didn’t feel great, I don’t think I’d have been justified in just sodomizing the person that did it. That entire sequence was weird and they tried to hype it as her reclaiming something, when really it spoke to a disgusting and gratuitous tendency toward Ruby: she’s always too much. Ruby, IMO, should have been Tic’s love interest. In a sense. First, because Wunmi Mosaku was a very attractive woman with impressive acting chops (she’s where I’ll break my moratirum, sorry), but also because it wouldn’t be what you’d see in every other show now: light-skinned pretty sister, dark-skinned sexual eikon. And that’s the issue with Ruby there: she’s always too much. She’s sexual by existing and that isn’t necessarily to her benefit since Leti, the good one, is an actual virgin before her sudden period sex. So the narrative has already spoken as to how it views sex. Yet, because they tried to give Ruby these strange strokes, she comes out as an interesting character. She has feelings, aspirations, and dreams that she’s kept from and that’s very real. In a story about the absurd, a sense of realness is a familiar handhold to gather your wits. She’s all that, really. It’s why she has the best relationships in the show, which is AGAIN an issue, but well. I’ll say Ruby was never bad to have on screen though I was disgusted with how often her blackess (and Blackness in general!) became the source of grotesque horror.

Christina Braithewaite

This is where I get annoyed. My issue with Christina is that she should have easily been the most hated character, but they overplayed their hand with not showing how nefarious she was. In fact? Christina and Ruby’s relationship is the only meaningful, real, and understandable one in the entire series. I felt no joy during her downfall, because I didn’t really get to see her doing anything bad? Just, consider what the show is. It’s about Lovecraft’s lore, ostensibly, which treats all non (specific types of) white men like dogs. So Christina comes at it from the “white” but “woman” perspective and you know, she has moments of duality that you can say is she more white or woman here. But they don’t execute on how sinister she should be. She’s a little rude at times? Yet she is the only person to treat Ruby like she should be treated and she’s the only person that seems to have a goal outside of “the quest.” It really bothered me that she came out so well done, because either they needed to have her for two seasons and make her far more nefarious after the first, or to just make her less a force for good. She saves the characters more than a few times and pays for it by being killed when she’s at her lowest. Yeah, it’s... a weird take.

Ji-Ah

What can I say? There are depictions of sex in the series, and they’re all negative: most of Ji-Ah’s scenes, Montrose’s angry self-loathing sex with his boyfriend, Ruby’s morphic horror scenes. In the case of most of those, there’s something being said. Ji-Ah is a monster, literally, that could be seen as Lovecraftian in the sense she’s an exotic Asian woman that kills men that sleep with her. So, HBO was like “we’ll blow our tits and ass budget on her,” and she exists for a series of sex scenes and vague, inscrutable... shit, maybe SHE is the most Lovecraft of all the characters! Anyway at some point she joins the party after confusing drama with Leti because they both fucked Tic. It’s okay though, because Ji-Ah isn’t here for any of that now. She’s the one who had the best friend that had her teeth yanked out by Tic, and also who was there when he shot her other friend in cold blood, but they get over that and she’s now their friendly red panda pal or some shit. It’s fucking trash. Much like the Freemans (sans Tic), I think she’d have done great in another show. But they rushed her story and it felt less Ghost Nation (Westworld) and more Masturbation (Jordan Peele).

Diana Freeman

Confusing. A stock character (quirky kid that does art, is impetuous, and won’t take no for an answer) that is given a lot of screen time. When she sort of hijacks an episode when two ragamuffin girls chase her down and infest her or something because racist cops. Well, the story veers to her direction. What can I say? If you like 11 from Stranger Things but wanted her to have Mike’s attitude, well. Here you go.

Montrose Freeman

He could have been a good character, I guess. He seemed unnecessary and often was there purely for an x-factor of “uh?” Like, his infamous scene where he slits a two-spirit Native American’s throat after we learn that this indigenous person had just been restored after being raped by bad guys. So there’s that. Also I guess he was self-loathing so he beat his son (that may not be his son???) and also liked fucking dudes, which was I think where we were supposed to care about him. It’s like someone saw Omar was a gun-wielding desperado of drug theft and decided, “Well what made him okay is he’s gay!” But it didn’t add much. I get he was angsty but other than Tic calling him a “faggot” (one of the few good scenes between them in terms of emotion), it all seemed empty and kind of meandering. At no point does Montrose seem a part of the team. He just half-mumbles, gets angry, cries, and falls apart.

Captain Seamus Lancaster

He’s barely a character, but I need to include him for another point. He’s the “bad guy.” I guess? He uses the bodies of black men to stay alive, which is actually a really smart reference to black bodies fueling the American system, but it comes off as cheesy because it just never comes up. He’s cartoonishly bad in a way that he’s less sinister than a meme. Compare him to say, Ridgeway from Colson Whitehead’s The Underground Railroad. One’s a sinister representation of an oppressive system and the other’s well, a joke.

Racism

How could this not be a theme? The issue, as was shown with Lancaster, is that it isn’t even remotely handled with seriousness. The best scene of racism is in the first episode when Tic, George, and Leti are forced to leave a Sundown county before they’re lynched by the racist sheriff. The anticipation and animosity lead to some serious anxiety and it was a nailbiter.

But after that? White people say “nigger.” Then they get, I don’t know, raped or spit on or who knows. A lot of black people talk back to the cops anyway in the 50′s and that’s cool.

But the real monsters of the series are all black people. Let’s go through it:

Tic brutalized women in the Korean War.

Montrose killed the two-spirit person.

Ruby rapes the shop owner.

Diane crushes Christina’s throat.

Ruby literally sheds her flesh in repeatedly gratuitous acts of the grotesque.

Even Ji-Ah, who’s not black, is a monster in the literal sense. We do see the doctor that experimented on black people, but that’s about 5 minutes at the end of an episode that has a baby’s head on a man’s body so I was too busy laughing at the absurdity to take any real meaning from it.

The truth is, in Lovecraft Country, white people always should do their best to kill or keep black people down. It definitely doesn’t speak at all to any togetherness or what have you. Just, well. Magical negroes doing bad stuff because nothing can stop them.

The show misses the chances to show real horror in race. Hell, the Tulsa Riots are reduced to a backdrop for a confusing book scene. But then again, Emmett Till becomes a kind of empty reference point that we then see a white woman act out... for some reason?

Again, the only characters with any chemistry are Ruby and Christina, which is very unfortunate for any number of reasons. As far as a statement that racism is bad goes, I mean. I barely saw it. If I was a racist I’d be like hell yeah, Lovecraft was right they are dangerous.

Even when people try to indicate the horrors of it like, “Oh, the Korean War scenes are bad because we see how men are forced into the military complex!” We didn’t see a white officer say “Shoot her, boy,” it was just two black guys killing women with no care at all. And no compeuppance, so that’s cool.

The Music

Sucks. Thanks Peaky Blinders for making modern music over gif sets a thing.

Conclusion

I sure as hell would never watch it again. If I can get one other person not to, then maybe it’d be worth it. It’s not a good show. It’s not “smart,” and there’s no secret subversion in it. It’s just... bad.

I won’t post on it anymore. Please, in true Lovecraft fashion, trust me when I say that this show is so bad it cannot be comprehended.

#lovecraft country

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route22ny · 4 years

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I grew up in the Bay Area at the height of AIDS panic, and all of that era’s sex paranoia remains burned into my brain, repurposed for Covid-19 and the act of commingling wet breath. A few weeks into this crisis, I found myself having a ten-foot-distant conversation with my neighbor Patty, both of us incredulous at people who still tried to talk to us in-tight face-to-face, like we weren't all suddenly barebacking reality with everyone they'd chit-chatted with that day and everyone in their lives, etc. Patty allowed that she should be able to strike people she considered a threat. I mentioned Florida's attitude toward this legal principle and firearms. I suggested she become militant. I tell that to a lot of people, but I attenuate the humor of it for the audience. I tell every teacher I know to strike.

There are more sirens now. It's hard to tell, because unlike New York, everything isn't quiet. Cars are out on the road—fewer, but enough that hearing a siren can still be vehicular idiocy and not a more sinister house call. But I still hear more of them.

I don’t know why Luke asked me to write about Coronavirus in Florida. I mostly stopped writing last year when a good friend dropped dead in front of his family. (Subscribe to my Substack—we don't update regularly!) Before that, I felt increasingly overborne by events. Things ground to a halt in 2019, but the machine began to break down long before. I ended the 2016 campaign periodically sitting under my desk, high, feeling secure because I wasn't writing anything stupid and feeling good because I was appropriately afraid of everything, but people thought I was exaggerating when I mentioned it.

I wish I could say my seriousness about the novel coronavirus stems solely from believing in science and peer review and that I would take it seriously regardless, but my spouse is immunocompromised, and my father, who lives out in the Bay Area, had Covid-19, back in March or early April. He didn't tell us kids until he was out of the woods, but for days he had fevers over 103º. My stepmom, a former emergency room nurse, couldn't get him admitted anywhere, because he wasn't having respiratory problems. He woke up the same every day: It felt like someone had parked a Volkswagen on him.

We're supposed to say he's out of the woods. I'll believe that when he dies of old age, or something more reasonable that kills men in my family, like colon cancer or car accidents. Sometimes I think about him dropping dead like my friend, only from whatever post-Covid-19 effect triggers the brain’s forgetting to tell the lungs to breathe—or from the one that leads to storms of strokes, like a brain's blood vessels recreating the burning energies depicted on a CRISS ANGEL MINDFREAK poster. Then I wonder how I would die, or my wife, or my friend in Atlanta, or my brother. I think about drowning in open air, alone in a hissing world, and being incapable of saying the overdue apologies I ran out of time for.

After a while I realized that basically all Luke wanted was to hear from a coward living in the mismanaged kleptocracy of Florida, and the thing is, I can do that! I’m frightened right now!

I considered opening with, Every day I wake up frightened, to throw a fucking jolt into a piece about facing down a pandemic in a place where they have a paradise just for the cheeseburgers. But the joke is, I'm not wastin' away here in Coronaville. Sometimes I wake up and just have to pee, on the rare days when I don't wake up from the sensation of my son elbow-dropping my head because—how rude of me—it's 6:45 already.

In this respect, I am serene: My son and I exercise outside to burn off his energy, so I'm out in the sun for hours a day. I'm tanner, I've lost weight, and my phlegm feels looser. I grew a lushly indifferent goatee. My haircut looks like something that belongs on the gatefold cover of a concept album about a form of locomotion by a band named after geography. While the term "Lebowski Phase" has been applied to my appearance and to the fact that my leg injury and medical-marijuana prescription have collided with the reality of never having to drive anywhere again, I must insist that in many respects I have come to look like Jesus Christ. I am pro life and take no pleasure in reporting this.

As I have said, I am frequently awakened by my son, whose full name is My Beautiful Five-Year-Old Son Maitland. He is a treasure who spends quarantine within earshot of 24-hour news, regurgitating West Wing Democrat observations of mine with five-year-old precocity to harvest follows for Instagram. Maitland is an influencer already on record as supporting L’Oréal, opposing Medicare For All, and, when I first read him the shaggy start to this piece, he said, "Not a good look." He's a natural.

Waking up is violent but easy. The problem is everything after that. By the time I close my eyes, I'm not sure what I felt most on any given day—anger, sadness, impotence, a resentful churning need for vengeance, despair. Any one can seem like a day's dominant emotional dysfunction and then suddenly be overwhelmed by the dread that suffuses prolonged thought about the world outside.

I am one of the people who is Taking It Seriously. Seriously Taking It Seriously, though—not the people who say they're taking it seriously and then tell you about:

• Going to a recent indoor birthday party.

• Having a multi-course dinner at a fancy restaurant, "But it was okay because it was [extremely not-worth-a-life celebration]!"

• A full-contact playdate their kid had recently with two other children.

I abhor these people. I have an existential loathing of these people, and a granular scientific indictment. I enjoy reading new articles to learn new ways in which they are a danger to me. My apprehension is rich and exquisite. May their friends shun them, and may they be abandoned by their gods.

Sooner or later, every day, I think of the threats arrayed against me and my family. Each day, I see the most recent thing said by my governor, Ronald Fuckface DeSantis, in which he explicitly endorses and declares his intent to pursue actions that all available data say will kill Floridians by the thousands. Each day, I think about how, if I do so much as suggest fostering a free exchange of ideas about the proportional value of using every means to stop him, I will be arrested.

Every day, I bounce the "Evil or Moronic?" debate around my brain. I check in with an alumna buddy in Atlanta to see whose governor has shown more recent determination to murder his citizens. I gotta give Brian Kemp credit, because he's really holding his own. Naturally, this leads to wondering if either of them have a natural or acculturated advantage in terms of idiocy and malevolence. DeSantis' enrollment at Yale and Harvard and service in the military problematizes the idiocy narrative only for as long as it takes to remember all the people you've met who've gone to any of them and were dumber than dogshit. It would seem like fate to be murdered by an oaf, but I don't know that it's not merciful to at least be murdered purposefully rather than contemptuously and indolently.

Eventually, this leads to spending some time thinking about DeSantis as a kind of lethal bro angel. It's hard not to see his shitchyeah, brah, people are dyin', it's classic! expression and recognize that the state's chief executive resembles a lout you don't want to run into walking alone at FSU after a home loss. I prefer my jokes about the governor, but my friend David Roth nailed it when he said that DeSantis seemed like a person who would describe himself as “kind of a DUI guy.”

I know there's supposedly a culture war out there. There's a truck in my neighborhood with a Q sticker, and another with a Three-Percenter sticker, and there are more than a few neighbors of the "easily victimized white dude who owns a $50,000 truck he rarely takes off the pavement and who becomes physically belligerent when you correct him" variety, but there's a reason why you really only see “war” shit on YouTube. Few Americans are hostile to general safety protocols, and even fewer act out against them. I live where hate groups and old fashioned unaffiliated redneck trash drive in from the county to make a show of rebel flags, rolling coal and honking to intimidate protests, but people line up six feet apart at Home Depot, wear masks at Publix and get takeout at the pizza place outside without insisting on barging in. Most wars don’t need one side of them to be this manufactured.

Most of my friends and colleagues from this gig live in New York, so I've already sat through weeks of descriptions of streets silent except for ambulances, and I’ve already woken for weeks to the half-twilight of nightmares where friends died in a spare white hallway. There aren't a lot of surprises in store for Florida, and no images I can describe that would make you want to turn back now. It's like we're waiting for the rolling premiere of a franchise blockbuster. The dead won't really start packing them in for a few more weeks, but all the scariest shit hit YouTube when it opened in New York a thousand years ago. The coronavirus as an image, what it functionally is, as a horror, feels as familiar as the Scream mask, and the context that makes that scary as hell already feels dangerously been-and-gone, like an apprehension that Florida had for too long before the actual scare came.

There's a hope that all this will come to little again. Despite Governor DeSantis' refusal to take the initiative on shutting down the state until the last dollar was wrung from the last snowbird, the original shellacking never came. The Tampa Bay Times sampled smartphone data and concluded that Floridians overwhelmingly took the initiative to stay home, and they were aided in their quarantine process by the fact that Florida is car-dependent and atomized.

The heartbreaking realization, as you gradually run across more people who are Not Taking It Seriously or are Expressing Moronic Skepticism, is that for a month there about 80 percent of America was on board with doing the right thing. We, a people who suck at doing the right thing even for the wrong reasons, stood on the side of doing the harder thing if it helped people who weren't even us.

I really can't tell if I feel more anger than sadness at the fact that those who were meant to encourage us in safety, to serve us by offering difficult guidance, wasted our sacrifice and our trust. They squandered the patience given by a beggared and exhausted people. All they had to do was the right thing, and if they weren't sure what that was, they could have erred on the side of saving people’s lives and hoping it counted, and they failed.

Instead, more people will die, and we'll be shut down again, and we will realize we are fundamentally unequipped for life with Covid-19. Florida is built on enclosed air-conditioned spaces: It's dependent on divorcing yourself from Florida as a climate and place. Asking Floridians to generate a public life under the unshielded rage of God’s angriest sun and baked from beneath by a sprawling pave-ocalypse requires asking them to rebel against everything their infrastructure has taught them for as long as they can remember. It is a car culture to the flesh and bone, and a restaurant relocating indoor tables to a road patio would park its diners inches away from eternity.

A picnic day like that is months off, again. It's time to go back inside and resume Inside Time. Inside Time melts away. I saw a headline around the Fourth of July, from the New York Times, that read, "In the Covid-19 Economy, You Can Have a Kid or a Job. You Can’t Have Both," and I remember seeing colleagues tweet, mmmm, so true, and, gets at something crucial we aren't talking about, and shit like that, and I was like, "Buddy, let's get in the DeLorean and visit March." I have nowhere to go, anyway, and all life is timeless.

We have no family in the area and have had no break. It's the three of us, like No Exit, but if most of the dialogue was the word "no" and a lot of stuff about poop and butts and farts, good guys and bad guys, and what Lego Star Wars would do, but with a lot of excruciated pleading for silence because Mom and Dad Are Working Right Now and We Love You Very Much but Jesus Christ Please Stop for the Love of God I Will Give You a Dollar If You Go in Your Room and Be Quiet and Play That Kindle App That Teaches You to Read That You Pay Attention to More Than Us Even Though I Would Read You a Fucking Novel If You'd Just Shut Up and Sit Still.

I'm resigned to staying in here until 2022. I’m screaming, but I will do it. I'm lucky in that I have access to a community pool and a neighborhood where my son and I can roam around on bikes and romp and look at water and birds and turtles. When we're lazy, we have a porch where we can feel nature without feeling exposed. We have a dependable (ok!!! haha!!!) income, and I can do irregularly scheduled work that allows me to be Parent rather than Employee. Exercise, meals and stories take up enough hours that I might as well lean into it.

But we’re lucky. We have a house and prescription mood-altering drugs and one thousand years of undersleep, but we are in less immediate danger than most. The state, almost reflexively, reaches out to open more doors even as Covid-19 blows past reopening benchmark after reopening benchmark.

The inexorable march for commerce doesn’t even come from malice in many cases; people in charge just don’t know how to do anything else but extort and scold people into working under any conditions, so long as it devours most of their time. All the exploitive principles are expected to work the same even if the world they built is fraudulent. We feed meat and the virus into the machines, irrespective of what the data says, and pray for rain. Watching Florida government on the state and local level is like watching two parents bring an alcoholic home after he got kicked out of rehab and deciding that the best course of action is leaving him with $5,000 in an apartment up the street from a dive bar and then going to Cancun for the week. It was on the calendar already, there wasn’t any choice, he looked very healthy at the time!

We have friends who are teachers, and we are scared for their spouses and kids. I don't know what Florida's plan for its teachers is other than to murder them. Again, I don't know if DeSantis is an idiot for flirting with giving enormous bipartisan sympathy to arguably the most effective labor group in the state, or a genius for flirting with finally eliminating a lobbying obstacle to conservative governance by simply liquidating its members as a class.

I worry if I start listing all the things I'm scared of, they'll never stop, but every day I see my son reach for something he should be able to reach for, and I either have a low-grade panic response and stifle it, or I have the panic response and yelp at him to get his attention and tell him to stop, startle him, and add another layer of gun-shy haunting to his day. I'm afraid he'll eventually become an animal in a Skinner Box in which all the buttons and levers are electrocuted, and there are no prizes.

I'm afraid that my son will always be emotionally arrested at two years behind the development of people the same age who had siblings in their house, or who, like many kids in my neighborhood, had parents who thought kids were invincible to Covid-19 and let them play with whomever they wanted. I worry that he may pay a price year after year even into adulthood because other kids got to practice socializing as we rode past. They got to hang out with people their own age and run around and do vitally stupid shit and say "butts" a lot, and he got look at me heartbroken and knowing empirically and epidemiologically that he couldn't play with his friends anymore but still needing to know why, and knowing that I couldn't tell him anything more sophisticated and anything less terrifying than, "So we don't get sick."

The other day he started crying and then screaming, "I hate the sickness! I hate the sickness!" repeating it in a higher and higher register, until he was up even past that piercing birdlike screech that prepubescent boys make whenever trying to sound like lasers or dinosaurs or squealing brakes. Every day I worry that I see another little bit of his capacity for happiness is dying—that the same awkward process of terror that took me from happy little kid to profoundly unhappy teen to scarred adult is even more rapidly at work, and each day another sparkling and joyous little light of childhood winks out in him, replaced by fear as a necessity of life.

I know that there is no plan for us. Conservatives don't want to be taxed or have their businesses lose money, so people are being kicked off unemployment and sent back to work with no test and trace protocols, irregular access to PPE, overwhelmed hospitals and often limited access to any care. We're doing all this as Florida blooms scarlet like paint being spilled into a mold shaped like the state. We're sending the men in the gasoline suits right at the heart of the fire.

It's a cruelly lazy little culling genocide of the working class, a Wall Street gamble that the blow to the labor force won't be more than a blip on the Dow and, a little recession aside, the One Percent will come out ten years later owning an even greater percentage of the United States. To the extent that there is a plan, that's the plan, and whether you land on the dead or the living part of any of those exchanges is more of a Your Problem than a Their Problem.

For now, it's enough to be hermits and hope the rest of Florida goes on strike by going inside and staying there and writing letters to representatives threatening to never come out. Cooking the same things, getting the same exercise in the same places, having the same awkward conversations on VOIP delay, and living every moment outside like we're three drinks in so we’re ready to get belligerent with anyone who is getting too close. Living every moment with some low-level neurasthenia that grows spine-deep and for the rest of our lives sends shuddering disequilibrium at the thought of air that never seems to move, hallways that lengthen without exits, and objects that seem both unavoidable and unclean. It’s fine. We’re all fine, here, now. How are you?

I feel a sudden Git Offa Mah Land thing about my son, a resolute commitment to homeschooling for the foreseeable future and to keeping the gummymint away. It sucks so much. I was so happy to send him to the public school just a few blocks away, instead of the shitty little charter schools nearby, but now that it’s Plague or Parents, he’s got his parents. Between us, he'll have access to 1.5 first-class educations. I still have my grandpa's service weapons from WWII, the last time America was in a war with fascism, when we took the opposing side. I'll empty a couple magazines into anyone who comes onto my property and tries to stop me from teaching my son critical race theory, Howard Zinn, and Leonard Levy's Jefferson and Civil Liberties: The Darker Side. I refuse to turn my back on the heritage of my youth, of watching thousands of hours of MASH, by refusing to wear a mask outside or in fact any time I am doing anything other than drinking gin that I made in a tent.

Outside, records fall and progress rolls on. A governor whose go-to pejorative for opponents of all ages and sexes is very likely still “queef” watches as even the president concedes that a Republican National Convention here would be too lethal, as the state repeatedly sets records for daily deaths, beats out all of Europe in terms of new daily cases, leads the nation in cases per day, then tries to set them again. And then, every day, our governor makes his ahegao-but-for-ethnic-cleansing face and psychotically clangs a bell indicating that Florida just became the 15,000 customer at Leadshoe Larry’s Kicked-in-the-Dick, and it’s time for all us lucky winners to line up and drop our pants.

Florida’s lethality is so tacky that it’s almost camp, but there is no satisfaction in being right about how wrong everything is. Nobody gets a prize for correctly guessing the surplus death toll. All you have to do is look someone else in the eye working in life under Covid.

I’m old now, so I have Humiliating Injury Syndrome (HIS), and somehow in the month between the Super Bowl and the pandemic, I tore a rotator cuff, a labrum, or both, by throwing a (mini!!!) football with friends. After four months, I broke down and went to get an MRI. I skulked down corridors and lurked in a corner of a waiting room, like playing spies with an opponent who was the air. Even the clean and modern fixtures felt miasmic and corrupted, like they were a parking garage in an Alan Pakula film.

Eventually a nurse emerged from an office, crinkled her brown eyes, waved and surprised me by asking after my family by name. She lives three blocks away from me and had hosted me at a party once. Later that day, as my car coasted down the approach to my house, I saw a garage door open and my neighbor’s son walk out on his way to his shift at the same grocery store that I treat emotionally like a Superfund site.

I thought about how much I unconsciously held my breath where they work, and how I unconsciously associate those places with poor choices. The danger of the world outside is so massive that I reflexively need to cordon off the threat into areas of blame and blamelessness. In a moment of crisis, years of conservative rhetorical conditioning in the discourse have taught me to reflexively pathologize those in harm’s way. There is less chaos if someone is at least responsible for something. There is less risk to me, if it turns out someone else’s epidemic is someone else’s fault.

But it is someone else’s fault. And it’s not some poor fucker doomed to sit in a box somewhere and accept paper money and hand metal money back and point at where toilets are, because that’s how he keeps the lights on. It’s not the person consigned to some life-sucking task that, on the best of days, is too humiliating and cruelly impoverished of purpose to ever be a reason why someone should die. It’s not the person around whom you hold your breath because you don’t know where they’ve been. It’s the person and people who put us all in position to suddenly feel like we’re suffocating together.

I hate that I sometimes unconsciously hold my breath around strangers, and I hate that they have heard it. I think of my neighbors, and of the workers on whom we’re dependent, and the permanent uncertain shortness of breath I feel, and I want every moment of their anxiety and mine gathered up and then rained on those who shepherded it into being, those who nurtured it and feasted on it, those who profited from it and were indifferent toward it. Those who consider themselves DUI guys and those who pay to elect them and give them sinecures and who are simply too rich to be arrested for boating under the influence anymore.

I think of how I hold my breath near good people and near vulnerable people in places I am wary of and that we all need to share, and I wonder if we will simply hold our breath for the rest of the year, and if we’ve bargained for standing near each other and holding it for all of the next. And I wish so eagerly that all our suspended futures and the air between us might catch at the throats of those who put us here. That justice for a man like Ron DeSantis might be a permanent and sucking terror: stuck always in an involuntary startled gasp at the sight of responsibility, afraid at the approach of every stranger, incapable of drawing a full and restful breath, and never knowing peace again.

Jeb Lund used to write about politics for Rolling Stone, The Guardian and Gawker, and a bunch of other places, and was the Spectacle of Trump Editor at 50 States of Blue. He and David Roth have a podcast about Hallmark original movies that is mostly funny and exasperated and not unkind, and it's not ultimately about the movies anyway. It's fine and people enjoy it. Don't make it weird. He also has a podcast where he watches every Dennis Quaid movie in a row. That is also completely normal.

Ok here’s me again with a couple more things.

You’ll want to read this in the New York Times today about a forthcoming documentary on ICE. After it was completed the filmmakers were apparently threatened with legal action by the agency over the inclusion of parts that made ICE look even worse than they already look doing literally everything else they do.

Some of the contentious scenes include ICE officers lying to immigrants to gain access to their homes and mocking them after taking them into custody. One shows an officer illegally picking the lock to an apartment building during a raid.

At town hall meetings captured on camera, agency spokesmen reassured the public that the organization’s focus was on arresting and deporting immigrants who had committed serious crimes. But the filmmakers observed numerous occasions in which officers expressed satisfaction after being told by supervisors to arrest as many people as possible, even those without criminal records.

“Start taking collaterals, man,” a supervisor in New York said over a speakerphone to an officer who was making street arrests as the filmmakers listened in. “I don’t care what you do, but bring at least two people,” he said.

Here’s one disgusting detail among many.

They followed Border Patrol tactical agents who took pride in rescuing migrants from deadly dehydration even as the agents acknowledged that their tactics were pushing the migrants further into harm’s way. They showed how the government had at times evaluated the success of its border policies based not only on the number of migrants apprehended, but on the number who died while crossing.

***

source:

https://luke.substack.com/p/all-they-had-to-do-was-the-right?utm_source=Brooklyn+Today&utm_campaign=dd6f63665c-EMAIL_CAMPAIGN_2020_07_28_01_15&utm_medium=email&utm_term=0_1ba554d7d5-dd6f63665c-125128182

#long reads #florida #covid #genocidal dystopia #Jeb Lund

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axther · 4 years

Text

children are meant to be cradled, not placed in wars

bnha x reader

chapter two

YN was dreaming.

She knew this because she was in an alleyway, and felt much shorter than she actually was. It was a weird feeling that reminded her of an out of body experience, or waking up at three A.M. and only vaguely remembering it in the morning.

Either way, she was facing a beaten and bruised man. He held his side, but despite his efforts, it was obvious he was bleeding out. He had a strange scar that stretched from the left side of his scalp and down to his throat, like someone had dragged a knife down the skin. It was ugly, but that was the only thing that seemed to make him stand out.

“Nine would stop you, Demise. You don’t stand a chance.”

Not-YN held up a hand, a light sparking from them before a small ball of light grew in her palm.

“Where is she?” Not-YN’s voice was ragged, like a chainsmoker’s, and threatening. “You know goddamn well that we all saw her come home.”

“This isn’t her home, you know. Not to her.”

“This is her home. It always was.”

“She’s hiding. Hiding from you, from Nine, from Shigaraki, from All For One. Smart kid...she’ll always hide.”

“Shut up. You are in no position to talk shit.”

“I’m not, unless you consider the truth shit.”

Not-YN was silent, before shoving her hand out. The light disappeared and lit up inside the man’s stomach. He looked down with a mix of horror and resignation before his stomach imploded, blood and bile scattering across the walls and concrete. Not-YN took her hand back before spinning around and leaving the alleyway. Two men were behind her, but they had masks that looked like a geometric fox and a snake. They were stiff and had their hands behind their backs.

“Very good, ma’am.” The fox said.

“A merciful death,” The snake murmured.

“You are kind, ma’am.” Both said simultaneously as Not-YN entered the daylight.

“As fitting for the new god.”

YN sat straight up in her bed, panting with a feeling of bile in her throat. Her palms supported her, but her arms were shaky and her lungs burned.

“Good morning.”

YN popped her neck from turning it with such force. The woman from before, Recovery Girl, sat at a desk nearby, and she realised that she was in a medic’s office.

“Good morning,” YN felt confused, wondering when she came here, and if she even was supposed to be here. “Where am I?”

“My office. I decided you needed to be around me more than my average patients, considering your means of arrival. To keep an eye on you.” She gave a benign smile.

YN went silent, glancing around at her surroundings.

The room was pristine, and there was a window to her left. A potted succulent bathed in the sunlight and YN squeezed her eyes from disbelief at her situation.

There was a subdued knock at the door. Recovery Girl rose to get it, but it opened when she was a foot away.

“Midoriya’s broken his finger!” There was a girl’s voice, and YN’s entire face turned into half confusion, half excitement. She remembered the name from the boy that had saved her, and she peered beyond the curtain at her bed.

A girl with extraordinarily round brown hair that curled around to her chin supported the green-haired boy, and though his finger looked more burned than broken, she didn’t seem very phased. Recovery Girl looked disappointed.

“Midoriya! You need to take better care of yourself!” She scolded.

“Sorry, ma’am…” Midoriya sounded actually regretful.

“Miss Ochako, could you please tell Aizawa that he’ll be here for the rest of the period?” Recovery Girl sighed. Ochako saluted, nodding.

“Of course!”

“Thank you, dear.”

The girl left, and Recovery Girl began fussing over Midoriya. It seemed like Recovery Girl had forgotten that YN was in the room, and she started wrapping his finger. It was mutilated, and dark brown and veiny red lines coursed across the wound.

“You have to stop ruining your limbs! Next time I see Toshinori, I’m giving him a piece of my mind!”

“Yes, ma’am.”

YN fell back against the bed, wincing when it made a creaking noise. She felt like she wasn’t supposed to be in there, that she was an outsider. That she couldn’t be caught.

“Huh?” Midoriya made a sound of confusion. Recovery Girl chuckled.

“Was someone eavesdropping?”

YN bit back a snarky remark about how it was hard not to eavesdrop, to the point that it wasn’t even eavesdropping, but she gave a hum. It came out more like a growl and even sounded pissed off, and she sighed.

“...No.”

Recovery Girl walked over and ripped back the curtain, making both YN and Midoriya jump. He, again, made a pose of surprise.

“It’s you!” He cried, a blush making its way across his face.

“Yes.” YN felt like a dumbass, but she didn’t know what she was supposed to say. She kind of wished that choices could have come up like in one of Soma’s video games.

A tense and uncomfortable silence fell across the room, and Recovery Girl glanced between the two. They were averting each other’s eyes like the plague, and the pro hero made a ‘oh’ sound.

“Midoriya, this is the girl that you-”

“Yes!” He shouted, and YN winced from how awkward it was. He was cute, yes, but he didn’t seem like he was much in the ‘meeting new people’ department.

Recovery Girl gave a smug smile, with her entire face scrunching up and a giddy glint in her eye.

“You know, I think that I had a bandage delivery coming this afternoon. I have to pick it up. You keep her company, Midoriya!”

Before either of the teenagers could say anything, she left with speed that an elderly woman shouldn’t be capable of, laughing the entire time. Even when the door was shut, YN could hear the faintest hint of chuckling.

“I thought…” Midoriya began, confused. “That any deliveries come here?”

There was a tense and awkward silence, and YN bit her lip. She looked out the window, trying everything in her power not to come off as creepy, angry, and mean, while not being creepy.

Meanwhile, Midoriya had done the same thing but was eyeing the door. He would glance at the strange girl every couple of seconds, the intensity and frequency of his glances increasing as time went by. He hated the idea of giving the girl the wrong impression of himself for any number of reasons, but the biggest one was right in his face.

Jesus Christ. She was pretty.

He didn’t really notice it before since they were in a potential battleground, but now that it was just them in the white medic’s office, he saw it.

She had her face turned to the window, and her hair was accented by the gentle, falling sunlight from the window. There was a mirror adjacent to her, and he could see her face in the reflection. Her eyes, with the light hitting them just right, seemed to be in layers, and the thin white curtains blowing in said open window gave the entire thing a ‘Hollywood American blockbuster romance movie’ kind of feel.

Midoriya felt a bad taste in his mouth from the silence and cleared his throat.

“Uh…” The girl jumped, and he looked at the ground. “What’s your quirk?”

A safe icebreaker! Good job!, he thought.

The girl turned, and her mouth opened.

“What’s…” She paused, and Midoriya turned to look at her in the eye. Her voice was gravelly, but badass, in the way that tsundere gangster anime characters sounded.

Her brows had furrowed.

“What’s a quirk?”

Midoriya just about felt his soul leave his body, and the entire corpse go cold.

“You...don’t have a quirk?”

Abort! Abort! Mission failed!

“I dunno.” She looked away, sheepishly rubbing the back of her head. “I don’t know what a quirk is.”

Sheltered! Cute but sheltered!

“Uh, a quirk, is, uh…” Midoriya grasped for straws trying to find a way to convey what a quirk was to her without making her feel bad.

“Is it like a superpower?”

Midoriya looked up, completely surprised.

“Yes! That’s exactly it! How did you figure it out?”

“Well, it seemed like a lot of the folks that were at the, uh, crash site, they had different qualities about them. It reminded me of Marvel and DC.” She smiled, vaguely. “I just kind of put it together.”

“Ah! You’re smart! Yeah, that’s right. Do you have one?”

The girl frowned. “No. Should I?”

“Well, I mean…” Midoriya paused. He didn’t want her to feel bad, but she was one of the few that didn’t have quirks. “Kind of? I mean…”

“Most have them?”

“Yeah. There are people that are quirkless, like, I used to be! But then I got my quirk.” He smiled, thinking to when All Might told him that he was going to inherit One For All.

“Yeah?” She gave another smile, this one much softer, and Midoriya felt his cheeks heat up. “How did you get it?”

Midoriya felt his heart stop.

“I, uh, well, I, um, can’t really, uh…” God! He felt like he could tell the girl, but he had just met her, and All Might’s identity couldn’t be revealed. The conversation was going great, and then she had to ask the one thing he couldn’t answer.

“Oh.” The girl looked like she had stepped on a landmine. “Sorry if it’s personal! You don’t have to tell me. It’s okay.”

Midoriya hid his face in his free hand. “Thanks.”

“Yup.”

The conversation dropped off, and Midoriya sighed. He glanced at the door, hoping that Recovery Girl would drop in, but then he heard the girl.

“Thanks.”

Midoriya jumped. “What for?”

“Saving me.”

Duh? What else would it be?

“That was...incredible. And I would’ve died. So thank you.” She turned, with a smile, and for the second time that day, Midoriya felt his heart stop, though for different and far more pleasant reasons altogether.

“You’re my hero, Midoriya.”

Midoriya remembered back to when he was still training with All Might to inherit One For All. He was talking about how All Might always pushed on, no matter what, and how did he always want to protect people?

Toshinori Yagi had an answer.

“Well, I have someone I want to protect. And I think of them with the collective.”

He told Midoriya that he would find that person and that he would understand it when it happened. He said it was like feeling a hot arrow through the chest, melting through. That it was a thought of ‘That’s who I want to fight for!’

And Midoriya Izuku, talking to a girl he had pulled out of the sky and known for only a day, felt that hot arrow like it had been waiting the entire time. Like it had just been hovering, and as soon as she said that, it flung itself at him with the frenzy of sixteen years.

He let out a feeble ‘oh’, with all the breath knocked out of him, and nearly toppled out of the chair when he took a breath. His head spun.

Recovery Girl walked in, beginning to babble about something before snapping her eyes between the two teens. Her eyebrows raised into her hairline, and a smirk came over her face.

“Did you two have a good chat?”

Midoriya whipped his head to look at her, and YN went back to looking out the window. Midoriya shook his head wildly, flailing his free hand.

“It’s not like that! Not at all! We just kind of talked!”

“I never assume anything, Midoriya.” Recovery Girl had a twinkle in her eye, and she gently guided Midoriya off the chair. “The period is over, so feel free to get back to class. But absolutely do not put pressure on your finger!”

“Yes, ma’am.” He turned to YN, and his voice caught in his throat. “See later you-you later-be safe-”

“Go! I have to check up on her!” Recovery Girl shoved Midoriya out the door, laughing at his blabbering. YN gave a shy little wave, smiling.

“He’s nice.” YN’s eyes followed Recovery Girl, watching her fuss around with some medical tools.

“Yes, he’s quite kind. He could use restraint with his quirk, though.”

“What do you mean?” YN tilted her head, and Recovery Girl approached her.

“Whenever he uses his quirk,” The elderly woman hummed. “It breaks whatever limb he’s using.”

“What?!” YN yelped.

“Yes. I thought he would have mentioned it.”

“He didn’t. Obviously.” YN glanced out of the corner of her eye at the chair he was previously in, squinting. She didn’t intend to sound pissy, but that meant that he probably hurt himself when he caught her, and that made her feel even worse.

“Now, my dear, please raise your arms.”

YN lifted them obediently, with some of her arm muscles bunching together from the sudden gravity.

“Do you work out, dear? You seem quite strapping.”

YN held back a laugh from the use of ‘strapping’, as she hadn’t heard that word used that way for years, but nodded. “I took tae kwon do when I was younger. I quit about a year ago, but I still try to work out.”

Recovery Girl nodded sagely. “Good, good. It’s important that you can protect yourself. Especially since you’re such a young woman…”

“Ah, thank you.”

The conversation stopped since Recovery Girl was tugging at different parts of YN, before pulling away.

“You are in wonderful condition, my dear. Since all you got from that fall was a migraine, and even then that’s gone away, you seem to be quite resilient.”

“I’m glad.”

“I think one of the pro-heroes are talking about taking you in for the time being, until we can get more permanent housing for you. I assume that you don’t have family here, at least.”

YN looked out the window, eyebrows furrowed. “I don’t think so.”

This entire place, she realised, seemed like perfection. It was quaint for a city, with clean air and kind people. And people had superpowers. This world wasn’t her own.

This world wasn’t...her own.

She looked back at Recovery Girl, more serious than before. “Thank you. Is it okay if I leave, walk around?”

“Only a bit, dear. Don’t wear yourself out, stay in the school, and come back when you’re done.”

“Thank you.” YN smiled, shaking off her seriousness and placing her legs on the side of the bed. The cold tiles hit her feet, and a shiver went up to her spine. Recovery Girl came back with some shoes that looked like slippers.

“Wear these. They should fit you, and if not, I keep all kinds of sizes.”

Thankfully, they did fit, and YN rose. She looked down at Recovery Girl (by God, she was short) and smiled.

“I’ll be back.”

“Be safe, dear!”

YN pulled open the door and stepped out. Large wide glass windows were in front of her, and she realised that, indeed, she was inside a school (what kind of school was nearly this large?) and that the gates were just outside the glass, several floors down. In the distance, she heard a clock or a bell toll twelve, and the faint sound of teenagers talking.

She was in a high school. That makes sense. Vaguely.

YN blinked lethargically, feeling a strange sense of being both displaced and weighed down. It felt as though the weight of the world was on her shoulders, and she had no one to share the burden with. This was her trial, she thought, before realising that she was acting like she was dying. Sure, it was an unfathomable situation where she had to completely fix the way she acted and accommodate a completely different society. But there was nothing she couldn’t do.

YN nodded to herself. She was going to approach the sources of the sounds, and then try to integrate herself with the conglomerate, so to speak. And then...well, YN figured, she would fight those battles.

YN took the turn and began walking.

Midoriya was preoccupied.

He was in the dining hall, a bowl of katsudon in front of him, and his eyes focusing on a floating piece of scallion that bobbed around the pork. Iida and Ochako were talking animatedly about a severe essay that Aizawa had assigned, especially with it only having been a week since the villain attack at USJ. Even moreso, the Sports Festival hype was beginning to gear up, only making students more restless. But Midoriya was restless for a different reason.

His mind had been almost exclusively on the girl from earlier, and just how quickly he became so whipped. Part of him said that it was just a crush on someone he thought was attractive, but the rest said that he was most definitely willing to get on one knee and marry her on the spot. The thought, as delusional as it seemed, made him flush and bright red. It crawled up his neck and onto his ears, and he placed a hand over his cheeks. He huffed, before realising that Ochako and Iida had stopped talking. He opened his eyes to see them staring at him. Iida was wide eyed and concerned, but Ochako had an almost conniving grin.

“What’s the look for, Deku?” Ochako hummed, tilting her head. Her hair bounced along, curling and hitting her chin. “You’re on fire!”

“Indeed!” Iida said, his voice sharp and almost booming. “If you believe you have caught something, then it is best to explain to a teacher and take approximately three days off, as to take care of yourself and not infect anyone else.”

“You aren’t sick, are you?” Ochako looked smug, crossing her arms. “It’s a blush!”

“A blush?” Iida looked at Ochako. “But that would-”

“I-It’s okay! I was just thinking…” Midoriya stammered, hoping to backtrack from the conversation as much as possible. “It’s nothing important…”

“Is it a girl?” Ochako grinned though it seemed the smallest bit forced.

“How did you know?!” Midoriya yelped before looking around to make sure that no one else (read: Bakugou) heard his voice jump six octaves. “I mean...how did…?”

“You look giddy.” Ochako pointed a finger like Foenix Right. “I guess you have a crush on someone from in our class!”

“Well...not quite.” Midoriya hugged himself. “She’s not from 1-A, but she’s here? Like, not attending but she-”

“Who is it?” Ochako seemed to be jumping her seat. Iida frowned.

“We cannot pressure Midoriya to say anything he doesn’t want to! Peer pressure is a very serious issue that cannot be allowed in U.A.! Despite you thinking-”

“He wouldn’t tell us if he didn’t want to!” Ochako giggled. “Who is it?”

“She’s, uh...she…” Midoriya gulped. “She’s the...girl…”

“What? Speak up!” Despite his warnings, Iida leaned in with Ochako. Midoriya felt like he was about to faint, and tried to avoid Ochako’s wide eyes with all his power. His own eyes wandered, before he glanced upon fell on one of the side entrances.

The girl stood there, towering over most and eyeing the entire cafeteria in wide-eyed wonder like a child at Christmas. He noticed that her eyes lingered on people like Mina and Shoji who’s quirks were more obvious. His entire face lit up in a blush when she barely turned to face the section that he and his group were sitting in, and he ducked under the table with a yelp. He had no idea how to act. And this? This definitely wasn’t it.

Ochako looked over at where Midoriya had spotted the girl, and when she saw the girl, her face split into a maniacal grin. A cruel chuckle sounded over the table, and when Midoriya peeked up over the table at her, he paled.

“Hey, what are you planning?” Midoriya felt his stomach drop. “She’s-that’s-!”

“Hey, miss!” Ochako yelled, waving a hand and even floating a bit. She sat back in her chair when, against all the odds in the crowded and deafening dining hall, the girl heard. She seemed confused, pointing a finger at herself before Ochako nodded with vigor.

“Yeah, you! C’mere!”

The girl weaved her way over, and Midoriya couldn’t help but stare at the way she maneuvered. It was fluid and lithe, like a dancer, and Midoriya didn’t even realise he was staring until her face was suddenly much closer, and it had lit up in a smile. He jumped before looking at the table again.

“Hello, Midoriya!” She looked at Ochako. “Did you call me over for something?”

“Yeah! Deku was talking about you!”

Midoriya looked up, hoping that she was looking at Ochako, but she was staring right at him. Her head was tilted, slightly, like a puppy might do, and a sudden mental image of her with floppy German Shepherd puppy ears swarmed him. He reared back. Her eyebrows furrowed.

“Are you alright, Midoriya?”

“See!” Ochako cried. “Even she’s noticed.”

Iida nodded and the girl glanced between the two with curious eyes.

“I’m sorry, but...who are you two?”

“I am Iida Tenya! It is a pleasure to meet you!” Iida rose and bowed, and the girl seemed taken aback. She gave a shaky smile and a wave.

“I’m Ochako Uraraka! But just call me Ochako!” Ochako gave a little grin and a peace sign. “What’s your name?”

Midoriya suddenly narrowed in on the conversation, realising that he didn’t know the girl’s name. The girl was about to speak, the beginning of something sounding, when the ten minute bell rang. Iida jumped.

“While we both wish we could speak with you more,” Iida pointed at a mounted clock. “Our lunch break is coming to an end and it is unacceptable to be late to our classes.”

YN hummed. “Of course. Hopefully, I’ll see y’all around.”

She waved and left, before Ochako and Iida turned to Midoriya with malicious grins (though Iida’s didn’t seem as nearly conniving as Ochako’s).

“So that’s the girl! She’s adorable!” Ochako gave a less evil but still concerning smile, clasping her hands together.

“She seems quite polite.” Iida nodded, beginning to polish off his food. Midoriya sunk into his chair, embarrassment wanting him to be swallowed whole.

But, hey, he thought. He almost got her name. And he definitely wanted to see her around.

YN pulled back into the hallway that she came from, figuring that she might as well head back to Recovery Girl’s office and see if she couldn’t find something else to do. Maybe she had colouring books, or something. She could burn time until something came up.

The halls had long emptied by the time that YN was at the second to last turn to the office. The students were in their respective classes, and YN was just a single child trying to worm her way back to Recovery Girl.

YN was snapped out of her thoughts when she saw the back of a student. He didn’t wear the uniform, but he looked to be about the right age.

“Excuse me...shouldn’t you be in class?” YN called out, beginning to walk up the boy. Blonde tufts of hair stuck out in the back, and she saw that there was a tan on his ears. “Sir?”

The boy popped his neck, slowly and methodically, and she heard him breathe deeply and sigh. Her nerves began to buzz, and the hair on the back of her neck rose. She stopped walking up to him.

“Sir?”

“You…”

His voice came out like a wheeze. YN stood a little straighter, about to touch his shoulder.

“Hey, are you ok?”

His head spun around like a bullet, his neck cracking from the force. His entire face was some sort of hollow blue void, and she could feel it sucking her in.

“You did this.”

“H-Holy shit!” YN yelped, falling onto her back and scrambling back. The boy stepped closer, a hand reaching out, before his head turned seventy degrees to look at the upcoming right turn. The boy, the thing, it wrapped a hand around her throat and drew her close.

“Stay away from Mizuki.”

It disappeared with a blue burst of light, and Recovery Girl hustled around the corner to YN. Immediately, she began to check her for injuries, but YN stared absentmindedly at the ceiling.

“Dear? Can you hear me?” YN barely recognised Recovery Girl waving a hand in front of her face, everything beginning to blur together.

All YN said was ‘ah hell’, before blacking out again.

@missadorable96

a/n: midoriya/ellipses is my otp. no i do not accept criticism

#camt #camtbcnpiw #camt update #bnha x reader #my hero academia x reader #izuku midoriya x reader #ochako urakara x reader #iida tenya x reader #midoriya x ellipses #yn x passing out #boku no hero academia x reader #children are meant to be cradled not placed in wars

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