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whatsnewalycat · 1 year

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Psychomanteum / Chapter 6

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x F!Reader

Chapter 6: Red Flags and Long Nights

Chapter Summary: Dieter is on set in New Zealand when the two of you have a falling out. Neither of you take it particularly well.

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Word Count: 7.2k+

Content / Warnings: alternating POV, death, cocaine use and addiction, grief, PTSD, heavy angst, flashbacks, communication problems, introspection, betrayal, meaningless sex

Notes: Chapter title from "Red Flags and Long Nights" by She Wants Revenge. Before you read this I just wanna remind you that this will have a happy ending. Ok? Ok.

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It’s been a month since you’ve seen Dieter.

The morning he left New York, you woke up in his arms, in that impossibly comfortable bed at The Plaza, before the sun rose. You laid there, fixated on his sleeping face, for at least a half an hour as you tried to parse out your potpourri of emotions.

First and foremost, there was the sexual attraction. Lust infiltrated every cell in your body, plump with want, willing you towards him at all times. The crush that you held on the back burner for months had come to fruition, and you were ravenous for him. Even then, your body raw and sore from multiple rounds of fucking, when you thought you had cum more than a human possibly could be capable of within 24 hours, desire churned beneath your skin. It was maddening.

Lingering behind that insatiable thirst was something sweeter, softer. Something that anchored you to the bed, staring at his handsome face until he woke up on his own. Something that fluttered in your chest when he wrapped his arms around your body or kissed your lips. That thing that’s like a curl of steam off a cup of coffee fixed just how you like it. It felt familiar and warm when you were with him.

Then, beneath the desire, beneath that tooth-rotting sweetness, there’s an undercurrent of friendship. You genuinely love spending time with him. After taking a stoned bubble bath together, he ordered pancakes, crab cakes, and a chocolate cake. You wrapped yourselves in fluffy white robes, as you ate a menagerie of cakes, and brainstormed a list of the famous people who’ve probably had sex in the suite.

After this, you sprawled out on your belly across the bed and sank into comfort. Dieter approached from behind you, rumbling, “I could go for a different kind of cake,” palming your ass cheeks apart from behind. You gasped, then arched against him as his tongue slid in the space he made.

There’s this inextricable connection you feel to him. Like the two of you are made from the same star stuff, tethered together, always touching by underground wires. He puts you at ease, allowing you to come out of your shell with both important and frivolous things.

For instance, that night at the hotel, the two of you discussed whether or not you thought Paul McCartney died in 1966. Dieter almost swayed your opinion, showing you the cover of Abbey Road and Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club, playing Revolution 9 backwards and pointing out where the backtracking allegedly says “turn me on, dead man.” But then your high faded and, much to Dieter’s dismay, you realized how ridiculous the conspiracy theory is.

But then you told him about your experience with the psychomanteum. You told him about the stars, and what your dad told you, and the bear hug. He told you about his experience. About James. The river inside the mirror. It didn’t destroy him to talk about it that time.

Which spotlights the most conflicting thing about this thing with Dieter. His drug use.

When he stormed out of your apartment, after that switch flipped and he left without explanation… then when he came back completely strung out and a different person. It was like you time-traveled back to that night last December. The night of the accident.

It was Ethan’s birthday, which happens to be Christmas Day. His birthday gift was 50 mls of sumi ink from a specialty art supply store. During his last stint in rehab six years prior, Ethan started using ink as a medium for art as an outlet for emotional expression. Most of his illustrations were abstract and high-contrast.

You fucking loved them.

Throughout the years, you came to notice that his drug use and creativity had an inverse relationship. Periods of time when he would channel his pain into art were generally sober periods from hard drugs. When he was binging coke, he didn’t touch the ink.

So when he was in the midst of his worrisome spiral into addiction, and he told you all about this ink that was so fucking cool, blackest ink in the city, it’s something you squirreled away for later. You thought maybe the gift would re-ignite his passion for creation.

In retrospect, you think maybe it’s more accurate to say that you thought maybe it would extinguish his passion for destruction. A Hail Mary.

You were so fucking wrong.

So when Dieter returned that night, all black eyes and jerky movements and fast-talking, you were there again. Ethan was screaming at you from the driver’s seat, asking you, “Why would you tell them, Lou? Now they’re looking for us. Don’t you understand?!”

But with Dieter that night, unlike the night you and Ethan died, you were able to contain the fire.

While Dieter was sleeping it off throughout the following two days, you thought about this. How you shouldn’t get involved with him, no matter what. How, even if he’s handsome, and fun, and interesting, and makes you feel like you’re free falling when he touches you, you cannot give in to those feelings. Because giving in to those feelings means putting yourself in that passenger’s seat again. And you didn’t know if you’d survive it a second time.

You decided that he was still struggling with something that was too fucking raw, too close to home, for you to deal with.

Then you woke up to him pulling you into an embrace. That heartfelt “Thank you, Lua.” You felt his appreciation and affection squeeze every ounce of willpower out of your body.

The morning at The Plaza, as you etched his sleeping face into your long-term memory, you considered this again. You wondered if his cocaine use was a frequent occurrence. Thought about asking him when he woke. Weighed his potential answers against these freshly-caught feelings.

You took into account that this thing might not even make it past that day.

It was entirely possible, you reasoned, that he doesn’t have room for you in his life in any kind of romantic capacity. Maybe that would be it. He’d go fly off to New Zealand for filming that day and lose interest, and it wouldn’t fucking matter anyway.

So after his eyelids fluttered open, and he smattered your face with good morning kisses that made your heart swell, you decided to just… let it go. You wanted to soak up those moments while they still lasted. You didn’t want to ruin it by asking him about his drug use, or his feelings, or what this thing was.

And now, one month later, you’re still in communication one way or another nearly every day, and these questions are still unanswered. It’s the elephant in the room.

You’re not sure if it’s a team effort, this avoidance, but it’s been eating away at you. Neither of you talk about the next time you’ll see each other, or whether or not you’re seeing other people, or whether or not he’s using.

You explain all of this to Parker as he sits across from you at your countertop. His eyes don’t leave the baked goods he’s helping you box, but his eyebrow arches.

“Ok, what?” you spit and cross your arms, shooting a glare at him.

His amber brown eyes flick to your face and he scoffs, “I don’t know, have you tried talking to him about it?”

“Well, no…”

“Well, maybe you should,” he shoots back, crossing his arms in defiance.

You stare at each other for a moment before you give in and drop your arms to your sides, then groan to the ceiling, “Fine.”

Parker gives you a satisfied shrug and smirks. You both resume carefully boxing brownies, cookies, and cake donuts.

“How do you feel about him?” Parker inquires.

A grumble leaves your throat involuntarily. His brow arches knowingly again. You sigh and answer him honestly in a mutter, “I like him.”

“Say more,” Parker coaxes, “Do you like him like a friend? Like a friend who fucked the shit outta you for a day and that’s it? Or do you like him like you want him to be your boyfriend?”

You roll your eyes and shake your head, grumbling the answer under your breath.

“I can’t hear you, Miss Lou.”

“I want him to be my boyfriend,” you admit loudly. The answer burns your cheeks and makes your heart start racing.

“Finally , you admit it!” Parker groans gleefully, tilting his head back towards the ceiling and spreading his arms out wide as if he’s thanking God for answering his prayers.

“Oh my god, the drama,” you snort.

“Girl, don’t tell me about all that shit then accuse me of drama,” Parker teases, “Y’all have been drooling over each other forever.”

“Just because I like him does not mean the feeling is mutual,” you remind him as you compare the baked goods in the boxes to your order sheets, verifying all is accounted for.

“No, you’re right, he’s just fucking you and talking to you in his limited free time and sending you kissy face emojis because he totally wants to be your friend,” he deadpans.

“Ok, true,” you concede with a chuckle. Parker’s observation makes your stomach flip. When you review the last box, you set down your order forms and say, “All clear, close ‘em up.”

As the two of you systematically close the order boxes and organize them on your countertop, he asks, “What’re you doing Saturday night?”

“Nothing. Why, what’s up?”

“Wanna go out with me and Kourtney? I think we’re gonna go out dancing.”

“Fuck yes I do,” you grin, then take off your apron and throw it on the counter. Your phone vibrates in your back pocket. When you pull it out, you see it’s Dieter FaceTiming you.

You answer and the whole screen is occupied by his smiling face as he greets you enthusiastically, “Hello from tomorrow!”

“Hello from yesterday!” you respond with a delighted grin, “Look, Parker is here!”

When you turn the camera to face Parker, you catch him smirking to himself.

“HI PARKER!” Dieter bellows, pulling the camera back to reveal that he’s waving.

“Hi, love!” Parker responds, then slides the phone from your hand, completely hijacking your conversation, “How’s New Zealand?”

“Fucking beautiful, do you see this?” He changes the view to his outward facing camera to reveal the inside of his messy trailer, then starts laughing hysterically before the screen is occupied by his face again, “I bet you were expecting something cooler.”

You start laughing in the background, then make your way back to the kitchen to start loading the dishwasher.

“Not that your dirty ass trailer isn’t impressive or anything, but I was definitely expecting a beach,” Parker cackles.

“Hey! It’s not dirty, it’s just… messy,” Dieter defends.

“Yeah, tell that to your girl and see what she says,” Parker snorts, then looks away from the phone and sees that you’re spraying Lysol on the countertops and points the camera at you, “She’s literally cleaning right now.”

“So?!” you scoff and look down at your work in progress, trying to hide the embarrassment spreading hot across your face.

“Of course she is,” Dieter chuckles.

Parker walks up beside you and says, “Show me again, love, I want her to see what a slob her little boyfie is.”

“Oh my god, Parker, I’m gonna murder you-” you cover your face in mortification.

“Look look look,” he cuts you off. You look up and see the screen flip points of view from Dieter’s face to the inside of the trailer.

“Show us around, baby,” Parker demands, “Give us a tour.”

“You don’t have to do that, Dee-”

“Don’t listen to her, yes you do.”

The camera shakes as Dieter laughs. He walks to one end of the trailer and holds it up to his eye level. It looks like an RV your aunt Patty lived in every summer back home, but a little nicer. There’s a couch whose brown upholstery reflects the dim light like it would be sticky on the skin. Clothing and towels are strewn about on the seats. The stationary table that sits in the middle of the couch’s three sides is aluminum with what looks to be a fake wood grain finish on the tabletop. It’s hard to tell beneath the notebook, sketch pad, various writing utensils, and pile of jolly ranchers.

A tiny kitchenette is currently being used as a place for Dieter to empty his pockets. Piled on the two burner glass stovetop is a pair of sunglasses, a brown leather wallet, and miscellaneous pocket trash like receipts, change, and candy wrappers.

“Well, this is the couch where I sit.” He points the camera to the couch, then the tabletop, where he flips through his sketchbook, “I paint when I’m bored sometimes.”

The illustrations were made with black acrylic paint, heavy strokes that pile on the paper and create texture, then make way into negative space for the planes of the subjects’ faces. The subjects, vaguely human, look like they were sunk into a pit of tar and drug out into the light. They look tortured, screaming for help.

Except for one.

You only see it for a brief moment before he abruptly slams the cover closed. The image will be burned in your brain forever, though.

It’s a sketch, not a painting, its details messy but articulate. You recognize the tattoos on the figure’s arm. A sleeve of fruit, ridges of scar tissue interrupting them in various places. Face lit up in a smile. The curves of your naked body mapped out on the paper.

All the air is sucked from your lungs. Parker whispers in your ear, “Did you see that?”

You nod, but don’t look at him. Dieter clears his throat and moves on with the tour.

“This is the smallest bathroom I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing,” Dieter slides open an accordion door and steps into the bathroom, which is cluttered by its own design, only enough space for one person in its cramped confines. A navy canvas toiletry bag sits open in the small sink, which looks to contain prescriptions and over-the-counter medications, a razor, shaving cream, and a bottle of cologne. He points the camera at the mirror and waves at the reflection.

When he steps out and closes the bathroom door, he moves on to the bed at the back of the trailer that’s, predictably, unmade, “This is where I take naps and read. And, uh, that’s it.”

He switches the view so it’s the front facing camera, and his face takes up the screen again as he spreads himself across the bed, nestling his head into a pillow.

“It’s not that bad,” you smirk, side-eying Parker playfully.

“Ok that’s how I know you like him,” Parker snickers and hands the phone back to you, “You go talk, love, I’ll clean up.”

Your whole face is on fire with embarrassment.

You glare at him and take your leave, walking back into your bedroom, closing the door behind you. Parker starts playing music over your stereo as if to drown out the sounds of your conversation. When you plop down on the bed, you finally look back at the screen and see Dieter grinning from ear-to-ear at you.

“Hi,” you say coyly.

“Hi,” he responds, his voice low and serene, “How are you doing, beautiful?”

“I am… mortified,” you laugh, covering your face, “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he smiles, then scratches his clean-shaven chin, “It’s cute.”

Cute. Not “I like you too” or something similar. Cute.

“Anyway, how are you?” you change the subject.

“Great,” he tells you as he folds the pillow up behind his head to prop himself up further, “Almost done filming, tomorrow is the last day.”

“Doing anything to celebrate?”

“Yeah, there’s gonna be a party Saturday night for the cast and crew,” he sighs, “It should be pretty fun.”

He jostles the phone around as he tries to get comfortable. From this new angle, you see more of his bed. There’s a stapled-together printout of the screen play with little tabs sticking out in various sections, a dull pencil with a worn-down eraser, and there’s… an open condom wrapper.

Your mind goes blank. A twisting feeling churns your insides like you swallowed a spool of barbed wire and it’s tearing your intestines to shreds.

He continues talking, not noticing the way your face has fallen, or the tears pooling in the corners of your eyes, “It’s very fancy-schmancy, I guess. I have to get all dressed up in a monkey suit.”

You sniffle and nod, then position the camera so he can’t see you. Your voice is shaky when you respond, still trying to hold your shit together, “That’s… fun.”

From your vantage point, you see him frown at your awkward response, then squint when he notices that the camera is pointed at the ceiling.

“What’s wrong?”

Your voice is caught in your throat. Tears breach the edge of your eyelids and slide hot down your cheeks.

“Lua?”

“I’m here,” you answer, trying to hide how your voice trembles, “Sorry, I um-”

“Are you ok? What happened?”

“N-nothing, I’m fine,” you lie.

He props himself up on the bed and the wrapper crinkles when his elbow presses it into the mattress. You see him acknowledge its presence when he raises his arm to see what the noise was. Realization dawns on his face. His eyes widen and he starts to stammer, “Lua, it’s not like that-”

“It’s fine, Dee, we- we never said we were exclusive or anything, I’m- I’m just being dumb. Ignore me,” you try to brush it off, but your gut clenches harder, and you start to sob, then frantically try to explain through your blubbering, “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m reacting this way,” then throw the phone on the bed and curl up in a ball, smacking the side of your own head, trying to get yourself to stop, “Goddamnit, I’m so fucking stupid.”

“Hey, hey- no no no, no you’re not,” he coos, “It was just sex, it’s not like- like it is with you-”

“Dieter, I don’t care, do whatever you want,” you squeak.

And it’s so fucking obvious that you’re lying. But you can’t stop this tidal wave of rejection and betrayal from rattling your bones. In a panic, you wipe your face off, then pick up the phone and give him your best attempt at a smile, but it folds in anguish and your voice cracks before you can finish telling him, “Really, I’m fine, but I- I have to go-”

“Please don’t, baby, come on-”

“I’ll talk to you later, ok?” you lie one more time before ending the call and throwing the phone across the bed.

Your head spins. Everything around you turns blurry and dull. A heaviness pools in your chest and sucks the life out of you. Nothing feels real. The phone starts vibrating, and you see it’s Dieter calling.

Shame drips down your spine, branching out to clutch your stomach and burrow into your thoughts, telling you how fucking stupid you are to think he would actually want you. It was all a fucking joke. Of course it was, how could you not see that?

With movements that you can’t feel, not really, you reach over and grab the phone. Reject the call. Find his contact in your phone. Click “block this caller” and toss it back.

Now he doesn’t have to pretend that you meant anything at all.

Dieter stares at his phone screen in dismay for about a minute before he tries calling you again. You reject the call. His heart pounds heavy in his chest. Anxiety starts to tingle inside the cords of his neck. He jumps out of bed and starts pacing the length of the trailer, trying to keep up with his racing thoughts.

He thinks of your crumpled, tear stained face. That sad smile you pasted on before your honesty betrayed you and tore it down. How you scolded yourself, saying that you’re so fucking stupid.

His stomach churns and he feels nauseous. The reality of the situation starts to sink in. You’ll probably never speak to him again.

Regrettably, his first instinct after thinking about this is anger. It flares hot in his chest and balls his fists at his sides.

He tells himself that he didn’t technically do anything wrong. It’s not like the two of you were dating. You even said it yourself. Maybe you’ll see that you’re being ridiculous.

Is she being ridiculous, though?

He tries to imagine if it had been the other way around. If he found out you had fucked someone while he was here. Closing his eyes, he imagines that string bean man who he shooed from your apartment that one night touching your body the way Dieter did. He imagines someone else kissing you, holding you close, fucking you. His blood starts to simmer.

Why didn’t he throw that fucking wrapper away? More importantly, why did he fuck Katie in the first place? It’s not like it was worth it.

He had just gotten off the phone with you and was stewing in his feelings. It’s confusing how he can feel so much joy and comfort when he talks to you, only to be whiplashed back into that big, vacant feeling when the phone call ends. Like you’re the sun, shining warm rays of light onto him. Then the sun sets and he remembers how cold and dark life is without you.

And he was thinking about how he wanted to tell you all of this, but he wasn’t sure how you would react. He was thinking about how you’re still in mourning, still in love with your husband, and wondering if maybe you don’t want anything more than this with him. The words no strings attached linger in his brain every time his heart aches with adoration for you.

On top of that, Dieter knows his schedule is nothing but chaos. As his marriage to Anika proved, it’s not an easy situation to deal with by any means.

He was thinking about all of this, sinking deep into a pit of loneliness and insecurity that threatened to swallow him whole, when Katie waltzed into his trailer.

Now, obviously he and Katie have had their occasional dalliances in the past. There was the night of her party when she sucked him off in her closet. Earlier that same week, after they did their screen tests, they met for a drink (or, more accurately, five drinks) and wound up fucking in Dieter’s hotel room. There were occasional flirtations and provocative photos sent via text.

Since this thing with you began, though, he hasn’t found himself interested in anyone else. Not in any real, meaningful kind of way. He still thought Katie was attractive, but didn’t feel attracted to her. They were mildly flirtatious, as always, and had romantic scenes together, but neither of those count for anything.

Now that he thinks about it, he realizes that things between him and Katie had been completely platonic during shooting until yesterday. It’s like she could smell the desperation coming off of him in waves when she sat down across from him at the table and frowned, “Are you ok?”

He looked up from his sketchbook and released a heavy sigh, “Sure. Why?”

“You look so sad,” she pouted, searching his face.

“Just, uhh,” he looked down and realized he was sketching you, and frowned at the paper, then looked back up to meet Katie’s concerned green eyes. It seemed like she wanted him to confide in her, and he didn’t see any reason why he shouldn’t. Running his fingers through his hair, he shrugged, “It gets so lonely, you know? Guess I’m feeling kind of down because of it.”

As he looked down at that drawing of you, his lips parted, and the words on the tip of his tongue: and there’s this woman…

But then she spoke.

“Do… you want some company?” she asked, then licked her lips and smirked, “I can try to cheer you up.”

That piece of him that is chronically hollow ached in his chest, begging to be filled. His shoulders slumped as he sat back in his seat and watched her stand up, make her way over to him. She settled in his lap and linked her hands at the back of his neck.

He should have said no. A voice in his head was screaming for him to reject her. But he ignored it, lifting his hands around her waist. Kissed the lips that didn’t seem to fit quite right against his own. His hands on her body didn’t tremble with electricity. There was no passion.

It seemed so clinical and detached. Fucking for fucking’s sake. Bodies writhing against each other, feeding the hunger of the flesh. When he’s with you, there’s something else that makes sex fucking magical. It feeds his soul. He can’t get enough of it.

He fucked Katie trying to satiate his thirst for intimacy. To satisfy his yearning for you. But it didn’t work.

Like when you’re craving mac and cheese, but you’re at an upscale restaurant that calls it something like five-cheese pasta. So you order it and it’s pretty fancy, it’s plated nice and costs fucking $40, and after you eat it, you’re no longer hungry. You pay for it and leave, but it didn’t hit the spot, so to speak. You’re still thinking about the kind that comes in the blue box and reminds you of the comfort of your childhood home. And you think “why did I waste my time on this bullshit five-cheese pasta when I could have just gone to the goddamn grocery store and got what I really wanted?”

Kind of like that.

Ironically, today he called you with the intention of asking you to go on a real date with him. He wanted to tell you that he really likes you and would like to take it further, if you’ll have him. Fucking Katie just made him realize that he doesn’t want that. He wants you.

Even more ironic yet, your emotional reaction to seeing the condom wrapper, to finding out he fucked someone else, made him see that you felt the same way.

Felt, in the past tense, being the operative word.

He tries calling you again. The call doesn’t go through. He can only stare at the screen blankly. You blocked him.

Like everything else that’s been good in life, he’s fucked this up royally. Maybe he doesn’t deserve good things. His thoughts drift to the baggy of white powder in his toiletry bag.

At the advice of Mark and Brenda, but more importantly, out of respect for the effort you put into helping him through his withdrawal, he hasn’t touched it. But now… he needs something to neutralize the agony seeping into his veins.

Dieter retrieves the supplies he’ll need and clears the table. He pours it onto the surface, eyeballing what he thinks is about a gram, and cuts it into neat lines with his credit card. The clickclickclickclick sound stimulates a Pavlovian response. His neck and hands start to tingle in anticipation.

He runs his index finger along the residual white powder on the card, collecting it in the grooves of his fingerprint, then rubs it against his gums. The familiar bitter taste makes him hum in approval. His gum tissues soak up the drug and start to go numb.

He grabs a short, cut off section of a plastic straw, positioning it inside his nostril while blocking the other with his middle finger, and bends over the lines, starting at the leftmost one. In one swift movement, the line disappears and coats the inside of his nasal cavity. He leans back and removes the straw from his nose, then gives the nostril a few more sharp inhales before taking a deep breath. It burns in his skull like hellfire.

He goes in for another. And another.

The cocaine dissolves into the mucous membrane, crossing the brain blood barrier. Euphoria pumps through Dieter’s veins, making him feel god-like, feather light, and lightening fast, anesthetizing the ache of emptiness.

Pure, all-consuming, mind-numbing bliss.

He goes in for another.

The dim lighting at the bar of Club 96 has you feeling disoriented, only intensified by the bass thudding from a wall of speakers behind the DJ. It rattles your ribcage. You scream over the music to the busy bartender, requesting a cranberry vodka and three chuck norris shots as you shove your credit card across the sticky bar top. He nods and takes the card.

You lean your back against the bar, surveying the scene with a critical eye. Blue lights douse the pulsing dance floor, broken up by the shimmering specks of white coming from the disco ball on the ceiling. The people dancing are smiling as they twist and turn to the beat of the electronica music. It looks so carefree.

You wonder what they’re all running from tonight.

The girl in the tight black dress and shiny pumps, whose hair is falling around her swaying head in dark curls like a waterfall, eyes closed as she tilts her head back and bathes in the light of the disco ball, arms outstretched towards it like she’s worshiping at church, why is she here? Is she nursing a broken heart? Trying not to think about the overdue balance on her credit cards? What are the responsibilities and grievances she dropped at the edge of the dance floor like a sacrament to escapism?

Envy seethes beneath your skin.

More than anything, you want to feel free from the burdens of your own tortured mind. You want to forget about Dieter and the condom wrapper and the drawing in his sketchbook and that fucking tabloid article and Katie fucking Wainwright and the images your mind conjured of him touching her and fucking her.

You want to stop drawing parallels between Dieter and Ethan. Because they’re not the same. This fling with Dieter was not the same as your marriage to Ethan.

But your falling out with Dieter is like digging fingers into a stab wound that’s still healing. Tore the skin back open, scooped your guts out until you were empty again. It hurts in all the same places.

The bartender returns with three shot glasses and your drink. You make your way through the throngs of people. Parker and Kourtney are leaning against a high top table, huddled close together and talking. By the look on their faces, you guess they’re talking about your not-really-a-break-up-but-kinda. Kourtney’s dark, expertly manicured eyebrows are pressed together in concern, plump, shiny lips pouting with pity.

You’re so fucking sick of being pitied.

She’s listening intently to Parker, who is sporting his very fierce papa bear face, snapping his fingers and pointing to emphasize his strong emotions, as his mouth moves 100 miles a minute. Now you know they’re talking about Dieter.

You’re grateful Parker was already at your apartment when it happened. Parker was singing along to ABBA loudly in your kitchen, completely oblivious. The loud, bright disco music both muffled and juxtaposed your sobbing.

It took an hour to finally drag yourself out of your bedroom with your tail between your legs, face puffy and somber. When Parker saw your face, his eyes widened in alarm, and he cut the music, asking you, “What happened?”

“He’s fucking someone else,” you managed to squeak out before erupting with sobs again, “God, Parker, I’m so fucking stupid.”

His face immediately molded into the expression he’s wearing now. Thick lips pursed, brows arched as high as they go, eyes piercing and unflinching. At that moment, and in this one, he looks about one second away from throwing punches.

“Babygirl, you are not stupid,” he asserted, pulling you into a tight hug. You wrapped your arms around his lanky frame and started crying against his t-shirt. One of his hands stroked your hair, trying to soothe your emotional burn, and he asked again, “What happened?”

You told him about the condom wrapper, and the knee-jerk reactions you and Dieter had. Which, in your mind, solidified one of the lingering fears that kept you from admitting your feelings for him directly: he did not feel the same way about you as you did about him. It was nothing to him.

Well, maybe not nothing , but close enough to nothing that he’d brazenly fuck another person without telling you.

It wasn’t until tabloid headlines broke today, telling of Dieter’s episode at the wrap party, that your other fear was confirmed: he’s still using coke.

You were on Twitter and saw his name trending. A masochistic desire to know, even if it hurt you, overrode your brain, and you found an article from the tabloid DIRT that gave you more details than the limited information you were able to collect from Twitter.

DIETER BRAVO’S SHOCKING WRAP PARTY MELTDOWN

The notorious academy award winning actor caused quite a ruckus at the wrap party for his upcoming movie, Limbo .

Dieter Bravo, who won an Oscar for Best Actor in 2016 for his critically-acclaimed role as Harry Houdini in the movie Spellbound , is reported to have been suffering from some kind of a mental breakdown last night at Anthology Lounge in Auckland, New Zealand. Sources say that Bravo arrived at the black tie event unkempt and barefoot, wearing sweatpants and a dirty t-shirt, and started hurling insults and accusations at co-star Katie Wainwright. Although DIRT was unable to verify what exactly Bravo said about Wainwright, the tirade is reported to have insinuated an off-camera sexual relationship with the up-and-coming actress.

According to multiple reports, when partygoers and staff tried to intervene, Bravo started flipping over tables and knocking over other decorations, screaming that, “(They’re) all a bunch of f***ing phonies.” Eventually, he calmed down enough to return to his hotel without further complications.

Bravo has yet to publicly address this incident.

Continuing the participation in your own suffering, you spent too long stalking Katie Wainwright’s Instagram, torturing yourself with comparisons and insecurities. Then you sent the article to Parker, asking if Katie was the person whose closet you tripped in with him and Dieter.

He confirmed that it was, then promptly came to your apartment to rip the phone from your hands. The two of you sat on your couch in silence. He held your hand and waited uncharacteristically long to ask you what you were thinking.

“I just… I thought maybe this time I would make a difference.”

“What do you mean?” Parker’s sympathetic eyes searched your face, then he squeezed your hand, encouraging you to expand your answer.

“The coke,” you mumbled, “I thought if I helped him get better, he’d stay better. But he didn’t. And I… I can’t fucking do that again, Parker. I can’t.”

Your voice cracked at the last word. He pulled you into a hug, petting your hair, “I know, baby. I know.”

Eventually, he convinced you to keep your plan to go out with him and Kourtney. While getting ready, you were spiraling internally, the not-knowing eating you alive.

Was Dieter at that party because he and Katie have been dating this whole time? Has this whole thing with you and Dieter been behind her back? Is that where he went when he left your apartment after you passed out when you were drunk? Did he go there again after the psychomanteum incident?

Was he using this whole time, too? Did he do lines in the bathroom while you were together? Are you really that unbearable to be around sober?

Parker could tell you were in your head.

“Girl, stop it,” he said, pausing his eyeshadow application to look at you through the mirror, “You wanna know something about Katie? She’s a vapid rich girl who’s only successful because her daddy paid for her acting classes, and agents, and exposure. If she’s fucking him, it’s probably to get publicity. I don’t think she’s capable of real feelings. Don’t let her get under your skin.”

“I’m not,” you lied, then swallowed the bullshit and continued quietly, “Even if I was… it’s like… the two things I was worried about were true the whole time. And I just… fuck, I really… I really thought it was real with him.”

“I know you did, baby. I did, too,” he cooed, then you both resumed your makeup application and he added, “That’s why we’re gonna go get shitfaced and dance, ok?”

In the present, Parker spots you approaching and starts clapping, “Yes, bitch, gimme gimme gimme.”

You put on a smile and set the shots down on the table, then take a long sip of your drink.

“What should we cheer to?” Kourtney asks as she picks up one of the neon colored shots, her big blue eyes darting from you to Parker.

“How about fuck you Dieter Bravo?” you suggest.

Your companions raise their shot glasses to yours and you all cheer in unison, “FUCK YOU DIETER BRAVO!” then tip the gut-rottingly sweet liquor-energy drink combination back into your mouth.

Plastic hits the tabletop with 3 dull thunks that are barely audible over the music.

“Seriously, I’m so sorry, Lou,” Kourtney croons, pouting again with that pitiful stare.

You shake your head and wave her off, “I’m gonna be fine.”

As if your desperation for sexual validation were a giant vacancy sign above your head, a tall, broad shouldered man eyes you from far away and approaches your table. You shoot a glance at Parker and Kourtney, telling them, “Like I said.”

He leans in and introduces himself as Linden.

Linden looks like a Ken doll. His straight blonde hair is styled into a pompadour that sits neatly atop his head. When he smiles, you notice that his teeth are perfectly straight and probably pristinely white, but it’s hard to tell in the dim, blue lights. He’s wearing an untucked navy blue button-up shirt adorned with bright, tropical leaves and flowers, and salmon colored slacks. His shoes look like they’re probably just as white as his teeth, which is impressive considering how fucking grimy the floor is.

He’s golden and chiseled and looks like he posts gym selfies on Instagram and goes on annual vacations to an all-inclusive resort in Mexico with his white, suburban, conservative parents.

His large hand closes over yours. He shakes it, and you feel… nothing.

But you smile and you try to tinge it with warmth. You let him buy you a drink. You dance with him and let him pull you close. You let him run his hands all along your body, but turn away when he tries to kiss you. You let him kiss your neck instead. When he asks if you want to get out of here, you let him take you back to his apartment.

Linden’s apartment is neat and in an affluent part of town. He explains on the elevator ride up that he has roommates, but they’re totally cool. Immediately contradicting this claim, one of his roommates shoots you a dirty look when you come stumbling through the door behind him.

His bedroom looks like it was put together by an interior designer. Soft blue walls adorned with tasteful, but soulless, artwork. Crisp white sheets lined his bed and they smelled like they were doused in laundry detergent and fabric softener. It felt like a hotel room. Completely for show. Impersonal. There was one effect that you spotted before Linden was able to hide it away in his dresser drawer: a picture of him and his Barbie kissing.

He has a girlfriend.

The thought sinks in and you find… that you don’t care. You’re here and you want him to help you feel something. To pull the escape hatch on your brain and be free.

Even if it makes you a fucking hypocrite.

He turns to you and settles his hands on your hips, presses his clammy forehead to yours, gazing into your eyes. You wonder if your attempts to look interested are effective at all. If he’s just meeting vacant eyes. If he cares at all. He tries to kiss you, and you turn away, shaking your head, “No kissing, ok?”

“Ok,” he agrees, then his lips press against your neck instead. He grabs at the curves of your body, and you hum and whine like his touch is magic even though it’s not.

You tug at his cock over his briefs and search his face, drinking in the way his pupils spread wide and dark, the way his eyelids flutter and his mouth drops. It soothes your chapped soul, to see lust written in his features. You feel wanted. In control.

When you both undress and he slides his hand between your legs, it feels… ok. His fingers work you hard and fast, like he’s trying to win a race. It doesn’t feel electric. It starts to make you frustrated. You ask him to put on a condom and pull him down to the mattress, where you climb on top of him.

He groans when you lower yourself down, engulfing him, but he doesn’t whisper dirty things and sweet nothings into your ear as you roll your hips, rutting him in and out of your body. You can read the pleasure on his face and get off on it. There’s a power in someone desiring you.

You’re only able to build on this feeling when you close your eyes and let your longing mind wander to that night in the hotel with Dieter. The raw, magnetic energy between you and him. How you felt like you couldn’t possibly get too much of him. How you wanted to fuse yourself to him and prevent him from leaving. How you accepted the next best thing: bruises and hickies and stretched muscles that ached for days afterwards. The ghost of his touch on your skin.

Even if Linden doesn’t fill you perfectly like Dieter did, or feed your desire like Dieter did, you use his body to pretend. You’re able to pretend everything is how it was a month ago, in blissful ignorance, when you thought that Dieter still wanted you like you wanted him. You spill over the edges at this fantasy, and Linden follows close behind.

He doesn’t pull you close afterwards, or invite you to stay, or anything, really. When you roll off of him and stare up at the ceiling, Linden falls asleep. You quietly get dressed and take the subway home.

On the way home, you think about that photo Linden buried in his dresser. You think about the gaping nothingness you feel about him, and then you wonder if this is how Dieter felt about Katie.

“It was just sex, it’s not like- like it is with you-”

Maybe you were too quick to cut him off. Maybe you were wrong. You were so hasty in your reaction. It was too vulnerable. You feel exposed, like he saw too much. Could he even want you still after that? Or would he just turn you away?

It stings like salt in your wounds when you imagine his rejection. Your bruised pride aches in your chest and reminds you that you will absolutely not, under any circumstances, go crawling back to that man. No way in hell.

Right?

[ Next Chapter ]

#dieter bravo #dieter bravo x f!reader #dieter bravo x female reader #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x fem!reader #dieter bravo x ofc #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal characters #psychomanteum

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boredtechnologist · 4 months

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Analyzing Hideo Kojima's "Death Stranding" requires delving into the game's multifaceted narrative, themes, and mechanics, drawing on a range of philosophical disciplines including phenomenology, existentialism, eco-philosophy, and theories of connection and isolation.

1. Phenomenology and the Experience of the Game World: "Death Stranding" immerses players in a world where the boundaries between life and death, physical and spiritual, are blurred. This can be analyzed through the lens of phenomenology, particularly the work of Edmund Husserl and Martin Heidegger. The game's portrayal of a world where the dead and living coexist challenges players to reconsider the nature of reality and perception, resonating with Husserl's ideas about the subjective interpretation of experiences and Heidegger's concept of 'being-in-the-world' - how we engage with and understand our environment.

2. Existential Themes of Isolation and Connection: The game’s exploration of isolation and the need for connection aligns with existentialist themes. Drawing from Jean-Paul Sartre’s notion of existential isolation – the idea that individuals are fundamentally alone in their subjective experiences – "Death Stranding" showcases the protagonist Sam's journey as a metaphor for human existential crises. However, in contrast to Sartre’s somewhat bleak outlook, the game also incorporates Albert Camus' philosophy of finding meaning in an absurd world, particularly through human connection and solidarity.

3. Eco-Philosophy and the Relationship with Nature: "Death Stranding" presents a post-apocalyptic landscape that forces players to navigate and connect a fragmented world, reflecting eco-philosophical ideas. Philosophers like Arne Naess, who pioneered deep ecology, emphasized the intrinsic value of all living beings and the importance of a harmonious relationship with nature. The game’s depiction of a ravaged Earth, where human actions have severe consequences, echoes these eco-philosophical concerns, urging players to consider their relationship with and impact on the natural world.

4. The Ethics of Technology and Artificiality: The game’s use of advanced technology, such as the Bridge Babies (BBs), and the artificial environments created to sustain life, can be analyzed through the work of philosophers like Hans Jonas and Martin Heidegger. Jonas’ ethics of responsibility and his caution about technological advancements pose relevant questions about the moral implications of using technology to manipulate and control natural processes. Heidegger’s critique of technology and its alienating effects is also pertinent in understanding the game's narrative.

5. The Concept of Death and Mortality: "Death Stranding’s" central theme of death invites reflection on mortality from a philosophical standpoint. Arthur Schopenhauer’s pessimistic philosophy, which views death as an integral part of life, and his exploration of the will to live despite suffering, offer insights into the game’s narrative. The constant presence of death in the game challenges players to confront their mortality and find purpose in a transient existence.

6. Derrida and the Notion of Hauntology: Jacques Derrida’s concept of hauntology – the presence of elements from the past as spectral or haunting forces in the present – is a useful framework for analyzing "Death Stranding’s" narrative, where past events and deceased individuals continue to impact the living world. The game’s portrayal of timefall, an accelerated aging process, and the presence of BTs (Beached Things), entities from the afterlife, resonate with Derrida’s ideas about the persistence of the past and its impact on present reality.

In conclusion, "Death Stranding" offers a rich tapestry for philosophical exploration, intertwining themes of phenomenology, existentialism, eco-philosophy, technology, mortality, and hauntology. Through its immersive world and narrative, the game invites players to engage with profound questions about human existence, our relationship with nature and technology, and the ever-present reality of death and memory. Kojima's creation stands as a compelling intersection of gaming and philosophical inquiry, challenging players to ponder deeply about the nature of our existence and connections in an increasingly fragmented world.

#Hideo Kojima #Death Stranding #BB #Bridges #sam bridges #Cliff Unger #Amelie #Higgs Monaghan #Peter Englert #Fragile #Bridge Baby #Die-Hardman #Deadman #Heartman #PlayStation 4 #PS4 #PlayStation 5 #PS5 #Pixel Crisis

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cantsayidont · 9 months

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"As Batman, I should be able to tell whether Saul is a phoney!"

One of the great joys of old comics, especially from the Bronze Age (1970 through mid-80s) is their assortment of now-dated topical references, some of which are delightfully stupid. Prime example: This story from BATMAN #222 (June 1970), "Dead...Till Proven Alive!" by Frank Robbins, Irv Novick, and Dick Giordano.

After some inconclusive attempts to surreptitiously record the Twists' voices and an extremely contrived fight with hired gunmen outside a Gotham City recording studio:

Oh, where to begin?

A few months before this story was written, there was a bizarre conspiracy theory that Paul McCartney had died in a car accident three years earlier and been replaced by a stand-in. This included the assertion that the cover of the ABBEY ROAD album (with the band members walking across that street) was a funeral procession for the real Paul, and that the band had inserted hidden clues in their music. Then, in April 1970, the Beatles announced they were breaking up.

I'm VERY curious when exactly this story was written. The cover date of the issue is June 1970, but magazine cover dates are "shelve until," not "on sale," so it would probably have been on newsstands by the beginning of May, and it would have been scripted probably at least three months before that. So, Robbins either deduced pretty well where the band was going and came up with an amusing pastiche of it, made some last-minute script revisions, or just got particularly lucky. (Having this issue on newsstands three weeks after the Beatles broke up had to have been a minor marketing coup, especially since cover artist Neal Adams makes the characters look even more like the Beatles than the interior art does, which is a lot.)

About the first page: In late 1969, Dick Grayson finally graduated high school and left for Hudson University (in BATMAN #217, by the same creative team). This meant that Batman was once again mostly on his own in his own titles, with Robin getting his own backup feature. Having Batman and Robin together was therefore a relatively novel event throughout most of the '70s, at least in the comic books.

About the second page: The Beatles' own record label was Apple Records, which Robbins pastiches as "Eden Records" — har-har.

About the third page: When Dick Grayson left for college, Bruce and Alfred decided to close up Wayne Manor and move to a posh new penthouse on the top of the Wayne Foundation building in downtown Gotham, also (temporarily) abandoning the Batcave and various Bat-vehicles. The latter decision was reversed almost immediately, but Bruce spent most of the '70s in the penthouse, eventually constructing a new Batcave under the Wayne Foundation building. He didn't return permanently to Wayne Manor until 1982.

About p. 14: The Twists' fateful Himalayan flight is obviously a riff on the Beatles' trip to the ashram of Maharishi Mahesh Yogi in February 1968, where they studied Transcendental Meditation™. (The Power Records Batman adventure "Gorilla City" later asserted that Batman also practiced TM.)

About p. 16: Paul McCartney's first solo album came out very shortly before this issue went on sale, and in 1971, he started a new band, Wings. The Phoenix/Wings connection is obviously a coincidence, but Frank Robbins was really batting one thousand on this story.

#comics #batman #music #the beatles #paul mccartney #frank robbins #irv novick #dick giordano #a batman and his batmusic #robin #dick grayson

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kylekozmikdeluxo · 8 months

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youtube

I wanna talk about a song for a minute. It's an older song, at that. I'm out of touch, so I get to do that-

'Mrs. Toad's Cookies', by Klaatu, from the album MAGENTALANE, 1981.

Klaatu, a Canadian rock group that was largely active circa 1973 up until the release of this album, has a fascinating and somewhat frustrating history. If you're into the music of the 20th century and weird pop cultural phenomenons, I recommend reading up on these guys who some dingus on the East Coast posited were The Beatles reunited under an anonymous name... Due to similarities in their music and that of the broken up Beatles', and all these "clues" that this guy thought were indicators... Basically, most conspiracy theories are either dumb or some bored person making up shit. Much like the legendary "Paul is Dead" mythos, much like everything you hear from Fox News or head from Alex Jo- So, this silly little theory in turn blew their record sales up some few months after their debut album - 3:47 EST - came and went in the U.S. in the bicentennial summer. Sales which then plummeted after Americans found out who these three Canadians actually were and wrongly took them to be Beatle impostors. Yikes... Tough crowd, eh? A shame, because they were - to these ears - a legit great group. Their music, I feel, is like an ELO/Beatles/Queen-esque love letter to late '60s pop music innovations mixed with a naive, almost midcentury Walt Disney-ian sci-fi wonderment (they even have an unreleased song called 'Thank You, Walt Disney', to ram the point home) and whimsy.

Anyways, 'Mrs. Toad's Cookies', off of their final album...

If THE WIND IN THE WILLOWS and FROG & TOAD were song, it'd sound a lot like this, I reckon. You also got a toad with a tummy ache after gorging on tons of sweets, hey look it's me! I.B.S. problems, ya know?

This chorus is particularly interesting to me:

Ooh good is good and bad is bad As anybody knows But too too much good can be as sadly sad As too much bad you know

Whether it's Mr. Toad eating all the cookies, or Mrs. Crow picking all her flowers, we have two characters getting a little excessive here and facing some consequences for their actions... And in a sort of whimsical way, almost like a moral being softly stated in a children's picture book, we hear "too much good can be as sadly sad, as too much bad you know". It really is a charming picture book in song form.

As a 30-year-old AH-dult, I sometimes struggle with... I don't think addiction is entirely the right word, because it isn't drugs or alcohol. But I have "addictions" of sorts, I'm very bad with time management, and I tend to put too much focus on some things and not other things. I don't balance all of my commitments well, especially when I'm going through things.

I was diagnosed as autistic as a small child, about 5 years old, in the late 1990s. I was never diagnosed as ADHD, but learning from fellow ADHD-havers, it sometimes *can* overlap with autism. And I feel I have A LOT of the ADHD symptoms. One I learned via a YouTuber thru an exclusive video of hers elsewhere, which I think cleared a lot up for me... One thing some people w/ ADHD do is that when something major is going to happen in a few hours, the ADHD-haver *does not* engage in ANYTHING else until that big something happens... This is almost me to a tee. I regularly do this with work, visits, appointments, meeting people, etc. It's like preparation, laser-focusing on this ONE thing but leaving out the other stuff...

And UH OH, I'm behind on making comics, I'm behind on making art, I'm behind on watching the massive Burj Khalifa-tall list of stuff I've never seen, a-GAHHHHHH! And then, as a coping mechanism of sorts, I'm on my computer again! I'm on my phone again! I'm (NSFW topic) again! I'm going on a looooong drive again! I need to balance things, and be better with time management, and be able to steadily commit to all the things I want to devote my time to. Comics, art, going out, handling work well, and living a pretty cool life outside of the house too.

It's largely because I've moved out a few months ago, I feel kind of lost these days because everyone I know or have known is either MAGA or leans right while I'm slowly transitioning into being an enby/genderqueer weirdo, my job that I've had for eight years kinda sucks these days, the job search is T-O-R-T-U-R-E and the rent and other things that cost green paper are looming.

All this, over a song about a toad who needs to book it to the toilet.

Here's the bridge of that song:

Do you wonder will tomorrow be a better place Well that only time can show But if we put our heads into a better space Then maybe we could make it so

I know, Klaatu songwriters... Specifically Jon Woloschuk and Dino Tome... I know... I'm gonna keep trying...

#klaatu #song #music #self reflection #self callout #self care #mental health #autism #audhd #adhd #anxiety #OCD #a shitpost kinda #80s music #rock music #Youtube

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lucindarobinsonvevo · 1 year

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Do you think its likely that one of the reasons Paul was so distant from Andrew was leftover trauma from the Rob/Cam saga? In the sense that yet another long-lost son has turned up out of the blue. How does he know that this one isn't secretly plotting to kill him and everyone he loves too?

Oh, for sure it's related to that! Comparatively, Paul was very open to Robert (as Cam) emotionally compared to Andrew. I think that when he realized that he was being manipulated, it made him scared to ever be that open with anyone aside from the person he already knew he could trust in spite of it all (Elle). That first lie Andrew told when he arrived, about the dance party, i think that unintentionally coloured Andrew and Paul's entire relationship. Is that not what Rob did? Showed up and lied to Paul in order to get into his life?

Equally important, Paul is having to learn how to be a parent to a son after losing another child. Neighbours doesn't often bother to remember that Paul is the father of a deceased child, but when it hits it HITS. During the Andrew epilepsy storyline, it really sticks out to me when Paul says 'you don't know what it's like to --' and cuts himself off. I honestly think that Paul was going to say 'lose a child' or something that would compare what Andrew was going through to Cameron's brief incapacitation before his death.

Combine these two very very difficult emotions (love after loss, and love after betrayal) and I don't think it's surprising at all that Paul was distant to Andrew and I think, as with many of Paul's struggles, Rob was the root cause.

One part of my theory about Paul in the Bower era particularly is that he's trying to imitate the way Jim parented him. Obviously, his attempts to parent his own way have failed. Robert is in Jail, and Cam is dead. So, he's doing the business thing and changing strategies. Unfortunately, Paul's parenting was not the problem. the problem is genetic mental illness or whatever the hell it is that permeates the whole Robinson family. What Paul can't do is see Jim as a fully formed person. Jim is his father. Jim is ONLY his father. So Paul takes what he feels about Jim (stern, hard to please, controlling) and tries to apply it to Andrew and fails each step of the way because Paul is just not built to parent like that. Even as he mellows out, his attempts to better parent Andrew come just a little too late. I feel like it's so telling that the thing Paul chooses to say to Andrew at the end is 'of course im proud of you' as is revealed in 2018, Paul feels like he never made his own father proud and he loves Andrew too much to ever let him carry that burden like he does.

Anyway back to the question. yes I think the Rob/Cam saga is entirely to blame for the space between Paul and Andrew.

#neighbourspost #paulrobinsonshotel

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vive-la-revolution · 3 years

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i’m hyperfixated on the beatles again sigh

#particularly the paul is dead theory #highly interesting #unfortunately i must do things today so i can’t keep researching lmao #the beatles

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weirwoodking · 3 years

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who do you think will be on the throne at the end? is there a chance it will be a woman? do you agree with the theory that bran will be king in the north bc he symbolizes winterfell? idk if i see dany on the throne bc i don't feel like she belongs in westeros, i think she would be better off with a throne on the other side of the narrow sea but i really don't know what i'm saying

It’s very hard to make predictions for ADOS, because we don’t have TWOW yet. So much can change about the story and the characters in one book, thematically and narratively. Think of how much the plot was influenced by just that final Bran chapter in ADWD.

But, here I go anyway.

My short answer is: no one. (And no, I don’t mean Arya)

Let’s get into it.

Part 1: How the Show Tainted Everyone’s Brains

Obviously, a lot of people care about the Iron Throne plot. Sometimes too much. I do believe that this is mostly because of how much the HBO show changed everything about the story to make the Iron Throne seem like it was more important than anything else. Like promotional posters of all the actors each sitting on the throne, the name of the series itself being changed to “Game of Thrones”, actors getting asked in every interview “who do you think should get the Iron Throne?” as if it’s the last cupcake at a birthday party that everyone’s fighting over, the final episode was titled “The Iron Throne”. The marketing for everything was “it’s the fight for the Throne!” up through the eighth season. It made the object itself become a huge pop culture symbol.

It almost felt like the show was trying to make it seem like the goal of the Night King (a character not in the books) was to sit on the Iron Throne! The show portrayed it as if the Others were just a little distraction that needed to be dealt with so the characters could get back to arguing over the Porcupine Chair. However, in ASOIAF, it’s the exact opposite. The Porcupine Chair is what’s distracting the characters from the real conflict, the Others.

It’s almost comical how that has somewhat transferred over into the fandom, the “game of thrones” is what’s keeping everyone from focusing on what really matters, the “song of ice and fire”.

Part 2: GRRM’s Quote

It wasn't easy for me. I didn't want to give away my books. Every character has a different end. I told them who would be on the Iron Throne, and I told them some big twists like Hodor and "hold the door", and Stannis' decision to burn his daughter. We didn't get to everybody by any means.

-George R.R. Martin

So, he “told them who would be on the Iron Throne”. Something important about this quote is that he doesn’t say who. And, of course, the Iron Throne gets destroyed at the end of the show anyway. Show!Bran doesn’t really “end up on the Iron Throne”. Show!Dany does. George never said that who “ends up” on it in the books is who ends up on it in the show. He’s said that the Shireen thing and the Hodor thing will “happen very differently” in the books anyway. And, of course, another major part of that quote is “every character has a different end”.

I don’t think that who sits the Iron Throne last is necessarily going to be the ruler of Westeros at the end. For example, Cersei (or Aegon) may be the last person to sit the Iron Throne. Or even Euron (however, even though his goal is to rule post-apocalyptic Westeros as a god from the Iron Throne, I don’t think he’ll actually get there). If wildfire is hot enough to melt iron, I could see the throne being destroyed during whatever fiery shenanigans go down with Cersei and JonCon in TWOW. I think it would be fitting for the fight over the throne to end in the next book. ‘Cause the winds of winter are coming, baby, and it’s gonna be time to start dreaming of spring.

Part 3: The Weirwood King

The idea/theory of Bran becoming King has been around for a long time, long before the HBO show even started airing. This is because of the Celtic myth of King Brân the Blessed, whose name means “Blessed Crow” or “Blessed Raven” in Welsh. Other than the obvious connection with the name, Brân the Blessed’s story involves a magic cauldron that can bring the dead back to life.

In the myth, Brân’s head is cut off and continues talking (think of how Bran’s most powerful aspect is the magical powers of his mind), because in Celtic mythology the head is believed to be where the soul is.

Celts had a reputation as head hunters. According to Paul Jacobsthal, "Amongst the Celts the human head was venerated above all else, since the head was to the Celt the soul, centre of the emotions as well as of life itself, a symbol of divinity and of the powers of the otherworld." (source)

Catch that? “Otherworld”. There is another myth (Irish, specifically) called the Voyage of Bran, in which the title character goes on a quest to the Otherworld. The Otherworld is a supernatural realm in Celtic mythology. It is also where the sidhe (a.k.a. aos sí) live. Remember, the sidhe are what George has said the Others are inspired by. In Irish mythology, the Otherworld is called Tír na nÓg, Mag Mell and Emain Ablach, in Welsh mythology it’s called Annwn, and in Arthurian legend it’s called Avalon. Fun fact, “Avalon” was the title of the novel George was writing when he had suddenly had the idea of a scene in which a young boy and his brothers see a beheading and then find a litter of direwolf pups in the snow. And so ASOIAF happened.

I’ll leave that there, and try not to go down the great big rabbit-hole of Celtic (and other cultures) mythology connections in ASOIAF. The takeaway is: ASOIAF has been influenced by these myths.

I do believe that Bran is going to be King. Not just because of his ties to this mythology, but also because of symbolism in his own story. The most notable one being…

Under the hill, the broken boy sat upon a weirwood throne, listening to whispers in the dark as ravens walked up and down his arms.

[...]

The singers made Bran a throne of his own, like the one Lord Brynden sat, white weirwood flecked with red, dead branches woven through living roots.

[...]

His father and the black pool and the godswood faded and were gone and he was back in the cavern, the pale thick roots of his weirwood throne cradling his limbs as a mother does a child.

- Bran III, A Dance with Dragons

Bran is also the only one of the Stark kids who still thinks of himself as royalty:

What was he now? Only Bran the broken boy, Brandon of House Stark, prince of a lost kingdom, lord of a burned castle, heir to ruins.

- Bran III, A Dance with Dragons

Bran is the heir to Winterfell. It doesn’t matter if Robb named Jon his heir in his will, the will was written under the pretense that Bran and Rickon were dead.

However, Bran doesn’t have any connection to the Iron Throne. It’s far more likely that he would sit on a weirwood throne, because of, y’know, everything about his story. So, if Bran was King of the Seven Kingdoms, I don’t think it would be on the Pincushion Stool.

If Bran is king of the realm, I do think there would still be a separate Lord/Lady of Winterfell, but I do think that there’s a possibility of a Pevensie siblings ending, where all the Stark kids would rule together as the Lords and Ladies and Winterfell.

Something that I’ve never really seen talked about regarding the idea of Bran becoming King of the Seven Kingdoms is the religious differences between the North and the southern regions of Westeros. Of course, the show didn’t deal with this at all. For fuck’s sake, they had Cersei blow up the Westerosi verison of the Vatican and face no backlash. It was so laughably absurd how Show!Cersei’s destructive reign was shown to have like… zero impact on the Seven Kingdoms.

In short, I’m not too sure that the Kingdom who is majority Faith of the Seven worshippers would react too well to a weirwood-tree-Old-Gods-warg-wizard-king. I mean, when Janos Slynt finds out Jon is a warg he calls him a “thing”, a “creature”, and a “beastling that is not fit to live”, and wanted to execute him not just for being a turncloak but for being a warg as well. And Jojen warns Bran of these things, saying that his own folk may want to kill him if they know what he is.

But… all of that anti-magic attitude might not matter after night falls.

Part 4: Winter is Coming

I believe that the Long Night is going to be very devastating for the Seven Kingdoms.

Martin is a big believer in making things have meaningful, permanent consequences in his stories. I don’t think that an apocalyptic event like the Long Night is something that’s just gonna get dealt with in a quick snap and have no lasting effect.

A lot of people are going to die. I don’t mean main characters, I mean people that would not survive a normal winter and sure as hell won’t be prepared for this one. Westeros’s food stores have been severely depleted by the War of the Five Kings, and we’ve been told multiple times in the text (particularly AFFC and ADWD) that feeding people during this winter is going to be extremely hard.

Besides that… the whole, uh, invasion of the eldritch ice beings thing might have a bit of an impact on the realm.

I won’t go into depth about how the Seven Kingdoms will be affected by the Long Night, ‘cause we really have no idea. But, however it all goes down, I do think it will have lasting changes for the people of Westeros. The impact that it leaves may make the concept of Bran being a wizard-king more acceptable. “Oh, well we’ve just seen zombies and winter elves, so what’s too surprising about a magical greenseer warg king?” I think that Westerosi culture becoming more aware and accepting of the existence of magic is the only way that Bran could become the king of the whole realm. The Westeros at the end of the series is not going to be the place that it was at the beginning.

Part 5: Dany: A Home, Not a Throne

To sum up my thoughts on our dragon girl, I don’t think Dany will end up on the Spiky Toilet. I don’t want Dany to be on the Spiky Toilet.

Now, my personal speculation (which a lot of people disagree with, which is fine) is that Dany will never see King’s Landing before the Long Night. I personally don’t think that Dany will ever meet Aegon or Cersei. I don’t see there being enough time in the story for that. Yes, GRRM said that there will be a second Dance of the Dragons, but he also said that the second Dance does not have to involve Dany. He may have originally planned for it to be Aegon and Dany, but probably not once the Meereenese Knot happened.

The Meereenese Knot is what Dany’s ADWD plot is referred to as. GRRM did not intend for Dany to stay in Meereen as long as she has, but because of his “gardener” style of writing, that’s where the story led him. GRRM has said that one of the hardest parts of writing the Meereen plotline (which involves Dany, Barristan, Quentyn, Tyrion, and Victarion) is trying to find a way to cut the plot knot he accidentally got himself stuck in. He has said that Tyrion and Dany will meet towards the end of TWOW, which means that Dany will most likely be spending a large portion of her story with the Dothraki. That part is a completely blank page, but I believe that Dany will meet Tyrion possibly ¾ of the way into the book, and sail for Westeros at the end.

I won’t write a full meta about this here (because that’s not what this post is about), but to summarize my prediction: Aegon VS Cersei is going to be the battle in King’s Landing, a battle which will destroy the city. Dany (who has already rejected sailing for the Throne multiple times) will still be stuck in Essos, dealing with everything she’s still got going on, and will sail for Westeros at the end. Not for the Throne, but to go North for the real fight (remember that Marwyn is also on his way to Meereen to tell Dany that they need her).

Because Dany's purpose is not to fight for the Iron Throne, it’s to fight the Others. Dany (fire, light, and life) VS the Others (ice, darkness, and death) is the main thing the title refers to:

“Well of course the two outlying ones, the things that are going on north of the Wall and Daenerys Targaryen on the other continent with her dragons are of course the Ice and Fire of the title, the Song of Ice and Fire.”

- George R.R. Martin, 2016

One of the most important excerpts that shows us where Dany’s story is headed is this:

That night she dreamt that she was Rhaegar, riding to the Trident. But she was mounted on a dragon, not a horse. When she saw the Usurper's rebel host across the river they were armored all in ice, but she bathed them in dragonfire and they melted away like dew and turned the Trident into a torrent. Some small part of her knew that she was dreaming, but another part exulted. This is how it was meant to be. The other was a nightmare, and I have only now awakened.

- Daenerys III, A Storm a Swords

Dany has a short prophetic “this is what I was meant to do” dream. Dany could possibly have more dreams about the Others in TWOW, visions that will make what Marwyn has to tell her more believable. It’s not like that dream was the only one Dany has had that alludes to the winter threat, Dany has had visions about this since book one:

The red door was so far ahead of her, and she could feel the icy breath behind, sweeping up on her. If it caught her she would die a death that was more than death, howling forever alone in the darkness. She began to run.

- Dany IX, A Game of Thrones

Anyway, there’s just a lot more foreshadowing in the plot that this is what Dany is meant to do. I think adding in another conflict into her story once she leaves Meereen would make the story feel bloated and would severely fuck up the pacing.

I don’t think Dany will ever see the Iron Throne. The themes of her story have never been about her wanting the Iron Throne for what it is, but for what it represents to her. It represents the possibility of a home and of feeling safe for the first time in her life, what Dany truly wants. I think that it’s absolutely fine if Dany never sees the Throne or sits on it, and that it makes more sense for her narrative arc if she discovers that she can find a home somewhere else, not necessarily where she thought it would be.

Part 6: Final Thoughts

So, in conclusion, I don’t really give a shit who ends up placing their ass on the Forbidden Laz-E-Boy, I care about the War for the Dawn. I care about seeing the characters I’ve followed for the past five books coming together to fight the real conflict of A Song of Ice and Fire. Also, even if we do get a Scouring of the Shire-type post-climax for ASOIAF, it doesn’t matter. People don’t see the Scouring of the Shire as the climax of Lord of the Rings, they see the climax as Aragorn leading the forces of good against the forces of evil and Frodo and Sam throwing the One Ring into Mount Doom. Whatever ending resolution comes after the climax of ASOIAF, it doesn’t change what the climax is.

"Do you think your brother's war is more important than ours?" the old man barked.

Jon chewed his lip. The raven flapped its wings at him. "War, war, war, war," it sang.

"It's not," Mormont told him. "Gods save us, boy, you're not blind and you're not stupid. When dead men come hunting in the night, do you think it matters who sits the Iron Throne?"

"No." Jon had not thought of it that way.

- Jon IX, A Game of Thrones

TL;DR:

My prediction: Cersei will be the last person to sit the Iron Throne, which will be destroyed in the Wildfire of King’s Landing. After the Long Night devastates the Seven Kingdoms, Bran will become the King of this new Westeros that has been majorly affected by the return of magic. Also, it would be real nice if Dany found her red door.

God I hope my rambling made sense

#sorry that this took me over a week to answer #ask #anon #asoiaf #asoiaf meta #long post

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justsomeantifas · 4 years

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Election Results: Day 3

Here’s what’s happening so far (Nov. 5th 2020):

The current results are Joe Biden - 253 & Donald Trump - 214, with 71 electoral votes remaining.

Alaska, Arizona, Nevada, Georgia, Pennsylvania, and North Carolina are still undecided.

Arizona WAS called early for Biden by some news outlets (Fox News and AP) but others have refused to call the win. Now that the gap between the two candidates is closing, there are armed, pro-Trump gatherings forming outside the county recorder’s office demanding they “count the vote” which is exactly what they’re doing and the ballot count can literally just be watched live online. - Video from last night, featuring armed protesters and AZ congressman Paul Gosar. local journalists were also harassed and threatened away from the crowd and the ballot counting officials had to be escorted to their car. -There’s also a debunked, but popular, conspiracy theory that ballots marked with Sharpie pen are not being counted in Arizona. Day-of voters were specifically given Sharpie pens at some locations, so this conspiracy is worrying many that their votes aren’t being counted, particularly the conspiratorial MAGA-crowd forming outside the recorder’s officer. Note, by the rules, sharpie pens are fine:

- Now, TODAY in Arizona there are still protests gathering. Despite the crowds last night demanding they “count the vote!” today’s crowd seems a bit more confused. Video shows that some in MAGA crowd are demanding the votes on Nov. 3rd be the one that’s counted (which would mean Biden wins in AZ in that case lol) while others are still demanding they “count the votes,” (which they’re doing lol) and others saying that “biden got beat,” despite the AZ numbers not showing that yet and the reason Trump wants Arizona counted is specifically because that’s his best shot at winning AZ.

Unlike Arizona, the Trump campaign is looking to STOP votes from being counted in Pennsylvania. So just to be clear - the move here is to CONTINUE counting the ballots in Arizona but STOPPING in Pennsylvania. - “The Trump campaign also is seeking to intervene in a Pennsylvania case at the Supreme Court that deals with whether ballots received up to three days after the election can be counted, deputy campaign manager Justin Clark said.” (source)

Despite being called for Biden, Trump is also suing Michigan to review their ballots. This lawsuit was filed before the state was called for Biden, so unclear where they plan to go with this lawsuit. The Trump campaign said that its Michigan lawsuit demands that the campaign be allowed to “review those ballots” ... “which were opened and counted while we did not have meaningful access.” (source)

In the extremely close race in Georgia, the Trump campaign and Georgia republican party are suing the “Chatham County Board of Elections asking a judge to order the county to secure and account for ballots received after 7 p.m. on Election Day. State party Chairman David Shafer said in a statement Wednesday night that they planned to sue in a dozen counties.” (source)

The Trump campaign will also be confusingly suing Nevada to stop “illegal votes” from being counted. According to their lawsuit they are trying to stop “those who became non-residents during the coronavirus pandemic or who are dead.” and “when pressed for evidence of those alleged illegal ballots, a Trump campaign surrogate refused to answer reporters at a press conference, and said questions about the ballots should be directed to the Clark County, Nevada, clerk’s office.” (source)

more details to come later...

#2020 elections #donald trump #joe biden #elections

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brainfingerprints · 3 years

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The Death of Jeremiah Duggan

Jeremiah Duggan was a British student studying at the Sorbonne in Paris who died during a visit to Wiesbaden, Germany, after being struck by several cars on a dual carriageway. Duggan’s cause of death became heavily disputed due to his behavior in the days leading up to the fatal accident. He expressed fear about his involvement in a cult-like movement organized by political activist Lyndon LaRouche.

The Movement

The LaRouche movement is a political movement associated with the promotion of conspiracy theories, the promotion of violence against opponents, and antisemitism. The movement in Germany of which Duggan became part is represented by the Schiller Institute and the Bürgerrechtsbewegung Solidarität party. Jeremiah was part of the Schiller Institue at the time of his death.

Jeremiah’s initial involvement with the LaRouche Movement began when he attended a conference that he believed was in protest against the Iraq War. What he heard instead were conspiratorial views that stated George W. Bush was a drunk, Woodrow Wilson had founded the Ku Klux Klan, John F. Kennedy was killed by a domestic American operation, and Jewish Americans began the Iraq war. A document from the Metropolitan Police stated that "Jeremiah's lecture notes and bulletins showed the anti-Semitic nature of [the] ideology."

Duggan stood out at the conference particularly because he was Jewish. When Duggan made his religion known during the conference, he was apparently grilled about his affiliation with the religion.

Leading up to his Death

On Tuesday, the 25th of March, Duggan and his girlfriend had planned to meet in Paris, but he called her and told her that he couldn’t make it until Sunday and that “very serious things” were going on, which he would tell her about when they met up.

On Wednesday, the 26th of March, he and other members of the institute handed out flyers in Frankfurt, then went to the Städel Museum. When one of the other members of his group asked him about a painting, he allegedly began crying, telling her he wanted to leave the group but felt he was trapped. She last saw him sitting on the steps of the museum around 8:30 p.m.

On the day of his death, Thursday, the 27th of March, around 4:00 a.m. he called his girlfriend, allegedly agitated and speaking very quietly. He stated he no longer knew what was “true” or “real” and that someone was allegedly conducting experiments on him. She told him to take a train to Paris the next morning. Around 5:00 a.m. he then called his mother saying that he was in “big trouble” and said he “wanted out.”

According to his roommate, Duggan then went out for a cigarette and after his roommate accidentally pressed a doorbell instead of the light switch, he ran off down the street.

The Incident

Around 6:00 a.m, Duggan allegedly ran out into the street “with outstretched arms” and was clipped by a car. He fell but appeared to get back up and run back into traffic. Around 6:15 a.m. a driver reported Duggan running in front of his car “arms raised and mouth open.” The car then ran over Duggan who was pronounced dead at the scene.

German police concluded that Duggan had committed suicide after running several kilometers from the apartment in which he had been staying, then jumping in front of early-morning traffic. It is important to note that this highway was also close to LaRouche’s political headquarters in Germany.

The German police did not conduct an autopsy, because the cause of death had been established as suicide with no apparent evidence of foul play. His clothes were never returned to his family. The police took no formal witness statements.

Jeremiah’s mother, Erica, continued fighting for a proper investigation into her son’s death and in 2010, an inquest was ordered to investigate potential foul play.

At this inquest, forensic photographic expert, Paul Canning, said after examining pictures from the scene, "the only possible conclusion is that it must have been a set-up".

Canning stated, “After making a lengthy examination of the photographs I conclude that, in examining the scene of the accident, the road, Jeremiah's body and both vehicles involved, I could find no traces of blood, hair, tissue or clothing on the vehicles or road, except round the immediate vicinity of Jeremiah's body."

Jeremiah’s father, Hugo, told the inquest a witness had informed the family about a scene at the Schiller Institute following Jeremiah’s death in which Helga Zepp-LaRouche addressed the members present. She stated, 'Jeremiah Duggan is dead, we believe he was a spy sent to harm the organization. I would like you to pack up and go home right away. Don't talk among yourselves about this and don't talk to others."

On their official website for Jeremiah, The Duggan family writes, “There are no words to describe the amount of pain and suffering that Lyndon LaRouche caused. His work for many years ruined lives, destroyed families, broke up marriages, incited hatred, spread destructive anti-Semitic conspiracy theories and sowed the seeds of hate throughout the world.”

Lyndon LaRouche died in 2019 and the family is hopeful that with his death, more witnesses to Jeremiah’s experiences might come forward. You can find the Duggans’ website here. You can learn more about the LaRouche Movement here and here.

#true crime #true crime community #unsolved #buzzfeed unsolved #buzzfeed unsolved true crime #conspiracy theories #unsolved mysteries #unsolved true crime #the larouche movement #cult #conspiracy facts #tcc blog #true crime blog #true crime research #tcc

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hatchetfieldtheories · 3 years

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Return to Hatchetfield-Town - TGWDLM Part 2

Oh my god, we’re back again. Brothers, sisters, everybody sing – wait no

It’s TGWDLM part 2! Today we talk about coffee, those police siren sounds and we begin looking into Hidgens… god help us. It also features a new theory I haven’t actually posted on the blog yet.

Also, please let me know if you’re enjoying these. They do take a lot of time, but they are a lot of fun to put together.

Part 1 | Part 3

Reality is falling apart as I stand here today… I guess it’s time for a coffee break

This is how I have entered every Starbucks I have ever been to.

Hey Starkid, when can we get a full version of the Black Coffee song?

Has it been established yet whether Nora and Zoey had already been infected when they were teaching Emma the new tip song. If yes, why did they just teach Emma the tip song and not infect her? Just to embarrass her mid-song when she didn’t know the rest of the dance? Or…

Thomas Sanders Voice – Theory Time

So at the end of Part 1, I established that the Hive had picked Paul to be their Hero, their star, way, way, early on at the start of their apotheosis. Once we move into Let It Out/ Inevitable I’ll talk about this more, but basically – there is a reason they want Paul to survive the start of the show. There is a reason the infected (and later McNamara) keep pressing him on what he wants. They need him to want something, so that they can get what they want, because that’s how the Worrisome Wombles (LiB) work. They want him to want to destroy them, so he can be with Emma – that’s his drive. They’re very aware that without a want, they may not be able to manipulate him to do what they need.

Therefore it’s very possible that if Nora and Zoey had been infected early on, yet hadn’t infected Emma, it was because they were sure Emma would be the “thing” that Paul wants – they want their star of the show and they think they know who they can use to get it. /End of theory

Promise me you’ll think about the implications.

@abiimaryy can I just post your one post that perfectly encapsulates that Starkid definitely did not think about the implications of that line when they wrote it? We’ve all long gone past the point of no return.

“Cup of Roasted Coffee” is track 4 on Now That’s What I Call Coffee. “Poisoned Coffee” is the album hidden track that you must play 20 minutes of silence to find. Is this an old person reference now?

I also fully believe the coffee shop patrons were already beginning to be infected when the song began. Sure they were poisoned and their coffee contained the blue goo but the “in-time coffee cup dancing” and exaggerated synchronous sips is just too on the nose. Their infections begun, they just needed that dose of poisoned coffee to kill them off to fully take them over.

At this point the Hive are still not particularly violent – ignoring the fact they kill three men with poisoned coffee in broad daylight.

The cat is clearly not a secret Eldritch being

There’s nothing I love more than a fourth wall break, and Starkid have regularly establish fourth walls do not exist in their universes. I can’t decide which is more telling of some kind of Hatchetfield link with the audience, Jon and Lauren wandering through the alley, or Joey giving the audience member an apple. There is a wonderful theory that the audience is part of the B&W which @wolvesandvoices put into words here: x

“I didn’t think about the implications!” – me thinking back to that time 12 years ago when I discovered something called Harry Potter the musical by someone called Starkid. They were a funny group of people – wonder what they’re all doing now.

Paul’s work friends one by one popping out of the trash cans is hilarious, but its notable again that Mr Davidson was infecting people in his office – Bill notes that people kept coming out singing. On my first watch I didn’t really take note of this, and just assumed Paul got out of the office before Mr Davidson could infect him, but taking into account the theories mentioned above and previously, this line just reaffirms that the Hive do not yet want Paul infected.

Who is the latte hottay? Answers on a postcard.

These aren’t spirit fingers... THESE are spirit fingers

Ted really doesn’t fully grasp the severity of what is happening around him. The police are singing at you Ted, I don’t think they’re too fussed about your ID.

I don’t really have much to say about Show Me Your Hands – it doesn’t really add much to theory fodder until the end. That’s not to say I don’t love it, its one of my top songs in the show (tho I think all of the songs are in my top songs… I’m very indecisive). Shout out to Mariah’s dry delivery of “the cat is dead” and Robert’s siren noises. My sincere hope is that in a future Hatchetfield production there is a need for a siren sound effect, and it is just a recording of Robert.

Charlotte touched the brain. The blue brain. The brain covered in goo. Pokey’s blue goo. I’m sure that’s fine and has no ramifications later in the show.

It is at this moment on my first watch that I realised how much Charlotte’s voice in this show sounds like Judy Garland.

Oh Hidgens. He’s finally arrived. Does he need an introduction? From what I have seen from a lot of posts as people discover TGWDLM, a lot of people know about Hidgens before they even know what the show is about. Which you know what, fair. I’m sure Hidgens would be thrilled to discover his legacy. I feel like it’s obvious, but I am assuming Robert intended Hidgens to sound like Doc from Back to the Future? Hmmm, a kooky “academic” who has an accident and ends up with a vision of something that could change the world. Great Scott!

Hidgens, my dear, please don’t gesture to yourself while holding a gun.

Ok, so Hidgens theorised this exact scenario thirty years ago. I believe it has been established this happened when he was struck by lightning. Now, lightning is used a LOT in Hatchetfield shows, and I did mention briefly here, that it could possibly be a play on the trope that in books and movies, the “creature comes alive” from a bolt of lightning. Certainly the meteor is accompanied by a storm, which does make me believe that Hidgens was granted the vision by someone from the Black and White. Theories:

Pokey sent him the vision because he knew that it would entice Hidgens eventually due to his love of musical theatre.

Webby sent him the vision in the misplaced hope that he would work on finding a solution

I also found a tweet by Nick which states that initially Hidgens was supposed to talk about the 1518 Dancing Plague which honestly – what does this mean. Was this plague originally intended to be an early attempt by Pokey to infect the world?

Hidgens touched the brain. The blue brain. The brain covered in goo. Pokey’s blue goo. I’m sure that’s fine and has no ramifications later in the show.

I posted a while back about the concept that Hidgens actually got infected early in the show, which has further implications for the likes of Charlotte also, but for now I’ll just post this really succinct theory by @westcoastbroadway: x

Hatchetfield High Homework:

What other songs would feature on Now That’s What I Call Coffee?

Consider an AU where Prof Hidgens and Doc Brown are swapped. How different would TGWDLM and Back to the Future be?

Once again, follow the wonderful people mentioned in the post.

See you in part 3 for Charlotte Theories and sad Bill time.

#the guy who didn't like musicals #tgwdlm #hatchetfield #hatchetfield theory #hatchetfield theories #starkid would totally do this #team starkid #return to hatchetfield town

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sgt-paul · 3 years

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Paul McCartney Is Still Trying to Figure Out Love – The New York Times Magazine

By David Marchese, Nov. 29, 2020

Paul McCartney, like the rest of us, this year found himself with an unexpected amount of time stuck indoors. Unlike the rest of us — or most of us, anyway — he used that time to record a new album. The pandemic-induced circumstances of its creation may mark “McCartney III” as an outlier in the former Beatle’s catalog, but as its title suggests, it does have precedents: Like “McCartney” (1970) and “McCartney II” (1980), the album, out Dec. 18, was primarily recorded by McCartney alone, with him playing nearly all the instruments and handling all the production. “At no point,” McCartney said, “did I think: I’m making an album. I’d better be serious. This was more like: You’re locked down. You can do whatever the hell you want.” Which was a gas, as always. “What I’m amazed with,” McCartney explained, “is that I’m not fed up with music. Because, strictly speaking, I should have gotten bored years ago.”

It seems to me that working on music by yourself, as you did on the new album, might allow for some insights about what you do and how you do it. So are there aspects of “McCartney III” that represent creative growth to you?

The idea of growing and adding more arrows to your bow is nice, but I’m not sure if I’m interested in it. The thing is, when I look back to “Yesterday,” which was written when I was 21 or something, there’s me talking like a 90-year-old: “Suddenly I’m not half the man I used to be.” Things like that and “Eleanor Rigby” have a kind of wisdom. You would naturally think, OK, as I get older I’m going to get deeper, but I’m not sure that’s true. I think it’s a fact of life that personalities don’t change much. Throughout your life, there you are.

Is there anything different about the nature of your musical gift today at 78 than in 1980 or 1970 or when you first started writing songs?

It’s the story that you’re telling. That changes. When I first said to John, “I’ve written a few songs,” they were simple. My first song was called “I Lost My Little Girl” — four chords. Then we went into the next phase of songwriting, which was talking to our fans. Those were songs like “Thank You Girl,” “Love Me Do,” “Please Please Me.” Then came a rich vein as we got more mature, with things like “Let It Be,” “The Long and Winding Road.” But basically I think it’s all the same, and you get lucky sometimes. Like, “Let It Be” came from a dream where my mother had said that phrase. “Yesterday” came from a dream of a melody. I’m a great believer in dreams. I’m a great rememberer of dreams.

What’s the last interesting dream you had?

Last night’s was pretty good.

What was it?

It was of a sexual nature, so I’m not sure it’s good for the Kids section. Pretty cool, though. Very interesting, dreams of a sexual nature when you’re married. Because your married head is in the dream saying: “Don’t do this. Don’t go here.” And just to let you know, I didn’t. It was still a good dream.

You know, I was conscious of not mentioning the Beatles early in this interview, and you’ve already mentioned them a few times. So let me ask you: The band broke up 50 years ago. You were in it for roughly 10 years. When you’re not doing interviews or playing concerts, how central to your own story of your life are those 10 years from half a century ago?

Very. It was a great group. That’s commonly acknowledged.

Generally speaking.

[Laughs.] It’s like your high school memories — those are my Beatles memories. This is the danger: At a dinner party, I am liable to tell stories about my life, and people already know them. I can see everyone stifling a yawn. But the Beatles are inescapable. My daughter Mary will send me a photo or a text a few times a week: “There you were on an advert” or “I heard you on the radio.” The thing that amazes me now, because of my venerable age, is that I will be with, like, one of New York’s finest dermatologists, and he will be a rabid Beatles fan. All of that amazes me. We were trying to get known, we were trying to do good work and we did it. So to me, it’s all happy memories.

“McCartney III” will come out very close to the 40th anniversary of John Lennon’s death. Has your processing of what happened to him changed over the years?

It’s difficult for me to think about. I rerun the scenario in my head. Very emotional. So much so that I can’t really think about it. It kind of implodes. What can you think about that besides anger, sorrow? Like any bereavement, the only way out is to remember how good it was with John. Because I can’t get over the senseless act. I can’t think about it. I’m sure it’s some form of denial. But denial is the only way that I can deal with it. Having said that, of course I do think about it, and it’s horrible. You do things to help yourself out of it. I did an interview with Sean, his son. That was nice — to talk about how cool John was and fill in little gaps in his knowledge. So it’s little things that I am able to do, but I know that none of them can get over the hill and make it OK. But you know, after he was killed, he was taken to Frank Campbell’s funeral parlor in New York. I’m often passing that. I never pass it without saying: “All right, John. Hi, John.”

And how about your perspective on the work you did together? Has that changed?

I always thought it was good. I still think it’s good. Sometimes I had to reassure him that it was good. I remember one time he said to me: “What are they going to think of me when I’m dead? Am I going to be remembered?” I felt like the older brother, even though he was older than me. I said: “John, listen to me. You are going to be so remembered. You are so [expletive] great that there’s no way that this disappears.” I guess that was a moment of insecurity on his part. He straightened me up on other occasions. It was a great collaboration. I can’t think of any better collaboration, and there have been millions. I feel very lucky. We happened upon each other in Liverpool through a friend of mine, Ivan Vaughan. Ivan said, “I think you’d like this mate of mine.” Everyone’s lives have magic, but that guy putting me and John together and then George getting on a bus — an awful lot of coincidences had to happen to make the Beatles.

People always ask you about John. I’ve noticed they rarely ask about George, who of course also died relatively young.

John is probably the one in the group you would remember, but the circumstances of his death were particularly harrowing. When you die horrifically, you’re remembered more. But I like your point, which is: What about George? I often think of George because he was my little buddy. I was thinking the other day of my hitchhiking bursts. This was before the Beatles. I suddenly was keen on hitchhiking, so I sold this idea to George and then John.

I know this memory. You and George hitchhiked to Paignton.

Yeah, Exeter and Paignton. We did that, and then I also hitchhiked with John. He and I got as far as Paris. What I was thinking about was — it’s interesting how I was the instigator. Neither of them came to me and said, “Should we go hitchhiking?” It was me, like, “I’ve got this great idea.”

Why is that interesting?

My theory is that attitude followed us into our recording career. Everyone was hanging out in the sticks, and I used to ring them up and say, “Guys, it’s time for an album.” Then we’d all come in, and they’d all be grumbling. “He’s making us work.” We used to laugh about it. So the same way I instigated the hitchhiking holidays, I would put forward ideas like, “It’s time to make an album.” I don’t remember Ringo, George or John ever ringing me up and saying that.

How strange is it to share an idle recollection from your youth, as you just did with that hitchhiking story, and then have the person to whom you’re sharing it — in this case, me — know the memory? It seems as though it would be weird.

It’s quite annoying, David. It’s like people at dinner yawning when I’m telling stories. This keeps happening to me.

I even know the details. You and George slept on the beach.

That’s right.

Some Salvation Army girls kept you warm.

Yes.

Then at some point you sat on a car battery and zapped your ass?

That was George who did that! I have a very clear recollection. He showed me the scar. Let’s set the record straight: It was George’s ass, and it was a burn the exact shape of a zip from his jeans.

Do you remember the last thing George said to you?

We said silly things. We were in New York before he went to Los Angeles to die, and they were silly but important to me. And, I think, important to him. We were sitting there, and I was holding his hand, and it occurred to me — I’ve never told this — I don’t want to hold George’s hand. You don’t hold your mate’s hands. I mean, we didn’t anyway. And I remember he was getting a bit annoyed at having to travel all the time — chasing a cure. He’d gone to Geneva to see what they could do. Then he came to a special clinic in New York to see what they could do. Then the thought was to go to L.A. and see what they could do. He was sort of getting a bit, “Can’t we just stay in one place?” And I said: “Yes, Speke Hall. Let’s go to Speke Hall.” That was one of the last things we said to each other, knowing that he would be the only person in the room who would know what Speke Hall was. You probably know what the hell it is.

Yep.

I can’t amaze you with anything! Anyway, the nice thing for me when I was holding George’s hands, he looked at me, and there was a smile.

How many good Beatles stories are there left to tell that haven’t been told?

There are millions. Sometimes the reason is that they’re too private, and I don’t want to go gossiping. But the main stories do get told and told again.

Can you think of one now that you haven’t told before?

Hmm. I will rake through the embers. Oh, I’ll tell you one! I thought of one this morning. It’s pretty good. I don’t think I’ve told it. You’re going to have to say in the article, “I forced this out of him,” because it’s a bit telling-out-of-school.

I am hereby twisting your arm.

So when we did the album “Abbey Road,” the photographer was set up and taking the pictures that ended up as the album cover. Linda was also there taking incidental pictures. She has some that are of us — I think it was all four of us — sitting on the steps of Abbey Road studios, taking a break from the session, and I’m in quite earnest conversation with John. This morning I thought, I remember why. John’s accountants had rung my accountants and said: “Someone’s got to tell John he’s got to fill in his tax returns. He’s not doing it.” So I was trying to say to him, “Listen, man, you’ve got to do this.” I was trying to give him the sensible advice on not getting busted for not doing your taxes. That’s why I looked so earnest. I don’t think I’ve told that story before.

Tax filings — that’s some deep arcana.

I have dredged the barrel.

I know that your goal with making music is to do something that pleases yourself. What’s most pleasing to you on the new album?

I’m very happy with “Women and Wives.” I’ve been reading a book about Lead Belly. I was looking at his life and thinking about the blues scene of that day. I love that tone of voice and energy and style. So I was sitting at my piano, and I’m thinking about Huddie Ledbetter, and I started noodling around in the key of D minor, and this thing came to me. “Hear me women and wives” — in a vocal tone like what I imagine a blues singer might make. I was taking clues from Lead Belly, from the universe, from blues. And why I’m pleased with it is because the lyrics are pretty good advice. It’s advice I wouldn’t mind getting myself.

There’s a song on “McCartney III,” “Pretty Boys,” that is kind of unusual for you in how the music is sort of unassuming but the lyrics have an almost sinister edge. What inspired that one?

I’ll tell you exactly. I’ve been photographed by many photographers through the years. And when you get down to London, doing sessions with people like David Bailey, they can get pretty energetic in the studio. It’s like “Blow-Up,” [the director Michelangelo Antonioni’s 1966 film thriller about a fashion photographer, thought to be loosely based on David Bailey] you know? “Give it to me! [Expletive] the lens!” And it’s like: “What? No, I’m not going to.” But I understand why they’re doing that. They’re that kind of artist. So you allow it. Certain photographers — they tend to be very good photographers, by the way — can be totally out of line in the studio. So “Pretty Boys” is about male models. And going around New York or London, you see the lines of bicycles for hire. It struck me that they’re like models, there to be used. It’s most unfortunate.

“Lavatory Lil” is another song I was curious about. That’s quite a title.

“Lavatory Lil” is a parody of someone I didn’t like. Someone I was working with who turned out to be a bit of a baddie. I thought things were great; it turned nasty. So I made up the character Lavatory Lil and remembered some of the things that had gone on and put them in the song. I don’t need to be more specific than that. I will never divulge who it was.

I have another bigger-picture question. In your experience, how is the love in a marriage different at different stages of your life and in different marriages?

I don’t think it’s different. It’s always a splendid puzzle. Even though I write love songs, I don’t think I know what’s going on. It would be great if it was smooth and wonderful all the time, but you get pockets of that, and sometimes it’s — you could be annoying. To Nancy I’m pretty complex, with everything I’ve been through.

In what ways?

I’m some poor working-class kid from Liverpool. I’ve done music all my life. I’ve had huge success, and people often try to do what I want, so you get a false feeling of omnipotence. All that together makes a complex person. We’re all complex. Well, maybe I’m more complex than other people because of coming from poverty.

And how do you think about money these days?

It has obviously changed. What has stayed the same is the central core. When I was in Liverpool as a kid, I used to listen to people’s conversations. I remember a couple of women going on about money: “Ah, me and my husband, we’re always arguing about money.” And I remember thinking very consciously, “OK, I’ll solve that; I will try to get money.” That set me off on the “Let’s not have too many problems with money” trail. What happened also was, not having much money, when anything came into the house, it was important. It was important when my weekly comic was delivered. Or my penpal — I had a penpal in Spain, Rodrigo — when his letter came through, that was a big event. When they had giveaways in comics with little trinkets, I kept them all. Some people would say that’s a hoarding instinct, but not having anything when I was a kid has stuck with me as far as money. You know, I’m kind of crazy. My wife is not. She knows you can get rid of things you don’t need.

You’re a hoarder?

I’m a keeper. If I go somewhere and I get whatever I bought in a nice bag, I will want to keep the bag. My rationale is that I might want to put my sandwiches in it tomorrow. Whereas Nancy says, “We’ll get another bag.” In that way, my attitude toward money hasn’t changed that much. It’s the same instinct to preserve. One of the great things now about money is what you can do with it. Family and friends, if they have any medical problem, I can just say, “I’ll help.” The nicest thing about having money is you can help people with it.

Something that has been a constant for you musically is your ability to keep coming up with melodies. It’s there on the new album — the melodies all flow. Is your facility for writing a catchy melody ever an obstacle to getting the songs to be more than just catchy? Because a good tune by itself is not always enough to make a good song. “Bip Bop” would be an example of that. Do you know what I’m saying?

No, I know. “Bip Bop” is not lyrically stunning. I was always embarrassed about that song. Literally, it goes, “Bip Bop / take your bottom dollar.” It’s inconsequential. But I mentioned that to a friend, a producer, a few years ago, and he said, “That’s my favorite song of yours.” So you don’t know what people like. It’s enough if I like it and enjoyed putting it on record and don’t particularly want to think of any more lyrics. I don’t want to sweat it. Sometimes maybe it would be better if I sweated it. Once or twice I tried to sweat it, and I hated it. It’s like, What are you doing this for?

Sixty-something years into writing songs, do you feel any closer to knowing where melodies come from?

No. There is something with my ability to write music that I don’t think I’m necessarily responsible for. It just seems to come easier to me — touch wood — than it does to some people. That’s it. I’m a fortunate man.

#paul mccartney #old paul #grandpaul #*m #(the start of the interview was pretty worrying (with him bringing up yesterday like after 5 seconds) but actually?#it turned out to be a decent one)#favourite bit hands down paul's dirty dreams. DUDE... he cannot keep it in his pants even when he is in his dreams #well actually he said he did but lmao #but yeah many other great bits. ''i'm a keeper'' ... loved that one #the complex man rant #and the john and george bits #him being the instigator #!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i love this guy :)

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michelles-garden-of-evil · 3 years

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Episode 46 Review: 2 Theories About Jean Paul, Erica, and the Locket

{ YouTube: 1 | 2 | 3 }

{ Full Synopses/Recaps: Debby Graham | Bryan Gruszka }

In this great house on Maljardin, evil lives, even amongst the dead, and the poison this evil spreads threatens Erica Desmond, who lies frozen in this cryocapsule until the day a scientific miracle returns her to the living and back into the arms of her husband Jean Paul Desmond, who has defied powers real and imagined to assure his wife’s return from beyond the veiled curtain of death. Strange happenings are forcing a decision that could doom Erica Desmond...forever.

Hello and welcome back to my Garden of Evil, where today we will examine Jean Paul’s reaction to Dr. Alison Carr’s new discovery about her sister’s bloodied locket and two possible explanations of what it may say about Erica’s death and Jean Paul’s state of mind. I could do an entire recap of this episode if I wanted to, but I'd rather narrow the focus of this entry to the theories that have been floating around my head for a while (one since before I started this blog, in fact).

A brief summary of the important stuff that happens in this episode: Alison learns that the blood on the locket is human blood, type AB-, which leads her to conclude that it must be Erica’s, because both she and Erica have that rare blood type[1]. She also tests the poison found in the glass of wine that Holly drank from two episodes ago and finds that it’s not the missing cyanide, but an unknown poison of vegetable origin. Elizabeth defends herself to Matt, telling him that she has no motive to kill Holly, not even her inheritance--and, surprisingly, he believes her. And then Raxl and Quito steal the rabbit from Jean Paul’s room and stumble upon that wonderfully sinister skull, which will co-star with Jacques in Episode 47.

Jean Paul receives irrefutable proof that the locket found around the rabbit’s neck belonged to Erica.

Outside of those plot points, this episode focuses primarily on Jean Paul’s confusion over how a bloodied locket even ended up in the cryonics capsule with his beloved Erica to begin with. When Alison shows Jean Paul the blood sample under the microscope, he's skeptical at first and tries to convince her that she either bled on it or someone else somehow put her blood there to confuse him. I would say it boggles my mind how someone with an IQ of 187 like Jean Paul can conceive such a ridiculous theory, but, honestly, it doesn’t. The popularity of conspiracy theories and other misinformation in our time has convinced me that human beings of any intelligence level can trick themselves into believing anything, no matter how patently absurd, if they want to believe it enough.

Subtle Dark Shadows reference?

I can’t tell how much of the next part where Jean Paul continues speculating about the locket is actually in the script and how much is just a particularly bad line flub. Listening to his dialogue, it sounds like a combination of both, but it’s hard to tell given that the character is supposed to be very confused already. Here’s an exact transcription of what he says:

Jean Paul: "Well, maybe I-I-I put the necklace on her neck without realizing it. I perhaps didn't put it on her when I put it in the capsule. It could have happened that way very easily. You see, I had thought I had. You didn't see me do it, did you, Raxl?" Raxl: "No." Jean Paul: "Quito, did you?" Quito: *shakes head* Jean Paul: "Well, there you are. You see? She could have cut her finger a while before she died, and so the blood got on the locket, and maybe I put the locket in the, uh, dresser drawer, and it was left there, and in my grief I didn't know what I was doing and I gave her another piece of jewelry which I put around her neck. Don't you think that probably is what has happened?"

Vangie isn’t convinced of any of these theories, and neither is Raxl. The latter believes that the locket appeared because of evil, “slimy like a snake, ugly like a black rabbit.” (WTF? The rabbit is adorable!) Jean Paul accuses Vangie of suspecting him, but she insists she doesn’t. Of course, he doesn’t believe her and he takes out his anger by breaking Alison’s microscope in half, throwing it to the ground, and accusing Erica of mocking him.

In the next scene, he ruminates in his room over the likelihood that he killed Erica, intentionally or otherwise:

Could I have killed my Erica? Could I have slain my love? That's impossible! Oh, you would like it, Jacques Eloi des Mondes, my bloody murdering ancestor. If it was so, how you would rejoice! But then, if I didn't put the locket in the cryocapsule with Erica as I thought, what other things that I believe as facts--things which are part of my life and experience--may be no more than creeping, malicious, lying fancies? Perhaps I didn't love my Erica at all. Perhaps I hated her!

Jean Paul pondering whether he truly loved Erica.

Getting dramatic!

Later, while lying on his bed in shirtsleeves, he realizes that he genuinely loved her, but that his memory is still faulty:

Jean Paul: "I loved her. I remember how I loved her. There was no world but the world outside, and then there was another world and that was us. Oh, how I loved her, so good, so beautiful, but what happened at the end? I can't…was the necklace with Erica when she was sealed in the capsule? I can't remember."

But later on when he visits the Great Hall (inadvertently giving Raxl and Quito the opportunity to retrieve the Rabbit of Evil), Jacques torments him by implying that Jean Paul, like him, is a murderer. “Think there’s a chance you may have murdered your sweet Erica?” he asks. “That blood was very interesting, wasn’t it?”

Jacques hinting again that they’re the same man, or just that the apple doesn’t fall far from the proverbial tree? Or perhaps this is like that one line from Game of Thrones: “You can’t kill me, I’m a part of you now.”

Then we get this exchange which acts as a segue into the next scene:

Jacques: "So maybe you killed your little love before you put her in that tin coffin, hm? Maybe there is no pristine, pure body to revive. That's what's been on your mind all day, isn't it?" Jean Paul: "Even if it has been, I certainly wouldn't tell you." Jacques: "You can have no secrets from me, anyhow. You know, if you ever are thinking of murdering again…" Jean Paul: "I did not kill her!" Jacques: "All right!" *laughs* "But whether you did or not, you might want to kill someone else one of these days." Jean Paul: "Good night." Jacques: "All right, run away, but you might find an example of my skill nearer than you know and sooner than you think."

After he storms out of the Great Hall, Raxl and Quito return, the latter carrying the rabbit. Before they can sacrifice the rabbit in an effort to rid the house of its evil, it jumps from Quito’s arms. While trying to catch it, he bumps his head into a painting of mysterious ancestor Étienne des Mondes and knocks it off the wall, revealing a hidden cupboard with a skull swinging from a rope through its jaws.

We’ll discuss this skull in the review for next episode, where it becomes the focus. For the rest of this review, however, let us turn our attention to two possible interpretations of the Jean Paul and Jacques scenes in this episode. My theories are as follows:

Theory #1: Jean Paul killed Erica and is living in denial

Jean Paul’s reaction to learning that his deceased wife’s blood is on the locket and especially Jacques’ comments about it seem to imply that Dan Forrest’s theory about murder may not be a red herring after all as Ian Martin would have had us believe. Remember that, although Jacques is evil and Martin’s episodes portrayed him as the Father of Lies, he and Jean Paul may or may not be the same man. That could mean anything from Jean Paul having a split personality to Jacques having transported himself forward in time to live as Jean Paul Desmond before the events of Episode 1, but I’ll save those ideas for another essay. The point is that Jacques seems to know Jean Paul as well as he knows himself, and as such knows things about him that the other characters don’t.

It’s possible even that Jacques has observed and interacted with Jean Paul since long before Jean Paul freed him by removing the silver pin from the conjure doll’s temple. Think back to Jacques’ introductory scene in the pilot, where he responds to Jean Paul’s proclamation of “on this island, from this moment forward, I am God” with “bravo.” He could speak through the portrait and even give characters visions before Jean Paul freed him! Also think of all the things he’s referenced that a man from the 17th century wouldn’t be aware of: merry-go-rounds, bus time tables, the figurative expression “jack up by the bootstraps,” and whatnot. Assuming Jacques is a spirit like he claims, he’s been observing and learning things on Maljardin for a very long time! Sure, he looked confused about that fountain pen in Episode 4, but perhaps that was only because he hadn’t had a chance to practice using one before Jean Paul set him free. If Jean Paul killed Erica, Jacques would know about it and may even have encouraged it by communicating with him through the portrait. There’s no indication that the scene in the pilot is the first time he made contact with his descendant. It could be the second time, the fifth, the tenth, the thousandth, or more.

Also note that the exact cause of Erica’s death is never made clear. Jean Paul claims in Episode 5 that she died of eclampsia, but the Lost Episode summary for Episode 47 from the CBC program log indicates that Dr. Menkin’s missing notes would have eventually revealed her to have “died attempting to gain eternal youth.” The latter could have meant anything from plastic surgery complications to swallowing gold à la Diane de Poitiers. It’s not even clear if the attempt at eternal youth is truly the cause of her death, just what she was doing when she died. This leaves the possibility of homicide open.

But did Jean Paul (or Dr. Menkin) intentionally kill her, or could it have been an unpremeditated, spur-of-the-moment decision? I believe the latter is more likely. Jean Paul seems genuinely confused by her death, and even by whether he loved or hated her. It’s possible he already wasn’t in his right mind before her death and may even have blacked out during it (although probably not because of possession, as he had not yet freed Jacques). Perhaps the artificial intelligence hinted at by the reference to W. Grey Walter’s “Imitation of Life” factored into this: for example, the implant inside Erica’s brain may have malfunctioned, causing her to become violent and attack Jean Paul and/or Dr. Menkin.

SPOILER WARNING FOR THE PIT AND THE PENDULUM (1961)

Another thing to consider: Strange Paradise shares many plot points in common with the Roger Corman/Vincent Price movie The Pit and the Pendulum. In the film, we have (1) a husband whose wife recently died under mysterious circumstances, (2) whom he comes to suspect he accidentally murdered. (3) His doctor is living at the castle with him, when (4) a sibling of his deceased wife comes to investigate her death. Among the ghostly happenings in the house, (5) a portrait of the wife is slashed. Finally, (6) the husband goes mad and (7) is possessed by an evil lookalike ancestor, in this case his father. While I don’t think that we can accurately predict planned revelations in Strange Paradise using the events of a film written by someone unaffiliated with the show’s production, it is interesting to note that Vincent Price’s character accidentally buried his wife alive. This connects to the events of Episode 44, where Erica’s spirit possesses Holly and tells them to “let [her] out,” although in Erica’s case it’s more likely that she’s just been resurrected from death instead of being buried alive.

END SPOILERS

Theory #2: Jean Paul is imagining things

Another possibility is that he didn't kill Erica and is using the new (apparent) evidence to construct a false memory of killing her. Although most of us like to think of memory as infallible, numerous studies have proven that it's anything but. This can occur on a collective level, such as the famous Mandela effect where, prior to Nelson Mandela's actual death in 2013, many people misremembered him as having died in the 1980s. More often, however, individual people remember false versions of events from their own lives.

In the late 20th century, numerous psychological studies identified the way that even changing small details of a story--changing a stop sign to a yield sign, for example, or adding the detail of broken glass to the story of an accident--could alter a subject's memory of it, creating a "misinformation effect." During one such study, researchers used a fake advertisement showing Bugs Bunny in front of the Sleeping Beauty Castle at Disneyland to trick their subjects into believing that they could meet Bugs at the park (despite Bugs being a Warner Brothers character and Warner Brothers being affiliated instead with Six Flags). For 16 percent of the subjects, it worked, and they described further false memories of meeting Bugs at Disney, adding details like that they touched the ear of his costume[2].

Speaking of false memories of amusement parks, I swore for years that I remembered visiting a dinosaur theme park in the northern Ohio woods back in 1998 or 1999, when I was five or six. I never questioned whether the memory was real until one day when my family drove past a drive-through dinosaur exhibit and my dad said to my mom, "They didn't have anything like that when Michelle was a kid." Skeptical of his claim, I did some Googling and discovered that there was a dinosaur-themed park in the woods near Sandusky called the Prehistoric Forest that looked much like what I thought I remembered[3]. When I sent my parents the link to the article about the Prehistoric Forest, both of them denied ever taking me there or even having heard of the place. Nevertheless, I swear I've been there or somewhere very similar. I think the most likely explanation is that I dreamt about it, but that the memory of the dream was so vivid that I mistook it as one from my waking life.

Much as a researcher can convince their subjects to believe that Bugs Bunny appeared at Disney or I convinced myself that I had visited a place like the Prehistoric Forest, Jean Paul is capable of brainwashing himself into thinking that he murdered Erica. This isn't even the only time he speculates without clear evidence that he’s guilty of murder. We'll see something similar in Episode 137 regarding the murder of a different character, whom Jean Paul will successfully convince himself he killed despite hazy evidence at best.

Note that these two theories are not one hundred percent mutually exclusive. It’s entirely possible that Jean Paul killed Erica, but misremembered specific details about her death or how he felt about her. Also note that this show contains quite a few retcons, one of which we saw last episode. Just as the trajectory of this show has changed significantly from Ian Martin’s original plot, the truth about Erica Desmond’s fate is currently in flux within the show’s universe.

The contents of the secret compartment that Raxl and Quito discovered.

Coming up next: A delightfully chilling episode where Jacques uses the skull that Raxl and Quito found to further terrorize his guests.

{<-- Previous: Episode 45 || Next: Episode 47 -->}

Notes

[1] While rabbits can have type AB blood (or type ZY blood, using the system from this 1954 study) and they cannot tolerate injections of Rh-positive blood, they have different antibodies in their blood from those of humans.

[2] Elizabeth F. Loftus, "Memories of Things Unseen," in Current Directions in Psychological Science 13:4 (2004), pp. 145-146. There are other examples from other studies, including one involving false memories of witnessing a demonic possession, but the Bugs one is my personal favorite. Also, this period of Strange Paradise puts me in a rabbity mood.

[3] Coincidentally, the Prehistoric Forest's entrance appeared in the 1995 film Tommy Boy, which also featured Colin Fox and Pat Moffat (Irene Hatter) in supporting roles. There was also an animatronic dinosaur attraction at Sea World Ohio called Carnivore Park that operated in the late 1990s. Despite having visited that Sea World many times as a kid, I couldn’t have gone to that exhibit because we couldn’t afford to go there in 1998 or 1999.

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one-boring-person · 4 years

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What Kind Of A World Are We Living In?

The Lost Boys x The Walking Dead Crossover

Warnings: blood imagery, death, some very vague TWD spoilers, bad language

Context: So @browneyes528 , @lostbetweenvampiresandmusic and I kinda came up with an idea for a crossover between these fandoms, and it basically entails David meeting Negan for the first time.

A/N: This is my first time writing Negan, so I hope it's not too bad! I enjoyed writing this; it's quite fun to combine the things I enjoy 😂😅��

Masterlist.

Originally, David had made it clear that he wanted no part in joining any groups they came across on their travels, impressing this on the boys on multiple occasions, especially when "food" was scarce. Even before he'd turned, he'd never been a particularly social person, so the outbreak of "biters" as one group they'd encountered had called them was perfect for his naturally guarded personality, as it meant he never had to interact with people he didn't like as much as he used to, back in Santa Carla in the good old days. Only one problem came with the outbreak: the amount of available people to feed on was slowly decreasing, and the biters do not taste nearly as good.

However, this changed when he came across a rather interesting character, whose name he had yet to figure out, whilst on a hunt, the others having spread out through the area to find possible sources of blood. For once, David was walking through the dense forest rather than flying over it, avoiding the biters wherever possible, easily decapitating those that stumbled too close to him with the machete he "borrowed" from a previous victim, though in theory there was no need to do so, seeing as they didn't seem to care about the taste of vampire flesh, and their bites wouldn't do anything to them anyway. He'd started to give up hope of finding any source of life, until he picked up the sounds of voices a little way off, interest spiking as he headed off in that direction, hunger growing as the familiar scent of fresh blood reached him, the smell clearly emanating from a large area ahead of him. Following with more vigour, he soon came across the odd gathering of people; a semi-circle of sorts was formed around an old RV, a number of them kneeling on the floor in front of a horde of armed soldier-type men and women. Vehicles surrounded them, a collection of armoured trucks and pickups, as well as a couple of motorbikes (which he greatly envied, seeing as he and the boys had had to leave theirs back in Santa Carla for lighter travel) solidifying the would-be intimidating group into an almost impenetrable wall. Normally, he'd signal for the other boys to join him, there being too many for him to finish off alone, but something stopped him in his tracks. Or rather, someone.

A tall man went to the RV, having said something relevant to the kneeling people, opening the door to reveal another man, who stepped into the light with a large grin on his face. Instantly, David's focus was on the newcomer, eyebrow raising at his choice of attire - a black leather jacket, red scarf and dark jeans, though what really caught his eye was the baseball bat, which was wrapped in barbed wire, a deadly weapon he wished he could see in action. Despite the circumstances (it being an apocalypse and all), the newcomer was clean and undirtied, as if he had somewhere to return to where he could shower and change into clean clothes, and his entire attitude around the gathered people only proved to David that this man was the leader.

His eyes remained fixed on him, taking in the laid-back, yet clearly authoritative stance and movements, not listening to what was being said until the familiar sound of an old song floated up to him from the leader, each line punctuated by a point of the bat at a kneeling person, all of whom appeared terrified.

"Eeny, meeny, miny, mo, catch a tiger by his toe..."

The black-clad leader's voice was taunting, his fingers visibly clenching around the handle of the bat as he came to a halt in front of a thick-set ginger guy, who stared up the length of the weapon with a confidence only bred in the military.

David could only watch with grudging appreciation as the leader then proceeded to beat the hell out of the guy's head, spreading the ginger man's brains all over the dusty tarmac with a brutal finality.

It only took the sight of this to change David's mind about joining a group, his mind made up as he watched the leader tease and taunt the rest of the group, nearly rising in anger when a dishevelled brunette sprung forward to punch him in the jaw, smirking to himself when another guy had his head smashed to pieces in retaliation. This guy knew how to demonstrate his ultimate dominance over his people.

Unfortunately, he had to wait another few weeks or so until he got the chance to meet this guy again, at which point he'd already informed the others of this new group he had found, eager to figure out what this guy's reaction would be to finding a coven of vampires asking to ally with him. To say the boys had been surprised was an understatement; Paul nearly fell from the roof they were perched on, Dwayne only just managing to pull him back up again, Marko staring, wide-eyed, at his leader. Unsurprisingly, they had all wanted to see this guy for themselves, not quite believing that a human could be as brutal and remorseless as David made him out to be, thus starting a search for the base of these people, though it was mostly unsuccessful, until one summer night.

The four of them hovered over the decrepit motorway below, eyes searching for any signs of movements, each of them as bored as the others, having had less luck finding food in the last few weeks, seeing as everyone seemed to be letting themselves die in ways that meant they would become a biter, which was not helpful at all. By now, they'd been out for a good four hours, their hunger levels through the roof - they'd only found a group of two loners the day before, meaning that they hadn't eaten nearly enough to satisfy them. At his point, Marko and Paul decided they needed to start acting dramatic, theatrically dropping from the sky every now and then, only to catch themselves after a few metres, complaining about how tired and hungry they were the entire time, neither of them letting up, even when Dwayne threatened to stake them both. They were whinging so much they never noticed the little band of people on the motorway below them, the tiny group having just emerged from the trees lining the side of the road, until David pointed them out, licking his lips in anticipation, his vampiric features contorting his face as he led the dive down.

Whooping in triumph and relief, the four of them descended on the group of five, each of them claiming a victim right off the bat, tearing into their chosen person with a vigour born of deep-rooted hunger, blood erupting in macabre fountains from the newly made wounds. The rich fluid coated their chins and fangs, staining their already filthy clothes further as the screaming people writhe and struggle in their respective grips, each one gradually dying in full view of the fifth, who had yet to race off in the other direction, which would've been the smart thing to do. As it happened, the horrified girl never stood a chance, swiftly being taken out by David as he took his fill from her, passing her barely alive body on to an eagerly waiting Paul, who was only to happy to sink his fangs into her skin, tearing her throat out with a grim efficiency.

In their feeding frenzy, none of them had noticed the envoy of vehicles slowly approaching from the north, a familiar RV amongst them, until the beaming headlights were focused on them, drawing the vampires' attention. Dropping the corpses, each vampire moved to stand beside David, who stuck his gloved hands in his pockets and watched the cars approach, smirking at the realisation of who it is, glad that their first encounter involved him covered in fresh blood from a victim he just spent a few enjoyable minutes tearing to pieces, knowing that his appearance must be horrifying. Beside him, the others stood their ground, Marko moving to bite at his thumb, only to swiftly think better of it, hooking it in the belt loops of his jeans instead. Ahead of them, each vehicle came to a halt, a group of armed people stepping forward with rifles and shotguns aimed at them, a sight which brought a slight grin to David's lips, the door to the RV opening to reveal the guy from before, a somewhat confused yet confident expression on his face.

"It's nearly two in the morning and I have to sort out a bunch of cannibals on the road? What kinda world are we living in?!" The leader joked with one of his cronies, eyeing the motley group of blood stained boys with no trepidation at all.

"A dying one, I reckon." David called out to him in way of response, their eyes locking, almost as if challenging each other.

"Well, then I guess it all depends on who you ask, don't it?" A wide grin appeared on the guy's face as he looked David over, clearly impressed by what he saw, "Damn, you are creepy as shit! You look totally badass!"

David's eyes narrowed a bit at his words, suspicious of the guy's odd compliments.

"If that's what you think, then sure." He responded, choosing his words carefully.

"What I think? Hell, no, that's not what I think. It's what I know." He confirmed, leaning back on his heels, his bat resting over one shoulder, "I'm Negan."

"David."

"David? Your name is David? I'm gonna have to figure out something better than that, something more badass."

For once, David chose not to let his offense at the statement determine how he acted, instead remaining in place with a neutral expression.

"If you must." He bit out, deciding to get straight to the point, "We've been looking for you."

Surprise seemed to cross Negan's face at this confession, eyebrows momentarily drawing together in confusion.

"You've been looking for me? Why in the hell would you do that?"

"I saw you beat two people's heads in a few weeks back, and you left a good impression on me. I thought you might like the help of four vampires in your group, who have no qualms about killing anyone." David informed him, nearly rolling his eyes at the disbelieving look on their faces.

"I left a good impression on someone like you because I beat the shit outta two people? Damn, you are messed up, I'll give you that." Negan smirked, pointing at David with his bat, "But I cannot give you the vampire bullshit. Who in the hell still believes in them?"

"People with sense." He grinned in reply, his features changing into their vampiric forms, lips peeling back to reveal his razor sharp fangs.

For a long moment, everyone is silent, Negan's eyes fixed on David's face, clearly taken aback by the turn of events, though the smile is quick to return.

"I owe you damn apology, David, that is terrifying. Like real, pant-pissing, shitting-yourself terrifying." He complimented again, seemingly considering something, "You still up for helping me out? Because I have a job that I think will suit you guys just fine."

"Sure thing, as long as the price is decent."

Negan stepped forwards, bat back on his shoulder, a conspiratorial smirk on his lips.

"There's a certain group of people who need the shit scaring outta them. Their leader is a prick named Rick, or Rick the Prick as I call him, and he needs an attitude adjustment."

#the lost boys #joel schumacher #vampire #david(thelostboys)#kiefer sutherland #paul(the lost boys)#dwayne(the lost boys)#marko(the lost boys)#the walking dead #Megan #negan fic #crossover #Rick Grimes #Daryl Dixon

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histoireettralala · 4 years

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A short history of dueling in France

Dueling is a custom of fighting by arms, according to precise rules, to settle a dispute between two adversaries, one asking the other for compensation for an offense or a wrong. In Europe, it is preceded by a challenge, usually signified by a cartel. The fight takes place in front of arbitrators, now called witnesses, who ensure compliance with the rules and specific conventions fixed in advance (number of hits by bladed weapon or firearm). In a pleasure duel (to show off) the number of hits is fixed. In a duel to the death, we speak of "excessive duel".

The duel was aimed at regulating and limiting the violence caused by a conflict between two individuals. By fixing the terms for the resolution of the conflict, it obliged the opposing parties to agree through dialogue on settled upon conditions and constituted a kind of contractual criminal law, the judicial duel. Integrated in the late Middle Ages into criminal procedure by different customs, the legal duel evolved between the Hundred Years War and the Renaissance in private law contracts as parliaments refined the case law and the monarchy grew stronger. In modern times, the duel is no more than a form of bravado against ordinary law, the duel of the point of honor.

A form of dueling was observed in other societies, in particular in Japan, but it was then a practice reserved for the military. However, by imposing individual weapons of war, that is to say by prohibiting the use of fists, for example, the duel mainly concerned the nobility, trained in fencing and shooting. The gentlemen ended up condescending to indulge themselves only among themselves: "Game of hands, game of villains". The spirit which governed it thus gave more value to dignity than to life, to manner rather than to interest, and claimed the primacy of individual freedom to regulate its affairs over recourse to public justice. Defended in the past by both supporters of an aristocratic regime and by Republicans, dueling is nowadays prohibited in most countries.

The oldest known form of the duel seems to be the judicial duel practiced by the Ancient Germans, already reported by Caesar. This form has slowly evolved over the centuries to lead to the duel of honor. To settle private disputes, you can fight, the gods will decide. In 502 among the Burgundians, the Gombette law codified the custom and introduced the concept of "champion."

The Church disapproved and fought against a custom deeply rooted in European culture.

The rules were the same everywhere: there is a gesture of defiance, it is noted, the meeting takes place in a closed, delimited place, there is a search to ensure that the combatants are on equal terms, and this is done in front of witnesses and after a religious ceremony.

The defeated duelist, found guilty, was hanged.

In 805 Charlemagne introduced the use of the stick in duels. However the stick would quickly become the weapon of the commoners while the nobles fought with the sword.

The Kings of France opposed it, especially during the 13th century. Saint Louis (Louis IX) in his Great Ordinance of 1254, wanted to return in judicial matters to the evidence by witnesses. Little by little, the nobility began to consider the duel as a way to challenge royal authority, and thereby assert their independence.

Philippe le Bel (Philippe IV) officially reintroduced the judicial duel by restricting it to the most serious crimes, by imposing financial formalities, and prohibiting it in time of war. The number of duels drastically decreased.

On July 10, 1547, the famous duel in Saint-Germain-en-Laye between Guy Chabot de Jarnac and François de La Châtaigneraie brought about the end of the legal duels.

Time for the great hours of the duel of point of honor!

The latter developed following the Italian wars. People defied royal power for any reason. For the most futile reasons, they challenge and killed each other and themselves, because they had to "defend their honor." It was part of the everyday landscape.

The King of France no longer giving permission to fight, people did without it, the legal duel then taking on a new form in the 16th century, the duel of the point of honor. In the desire to brave the growing royal power, they fought for any reason, and if necessary they invented a pretext concerning their honor (private or public) when the desire came to want to simply confront another with weapons in hand . The duel became a fashion, and under the influence of the Italian masters, the sword became its almost exclusive weapon with the dagger and, sometimes, the spear. The witnesses, called "seconds", from passive actors they were at the start, took more and more part in the duels they were supposed to arbitrate. In 1652, during the duel of the Dukes of Nemours and Beaufort, there were ten people who fought together in the horse market where the meeting took place. Three people were killed and several injured.

It was a massive phenomenon; people fought in the squares of towns and villages, in the streets, especially in the woods. Some places were very famous with duelists. Where is the current Place des Vosges, a large space near the Porte Saint-Antoine was very popular with duelists.

These duels escaped justice and clerical power. The Council of Trent may excommunicate the duellists, nothing helps. In France, between 1588 and 1608, more than 10,000 gentlemen killed themselves in a duel (and that only counts the nobles!), 4,000 in the year 1607 alone according to contemporaries: it is more than the Wars of Religion.

The Kings opposed it; we can note a large number of prohibition edicts, particularly from 1599 (1599, 1602, 1613, 1617, 1623). But they were themselves part of this combative aristocracy, and showed indulgence towards the duellists (Henri IV signed many graces in such circumstances - 7000 in 19 years).

Many nobles stupidly perished in a duel and the ban became a necessity. The state assumed the " monopoly of violence" and determined to tame the nobility. But it was with Richelieu, whose brother had been killed in a duel, that the fight against the duel took a sharp turn (for a moment). Now the duel, assimilated to high treason, was to be punished with death.

On February 6, 1626, Richelieu prohibited dueling.

"Sire, it is a matter of strangling duels or strangling Your Majesty's laws."

No mercy for the duellists, it would be exile or beheading.

And on June 22, 1627 was beheaded François de Montmorency-Bouteville for fighting in broad daylight, Place Royale, against François II d'Harcourt, Marquis de Beuvron, who fled to England. The scandal of a youth killing themselves for frivolous reasons was denounced at the very heart of the Court by the great poet Malherbe whose son, himself a duelist who had received a pardon, was assassinated on July 13, 1627 for having prevented a duel.

The very severe sentence raised a wave of protest from the nobles, but the king and the cardinal did not flinch, and the execution for the example took place.

The repression continued under Louis XIV, Louis XVI .. The duels still existed (even ecclesiastics were fond of them,such as the Cardinal de Retz) they were only more discreet. In the woods, for example. There were areas of lawlessness like the Court of Miracles in Paris, where you could fight.

The Revolution abolished the royal edicts, and the duel made a powerful comeback. Except that it was now democratized: now everyone was fighting. At the fall of the Empire, demobilized officers attacked the Prussians or the legitimists. People were fighting for anything. And anywhere. In 1808, two men fought in balloons above Paris - one of the combatants was shot down and died with his witness. In 1843, two others fought with billiard balls.

In 1834 the Count of Chatauvillard published his Essay on the Duel, a true manual for the duelist.

Everyone was fighting. Debates in the Assembly often ended in a closed field with witnesses. This was the time of the cloak and daggers novels, whose authors themselves fought in duels. All the big names of the time duelled at least once.

Between 1826 and 1834 there were in France more than two hundred dead by duel.

Now for some famous duels of the XIXth century:

On May 31, 1832, Evariste Gallois, 20 years old, very brilliant and promising mathematician, just after having published his theory of ambiguity (which is still studied today), died in a duel with a lieutenant of cavalry who was more experienced than him.

On July 24, 1836, Armand Carrel died while fighting against Emile de Girardin.

A famous pistol duel took place in Saint Petersburg on January 27, 1837, and the great Russian writer Alexandre Pushkin was killed by French Lieutenant Georges d'Anthès.

During the Belle Epoque, highly regulated duels were stopped at first blood. It was a great passion.

We can find among the duelists Ledru-Rollin, Proudhon, Alexandre Dumas, Lamartine, Victor Hugo, Adolphe Thiers, Léon Gambetta, Jules Ferry, Aristide Briand, Léon Blum, Georges Clemenceau (12 personal duels plus 5 as a witness for the Tiger!), Marcel Proust (yes, even him!), and the future presidents Raymond Poincaré and Paul Deschanel.

Men, you might think. Well ... not only!

Without counting the famous Julie d'Aubigny (Mademoiselle de Maupin) with her novel-like life, we can mention the famous duel which in September 1718 opposed two lovers of the Duke of Richelieu (not the Cardinal ... but a descendant of his family), the Marquise de Nesle and the Comtesse de Polignac. They fought for his love and got little for their pains, since the Duke left them both for the Regent's daughter.

The Great War will be a game-changer. It is possible that only something that big could durably affect society to the point it would give up such a long held tradition. After such devastation and the priority given to collective defense rather than individual combat, to die "for honor" suddenly seemed very absurd.

Some nostalgics continued, but the duel fell out of favor.

The last duel in France happened in 1967 between two parliamentarians, Gaston Defferre and René Ribière (because one said to the other in the middle of the Assembly: Shut up, you idiot!)

And nowadays... Some lone voices still talk about dueling.

Sources:

Wikipedia, le Duel (Article in French)

www.defense.gouv.fr

Pariszigzag, l'Histoire Insolite des duels et de leur répression

Ouest France, Edition du Soir, Pourquoi les Français ont adoré les duels ? 3 mai 2017

Infos Toulouse, Le duel: un code d'honneur historique, 9 août 2019

#history of dueling #duels in france #from the VIth to the XXth century #if you want to know more about specific duels ask me

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