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miloscat · 3 years

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[Review] Conker: Live & Reloaded (XB)

Let’s see just how well this misguided remake/expansion holds up. This will be a long one!

Conker’s Bad Fur Day is my favourite N64 game. It’s cinematic and ambitious, technically impressive, has scads of gameplay variety with fun settings and setpieces, and when I first played it I was just the right age for the humour to land very well for me. A scant four years later Rare remade it for the Xbox after their acquisition by Microsoft, replacing the original multiplayer modes with a new online mode that would be the focus of the project, with classes and objectives and such.

First, an assessment of the single-player campaign. On a revisit I can see the common criticisms hold some water: the 3D platformer gameplay is a bit shaky at times, certain gameplay segments are just plain wonky and unfair, and some of the humour doesn’t hold up. It’s got all the best poorly-aged jokes: reference humour, gross-out/shock humour, and poking fun at conventions of the now dormant 3D collectathon platformer genre. I also am more sensitive these days to things like the sexual assault and homophobia undertones to the cogs, or Conker doing awful things for lols. Having said that, there’s plenty that I still find amusing, and outside of a few aggravatingly difficult sequences (surf punks, the mansion key hunt, the submarine attack, the beach escape) I do still appreciate the range of things you do in the game.

As for the remake, I’m not sure it can be called an improvement by any metric. Sure, there’s some minor additions. There’s a new surgeon Tediz miniboss, the new haunted baby doll enemy, and the opening to Spooky has been given a Gothic village retheme along with an added—though unremarked on—costume for Conker during this chapter based on the Hugh Jackman Van Helsing flop. Other changes are if anything detrimental. The electrocution and Berri’s shooting cutscenes have been extended, thus undermining the joke/emotional impact. The original game used the trope of censoring certain swear words to makes lines more funny; the remake adds more censorship for some reason, in one case (the Rock Solid bouncer scene) ruining the joke, and Chucky Poo’s Lament is just worse with fart noises covering the cursing.

The most egregious change, and one lampshaded in the tutorial, is the replacement of the frying pan (an instant and satisfying interaction) with a baseball bat which must be equipped, changing the control and camera to the behind-the-back combat style, and then swung with timed inputs to defeat the many added armoured goblings and dolls carelessly dumped all throughout the game world. This flat out makes the game less fun to play through.

On top of this, all the music has been rerecorded (with apologies to Robin Beanland, I didn’t really notice apart from instances where it had to be changed, such as in Franky’s boss fight where the intensely frenetic banjo lead was drastically reduced as a concession to the requirement to actually play it in real life), and the graphics totally redone. Bad Fur Day made excellent use of textures, but with detail cranked up, the sixth generation muddiness, and a frankly overdone fur effect, something is lost. I’m not a fan of the character redesigns either; sure Birdy has a new hat, but I didn’t particularly want to see Conker’s hands, and the Tediz are no longer sinister stuffed bears but weird biological monster bears with uniforms. On top of all this you notice regular dropped details; a swapped texture makes for nonsensical dialogue in the Batula cutscene, and characters have lost some emotive animations. Plus, the new translucent scrolling speech bubbles are undeniably worse.

I could mention the understandable loading screens (at least they’re quick), the mistimed lip sync (possibly exacerbated by my tech setup), or the removal of cheats (not a big deal), but enough remake bashing. To be fair, the swimming controls have been improved and the air meter mercifully extended, making Bats Tower more palatable. And some sequences have been shortened to—I suppose—lessen gameplay tedium (although removing the electric eel entirely is an odd choice). But let’s cover the multiplayer. Losing the varied modes from the original is a heavy blow, as I remember many a fun evening spent in Beach, War, or Raptor, along with the cutscenes setting up each mode.

The new headline feature of this release is the Live mode. The new Xbox Live service allowing online multiplayer was integrated, although it’s all gone now. Chasing the hot trends of the time, it’s a set of class-based team missions, with the Squirrel High Command vs. the Tediz in a variety of scenarios, mostly boiling down to progressing through capture points or capture the flag. Each class is quite specialised and I’m not sure how balanced it is, plus there’s proto-achievements and unlocks behind substantial milestones none of which I got close to reaching (I don’t think I could get most of them anyway, not being “Live”).

The maps are structured around a “Chapter X” campaign in which the Tediz and the weasel antagonist from BFD Ze Professor (here given a new and highly offensive double-barrelled slur name) are initially fighting the SHC in the Second World War-inspired past of the Old War, before using a time machine, opening up a sci-fi theme for the Future War. These are mainly just aesthetic changes, but it’s a fun idea and lets them explore Seavor’s beloved wartime theming a bit more while also bringing in plenty of references to Star Wars, Alien, Dune, and Halo; mostly visual.

Unfortunately the plot is a bit incoherent, rushed through narration (unusually provided by professional American voice actor Fred Tatasciore rather than a Rare staffer doing a raspy or regional voice like the rest of the game) over admittedly nice-looking cutscenes. They also muddle the timeline significantly, seemingly ignoring the BFD events... and then the Tediz’ ultimate goal is to revive the hibernating Panther King, when the purpose of their creation was to usurp him in the first place! It expands on the Conker universe but in a way that makes the world feel smaller and more confusing. It’s weird, and also Conker doesn’t appear at all.

On top of this, I found the multiplayer experience itself frustrating. To unlock the full Chapter X, you need to play the first three maps on easy, then you can go through the whole six. But I couldn’t pass the first one on normal difficulty! The “Dumbots” seemed to have so much health and impeccable aim, while the action was so chaotic, obscured by intrusive UI, floating usernames, and smoke and other effects with loads of characters milling around, not to mention the confusing map layouts, the friendly fire, the instant respawns, and the spawncamping. Luckily I could play the maps themselves in solo mode with cutscenes and adjustable AI and options.

I found some classes much more satisfying than others. I tried to like the Long Ranger and the slow Demolisher, but found it difficult to be accurate. The awkward range of the Thermophile and the Sky Jockey’s rarely effective vehicles made them uncommon choices. I had most success with the simple Grunt, or the melee-range Sneeker (the SHC variant of which is sadly the sole playable female in the whole thing). You can pick up upgrade tokens during gameplay to expand the toolset of each class, which range from necessary to situational. But ultimately it’s a crapshoot, as I rarely felt that my intentions led to clear results.

Live & Reloaded is such a mess. The Reloaded BFD is full of odd decisions and baffling drawbacks, while the Live portion feels undercooked. I’d have preferred a greater focus on either one; a remake is unnecessary, especially only four years on, but a new single-player adventure would have been ace. And a multiplayer mode in this universe with its own story mode could be cool if it was better balanced and had more to it than just eight maps. As a source of some slight scrapings of new Conker content I appreciated it to some extent, but I can’t help being let down. I guess it’s true what they say... the grass is always greener. And you don’t really know what it is you have, until it’s gone... gone. Gone.

Yes, that ending is still genuinely emotionally affecting.

#review #conker #conker live and reloaded #Rare Ltd #xbox

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aquaquadrant · 5 years

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Title: it wears a mask Chapter Warnings: Minor language Summary: Beck has a change of heart at the trainyard and takes Peter captive instead. In many ways, it turns out much, much worse. (NOT SLASH)

Chapter Nine Preview

The room Peter finds himself in is… unremarkable, to say the least.

It’s similar in size and design to the room they’ve come from, only this one is much emptier and seems to have been undergoing some kind of repair at one point. A few scaffolding structures are still constructed around some of the supporting columns, tarps and buckets of paint sitting pushed against the walls. In fact, the only defining feature of the room is how empty it is. There’s nothing really set up and no one hanging around.

There is, however, one drone perched up in the corner of the high ceilings. Peter zeroes in on it almost immediately, but it seems inactive for the most part.

Peter gives Beck a quizzical look. “Why are we here?”

Beck shoves his hands in his pockets and shrugs. “You needed some room; here it is. Should do for a good jogging circle. The columns without scaffolding are stable, you can bounce off them however you like.”

Peter stares at him, not sure if he’s heard correctly. “Really? Just- just like that?”

“Well, yeah.” Beck looks amused. “Why, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you think everything I do is some kind of plot with an ulterior motive.”

Peter glares, but feels heat creep to his cheeks nonetheless. “Can you blame me?” he mutters, glancing away. The room is definitely big enough to stretch out and get some sorely needed exercise, he has to admit. But why did Beck even bother?

“Oh, one more thing.” Beck’s voice makes Peter’s head whip around. The man pulls his hands from his pockets, opening them to present two very familiar little objects.

“My webshooters?” Peter stifles the instinct to snatch them and instead eyes Beck, confused. “You’re… you’re gonna let me use my webshooters?”

Beck nods, a crooked grin tugging his mouth. “Yeah, why not? Not like you can do any harm.”

Peter flinches. The reminder stings; even if Peter were to use the webshooters to indispose Beck, there’s nothing he could do to prevent the kill order on Ned and MJ from going out.

“Go on,” Beck prompts, “swing to your heart’s desire. Just take it easy on that bum hand of yours.”

Practicality wins out, and Peter quickly takes the webshooters from Beck. They slip back onto his wrists with little thought, though it’s an awkward fit around his cast. The feeling against his skin is an odd combination of reassuring and unfamiliar- it hasn’t been long since he last used them, but it seems like forever.

When Peter glances back up, Beck is looking at him expectantly. An uneasy feeling curls in Peter’s stomach.

“I’m… I’m not gonna thank you for giving me something you had no right to take away,” he says warily, unconsciously curling his hands towards his chest. Surely Beck isn’t expecting him to?

Beck gives a patronizing smile. “Ah, ah, ah, webshooters are a privilege, Peter,” he chides him. “Mind your manners.”

Peter’s stomach sinks. Of course Beck is. The unfairness of it all is a slap to the face, but there’s nothing he can do. His pride isn’t worth missing this opportunity, and Peter gets the sense Beck knows it, too.

“Thank you,” Peter grits out, his eyes lowered.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Beck’s tone drips with condescension. “Now get going, you’ve only got thirty minutes.”

Any thought of responding drops out of Peter’s mind, and he turns on his heel, darting a few steps away from Beck.

He immediately wants to take to the high ground, shoot a web up to the corner and swing up to a perch. But he’s been inactive for a week, and he doesn’t want to further injure himself. Logically, he has to warm up first before taking on anything strenuous. He breaks into a light jog around the room- and pretends not to see Beck’s approving nod.

The burn in Peter’s muscles is a welcome pain. The pounding of his heart in his ears drowns out any thoughts, his focus going into his labored breathing and the blood racing through his veins. It only takes a couple minutes for him to fully get into it, and it gets easier to ignore Beck watching him from the side.

As soon as he feels warmed up enough, Peter throws a hand out to shoot a web, and then he’s off. The rhythm comes back to him as easy as breathing, the rush of wind in his face and adrenaline surging through his veins, and for the first time in over a week he feels well and truly alive. He arcs through the air like he’s never left it, careening off the walls and pillars with breakneck speed and hairpin turns. His hand aches from the strain, but it doesn’t falter. Everything about it feels right.

Peter builds momentum. The room blurs before his vision, yet every inch of it is present in his mind, like he can sense every surface before he touches it. This feeling is pure electricity, and after being deprived of it for so long, it’s the most amazing thing he’s ever felt. He only just manages to stop himself from letting out a whoop, remembering at the last second that Beck is there.

The sound stays trapped in the back of his throat, like he’s swallowed a couple of bumblebees. However, he can’t entirely keep the smile off his face.

Time melts away as Peter swings around the room. Twisting and vaulting against the walls, running up and along the vertical surfaces, landing briefly to launch into some acrobatics before jumping into the air again. It’s pure bliss, like he doesn’t belong anywhere else in the world but here. But all too soon, Beck is calling him back down.

Peter pauses for breath, clinging up in one of the corners of the room. For a flitting moment, he considers just staying up there. The thought of going back to that tiny, concrete cell recoils in his mind like a salted slug.

But he knows he doesn’t have a choice. Reluctantly, Peter swings back to the ground, landing in front of Beck. He’s breathless and flushed, his heart still pounding, but he feels like he could leap over the Empire State building.

Beck smirks at him. “Have fun?”

Peter’s mood instantly sours. He hates that Beck is patting himself on the back for something this simple. He jerks his arm in a shrug, and wordlessly holds his webshooters out. He wouldn’t believe for a second that Beck will let him keep them.

Beck takes the webshooters. He studies Peter for a moment. “So long as you behave yourself, you’ll get to spend thirty minutes here every day,” he announces.

Peter looks up in surprise. That’s much more generous than he’d been expecting, truth be told.

“Thank you,” Peter says, on impulse. Then he regrets it and glances away, wrapping his arms around himself self-consciously. “So- so, uh, time to head back now?” he asks, picking at his wrist.

“Yep.” Thankfully, Beck doesn’t comment on it and simply leads the way out.

Peter gives the room one last, lingering look before following.

~*~

Beck locks the door to Peter’s room behind him.

That little outing was a lot more successful than he’d hoped it would be. Not only has it done a wonder on Peter’s mental state, but it’s indebted him to Beck in an entirely new way. Thus far, he’s controlled Peter with threats to do harm. Now he has the option to take away something good. Always nice to have some options; variety is the spice of life, as they say.

Beck hands the webshooters off to someone, to be locked up securely. Seeing Peter back in his element was quite illuminating. Admittedly, Beck could stand to have a bit more knowledge about powered superheroes. When his main focus was a normal man in a suit of armor, it can be hard to gauge how to handle heroes with actual, inhuman abilities. To know to what extent they affect everyday life and function.

Miscalculating the effect that confinement would have on Peter was a result of that. It’s one thing to know that the kid isn’t a normal human, to see his enhanced speed, strength, agility, and durability. But it’s another thing entirely to be confronted with inhuman instincts and reactions.

Sometimes, there’s this look in Peter’s eyes that makes Beck wonder. What has that spider DNA done to the kid’s mind?

Beck sets off at a brisk walk. There’s a distinct light-hearted feel to the room now, an unanticipated but welcome side-effect. Considering so many months of planning were spent getting to know anything and everything about Peter- if only to better manipulate him- Beck imagines that many of them feel some sort of… familiarity with the boy. Someone they regard fondly and enjoy seeing in lighter spirits, despite his role in their operation.

Maybe Peter having this small bit of happiness makes them feel better about what they’re putting him through. Fine by Beck- he has no room for guilty consciences.

“Hey, Beck, got a second?”

A voice makes Beck pause. He turns over his shoulder to see Virgil Shultz, jogging to catch up. The medic is one of the few personnel that’s more than just a few years older than Beck. There’s a certain sense of accomplishment in that, having someone from an older generation answer to him.

“Virgil, my man, what’s up?” Beck greets him with a grin. “Talk to me.”

“Now, Beck, you know I’m on your side here,” Virgil starts off- never a good sign. “And I sure appreciate what you did for my son. But I have a couple… reservations about Peter.”

Beck can feel his smile grow strained. “Oh?” he asks.

Virgil spreads his hands. “See, I realized his birthday is coming up in a couple months and I got to thinking-”

“We should throw him a surprise party?” Beck asks sarcastically. “Great idea, Virgil.”

Virgil laughs weakly. “No, Beck, I mean- I got thinking about the long-term plan,” he explains hesitantly. “How long are you gonna just… keep him locked up here? For the rest of his life? Or, the rest of yours?”

“Why the interest?” Beck lets all pretenses drop, his tone and face cold. “Having second guesses?”

“No, no, none of that,” Virgil says quickly. “I’m still all-in. I just feel like we’re kinda in the dark here, you feel me? I would just feel better if I knew how long you were planning on keeping him here.”

“I’ll keep him here as long as it takes,” Beck snaps.

Virgil frowns, confused. “As long as… what takes?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Beck claps Virgil on the shoulder, suddenly friendly again. “Listen, I understand your concerns, I do, believe me. But trust me when I say I’ve got everything under control, alright? I haven’t forgotten about our primary goal here.”

Virgil still looks uncertain, but he’s lost his nerve. “Yeah, yeah of course, I know,” he says finally. “We’ve made it this far, haven’t we? And you’ve gotten us here.”

“You said it, my friend.” Beck’s hand slides off. “Now then, if you’ll excuse me.”

“Right, of course.” Virgil ducks his head. “Sorry to trouble you.”

Beck watches him go, unhappy.

Dammit. He wasn’t expecting anyone to question his decision to keep Peter around. Because trying to explain his reason out loud sounds… quite unhinged, if he’s being honest. And pointless. And a waste of time, energy, and resources. But it’s not their place to judge his methods!

An uneasy part of Beck wonders if Peter’s getting through to them. Appealing to their humanity. Or… something. He knows his team is thick-skinned; none of them would be involved in an operation that gets people killed if they weren’t. But he also knows firsthand that actually seeing the effects of their actions up close and personal is a very different thing.

Now Beck is certain he made the right decision in keeping the footage of the trainyard fight to himself. He doesn’t need to give them any more reason to feel bad for Peter.

But Beck isn’t too worried. Once they start Phase Two, there’ll be plenty to keep them busy and not focused on Peter.

And all the little holes in the net keeping Peter here will close up for good.

~*~

#spiderman far from home #spiderman ffh #marvel cinematic universe #mcu #spiderman fanfiction #my writing

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the-awful-falafel · 5 years

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Ghost in the Machine - Chapter 6

Read the full story on AO3 here!

Fandom: Rick and Morty

Rating: M, Genfic (no pairings)

Chapter Wordcount: 6.4k

Chapter Summary: Time passes. A routine is established, and progress is made. Rick is getting desperate, while Morty starts getting impatient.

Rick felt like he was slowly losing his grip on reality.

It had been, what, one week? Two? Probably not more than that, although he could barely keep track anymore. He was mostly estimating based on the number of sleep cycles Morty had put him through, but even then it was increasingly difficult to tell. Time simultaneously seemed to be moving too slow and too fast.

Morty had wasted no time after they got back from the alien market. With the first drone fully operational, the teenager had uploaded a highly complex blueprint to its database, and it immediately got to work constructing new fabricators. It made sense that Morty would require more drones in order to build whatever he was planning, but since a fabricator was an extremely delicate component that needed exact precision to build correctly, each one took almost two days to fully assemble. And this wasn't even mentioning the fact that a fabricator was useless without a drone body attached to it.

So in the meantime, the two of them had fallen into a… routine of sorts. It mostly consisted of more drone construction and intensive, if varied work to advance Morty's agenda, and while they didn't always stay within the bunker or do the exact same activities each day, it still slipped into an easily recognizable pattern.

It was almost identical to the structure established before. Every morning, right after Rick woke up, he would be recalibrated. It barely seemed like a punishment anymore, and the only explanation he could come up with was that the process had become more like a general maintenance procedure. Rebooting and readjusting the mind control tech on a regular basis seemed like something that would be useful in keeping Rick securely under control. It was like restarting a computer every day in order to keep it running smoothly and prevent data overflow.

And the process still left Rick too disoriented to even attempt fighting back, so Morty was free to make him do whatever in the time it took for the dizziness to wear off. The teenager didn't always take advantage of this, but every so often he'd drag Rick over to the helmet room and hook him up again. This was always followed by Morty uploading a new program or fix, and Rick had gotten to the point where he stopped trying to figure out what they did. He later discovered one of them improved his dexterity with weapons, and another shortened the time it took for him to respond to complex orders, so it seemed like Morty was refining how he behaved on autopilot, but he didn't want to theorize about the rest. He'd never learn their purpose until it became relevant, and he already had so much other shit on his plate, so why bother?

Don't think about it, he thought, almost instinctively. A small part of him wanted to laugh. That was happening a lot more, lately.

On some days, it was limited to just the helmet, then Morty would unhook Rick and they'd leave. On others, it was followed by, well… he wasn't sure how to describe it as anything other than a “check-up”.

Morty would make Rick sit down in a chair, then he would proceed to take his vitals and evaluate his physical condition. The first few times it happened, Rick was honestly terrified the kid was going to make him strip, but it ended up being surprisingly tame, aside from the fact that it frequently involved Morty touching him. It never got weird, necessarily, especially with how clinically detached it was, but it was impossible to not feel uncomfortable with fingers pressed up against his jugular to take his pulse, or when a bright light was shined in his eyes to check pupil contraction.

Not to mention how Rick's body was unnervingly relaxed and permissive in response to being handled, no matter how vulnerable he actually felt and how much he wanted to flinch away. The whole process made him feel like a workhorse being inspected.

Following that, they'd eat breakfast. Like before, it was almost always something from a can, since Morty had a massive supply in the cabinets that vaguely reminded Rick of how one would stock a bomb shelter. He had never seen the kid prepare anything more complex than canned food, and he wasn't sure if he wanted to. When he was hungry it was easier to ignore, but it was obvious that Morty's cooking skills were… passable at best.

After that was when it got more complicated. They'd work on whatever Morty thought was most important at the time, which was usually nothing unexpected, but sometimes it seemed to be completely random and unrelated.

The first few days-- was it only a few days?-- it was nonstop drone building. Morty already had the underlying frames built, so it was more of a matter of screwing compartments together, fitting in the circuitry, and welding the external plating. With concentrated effort, they could get one finished per day, minus the fabricator. Like before, Rick was made to fetch tools and components for the most part, but Morty actually enlisted him to help out with the more complicated assembly a few times. Rick was still prevented from sticking his hands anywhere critical, but it was clear that Morty had regained some confidence in his control over the man to even risk that much. Or maybe he just wanted to get it done faster.

Eventually, however, Morty started alternating with other activities. One of the more notable ones was distilling the venom that was still stored in the fridge. This involved heating it up repeatedly until all the extraneous compounds were vaporized, leaving a rather viscous substance behind. It would then be mixed and diluted with another chemical, creating a liquid solution that was faintly tinted pink. Rick wasn't sure that he had the willpower to fully analyze what the final mixture was for, but it was clearly going to integrate the venom's sedating effect in some way. Perhaps that additional chemical worked as an amplifier?

Again, Rick was permitted a surprisingly in-depth role working with the venom, but that was also probably because resisting was far more likely to damage himself in this case, especially since it involved handling boiling chemicals. Even without his other reservations holding him back, he wouldn't want to fight when the risk was this disproportionate.

Morty also started taking them on brief trips outside the bunker, portaling to other planets rather than exploring the one they were currently on. Of the three visited, none looked the slightest bit inhabited, although their habitability in the first place was questionable. The trips took less than fifteen minutes each, as they mostly consisted of Morty looking around aimlessly. Rick seemed dragged along almost as an afterthought. It was almost like the kid was scoping out the locations for… something.

The first location was a scorching desert planet of lilac sand, with scraggly, half-dead trees scattered everywhere. It was wide and flat, with occasional stretches of sandstone. The temperature seemed like it'd get unbearable after a while, but thankfully Morty had the forethought to leave early before the risk of heatstroke became a real possibility.

The second location was a murky swamp planet with a green foggy sky. Spiky outcrops of rock and moss stood out in the terrain, and alien trees grew up out of the muddy soil. The atmosphere was breathable enough, but Rick couldn't help but be suspicious about whatever vapor was coming out of the glowing vents in the ground.

The third looked to be in a massive cavern where the ceiling was hundreds of meters above them. Bioluminescent lichen on the rocks allowed some amount of visibility, and deep ravines in the ground were bridged with giant root-like structures. The air was a little thinner than what Rick was used to, leaving him somewhat light-headed, but it didn't seem worse than what one would find in Earth's highest mountains. Aside from the enclosed and limited air circulation, admittedly.

After all that, their evenings were relatively unremarkable in comparison. They'd have a canned dinner, squeeze in a little extra work if possible, and then Morty would order Rick to sleep. Rick's personal hygiene was only addressed every other day, and it was slotted in right at the end. He was made to shave, brush, and take a five-minute shower with uncomfortably cool water at full blast. It was a miracle he didn't get hypothermia by the time he changed into a fresh set of clothes.

Rick had no idea when Morty would go to sleep after he did. He had a suspicion that the answer ranged from “much later” to “never”. Some days the kid looked downright exhausted. Once, in the middle of a work session, he straight up fell asleep on his desk, leaving Rick to stand there and slowly panic for twelve minutes until Morty finally jerked awake again. He must have been working on something well into the night, which showed some unhealthy commitment if nothing else.

Rick tried to keep track of all of the different activities as they happened, if only because he was still trying to figure out what Morty was even planning, but it was… difficult, more than it should've been. It wasn't just him losing the ability to track time effectively, either. Lately, it felt like he was losing sense of his body entirely. He was still getting complete sensory feedback and everything, but sometimes, he didn't feel like himself. And in a way, he wasn't. His body was following Morty's orders, moving without his input, which made it easy to forget that it was still technically his. His eyes and limbs would feel too weird, too alien, like he was looking out of a stranger's body. He'd be so distant and detached from his own skin that when he'd snap back, several minutes would have passed, or even a half hour, and he wouldn't remember what had happened. It was like he was… drifting. It took conscious effort to anchor himself down enough so that he could focus.

He couldn't even argue with Morty's increasing boldness in making him do important tasks, since half the time, he felt too numb and mentally exhausted to try taking advantage of it anyway. Occasionally he tried to muster up the energy to disrupt something, but then the spark of fear would hit and drain him of whatever gave him energy in the first place.

It felt like a warning sign that he should be paying more attention to. That was happening a lot more frequently. Another problem Rick was noticing was his growing inability to control his emotions, which seemed to fluctuate without warning. He'd be neutral for a while, watching his surroundings without feeling much of anything, and then there would be a sudden surge of anger blotting out all his thoughts. Other times he would find everything uncontrollably amusing, no matter how minor or stupid. And sometimes crippling despair would hit and he'd just wish for it all to end.

Each mood swing would last anywhere from a few minutes to an hour, and they were almost impossible to predict or notice while in the moment. His train of thought would stop and shift abruptly. It'd feel like an uncontrollable surge of energy in some cases, driving him to think things that he'd recognize as batshit insane or reckless any other time. Especially in his intensely angry and murderous moods-- fuck that fucking piece of shit Morty, what does that asshole think he's doing? I'm not going to sit back and take this shit no fucking way let's see how he likes it when I fucking kill him-- where for a moment, he'd almost, almost lash out again. And then he'd get the whiplash of returning to a more stable mindset just in time to stop himself. Sometimes he was too late, and he'd only snap back once the pain hit.

Rick supposed his complete isolation had something to do with it. Being unable to talk or interact with the world around him in any meaningful way was more maddening than he first realized. He had all these thoughts circulating with no real outlet, and it caused him to sink deeper and deeper into his own head until he felt like he was driving himself insane. Focusing outward on what his body was doing was a decent enough distraction, he supposed, but it wasn't enough to be a long-term coping strategy.

The problem was, the only person who he could possibly talk to in this situation was Morty. Not only was the idea ludicrous, but the teenager seemed committed to barely acknowledging Rick's existence in the first place. Several days had already went by without a single word spoken between the two of them.

It wasn't like Rick didn't try to incite anything, either. There was a point a couple days ago where he mentally cursed at and insulted Morty for nearly forty minutes, getting more and more elaborate as time went on. It was an attempt to get any sort of reaction out of the kid, because fuck it, Morty had already provoked something out of him a few times, so he might as well return the favor.

Because it wasn't like Morty was actually ignoring him, far from it. Rick could practically feel the uncomfortable sense of the teenager watching his every move, tracing his every thought. And he knew Morty was paying attention most of the time, because despite the silence he would subtly react to what Rick was thinking. If Rick was handling something important at the time his thoughts started turning mutinous, Morty would instantly make him stop his current action and switch to something lower risk. If Rick made a particularly scathing observation or comment, he sometimes saw Morty pause in whatever he was doing, if only for a second.

So it wasn't surprising that after a short while, Morty had put down the vial he was holding and looked straight at Rick. The older man hated how that emotionless stare always made his insides go cold.

“I didn't install that program because I wanted to talk with you,” Morty said, tone indifferent.

That had made Rick fall silent. Because fuck, that was really what he was doing, wasn't he? He didn't really irritate Morty as much as he intended, and yet here he was, feeling almost relieved that he got any response at all. He knew by now that Morty paying attention to him was never a good sign and never something he should be seeking out. Was he really that desperate for any kind of social interaction?

Morty turned away soon after, seemingly returning to ignoring Rick as well. But a few moments later, after Rick had already been made to resume his own work, Morty muttered something under his breath. “… Although having an audience is kind of interesting, I guess.”

Rick had paused at that, but Morty didn't say anything more. The older man wasn't sure what to make of that statement, if he even heard it correctly. Was that all Morty saw him as? A spectator?

If only Rick could get himself drunk, maybe everything would be slightly more bearable, but he hadn't been given a drop of alcohol since he first woke up. It wasn't like Morty didn't have any, either. Rick had personally seen the bastard dip into a stash of whiskey at mealtimes, although only in small quantities. It seemed to be denied to Rick purely out of spite. The sight of the substance gave him an aching feeling in his stomach that wouldn't go away, not even after he'd eaten his fill.

Rick knew all of these… symptoms were an effect of being trapped in his own head for an extended period of time, but he still couldn't help his frustration. Two weeks wasn't even long. It shouldn't be any problem for him to deal with. He could vaguely recall a memory where he was imprisoned in solitary confinement for almost a month before he managed to break out. Compared to that, this was nothing. Certainly not long enough for him to start slipping like this.

He ignored how he also remembered similar side effects appearing in the second half of that memory, enough that his recollection of that part was even fuzzier than usual. And he also ignored the difference of how occasional interrogations had broken up the monotony, meaning he didn't deal with the isolated feeling on a constant basis.

Most importantly, he had full control over himself, had an escape plan, and could take refuge in both of those facts. Even in dire situations, if he felt that he had a certain amount of control, he could push through it with a level head. But this? This was a situation of absolutely no control, of being locked in the back of his brain and not being even able to move his body to confirm that he was still real. Even his nightmares didn't normally approach this level. He couldn't do anything.

He recoiled and wanted to slap himself for that thought. That wasn't true, fuck that. He still had one sliver of control afforded to him. Even though Morty was working like hell to condition it out of him, Rick was still capable of resisting the commands. Hadn't it been Rick who damaged the drone? Hadn't it been him, working of his own free fucking will, who had interrupted the venom hunting and consequently got Morty slashed in the side? Yes, he also had gotten a deep and bloody bite wound in his shoulder, which had long since scarred over, but it had been worth it.

Rick needed to be single-mindedly focused on that. He needed to stay alert, aware, not losing his concentration like this. It didn't matter how much Morty was aware of Rick's thoughts and intentions now-- sooner or later, the bastard would slip up. When that opportunity showed itself, Rick needed to seize it without any second of hesitation.

Maybe he could actually get Morty killed this time, wouldn't that be interesting? He almost found it unsettling how much the idea satisfied him, and he vaguely wondered if it was normal to want to murder a teenager this much. There was a solid chance that it still wouldn't break the control, and Rick would be forced to stand idle until his body broke down, but… he didn't really feel like that mattered. Better than continuing to be a tool and scapegoat, at any rate. If he was going to die, it might as well be in the process of taking Morty down with him.

So Rick kept waiting. And waiting. And waiting. That's all he could even do right now. But he wasn't sure how long he could hold out. Days, weeks, months? As long as necessary, he stubbornly told himself, but it felt like a lie. There was that growing sense of hysteria that he was just barely suppressing in the back of his mind, that crawling sense of unreality like a caged animal who couldn't find an escape.

He wasn't sure if it was that more desperate mindset that led to him starting to resist again.

It had started yesterday, sometime in the afternoon, when they were out hunting. Morty had recently introduced a new, albeit familiar activity to the daily schedule-- going outside and harvesting animal parts. For better or for worse, it didn't involve any dangerous venomous aliens this time around, nor did it involve killing the creatures afterward. That wasn't to say it was done in the most clean and humane manner, though. It usually involved seizing a sample of carapace or skin or blood, without any regard to the distress of the alien in the process. Morty seemed to be harvesting genetic material, although as usual Rick didn't have the energy to try to figure out why.

They were going after a wide variety of creatures, too, spread in different areas across the planet. This desolate rock had a surprising amount of biodiversity when examined closely. They started easy, targeting slow or immobile species. There was a land-dwelling organism that resembled a sea urchin crossed with brain coral, and Rick broke a few spines off of while avoiding getting pricked. They tore a chunk of carapace from a passive multi-headed millipede-like creature, which screeched in pain and scuttled away afterward. They even snapped a branch off of a vividly purple alien tree, which curled in on itself and retracted its leaves upon being damaged.

The day afterward, they had moved on to creatures of more moderate difficulty, ones that required a bit more stealth to approach. One of them was a green lobster-looking creature with a frankly disturbing amount of teeth, scuttling around near tide pools, although it thankfully only came up to Rick's knees. The other one was an armored gecko-like alien with eight limbs and a forked tail, barely the size of a cat, and it tended to quickly disappear through cracks in the ground when it noticed danger.

They were hunting the toothy lobsters when Rick ended up resisting. It was a spontaneous, split-second decision, and in hindsight he couldn't really tell the reason behind it. One moment he was distantly watching himself sneak up on the lobster alien from behind with his weapon drawn, the next moment he felt a surge of something, and he pushed back. His legs suddenly jerked and gave out for a half second, causing him to stagger and scrape his feet against the ground. The sound alerted the alien, and it bolted away immediately, submerging itself in the local pool in the span of a second.

Rick was swiftly punished after that, familiar pain lancing through his synapses and almost making him regret everything. And despite return of the torturous pain and overwhelming fear, for the first time there was another quality paradoxically mixed into it. The pain was so viscerally real that Rick found himself clinging onto it more than he expected. It was like a shock to his system, anchoring him better to reality than anything he'd attempted previously.

Still, at least initially, the conditioned fear and exhaustion won out again, leaving Rick compliant enough to not interfere with the next few alien lobsters they sampled. Morty chose to involve himself much more closely, capturing the creatures himself sometimes, so it wasn't like Rick had much of a chance to mess things up anyway.

But that lack of opportunity didn't bother him for some reason. There was this weird intoxication rising up in his mind, clashing with his twitchiness but somehow also being accentuated by it. And before he knew it, Rick resisted again, this time causing his muscles to relax when he was holding a squirming alien gecko-thing, which nearly let it slip out of his grasp. Morty waited until after they had managed to successfully grapple the creature and slice off a part of its tail tip before inflicting punishment on Rick again.

And Rick kept resisting, and he kept getting shocked. Again, and again. He resisted four more times that day. It was a mental seesaw of being paralyzed by panic and snapping back every time the pain hit, his survival instincts desperately screaming at him to stop stop stop STOP, and then that strange overwhelming feeling that would return and make him do it again. It didn't matter how pointless it was, how little he was affecting things. He couldn't stop himself.

The pattern continued into today, where Rick had resisted twice during the morning and about three additional times so far during the midday routine. But the crippling pain was starting to get to him again, the more logical part of his brain starting to protest. The impulse fueling him was already withering away somewhat, as if he was getting more hesitant. This couldn't be worth it. It wasn't like he was even hurting Morty with this. What was he even doing?

But it was okay, really. It was fine. Everything was fine. The pain meant he was feeling something, that he existed. It shocked him out of the deadened fugue he was falling into more and more often. He was forcing the universe to acknowledge him for once in his fucking life.

He didn't care. He didn't care. He didn't care.

And then the next time Rick resisted, Morty didn't punish him.

It had been one of the few times Rick had actually caused damage, too. He had been kept away from anything critical for a while now, so this time he ended up breaking something relatively unimportant, almost by accident. He had resisted in a way that made his body lose its balance, causing him to stagger to the side and bump into a table. An empty glass flask was knocked off and shattered into pieces against the ground, the sound deafening in the silence.

And yet, even though Rick's chest tightened in anticipation, no pain came. He looked up and saw Morty staring at the mess with a completely blank expression. After a moment, the teenager gave a heavy sigh, and he got up and silently approached it. He leaned down and started cleaning up the pieces, being careful not to cut himself on the broken glass. Eventually, he gathered them up in a small pan and carried them over to the wastebin. He didn't even look at Rick.

Rick didn't expect that to be what sapped away the rest of his energy. He expected that manic impulsiveness from before to return and encourage him to resist again, especially because there wasn't any punishment this time, but he just felt... hollow. Something was very wrong here. Why wasn't Morty reacting?

And for most of the remaining day, it definitely seemed like Morty wasn't going to make any response to the incident. They continued working as usual, and it went by even faster now that Rick had unexpectedly lost his motivation to fight back. Most of the work was focused on the drones. The fabricators had finally been completed last night, so all that was left was to attach them to the drone bodies that were already built. Due to it being a rather simple operation, it didn't take any more than an hour, and all the drones added up to a small fleet of six in total, including the initial drone they had created.

Individual testing confirmed that each of the machines could construct and deconstruct without error, which already cleared the biggest hurdle. However, it was unclear how well they'd work as a synchronized unit, so Morty took the drones down to the base of the mountain for some outdoor experimenting. Rick was made to follow, although he wasn't sure for what reason. The sun was setting, casting long shadows and a violet tint over the landscape.

They walked to their destination rather than taking a portal. It was probably to save on portal gun charge, considering the relatively close distance, but it still took nearly half an hour to reach the bottom. The entire way down, Morty kept his back turned to Rick. He still hadn't acknowledged the man since earlier, and Rick couldn't help but be unsettled by the prolonged silence.

Once they reached the bottom and walked ahead for a short while, something came into view. Resting at the foot of the mountain cliff, hidden in a crater-looking alcove, was a ruined alien spacecraft. It didn't look much bigger than a small fighter jet, but it was impossible to tell its original shape since it had long since shattered into messy pieces, as though it crashed and fractured against the ground before colliding into the solid rock. It looked like it had been there for decades, with its titanium exterior being well-worn and coated in a fine layer of dust and grit, and the insignia along its side being too faded to make out. A few spindly weeds had even sprung up in cracks in the plating, like nature was reclaiming it.

It was barely surprising, then, that this was what Morty planned on testing the drones on. It wasn't like it was too big an object to take apart, after all. All construction drones utilized pocket dimension technology in order to absorb several tons of material at a time.

With a single order sent via tablet, all six of them flew forward, surrounding the ship like a swarm of wasps. With a light blue glow and a synchronized hum, they started deconstructing different parts of the wreckage, slowly and meticulously. Even with all six of them, it still looked like it would take a few minutes to completely eat away at the hull.

Morty had put away the controller and was simply standing back to watch. Rick could understand why. Watching the outer plating disintegrate was oddly hypnotic, like seeing a newspaper burn up in a fireplace, holes growing and burning at the edges. For a moment or so, there were no sounds except for the faint sizzling of the deconstruction and the whirring of the drones.

“I honestly thought you would have given up by now.”

Morty's voice was quiet, but it still gave Rick a jolt. He turned his head to look at the teenager. From this angle, the only visible part of Morty's face was his eye patch, rendering his expression unreadable.

Rick was mostly surprised that he was actually being talked to again, after… how many days had it been? Although the comment still took him off guard, as well as sending a prickling feeling down his neck. Why would Morty think that? The kid must have detected his confusion, because he continued speaking only a moment later.

“I mean, it's a reasonable assumption to make,” Morty said. “I've been trying to be patient, all things considered, but it's getting to the point where it's a little… grating. I'm not sure what you're even getting out of it anymore. Is it pride? Spite? Satisfaction? It's weird, it's like even you don't know.”

The older man felt heavy at those words, because they weren't wrong. There was really no point to casually resisting anymore, not logically anyway. But some part of Rick still wanted to do it, because… why? To prove something to himself? And he had even less of a clue why he suddenly started doing it at extreme frequency yesterday and the beginning of today. Because it wasn't like he enjoyed being shocked or anything, far from it, it was just… at the time, the alternative had felt so much worse.

There was a brief silence, and then Morty gave a small sigh. “I wish I could say I'm surprised. You've made me start considering my options, though.”

Rick's thoughts stopped at that. Wait, what?

“I could just wait a little longer,” Morty continued. “You won't admit it, but you're in a pretty poor state right now. It would probably take only, what, two weeks? Three? But that's the thing, Rick.” He finally turned to look directly at the man, and there was something resigned in his expression. “Keeping an eye on you is tiring. Entertaining, sometimes. But mostly, I'm just worn out. A few more weeks of this isn't really something I'd enjoy dealing with.”

… Morty had never come this close to admitting weakness before, especially unprompted. A cold, crawling sensation was creeping up on Rick as the seconds trickled by. Fuck, where was this going?

“I could do it, if I had to,” Morty said, in an almost matter-of-fact way. “You're hardly the worst Rick I've put up with. Still, it leaves me wondering… it would be nice to speed the process along, wouldn't it?”

Then the pain hit before Rick could react.

It immediately sent him reeling from its unexpected intensity. It was so much worse than all previous shocks, in a way that he didn't even realize was possible. It was more than simply every nerve in his body being set on fire. It was that deep nauseating sensation of his bones being cracked and broken apart from the inside out, fragments spreading out and lacerating his tissue until everything was shredded. His senses short-circuited, blinding him. There was only pain.

Rick didn't even realize that he had outright collapsed until the agony receded slightly, allowing him to somewhat regain awareness of his surroundings. The dull ache from hitting the ground was almost invisible compared to the fading shock. But something was wrong. The pain wasn't leaving. Instead of ebbing away completely, it held at a fixed level, churning across his skin like a flame.

“That's the convenient thing about simulated pain, isn't it?” Morty's voice was somewhere far away, no louder than before, and yet it cut into the haze of Rick's thoughts like a knife. “It can be exactly as strong or drawn out as it needs to be. Maybe the constant level from before was leaving you too comfortable.”

Rick wanted to protest the idea that those prior shocks could ever be considered “comfortable”, but he couldn't piece together a coherent response. Every instinct and reflex of his was screaming to get away but there was nowhere to escape to. His body was shivering violently and his breathing was coming in kind of funny, and that was a bad thing, wasn't it? Distantly, he could hear footsteps walking up to him, stopping merely a few feet away.

“But, obviously, pain by itself isn't sending the right message anymore. Really, this is just me being self-indulgent. So let's try something else.”

A wordless order constricted around Rick's mind like a strand of barbed wire. He flinched away mentally, but his thoughts blurred with that sense of have to and before he knew it his body was moving, pushing itself up. The pace was slow and staggered, hindered by the pain that flared up when he so much as shifted a limb, but eventually he managed to get himself in a kneeling position. He was slumped and breathing harshly, his vision darkening at the edges as he stared at the ground. He felt like he might faint.

Rick could tell Morty was watching him. It only took a few seconds for the teenager to speak up again. “… It was painful doing that, and yet you can't do anything else, can you? That's what you're not getting, Rick. You can resist all you want, but you never affect anything when it matters. So then--” There was suddenly a harsh pressure around Rick's collar, causing his breathing to stilt as he was dragged upward, fingers digging into his shirt with unexpected strength. His gaze was forcibly locked with Morty's as his body was yanked up and his head tilted back. “Why are you still doing it?”

Rick's stomach dropped the second he recognized the look in Morty's eye. Unblinking, intense focus, with a cold fire behind it that hinted of something just barely suppressed beneath the surface. Like there was a ticking time bomb of anger and frustration leaking out more and more as the situation progressed.

Morty had never raised his voice, never broke from his usual cadence, and yet it was chillingly obvious that he was absolutely pissed.

Too paralyzed with fear and too disoriented by pain to respond, Rick hung there with shallow breaths, desperately hoping beyond all reason that Morty wouldn't kill him. The stare held for a moment, then the teenager's expression became more guarded as he let Rick sag in his grip somewhat. “… Maybe I just haven't made myself clear,” he said, almost to himself. “I could never get through to you before, so I'm not getting my hopes up now. But it's not like you have a choice in the matter.”

Rick mentally twitched as he felt a pressure forcing itself over his brain, pushing him down, although he was far too dazed and weak to attempt actual resistance. All he could think was no no no no NO NO--

“Listen,” Morty said in a stern tone, although it sounded weirdly distant. “You're not actually stopping anything here. I'll get what I want no matter what you do to get in my way. But you continue to make things difficult, you will be replaced with another Rick who's more cooperative. Do you understand me?”

Rick couldn't think. It took a moment, like his vocal chords were sluggish from disuse, but the pressure intensified and he spoke out in a hoarse voice. “… Yes.”

“Who is the one in control here?” Morty asked.

“You are.”

“Who do you belong to?”

“You.”

The pressure around Rick's brain and neck released simultaneously, letting him fall back down to the ground. His body caught itself on his hands and knees, breathing labored. The constant pain was finally fading, too, leaving a numb feeling in its wake. He tilted his head up to see Morty's back turned to him as the teenager walked away, slipping the remote back into his pocket.

Now that he was finished with Rick, Morty seemed to be turning his attention back to the drones. They had just finished deconstructing the last of the spacecraft, and they hovered in the air on standby. All that was left of the original wreck was a large, oddly shaped indent in the ground.

But that was hard for Rick to care about, at least at the moment. He was weak and empty-feeling, and he felt disconnected from his surroundings, with everything being somewhat blurry. He was unable to do much but focus on his gradually steadying breathing and trying to hold himself together. To not crack any further than he already had.

It looked like Morty was cracking, too, but just a little bit. Just enough to suddenly snap and take out his frustration on Rick, before relaxing and then returning to business as usual. And even then, he still didn't completely lose his composure or lash out in a physically damaging way. Nothing had pushed the teenager far enough for him to lose his sense of self-restraint, it seemed.

It was like this whole thing had become an endurance match between the two of them. Each move they made, intentional or not, was systematically working to wear the other one down. To eat away at their resolve until something broke.

And, deep down, Rick knew which one of them was going to break first.

#rick and morty #evil rick #evil morty #fanfiction #rick sanchez #morty smith #prequel fic #ghost in the machine #tw: torture

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shazzeaslightnovels · 5 years

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Reading Log - January 2019

A summary of all the light novel volumes I read this month - along with my thoughts on them. I bought all of these volumes from BookWalker. Most of these series will not be available in English but I’ll try to point it out when I know if one of this series has received an official translation.

Note that, obviously, the following text is just my own opinion so please respect that and if you see anything that I got completely wrong (i.e. I accidentally refer to a character with incorrect pronouns), let me know. I will avoid posting spoilers as much as possible but let me know if I accidentally slip up.

Gamers! 1 by Sekina Aoi (Light Novel):

It was a fairly enjoyable read for the most part but, by the time I had reached the second half, I had lost interest and just wanted it to end. The chapters felt so long and dull and I think shorter chapters would have worked better. The other thing that stuck out to me is that the art is very simplistic and sometimes did not match the text for the scene it was for. I didn’t feel like the art added anything to the volume though I suppose it would have been jarring without it, given the genre of the story. That being said, I liked the characters a lot, including the protagonist and I enjoyed it enough that I’ll probably check out the second volume in the future though I’ll probably watch the anime beforehand to make sure that the story doesn’t go in a direction I don’t like.

Saenai Heroine no Sodatekata 1 by Fumiaki Maruto (Light Novel):

After finishing the Koisuru Metronome spin-off manga last month (which I loved, btw), I finally had motivation to read the light novel. It is really good. The pacing is excellent, there are a lot of funny moments and I love Maruto’s writing style. I do think that this series really needs to give the reader more insight on Katou. I get that part of the charm of the first volume is reliant on Tomoya having no interest in Katou but I want to know about her family and friends (because she must have some that she hung out with before meeting Tomoya) and I want to know what she’s like with them. I watched the anime alongside reading this and I think the events flow smoother in that and there is a lot of really interestingly directed parts (I love the café scene in episode 2) but it loses a bit of funny dialogue which is a shame. I have volume 2 already but I’ll probably wait a bit to read it so that I don’t get burnt out on the series.

Monku no Tsukeyou ga Nai Love Comedy 3 by Daisuke Suzuki (Light Novel):

In my mind, this series has two main charm points: the fun dialogue and the relationship between its’ two leads and it’s the latter that is on full display in this volume. Outside of that, it’s a pretty unremarkable yet enjoyable volume from a pretty unremarkable yet enjoyable series. I have to say that the side story that came with the volume on BookWalker is adorable though. As an aside, I recommend this series for people who are learning Japanese. It’s pretty easy since most of it is just dialogue and there aren’t many places that can trip you up.

Otome Game no Hametsu Flag Shika Nai Akuyaku Reijou ni Tensei Shiteshimatta... 2 by Satoru Yamaguchi (light Novel):

This volume is just as entertaining and hilarious as the first but it also surprised me. While the first volume could’ve been described as ‘predictable yet fun’, this volume had quite a few events that I didn’t see coming and, more than that, it was interesting. When I got to the main chapter, I couldn’t stop reading. It was that good. Katarina continues to be an amazing protagonist and the rest of the characters are just as enjoyable. In particular, this volume introduces to new characters and I won’t talk much about the second because spoilers but I loved Maria and I ship her with Katarina so much. I will warn that this series suffers from originally being a web novel will little editing been done during the conversion to being a light novel series in that most of the chapters are episodic so, when you get to the main chapter, it feels disconnected from the rest of the volume and is way longer than any of the other chapters.

J-Novel Club is currently releasing the volumes in English under the title of My Next Life as a Villainess: All Routes Lead to Doom! so please pick it up if the series interests you.

Otome Game no Hametsu Flag Shika Nai Akuyaku Reijou ni Tensei Shiteshimatta... 3 by Satoru Yamaguchi (light Novel):

Welp, I suppose it was about time that this series had a volume that I didn’t love. The first chapter was pretty good but there wasn’t a whole lot in the later chapters that I liked. The new characters introduced this volume were interesting enough but I’d have rather have spent time with the characters I already love. Plus, I would’ve been fine with this series ending in the previous volume though admittedly the series probably wouldn’t have been as popular if it had and I might not have read it in the first place. I’m not really a fan of romance series and I feel like this volume is trying to steer the series into becoming more of one and I hope that the following volumes bring back the things that make me enjoy this series and I love the cover for vol. 4 so I’m sure it will (Katarina, charging while Jeord and Sora are all ‘slow down, dumbass!’).

Thinking about, if Katarina ends up with anyone, I want it to be Maria. They definitely have the sweetest and cutest interactions but, if I’m being realistic because it almost impossible for this series to go the yuri route, I’d prefer Nicole over the other guys. He won me over in the first volume when he gave Katarina a necklace modelled after one that a character in a book had and he’s been consistently good since then. He really cares for Katarina and I think she’d be happiest with him. Keith and Alan are also good options but I don’t get the appeal of Jeord.

Monku no Tsukeyou ga Nai Love Comedy 4 by Daisuke Suzuki (light Novel):

Sekai doesn’t actually have a whole lot of scenes in this volume which made is boring since her relationship with Yuuki really is the stand-out of the series and Kurumi and Haruko are pretty dull. The last chapter was interesting though.

Saenai Heroine no Sodatekata 2 by Fumiaki Maruto (Light Novel):

This volume seemed to drag on longer than the first but I did really enjoy the climactic scenes with Utaha and I loved the short dialogue-only interaction between Katou and Eriri. There’s a lot that I want to say about this series but I’m waiting and hoping that the series will prove me wrong before I do so. For now, I’m just wanting for this series to show more interactions between the characters without Tomoya. I will say that I think the anime is slightly better than the light novel series so far. It has it’s problems, like it has a lot of times where a male gaze-y perspective is used and it’s unpleasant but I think it succeeds in the most important way: it makes me forget about Katou’s existence. It’s hard to make Katou forgettable in a dialouge-focused text-based series and the manga doesn’t even try to do it but the anime takes advantage of it’s format and successfully uses certain camera angles to make Katou less noticeable.

Monku no Tsukeyou ga Nai Love Comedy 5 by Daisuke Suzuki (light Novel)

Easily the most entertaining volume of the series so far, to the point where I wanted to immediately buy vol. 6 when I finished it (I didn’t because I like to wait for sales but the temptation was there). I can’t talk about this series a lot because the first volume has a twist that most readers won’t see coming so I don’t want to spoil it for them but I will say that I usually find the characters who aren’t Sekai or Yuuji to be boring but I actually liked them in this volume, probably because they interacted with Sekai while usually they just interact with Yuuji. I will also say that I think the structure of this series would have worked better in a eroge or galge. The structure actually reminds me of Asairo’s structure more than anything else and it kind of works in light novel format but it feels like it was meant for a route structure.

Saenai Heroine no Sodatekata 3 by Fumiaki Maruto (Light Novel):

My favorite thing about this volume is that Tomoya was never insulted or shamed for liking otome games. He also gets to cry a bit near the end of the volume and male protagonists showing emotions other than anger is always nice (note that the anime down-playes this and I’m super bitter about it. He hardly cries in the anime but in the light novel, he full on bawls to the point where he has trouble speaking) . Eriri got the bulk of development this time around and I think it was well done. I really liked the scene with her and Tomoya at the end. A new heroine, Izumi, is introduced in this volume and I think she has the potential to be an interesting character. She’s, unfortunately, used to generate boob physics in the anime and the manga (to be clear, the manga is much worse than the anime in this regard) and she’s a middle schooler so that’s… uncomfortable, to say the least. I hope she uses her earnings from Comiket to buy a decent bra... I didn’t care much for Iori in the volume but I thought he was hilarious in the anime adaptation and I kinda ship him with Tomoya tbh.

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words-writ-in-starlight · 7 years

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so i'm assuming that all the reincarnated ham crew look like their musical actors, which, awesome. but i was thinking about jefferson, who was a racist fucker being reincarnated as a black man. like. how would that even go down?

*emerges from cave, shamefaced* Right, so, does anyone remember that this AU exists? Because I swear to God I didn’t forget, I just only now have had the time. I actually have a bunch of prompts for it, not all of them are going to get written based on...like...my inspiration level, but also this series is alive again, so like. Yep. Here is some Jefferson. Full disclosure, I dislike Jefferson and think his economic plan was some racist bullshit, so...that is evident.

To all you newcomers, I do recommend reading the other stuff, even if you could probably figure it out.

All In One Spot AU

So, the academic affairs office holds out longer than theirpredecessor. Not by much, but by alittle. It takes two full weeks for Alexto hammer through his petition to be allowed to take more than max credits—and it’squite a petition. Angelica takes one look at the twenty-page,double-sided, single-spaced letter to the dean of academics and disavows anyinvolvement, and John grins fondly, remarking that the dean has no idea what he’sgotten into.

The dean, incidentally, has lived his life with pleasantly dim memoriesof Philedelphia with cobblestone streets and a vague impression that he knowsthe unfortunate teacher annually strong-armed into teaching History of theAmerican Revolution. He recalls verylittle else of his time in the Continental Congress—indeed, at gunpoint hecouldn’t have identified what exactly he was doing, back then.

He has a blindingly vividflashback upon looking at the first page of the letter—the pamphlet, really—and immediately feeds the entire thing through hisshredder.

“Jake,” he says, sticking his head out of his office to look at hissecretary.

“Yes, sir?”

“Approve whatever Hamilton’s request was before he sends anymoreletters. I’ve seen enough for severallifetimes.”

“You got it, boss,” says Jake, whose past life was a blissfullyunremarkable farmer in the Italian countryside and who therefore has no ideathat his boss is sparing them all a lot of trouble.

Now, the reason this matters is because Alex walks into his Econ 101class for the first time two weeks into the semester, takes one look at thelesson outline the grad student wrote on the board, and makes a sound ofabsolute incoherent horror.

“Oh my god,” Alex says faintly, frozen in place two steps inside thedoor. He was never an especiallyreligious person, but he’s wondering if maybe the universe is punishing him forpast crimes. He’s not saying one way orthe other if he deserves it, but this seems excessive. “Jefferson is haunting me from beyond thegrave.”

“Listen, kid,” sighs the grad student. She wears her hair buzzed short on one side and is clutching her coffeealmost as fiercely as Alex is, and he thinks this is maybe not her first classtoday from the also, I don’t carelook on her face. “We’re doing a reviewof some basic socioeconomic structures, and the Jeffersonian/Hamiltonian debateis, like, critical. So could you--”

“But it’s bullshit,” Alexbursts out before he can even try to hold his tongue. “It was bullshit when Jefferson first came upwith it, and it’s bullshit now.”

“Jesus Christ,” a voice fromsomewhere in the front third of the lecture hall mutters. A tall figure unfolds itself from a chair andsays, “Have you ever taken an economics class in your life?”

Alex can actually taste the way his blood pressure skyrockets. It occurs to him, briefly, that someone—possiblyEliza, also possibly the General—might kill him if he starts a fight right now,but. On the other hand. He’s going to start a fight. He’s got no choice, basically.

“Have you?” he demands rudely,turning to stare up the lecture hall at the young man—maybe a sophomore, he’stoo angry to be sure, but he’s wearing a very questionable magenta hoodie andhis hair is even fluffier than Lafayette’s and honestly he has a very punchableface, in Alex’s humble opinion—and narrowing his eyes. “I mean, do you have a single legitimateargument for why Jefferson’s bullshit plan would work? Because let me just say, plenty of Southernersloved to sit around and talk about how the country was being railroaded by thebig cities in the North but--”

“If the North can’t balance their own needs with the supply they cangenerate, why should the South--”

Fine, if that’s how he wants to play it. Alex raises his voice to try to drown the other guy out. “If the South wants to call itself a part ofa country, it needs to support--”

“State-by-state trade--”

“—what, you expect landowners to share their profits freely enough tokeep a country alive, God you’re naïve--”

“—freedom from the chokeholdof a national bank--”

“—so the country can be held hostage by the South?”

“Farms and farm owners should be able to dictate where their finances--”

“—can’t punish the North for the sin of not having huge arable fields--”

“—your vaunted manufacturing facilities cover it?”

By now they’re bellowing at each other over the heads of the rest of theclass, real anger kicking up an intellectual debate into something familiar,and so Alex isn’t really surprised by the next slip of his tongue. Old habits, new dogs—old dogs? Something like that.

Anyway.

Point is, Alex slams his textbook down onto the grad student’s table andhollers, “Goddamnit, Jefferson, I wasright and history proves it, get off your fucking high horse!”

There’s a long couple seconds where Alex remembers, in the dead silencethat’s settled on the lecture hall, that he was kind of planning to keep a lidon that? Oh well, any hope of secrecywas blown to shit by Washington’s class anyway and fuck it, he’s right, he was right then and he’s right now, andfurthermore—

“Go fuck yourself, Hamilton,” the tall guy says, and Alex has a smallheart attack.

“Jesus God, fucking Christ, what the fuck,” the grad student blurts allat once in a rush, but Alex doesn’t answer her, too busy taking a deep breathto launch his next volley.

Admittedly, it’s not a gracious one, but listen, just listen: Alex is not a gracious personand no one ever said he was, certainly never more than once, and definitely notafter having an argument with him.

“Hey, look, I’m sure it’s rough to realize that all your best effortsonly ended in Andrew Jackson’s racist ass closing down the federal bank andlanding us all neck deep in shit a hundred and fifty years later--”

“Excuse me, I wrote--”

Alex drives over the tall guy’s protests—Jefferson’s protests, and wow, he’s going to hear about this fromWashington later. “—but you really haveto get over your bullshit economic plan and just admit that it depends on slavery.”

“It does not!”

“Oh my god it does, it totallydoes, the only way your plan works is if there’s basically no economic overheadfor labor, and like, listen, buddy, I’m not sure if anyone ever told you this,but we had a whole war about the slavery thing, it was a very big deal, itkilled like a million people and then we agreed that slavery was bad.” Alex pauses and very slowly arches an eyebrowat Jefferson, enjoying this…probably more than he should. “Do youagree that slavery was bad, Thomas?” he asks with a wide smile.

If Jefferson purses his lips any harder, Alex thinks they might actuallyfuse. “Still an asshole and animmigrant, I see.”

“Well, not all of us had such an easy karmic target on our backs as,say, just for example, a slave owner with a realbad track record getting brought back as a black guy,” Alex points outgenerously. “If Maria shows up, I’m morethan happy to let her follow Peggy’s example and punch me, I’m doing mypenance.”

“I don’t deserve this,” Jefferson tells the ceiling.

“I dunno, man,” the girl sitting next to him says. “Sounds like you might. Like, I did the reading and your plan was kind of bullshit.”

Honestly this is the greatest thing that’s ever happened to him—well,no, it’s not even the greatest thing to happen to him this month, but it’s upthere, okay, it’s way up there. “I feel so, so validated,” Alex tells thegrad student, who looks like she might be in shock? Her eyes are wide and her jaw is slack, so hecocks his head and asks, “Are you okay?”

She shuts her mouth with a click, closes her eyes, swallows. Pinches the bridge of her nose between herthumb and finger. It’s shockinglysimilar to Washington’s patented Headache Pose that always appeared during thelatest cabinet battle royal.

“Can you two be trusted to not kill each other if you sit on oppositesides of the hall?”

“Come on, now, we worked together for like—most of a couple decades,”Alex says after a second of mental math.

“Yeah,” she says, opening her eyes and visibly trying not to be star struck, which Alex…appreciates, to becompletely honest. “And then you, youknow, mutually annihilated each other and he spent a couple more decades tryingto blackball your name out of the history books.”

“It’s so rare that I feel like the bigger person,” Alex says, bouncingon his toes.

“That’s because you’re unnaturally small,” Jefferson mutters, sullenlyresuming his seat.

“I am not listening to baseless insults about my height right now, thankyou, Jefferson, I have the eternal trump card and there’s nothing you can doabout it.”

The grad student puts her head back into her hand, and squeezes her eyesshut.

#all in one spot au #alexander hamilton #hamilton #hamilton fic #reincarnation au #thomas jefferson #tjeffs #I'M NOT DEAD #also is it blindingly obvious from this ficlet that i've had this argument?#because i have #this is an angrier shoutier transcript of an argument i've trotted out several times #basically PAY YOUR FUCKING TAXES #this has been a psa #anyway rip this grad student idk who she was maybe anna strong or something #she doesn't deserve this #washington is going to be Very Done also when he finds out this is a thing #pour one out for all these students who are going to have to put up with these two assholes in their econ class #now some more full disclosure: i have never taken an econ class #anyway A N Y W A Y #god focus jesus okay #in case it's not blindingly obvious i low-key assume alex had adhd and write him accordingly #OKAY NO MORE RAMBLES #necessary tags #moran writes stuff #anonymous #asked and answered

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living-the-fastlife · 5 years

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After months and months of procrastinating and letting life get in the way, I finally booked a holiday. The destination, Prague. Despite the fact that continental Europe is literally on my doorstep, this way the first time I’d planned a short city break to one of the many destinations I want to visit. In my mind, I figured I’d travel afar before exploring neighbouring countries, but sometimes a stress-free 2-hour flight is exactly what you need to kick off 6 days of sight-seeing, socialising, and relaxing. Here is a summary of what I got up to in Prague.

The Sights

Admittedly, I did more socialising than sightseeing, but Prague is a city that is full of culture simply walking through the streets was an experience. The architectural structure to the buildings look like works of art, and one of the highlights was taking in the intricate design details of St. Vitus Cathedral. Located within the castle, this gothic structure is visually striking with intricate design details reflecting parts of their history. The cathedral was a highlight of the castle tour I went on, but the castle itself was an interesting sight as it felt like you were visiting a palace with the construction of the castle not reflecting the traditional fortifications of such landmarks. The castle also gave you one of the best views of the city, with the vineyard serving as a gorgeous backdrop.

I also took advantage of some of the walking tours that were offered, with a very interactive 3-hour walking tour of the city providing an interesting and informative tour highlighting just how much there is to see in Prague itself while highlighting the city’s complicated history. For someone unfamiliar with the city, the Good Prague Tours free walking tour is the best way to get your bearings with the city while taking in a lot of the big attractions.

Of course, I had to make a stop at one of the stunning historic libraries in the city. The Strahov Monastery Library is gorgeous, with two magnificent baroque halls, dedicated to teaching on theology and philosophy. While you can’t walk through the halls, just taking in the intricate art design and the rows of ancient books was a sight to behold.

Now, I cannot write a post about the sights of Prague without mentioning the famous astronomical clock. Before this trip, a lot of people had told me that the clock was one of the most unremarkable and overrated sights of the city. I happen to completely disagree with this notion. Why you ask? Because the science behind its mechanism is fascinating, especially when you consider the fact that the clock’s construction started in 1410. This is definitely not a sight you should overlook.

Accommodation

Prague has no shortage of accommodation available to visitors. As a solo traveller, I opted to stay at one of the many hostels situated in the city, The Roadhouse. It was clean, comfortable, and the staff were very welcoming and happy to answer any questions and provided some great tips on places to see and things to do. What I loved most about this hostel was how relaxed it was. It felt like a home away from home with family dinners held ever night, the perfect way to get to know your fellow travellers, followed by a trip to some of the local bars and for those looking to party, there was the option to meet up with their sister hostel, the Madhouse. After 5 nights in this hostel, I can safely say that The Roadhouse has set the bar high for any future hostel I stay at.

People

Part of the experience of any holiday is in the people you meet along the way, especially when you’re a solo traveller. What made this quick city break such a memorable trip was in the people I met. Thanks to the Roadhouse hostel, meeting people was made very easy with their nightly family dinners, evening activities, and chilled atmosphere. Prague is a natural destination for those backpacking through Europe, with cheap rates, plenty of culture and character, a buzzing nightlife, and with the vast amount of quality hostels to choose from, you’re guaranteed to meet some like-minded travellers.

This trip also gave me an opportunity to meet up with a university friend. Meeting up with her gave me the local experience as we headed to the St. Clara Vineyard and treated ourselves to some burčák, a young wine said to signify the end of summer, as we walked through the botanical gardens, took in the gorgeous view of Troja chateau, and caught up on the five years that had passed since we last saw each other.

Conclusion

Prague, I will be back. To start, there are so many sights that I have yet to see. The city itself is compact, with many of the sites within walking distance of the hostel, Prague is a vibrant city with its history written on the walls of their picturesque landmarks. This will not be the last time I visit Prague, and it’s definitely a recommended destination for anyone looking for an affordable and cultural experience.

Have you ever been to Prague? What’s on your travel bucket list?

On the Road: Prague After months and months of procrastinating and letting life get in the way, I finally booked a holiday.

#Adventure #Castle #City Break #czech republic #Europe #Experience #Hostel Life #On the Road #Prague #St. Clara Vineyard #St. Vitus Cathedral #Strahov Monastery Library #Summary #The Roadhouse Hostel #Travel #Visit Prague

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calcinators-blog · 7 years

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Two Irons (Part 5.)

There were no passageways or durasteel fortifications to encapsulate you. There was simply he and you, with what little space offered between your bodies instilling no comfort or assurance. You had considered, several times over, that he might had been leading you to your execution, seeing that he had been present in your mind for the very formation of condemning doubt against your shared political alignment. To be dismantled by his saber or whatever else he felt suitable to the conspirator he had made you out to be.

And though in words you were well-versed for defense— I choose to be here— you knew that lexis alone would not slake the creature. Inside the cowl and under the mask, Death itself waited solemnly. A willing and capable participant.

Reason was windfall, but hardly vital.

He moved with all the grace of a defective automaton, hard and inflexible, with claim to the ground beneath him. Navigating the labyrinth of Starkiller, his head would pivot on his neck before his body would turn into the course; this left you to witness the snout of his helmet, materializing periodically from the shelter of his hood. In preventative measure, from having curiosity pull your eyes and have them linger, you averted indefinitely from looking above his shoulders as you followed in the shadow’s shadow.

If it weren’t for Matt, you wouldn’t have been persuaded that a human being existed beneath the bastion of layers– even if at the time, it felt like a stretch to consider Kylo Ren as such. Submersed in the blackest of inks, each garment shifting independently along his tense frame. Swaying in motion and spilling about, you invested the bulk of your awareness on the robes as he trudged ahead, easily filling your anxious stare. You studied each defect, the tears and singed ends that distressed the full length of his mantle. It proved its age at each blemish, worn in ceremonious extent. Each of his fingers remained curled to his palms, hanging stiffly about his sides.

Inhabiting the corridor was a lethal silence that threatened to be your final perception of sound. It rolled out, your voice soft and breaking after many failed attempts, “I’m not with the Resistance.”

Not yet, at least.

His cape, whipping back in spur-of-the-moment theatrics, fractured the still of the vestibule. “You would be wise to not think these things,” you became reacquainted with the voice of the modulator. His emotionless tone was enclosed with distortion, though devoid of anything else. Anchored before you was the cold exterior of the mask, leaving you to endure a silent examination.

Your awareness was his awareness now, and each reflexive thought had only furthered you into to subterranean depth. Your innocence was becoming unsalvageable, if it had not already reached that point. Mercifully, he wasn’t looking for you to respond, which was only made clear when he began to move once again, leaving you to welter and scramble after him. Condemning your inner monologue for the trouble had only made it jump around with more fever. As you fell back into his magnetic pace, recollection leached your eyes and clouded your vision by trance-like fog. You began to experience a memory without fully meaning to, not considering if he had any persuasion over the matter before you were lost in it.

“You are all here on the right side.”

Training on board the grand tin can of the Finalizer: the antechamber you stood in had been filled with other newly enlisted, all arranged neatly in lines with precise attention. To both your sides, front and back, every body in the room had been dressed in identical spotless static-ground boots and neat, emblematic charcoal uniform.

Even in memories, the artificial gravity had the power to devastate with the dull pulsing ache, radiating steadily and outwardly from your cranium. The calibrations were not quite right yet, every organ feeling heavier.

A figure in similar dress, though grander, paced the length of the floor while exuding faultless authority. Both gloved hands secured behind them and achromatic mane in a carefully maintained undercut, suggesting at close proximity the smell of pomade– though their young features advocated further. They stirred, taking a long deliberate pause as all eyes followed. Two stormtroopers with red rank pauldrons secured to their shoulders, held blasters in hand, slung low and tight to their armor. Acting as goal posts, the figure moved between the two in long sweeping strides. What had appeared orthodox before, the typical presence of a superior officer giving a sermon by the mise en scène of proud First Order banners, in hindsight had appeared to be boastful and soundlessly menacing.

Stopping directly in the middle of the soldiers, only after they were satisfied with their created anticipation, their mouth twitched with bottled-up jingoism. With their vertical temples and square jaw now parallel to the sea of faces you belonged to, they began broadcasting to the room with a leveled voice, only slightly punctured by an accent.

“How do I know this is the right side? I have seen those who oppose us and I have seen what has become of them. I have been spectator to the tyranny of the New Republic and their attempts at keeping us contented with lies and deception. This is the right side because you are protected; standing here where you are, you are protected. You will never have to endure the might of the First Order...” As if the words had served as fuel, he began moving once again. Plastered to his face, a not-so-subtle sneer, mouth bending a scratch mark that finely marred his lower lip, “We are proud of our military, lead by our Captain. We are proud of our General, a man who will lead us into a new age. And our Commander... An interrogation with Kylo Ren is one we have saved you from encountering. You do not need to understand how or why he does what it is that he does, only that he can and he will in defense of our cause. Is this clear?”

For the second time, you nearly crashed into his back– this due to the unexpected visceral experience the memory had produced. The forged face angled enough for you to understand that you were subject to his watch. The voice piercing the air hinted self-satisfaction; a smugness that could not be stripped by the vocabulator, “They speak so fondly of me.”

I had no intention of sharing.

Which was true. Your mouth had cemented shut but that alone would not stop him from provoking exchange. Everything he needed was contained to your impulsive and spontaneous brain waves. You had not yet found a way to stop yourself from being baited with his phrases– he would speak and your mind would leap.

Aside from that, in retrospection, you assumed that he had spurred your spontaneous recollection; he had shaken the stalk of your consciousness to see what would come loose. You recoiled, arriving at the understanding he was not below playing around with your head as if it were a cheap, toss-away curiosity.

Many with exalted rankings inside the command structure had fallen victim to disproportionate notions of privilege their titles lent. Kylo Ren was not a singular case, living though a permanent power trip coupled with a vastly inflated ego– but, he was the first that was able to end your life because of it.

It began to rise to the front of your mind; was he was naturally so full of contempt, or, had the First Order had warped his perception.

The vibration of his robotic voice shut you down, “Neither.”

You felt your face contort, unprepared to respond or think or otherwise, except repeat his own choice of words– neither. And with that, he was trudging on once more.

In expectancy of his custom to halt suddenly, you were unsurprised to see that he had stopped once again in what had appeared to be an unremarkable location. This section of the base he had lead you to was both unfamiliar and disorientating. It looked identical to where you spent most of your time– except all the doors were in the wrong places, the hallways twisted in different directions. You couldn’t be certain if this door was the destination he had in mind or if he had simply grown tired of stopping short in the corridor.

Raising a gloved hand, he placed a coded access cylinder in the corresponding drive on the panel. This was standard procedure for admission to restricted rooms; not that behind every door was confidential paraphernalia, but it was a privilege in itself to gain access to areas you had been prohibited from entering. The Order had a way of making you felt important over something as trivial as sanction to exclusive refreshers. You, hanging relatively low on the tiers, had clearance for only a small number of sections. You knew Kylo Ren must have had a special cylinder to pry open every nook on the whole base– and likely the entire fleet along with it.

You began to imagine all possibilities with the one cylinder he held now– but forcibly corked your mind, aware that this scheme on your double-crossing index would be an out-and-out death wish. Fortunately for you, something even more alarming had stolen his focus.

An electronic voice refused his cipher, “Unauthorized.”

Kylo Ren was stunned. Admittedly, you were too. When you were first adopting your new life with the Order, you had experimented with the doors to see how many would open in the stretch of a single hallway. It had been long since you had heard the buzzing voice from the panel and had nearly forgotten its existence. If you weren’t terrified of exploring the humor in it, you might have even laughed. All you could freely think of was the sound of fork hitting the floor of the common area and the unholy treatment Nines was served by Matt– trapped in his alternate costume, before you now.

Blanking and with a fractional tilt of his helmet, he tried the cylinder again with more force behind the movement. It was evident on sight that this simply did not happen to him by the twisting of his free wrist, his hand dropped open only to re-tighten and lock up again. The same refusal followed.

Before you were aware of what had happened, his fist met the surface of the door with a great pound. The bitterness of his strike had unnerved you, giving indication of force by the furious echo, which had hurdled though the angular passageway to either side of where you stood. Repeatedly, his fist smashed into the exterior as he released a great torrent of frustration. It all became one awful, tremendous sound with his inhuman, mindless howling. His tantrum raged on, from hands to lightsaber, as if the sheer force of his anger would eventually override the security panel. You could feel all that he gave, his very wrath, along the floor and under your feet as you eyes shut tightly against a surge of spark.

You heard the blade draw back as well as the identifiable quiver of his robes in movement; through one squinted eye, he faced you once again. Steady rising and falling of his chest visible even under the weight of his garments, warranted a flinch from you– utterly involuntary.

“Open it,” he demanded, nothing more in his voice.

You don’t want to try yours again?

Like that of a warning shot, and for a definitive time, his fist collided with the door. Obediently, you shifted around him and cautiously produced your own cylinder. Holding it to the panel, you prayed the room wasn’t anything fancier than a closet or else you too would be denied and the door wouldn’t be to blame.

“Authorized.”

Kylo Ren gazed down at you through the slit in his helmet then back at the door, watching it open– in possible humiliation, which kept him quiet. From where you stood, there were dents and abrasions peppering the surface, underneath the lacerations belonging to the saber. You weren’t dense; you knew if it were anyone else, they would be nursing a fractured hand.

Revealed to you now: it was a closet, a mostly empty one at that. Kylo Ren, the Commander of the First Order with penchant for intimidation and using his mystical powers, was banned from this entering this pitiful cupboard. But you weren't.

It didn’t strike you to suppose that his cylinder may have came up unauthorized at any other door too. Nines would have collapsed in fits of laughter over this, nonetheless. You were almost glad he had chosen you over him, knowing that stormtrooper armor is not impenetrable and he would at least need that to be in your position.

The room, a fraction of the size of your personal quarters– which also wasn’t quite impressive– held a few flimsy crates piled in a corner and not much else. The air was stale and the lights were remarkably dim. Taking a few steps in meant you had almost crossed the entire length of the floor. It was only then when it sank in that you were there for a reason, a reason that was still unclear to you.

“Sit.”

You looked around, there was hardly the space, “Where?”

He approached, forcing you to step back and out of his path. Your body met the wall, trapped where you stood as he loomed over you. His deliberate enunciation did not go over your head, “Just... Sit.”

You wilted to the floor as your back slid against the durasteel. If he was trying to recover, you had been amply reminded of his capacity. The floor wasn’t remarkably comfortable to be on. It was incredibly cold, and hard, but you were still alive. The overhead light flickered, his mask shining unsteadily as it reflected off the surface– almost expressively. There was so much hardness to him, undeviating constriction along every appendage. You wondered if he ever slept. How could someone like him ever be soft, and still?

He nudged a crate with the toe of his boot, deciding on the sturdiest looking one before sitting. You were surprised to see him do something so normal but that thought dissolved as you began to wonder how many others might have been caged in forgotten closet spaces, like this cell, and what had become of them. Your face fell, looking at your hands– hands you were certain were powerless. He was quiet, possibly deciding how to navigate your entire conversation before saying anything, “Does this room look like it’s been forgotten?”

You gave a nod, silently. He wasn’t far off. It couldn’t have been important; there was virtually nothing of consequence in the sliver of forgotten space, except your two bodies.

He continued, “You should not be surprised to know that since it has been forgotten, it is a useless room without the need of devices for monitoring activity or surveillance. Again, I will say it is useless but by far the most interesting... Would you agree?” He was baiting you into a reply, as expected, insinuating that no one would know if anything happened inside the confines of the storeroom you found yourself crammed in.

You were under no obligation to be conversational, and found upon opening your mouth that you were not about to oblige his question, “... Are you going to kill me?” A question of your own instead, your nerves engaged in a flat race. Bluntly, your concern for your life outranked the utilization of this cupboard.

He spoke without a suggestion of concern, his voice bending with emotion, “You know FN-2187 betrayed the First Order. You know that when we find him, we’ll kill him.”

Though you had already gathered the plausible ill-intent stemming from FN-2187 going rouge, it was almost comforting to hear that he was at least outranking you on the Commander’s hit list. In that moment, it was not a discussion about your death.

He continued, “I want to understand how he came to be traitorous and I must do so with confidentiality as my concern does not reflect what the General and the Captain believe. You will assist me. We will find the cause.”

You could list several different reasons to object, the first being the one you used, “Me? Why me?”

“It is simply your luck.” Behind the mask, he had raised an eyebrow knowingly. It wasn't luck.

You were quiet in response, hating the taste of his reply— fate.

You were flighty, fidgety in contemplation of all that he had said. He was still, except for one gloved hand grasping the edge of the crate he was sitting on, “Your misgivings should be reported to the General but I will delay informing him if you comply. You will help me.”

As terrifying as it was to speak, you were no fool– you knew that you were sitting on leverage and jumped at the chance to speak before he pulled any thoughts out from under of you. He was going to have to depend on your silence and betrayal, both of which had a cost. “Hypothetically, if I help you, I want something out of it.”

A moment of great bravery or incredible stupidity; maybe somewhere on the middle of the spectrum. Your eyes edged over his face then back to the floor. You couldn’t look.

His voice raised, in amusement, “I’m intrigued...”

“You have a reputation, so, if I help you, I want to survive this— whatever it becomes. You have to promise not to kill me.” Putting it into words was an awkward waltz. Your first thought was of Zack’s son.

He was either still in deliberation or actively remembering how he had made a spectacle, dismembering the stormtrooper. The ground grew colder as you waited.

Expertly knowing what mechanism to pull, with both gloved hands, he unsealed his mask. It fell to the floor with a collateral thud. And it was almost worse to see him in this way, stripped down. He was no longer creature but a person once more– though entirely distinct from Matt, if it were even possible. You could still feel his temper pulsate only now it was softer and better contained. It had not strayed far away from his body, kept close by the layers of his attire.

His tone demanded eye contact even though it was remarkably difficult, “If I get what I need, you can get what you want.” He agreed, appealing to a side of you; he was playing the human card.

You give a brief nod.

Was the choice really yours to make anyway?

You held a hand out, towards him. Instinctively he pulled back. You didn’t trust his eyes and you didn’t trust him, not yet. Of course there was fear, and a shiver along your outstretched limb, but he wanted to play this game so you would at least hope that he would play by the rules. He wasn’t the one who would loose sleep in the end if the conditions were bent; you knew what the future looked like for you if he decided not to keep his word. Boldly refusing his good faith, you wanted more of a contract than words, “If we’re going to make a deal, we need to shake on it. Those are my terms.”

The handshake was for your own protection. His response made you question if it was a juvenile request, as if you suggested a pinky-promise or a blood ritual.

Velvet-like, but darker, after breathing your name in an exhale, “You’re so funny.” You’ve been called worse by better people.

Surpassing his initial apprehension, he stood up off his perch to meet you once more with a stare and extension of a leather-wrapped hand. You hesitated, considering he would decline your gesture but shook on it regardless.

Warm. Inside your own loose grip, his hand was warm.

Your mind blanked. You had imagined he would’ve been cold like the floor– like something lifeless, devoid of familiarity. But he wasn’t.

He’s human.

Mortal.

Warm.

You imagined the floor opening up to swallow you whole.

Revelation severely disrupted his once stoic features, giving a terrible flinch as one does when surprised by deafening noise. He jerked his hand back to himself, cradling it with the other. He looked as if he would speak but nothing came out of his mouth save a menacing curl of his upper lip. Like a feral animal, he grit and bore teeth. Some emotion stuck his throat, producing a strained growl.

Picking up his helmet and without another look at you, he made his escape. You listened to his boots scrape across the tiled floors until he was too far away to be heard. It wasn't safe otherwise, and you were still altogether unsure what to make of it all. What had happened?

Your face burned in the aftermath.

"Lieutenant Mitaka, it is of the greatest priority that you reset the Commander's access cylinder... It seems Ren has been reunited with his laser."

"G-general?"

"I had been holding it in my quarters for safekeeping."

"Of course, sir. Right away, General, sir."

#admittedly one of my favorite parts #kylo ren #kylo x reader #matt the radar technician #matt the radar technician x reader

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s0021858a2film · 7 years

Text

Post R. Collated Quotes

Style:

Jim Jarmusch: “A career overview? I’m not a ‘big looking’ back guy, but I’ll do my best. I don’t even watch my films. Once I’m done with them they’re gone for me.” (Post E)

GA: “ It is entirely made up of discreet shots - every scene consists of one shot interrupted by black film - which is quite a formal or experimental way of telling the story. Why did you decide to do it and what is your interest in those formal things?’’ Jim Jarmusch: “I think it comes from really liking literary forms.” (Post G)

Jim Jarmusch: “The intention was to shoot short films that can exist as shorts independently, but when I put them all together, there are things that echo through them like the dialogue repeats; the situation is always the same, the way they’re shot is very simple and the same - I have a master shot, if there’s two characters, a two shot, singles on each, and an over-the-table overhead shot which I can use to edit their dialogue.So they’re very simple and because the design of how they’re shot is worked out already, it gives complete freedom to play; they’re like cartoons almost to me. And it’s a relief from making a feature film where everything has to be more carefully mapped out. So I like doing them and they’re ridiculous and the actors can improvise a lot, and they don’t have to be really realistic characters that hit a very specific tone as in a feature film. They’re really fun, I want to make more of them definitely. Sometime I will release them all together, but I don’t know when.’’ (Post G)

“I’m talking about a very particular, all too common response to his work – usually from fans, though also in some cases from detractors. It’s the notion that the main thing to say – indeed, perhaps the only thing to say – about Jarmusch and his films is that they are ‘cool’.” (Post I)

Peter Keogh “ You’re often referred to as a minimalist. Do you agree with that label?”Jim Jarmusch: “I think of minimalist as a label stuck on certain visual artists. But I don’t really feel associated with them.”Peter Keogh: “There are also literary minimalists - Raymond Carver, Anne Beaty”Jim Jarmusch: “I think maybe what they’re saying is that the films are very light on plot and therefore minimal stylistically as well. My style is certainly not Byzantine or florid or elaborate. It’s pretty simple. Reduced.” (Post J)

“Jarmusch can’t be easily pinned down to any cinematic wave or category. “I don’t know where I fit in. I don’t feel tied to my time.”He is certainly not on the same time scheme as the rest of cinema, or indeed, the rest of humanity – which is perhaps why Only Lovers Left Alive is one of several of his films, including Night on Earth and Mystery Train, to take place after dark. Tilda Swinton has said: “Jim is pretty much nocturnal, so the nightscape is pretty much his palette. There’s something about things glowing in the darkness that feels to me really Jim Jarmusch. He’s a rock star.” (Post K)

“As a director, too, there are recurring elements: a minimalist aesthetic, laconic but lovable characters (often played by musicians), a cool compositional remove that invites humour without sacrificing sincerity.” (Post L)

“The second premise of auteur theory is the distinguishable personality of the director as a criterion of value. Over a group of films, a director must exhibit certain recurrent characteristics of style, which serve as his signature. The way a film looks and moves should have some relationship to the way a director thinks and feels.” (Post M)

“…postmodernism reevaluates tradition and openly plays with its rich heritage, often in the form of pastiche.” (Post N)

“…modern American independent film,with Jarmusch as one of its leading representatives, presents us with stories that disrupt the clear unified and causal structure of Hollywood films, thus resembling the pattern of Lyotard’s “little narratives” . While Hollywood films fall into specific genres and strictly adhere to its conventions, the leading representatives of the modern American independent cinema (Jarmusch, Hal Hartley, Quentin Tarantino, the Coen brothers, David Lynch) breakup the generic structures, overthrowing the need for closure, one of the main characteristics of classic Hollywood. The temporal structure is distorted, as can be seen in Mystery Train or Pulp Fiction, while the focus of the films is not on the active, goal-oriented protagonist, but on the people from the fringes of society, outsiders who oppose the accepted social norms.” (Post N)

“The underlying tendency of Hollywood films is to present the world as ultimately presentable and knowable, but a more thorough analysis reveals the realism as only partly rooted and clearly distorting external reality. Mark Cousins labels the Hollywood style closed romantic realism, emphasizing the fact that actors seem to live in a parallel universe (494). Emotions are heightened, main characters idealized and able to over come any obstacle. Although presenting a parallel universe, Hollywood tries to create an illusion that the events shown on the screen correspond to the world around us, thus creating a falsified reality.” (Post N)

“Foucault’s and Baudrillard’s analyses are even more detailed, providing the useful concepts of hyperrealism and simulation. Illustrating his concept of the third-order image, Foucault claims that “Disney land is presented as imaginary in order to make us believe that the rest is real, when in fact all of Los Angeles and the America surrounding it are no longer real, but of the order of the hyperreal” (Post N)

“The concept of time has similarly been disrupted. Hollywood has always concentrated on kairos, the significant time, while completely abandoning the presentation of chronos, the ordinary time. The difference between these two concepts summarizes the inherent difference between Hollywood and the modern American independent film. While Hollywood has concentrated on action and dramatic aspects of storytelling, modern American independent films have explored the moments in-between, the events devoid of dramatic tension, which explains why Jarmusch chose not to present the most dramatic element in Down by Law, when the three cellmates escaped from prison.” (Post N)

“His second feature Stranger than Paradise, gloriously shot by Tom DiCillo in black and white cinematography, is divided into three parts and separated by fade-outs, whose function is to destroy the illusory nature of the Hollywood invisible style.The post-industrial and scapes of modern America are similar to those in Tarr’s Satantango , providing an anticipatory cultural link. The main protagonists come from Europe, which plays a vital role in many Jarmusch’s films, signifying the impact of the Other.” (Post N)

“All of this transpires at a pace that may admittedly prove frustrating for some viewers, but for me Only Lovers Left Alive it as its best during such sequences; in fact, it enters far more problematic territory precisely when it deviates from this rhythm.” (Post O)

“It also points to another significant aspect of the film, which is its use of music; this includes original contributions from Jarmusch’s own band SQÜRL, and a diverse list of other artists and tracks (including Charlie Feathers’s rockabilly classic ‘Can’t Hardly Stand It’). The music within the film functions as a soundtrack to persistent musings about the nature of art and the artist, and their resilience (or otherwise) with the passing of time” (Post O)

“In the end, Only Lovers Left Alive is exactly what you’d expect from a Jim Jarmusch vampire film: meditative and unhurried, wryly humorous and culturally allusive — and utterly beguiling. In fact, it turns out that the vampire makes for a curiously appropriate Jarmuschian figure, isolated and out-of-time. Its pair of undead lovers may have (quite literally) seen it all before, but they’ve ultimately provided a fresh take on the vampire genre.” (Post O)

Themes:

Jim Jarmusch: “Adam and Eve are sort of outside type characters, bohemian types, and they probably already were hundreds of years ago. They’re not exactly a representing the square world to start with. They’re kind of eternal. I hate the word ‘hipsters’, but they are certainly on the outsider’s side” (Post E)

“I guess most of my films are road movies’’ (Post E)

“His characters tend to be losers, drifters and strays.’’…’’His films are about communication, or crippled communication. People who love each other (or who will grow to love each other), but who can’t talk to each other. Often, foreigners can communicate more easily than fellow Americans, despite the language barrier.’’ (Post F)

“GA: The film has certainly got a serious side to it, but it is also very full of humour and that’s something that’s coursed through all of your work. Why is an element of comedy so important to you in your movies? JJ: Laughter is good for your spirit’’ (Post G)

“Nearly all of Jim Jarmusch’s 12 feature films to date are centred around a leading man, often playing a character in the midst of an existential crisis, whose sentiments and actions come to define the spirit of the movie.’’ (Post H)

“Now, it’s true that filmgoers hadn’t seen many movie protagonists like the slightly lazy, generally unremarkable Willie” (Post I)

“Time and again, Jarmusch seems to be telling us that love, friendship, respect for others, and an open, imaginative mind are key to answering that question.” (Post I)

“What fascinates Jarmusch in the vampire myth is less the usual blood-guzzling, though there’s plenty of that, than the educational opportunities afforded by supernaturally extended life.” (Post K)

“His films consistently flout the conventions of American screen storytelling. For one thing, their subjects are not always primarily American, and Jarmusch often shows the US from the perspective of foreign visitors: Italian, Hungarian, Japanese.” (Post K)

“The director’s seriousness is often underestimated, says New York critic and festival director Kent Jones: “There’s been an overemphasis on the hipness factor – and a lack of emphasis on his incredible attachment to the idea of celebrating poetry and culture. You can complain about the pretentiousness of a lot of his movies, [but] they are unapologetically standing up for poetry. [His attitude is] ‘if you want to call me an elitist, go ahead, I don’t care’.” (Post K)

“It’s hard not to see the theatrically suicidal Adam as Jarmusch in disguise, the director’s neuroses in almost human form.” (Post L)

“The third and ultimate premise of the auteur theory is concerned with interior meaning, the ultimate glory of the cinema as an art. Interior meaning is exploited from the tension between a director’s personality and his material…It is not quite the vision of the world a director projects nor quite his attitude toward life. It is ambiguous, in any literary sense, because part of it is imbedded in the stuff of cinema and cannot be rendered in non cinematic terms.” (Post M)

“Only Lovers Left Alive is Jim Jarmusch’s latest foray into genre filmmaking, after the equally idiosyncratic ‘psychedelic Western’ Dead Man (1995) and urban Samurai thriller Ghost Dog: The Way of the Samurai (1999), and casts the vampire as a typically offbeat, world-weary Jarmuschian outsider.” (Post O)

“Shot for shot, Only Lovers Left Alive is visually stunning, and nothing embodies this more than the sight of Adam and Eve standing back-to-back, his black hair and clothes contrasting with her platinum hair and white clothing, as they gaze up at the former glory of the Michigan Theatre.” (Post O)

“With unassuming casualness, Jarmusch’s soundtracks and cast lists have created a cumulative portrait of the US musical underclass, much of it African American, that reflects his films’ interest in the marginal or overlooked – the drifters, dreamers and beatniks who give that troubled nation its artistic character.” (Post P)

Collaborators:

“Joie Lee, the actress who features in one of the early Coffee And Cigarettes shorts, says Jarmusch is the only film-maker she knows who owns his own films. “Very few directors own their own films - Spike [her brother Spike Lee] doesn’t even own his own films. This pretty much puts Jim in a league of his own. What it means is that he doesn’t have to do things for the studio - he’s autonomous and can realise his artistic vision."’’ (Post F)

“‘’Right!’’ says the Coffee and Cigarettes cinematographer, Fred Elmes. ‘’He always asks my advice, collects the information and then makes the decision himself’’’’ (Post F)

Jim Jarmusch: “I’m not a director who says, “Say your line, hit your mark”, that’s not my style. I want them to work with me and everyone I choose to collaborate with elevates our work above what I could imagine on my own. Hopefully, if not it’s not working right. I’m like a navigator and I try to encourage our collaboration and find the best way that will produce fruit.” (Post G)

“The multi talented John Lurie worked on Jarmusch’s first three films as both actor and composer.” (Post H)

“Hiddleston presents viewers with a character who retains a small inkling of affection for the world, but his own skepticism has become an infectious poison” (Post H)

“It may indeed have at least something to do with Jarmusch’s good looks and his musician friends, but it may also be a consequence of the fact that he first caught the attention of many filmgoers (after his 1980 debut Permanent Vacation) with Stranger than Paradise, in which the protagonist, Willie – played by John Lurie of the Lounge Lizards – might be seen as someone at least trying to appear ‘cool’. Willie is keen to conceal his Hungarian roots (not to mention his Hungarian name), reluctant to play host to his visiting Hungarian cousin, and generally appears happiest with a way of life that’s fairly solitary, slacker-like and self-centred, save for his friendship with the more outgoing Eddie (Richard Edson).” (Post I)

Jim Jarmusch: “Usually I write for specific actors and have an idea of a character. I want to collaborate with them on. The story is suggested by those characters.” (Post J)

Jim Jarmusch: “We do a lot of improvisation in the rehearsal process”…”Then while we’re shooting, how much improvising we do depends on the actors. Obviously I prefer to improvise in rehearsals because you’re not burning money. But some actors need a longer leash.” (Post J)

“The more Hiddleston and Swinton share the screen, the better, because the film lives and breathes through their elegant interactions with one another, and in many ways it presents a portrait of a relationship that is as intimate and low-key as Richard Linklater’s triptych of films Before Sunrise (1995), Before Sunset (2004), and Before Midnight (2013) — just with more blood-drinking.” (Post O)

“The version of Detroit that is featured in the film is shot through a lens that implies it is the ideal landscape both to engender and reflect Adam’s ennui. In this, it clearly recalls the work of Yves Marchand and Romain Meffre in their hauntingly beautiful photography series ‘The Ruins of Detroit’, and the film as a whole boasts similarly striking cinematography by Yorick Le Saux (collaborating with Jarmusch for the first time” (Post O)

“From the start, he used musicians as actors and looked to music to provide the animating vitality that he resisted visually. Songs say what his characters cannot. Screamin’ Jay Hawkins’s throat-abrading scorcher I Put a Spell on You blasts from a tinpot cassette player in Stranger Than Paradise, in which the characters scarcely do more than grunt and glare. That film starred the stringbean-thin, cucumber-cool jazz saxophonist John Lurie alongside Richard Edson, the original drummer from Sonic Youth. It made Jarmusch’s reputation in 1984, back when “indie” really did mean “independent” rather than “the boutique arm of a major studio”. (Post M)

“You could assemble a musical supergroup from his casts since then. Lurie and Tom Waits sashayed through New Orleans in Down By Law, with Waits going on to score Night on Earth. Screamin’ Jay Hawkins played a hotel concierge in a spiffy tomato-red suit in Mystery Train; Joe Strummer and the ghost of Elvis also had walk-on parts. Iggy Pop (the subject of Jarmusch’s recent documentary Gimme Danger) showed up as a trapper in a bonnet in Dead Man, and the White Stripes discussed Nikolai Tesla in Coffee and Cigarettes, where RZA and GZA, both of the Wu-Tang Clan, could also be found knocking back the joe with Bill Murray. The RZA also lopes down the street in Ghost Dog: Way of the Samurai, a Jarmusch film he scored. (Post P)

Auteurism:

Jim Jarmusch: “A career overview? I’m not a ‘big looking’ back guy, but I’ll do my best. I don’t even watch my films. Once I’m done with them they’re gone for me.” (Post E)

Jim Jarmusch: “I don’t read good reviews of my films, I love negative ones. Maybe it’s a little masochism, but more of a matter of, ‘’What do they think? They must be very different to me…’’ (Post E)

“Is he a control freak? Yes and no, he says. He loves to work as a team, but ultimately he makes every decision. "Every tiny detail of a film - the design of a cup on a table, all that. I have the ability to create that world, so I’m very fanatical about it. My films are made by hand. I write the script, I’m there to get the financing, and I put together the whole crew and production. All my films are produced through my own company, then I am in the editing room every day, then I’m in the lab, then I’m out promoting the film, so that’s about three years’ work for each film.” (Post F)

Peter Keogh “Since ‘Stranger Than Paradise’ your sensibility and style seem to be dominant in American independent film-making, and also in film-making around the world, such as the Kaurismaki brothers. How do you account for it?Jim Jarmusch “It’s hard to respond to that. I don’t know if my early films have influenced those people or wether it’s a simultaneous reaction to things being glossy and quick cut.” (Post J)

“Of his generation of US independents, Jarmusch has stayed the course, and stayed weird, while others fell by the wayside (Hal Hartley) or learned to work with the mainstream (Spike Lee, the Coens).” (Post K)

“Another thing that makes Jarmusch distinctive is his genuine independence: he is extremely rare in that he has made a policy of keeping control of his own negatives. But his refusal to play the industry game has not made things easy for him. When Harvey Weinstein pressed Jarmusch to cut his 1995 western Dead Man, the director stuck to his guns – later claiming that his refusal had resulted in the film being half-heartedly promoted on release.” (Post K)

“Jarmusch’s unique sensibility doesn’t always appeal to the market. It took seven years to finance Only Lovers Left Alive, with the film finding no takers in the US. In the end, the project was adopted by European producers, Reinhard Brundig in Germany and British veteran Jeremy Thomas. Thomas sees individualists like Jarmusch as an endangered species. "He’s one of the great American independent film-makers – he’s the last of the line. People are not coming through like that any more,” he said.” (Post K)

“Auteur theory is, unsurprisingly, anathema. “I put 'A film by’ as a protection of my rights, but I don’t really believe it. It’s important for me to have a final cut, and I do for every film. So I’m in the editing room every day, I’m the navigator of the ship, but I’m not the captain, I can’t do it without everyone’s equally valuable input. For me it’s phases where I’m very solitary, writing, and then I’m preparing, getting the money, and then I’m with the crew and on a ship and it’s amazing and exhausting and exhilarating, and then I’m alone with the editor again … I’ve said it before, it’s like seduction, wild sex, and then pregnancy in the editing room. That’s how it feels for me.” I tell Jarmusch that I always likened the process to preparing a meal. I see pre-production as listing the ingredients, production as shopping for them, and the pivotal step of post-production as the actual cooking. Jarmusch thinks this over for a moment, his eyes falling back to his empty plate. He stands, abruptly, and extends a big hand beneath a bigger smile: “Cooking is good too, but I prefer sex.” (Post L)

“I will give the Cahiers critics full credit for the original formulation of an idea that reshaped my thinking on the cinema.” (Post M)

“The three premises of auteur theory may be visualised as three concentric circles: the outer circle as technique; the middle circle, personal style; and the inner circle, interior meaning” (Post M)

“…the first premise of auteur theory is the technical competence of a director as a criterion of value. A badly directed or an undirected film has no importance in a critical scale of values, but one can make interesting conversation about the subject, the script, the acting, the color, the photography, the editing, the music, the costumes, the decor, and so forth.” (Post P)

“This creates the illusion that the music is emanating from inside that footage, which feels exactly right. Jarmusch came to prominence in the early 80s, when movies were first being used as tools to sell soundtrack albums, but his were different. Music wasn’t there to shift units; it lived in the fibres of the celluloid.” (Post P)

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