#TRYING TO CONCEIVE THE FACT THAT MY ART HAD BEEN AN INSPIRATION TO OTHERS IS WILD AND IMPOSSIBLE

[blackjackkent]

🕳️- Talk about a research rabbit hole you fell down!

😍- Post one sentence you think is really great.

🎻- Where do you look when you need some inspiration?

(Writing Shop Talk ask meme!)

🕳️- Talk about a research rabbit hole you fell down!

Hmm. I am tbh not one of those writers that does Really Intense Research for fics - yet anyway. XD I have definitely had to start going down some rabbit holes about Calimport in the Forgotten Realms wiki, because I came to the sudden realization as I was writing the most recent chapter of Open Your Eyes that the rest of the fic (more or less) is going to be set there and I know nothing about it. :P

My favorite random search term in recent memory, though, was trying to get a summary of what hamsters eat for purposes of writing A Bond That Needs No Name.

😍- Post one sentence you think is really great.

Hm. I'm already feeling like there's things I could have done better with the first chapter of The Hellraisers, and I might go back to edit it further in the future. But I was rather pleased with this bit of character-establishing for Hector in that chap:

"He is no creature of the Hells; in fact until eight months ago, he was no creature of the world at all. He was a hidden-away thing, a rabbit in its burrow, protected from danger by the high walls and determined isolation of Silverlight Monastery, bastion of the Moonmaiden. Now… after months on the road, fighting horrors he would never have even conceived of before, he hardly recognizes the battered, weary warrior that he has become."

(I know this is three sentences, not one, but whatever. :P )

🎻- Where do you look when you need some inspiration?

Pretty much all my BG3 writing has been very strongly inspired by prompts and/or other people's art here on Tumblr. :D Or, honestly, just sitting and watching clips from the game itself; the characters themselves are the big inspiration point for me.

[yr-obedt-cicero]

Do you think Hamilton had a crush on John André?

Honestly, not really. If anything I think Hamilton just idolized him.

Hamilton wrote of Andre saying;

“In one of the visits I made to him (and I saw him several times during his confinement) he begged me to be the bearer of a request to the General for permission, to send an open letter to Sir Henry Clinton. “I foresee my fate (said he) and though I pretend not to play the hero, or to be indifferent about life; yet I am reconciled to whatever may happen, conscious that misfortune, not guilt, has brought it upon me. There is only one thing that disturbs my tranquillity—Sir Henry Clinton has been too good to me; he has been lavish of his kindness. I am bound to him by too many obligations and love him too well to bear the thought, that he should reproach himself, or that others should reproach him, on the supposition of my having conceived myself obliged by his instructions to run the risk I did. I would not for the world leave a sting in his mind, that should embitter his future days.” He could scarce finish the sentence, bursting into tears, in spite of his efforts to suppress them; and with difficulty collected himself enough afterwards to add, “I wish to be permitted to assure him, I did not act under this impression, but submitted to a necessity imposed upon me as contrary to my own inclination as to his orders.” His request was readily complied with, and he wrote the letter annexed, and with which I dare say, you will ⟨be as⟩ much pleased as I am both for the dic⟨tion⟩ and sentiment.”

“There was something singularly interesting in the character and fortunes of André. To an excellent understanding well improved by education and travel, he united a peculiar elegance of mind and manners, and the advantage of a pleasing person. ’Tis said he possessed a pretty taste for the fine arts, and had himself attained some proficiency in poe⟨try,⟩ music and painting. His knowlege appeared without ostentation, and embellished by a diffidence, that rarely accompanies so many talents and accomplishments, which left you to suppose more than appeared. His sentiments were elevated and inspired esteem. they had a softness that conciliated affection. His elocution was handsome; his address easy, polite and insinuating. By his merit he had acquired the unlimited confidence of his general and was making a rapid progress in military rank and reputation. [...] I speak not of André’s conduct in this affair as a Philosophe, but as a man of the world. The authorised maxims and practices of war are the satire of human nature. They countenance almost every species of seduction as well as violence; and the General that can make most traitors in the army of his adversary is frequently most applauded. On this scale we acquit André, while we could not but condemn him, if we were to examine his conduct by the sober rules of philosophy and moral rectitude. It is however a blemish in his fame, that he once intended to prostitute a flag; about this a man of nice honor ought to have had a scruple, but the temptation was great; let his misfortunes cast a veil11 over his error.”

(source — Alexander Hamilton to John Laurens, [October 11, 1780])

Hamilton agreed that Andre's wish to be shot instead of hung was proper and feasible, yet Washington was unmoved. Andre had been apprehended in civilian dress and would be hung as a spy. Hamilton clearly admired Andre a lot with such flowery language, but I wouldn't say his views on Andre were anything unique. Or continuous for that matter, as Andre isn't really brought back up again in Hamilton's writing. In fact, Andre was always quite renowned for his charming conduct and good looks. And the standpoint on his execution was more of a moral one than anything.

And Hamilton wasn't the only one to say Andre did not deserve to be hung, Henry Dearborn wrote in his journal about how sympathetic Andre's conditions were.

And even Benjamin Tallmadge wrote gushingly about Andre;

“I will, however, remark, that for the few days of intimate intercourse I had with him, which was from the time of his being brought back to our head-quarters to the day of his execution, I became so deeply attached to Major Andre, that I can remember no instance where my affections were so fully absorbed in any man. When I saw him swinging under the gibbet, it seemed for a time as if I could not support it. All the spectators seemed to be overwhelmed by the affecting spectacle, and many were suffused in tears. There did not appear to be one hardened or indifferent spectator in all the multitude.”

(source — Memoir Of Colonel Benjamin Tallmadge)

[wings-dingus]

obligatory inverted fate plug!! if you're okay with sprite comics then u should definitely check it out. it's a role swap (but not personality swap!) au based on asriel winning the final fight against frisk and resetting everything back to zero, but things are a bit different this time. papyrus takes a main role once he's introduced, and so does undyne. it has some excellent characterization and i think it really captures the spirit of undertale.

oh yes! i started reading it a while back, got distracted and never finished WHOOPS (ówò);;;

but i DEFINITELY enjoyed the Papyrus from that an Incredible amount. oh so very very much :>

(the only downside is that they've mentioned that gaster from that is never going to be able to come back. i admit i am WEAK lmao i just wanna see the guye doing alright and alive and Not scattered across time and space)

if sprite comics aren't your style, then i have to recommend @askglaspyrus, a fic/ask blog that handles the papyrus is gaster idea in a really interesting way. and also idk if you've read it already, but unexpected guests by @undertalethingems, a comic about papyrus and sans's blasters coming too life, and a great plot that follows, and several of their other aus which also slap.

SCREAMS. unexpected guests is literally The comic ever shdkshdkajdk yeah I've read it already. (i think u can safely assume that I've consumed most gaster blaster au content) undertalethingems is definitely one of my favorite ut content creators out there (and it's only partially because I've noticed we share a WHOLE lot of random headcanons). i love their gb au stuff (all kinds involved) and i LOVE LOVE LOVE how they draw the blasters! I've actually drawn fanart of papyrus's blaster a couple times lol. and their art style in general is so cool i love it! and it's definitely a big inspiration.

i will absolutely check out the glasses papyrus thing, i did a quick check of the blog and i am Interested 👀👀👀👀👀

in my excitement to rec you aus i forgot to tell you how much i love your art style, and how it's been an inspiration on my own! ive been a lot more confident in my lineless art nowadays and it's partially thanks to how cool your art is!

--- !!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA STOOOP UR GONNA KILL ME UR GONNA ACTUALLY JUST END ME RIGHT HERE. 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

i honestly don't know how to accept compliments but AAAAAAAH thank you??! that's so! so sweet to hear!!

[distort-opia]

We have the Batman Who Laughs, but could you imagine if there was the reverse? Like the Joker Who Cant Smile or something. Like instead of batman killing joker and essentially "becoming" him, batman dies and joker "becomes" him. Idk how that would happen i just think that the idea would be cool.

And yes this was inspired by onebadnoodle's drawing

This is such a COOL IDEA, you're right!! That art is amazing, oh my god. I didn't know of it. The Joker Who Can't Laugh. The Unsmiling Joker. Freaking galaxy-brained take right here and I need this in my life very badly.

How would he end up like that though... Hm. Funny thing is, Joker has a canonical tendency to take on different identities, other than Joker, when he thinks Batman is dead. So this falls within a conceivable realm, I just feel it'd take some very specific circumstances for how Bruce dies. If he died on accident or someone else killed him, Joker would more likely hunt them down, destroy everything, kill himself -- he wouldn't change himself. Batman Who Laughs as a concept is a Bruce whose brain has been rewritten to work like Joker's. It's not a combination of them, it's a Batman who agrees with Joker's methods. But what would a Joker who agrees with Batman's methods look like?

Ironically, something like Red Hood, maybe? He'd kill, but with a twisted version of Bruce's code. And if Bruce becomes Batman Who Laughs via him killing Joker, which symbolizes him breaking his one rule irrevocably and going dark -- the opposite for Joker wouldn't be killing Batman, I feel. Or rather, it wouldn’t be that on purpose. If Batman is tempted by the darkness (Joker's "Kill me and become like me"), Joker should be tempted by the light (Bruce's "I can help you"). It's what Snyder and then King have alluded to in other comics: the fact Joker wants to be stopped, that deep down he wishes Bruce would prove him right, that the world does make sense and that there is hope. So, my first instinct for a Joker Who Can't Laugh's backstory is a world in which Bruce managed to help him. Maybe a form of rehabilitation; maybe a trigger made Joker face his past and gain back some of his empathy; but all of it would have Bruce at the center, he'd be the one helping. And within this kind of context, if Joker had a relapse and acted out in some way, killing Bruce by mistake -- that might get him to become a Joker Who Can't Laugh. He'd hate himself (or his Joker identity) enough to change it, and incorporate parts of Batman in it (because with Bruce dead, this is the closest thing he's got left of him). I can entirely see Bruce dying in his arms dramatically and making him swear not to kill himself, but to keep trying to be better in his absence, help himself, help people. And then Joker taking on another identity that's not villainous, but it's certainly not a good guy, either.

Ended up thinking out loud on this one, but yeah!! Loving this concept, thank you for sending this to me! <3

[fresh-prince-of-denmark]

Cyberpunk 2077 Literary Analysis Pt 7: Leave me Alone, Hemingway, You’re Supposed to be Dead

Surprise bitch I bet you thought you’d seen the last of me.

Cyberpunk spoilers ahead!

Cyberpunk meta literary analysis masterpost here 

Okay, so I thought I would be done with this, but it kinda feels like Hemingway has me by the left asscheek and won’t let me go as of late. So here we are: Cyberpunk literature meta-analysis part 7: For Whom the Bell Tolls

Hemingway comes up a few times in Cyberpunk, too many times to ignore. It’s not surprising, really. We know that Johnny is actually a pretty well-read guy from some of his passing comments, and if I had to guess, he’d probably really connect to Hemingway. In fact, if you play Johnny’s ending with Rogue, the final quest is called “For Whom the Bell Tolls” (which is also cool since it keeps the theme of all the missions being song titles, as this is also a Metallica song). But for once, this analysis isn’t entirely about Johnny or V. Hopefully this rings a bell (pun intended), as we’re very explicitly told who else really connected to Hemingway.  

Jackie Wells.

During the quest Heroes, Mama Wells will ask you to go through Jackie’s garage to find something for the ofrenda. One option is a book, For Whom the Bell Tolls by Earnest Hemingway. Misty will comment that he used to read it before a big job, and that it was important to him. If you choose to bring the book for the ofrenda, V will “read from the book” (I put this in quotes because the passage they read has actually been misattributed, it is a Hemingway quote, but not from FWTBT, rather from another of his works titled “Men at War”):

“When you go to war as a boy, you have a great illusion of immortality. Other people get killed, not you... Then, when you are badly wounded the first time, you lose that illusion, and you know it can happen to you.”

The majority of our main characters start out as The Fool, naive and feeling like they’re on top of the world, the kind of hubris that can only come with youth. Yet, like Hemingway says, it takes a bullet to give one a dose of reality.

For Whom the Bell Tolls is a story of war. Our protagonist, Robert Jordan (I’d be really interested to know if Johnny’s birth name, Robert John Linder, was inspired by this), leaves his cushy job as a college instructor in the United States to join the Republican side in the Spanish Civil War. Robert begins the novel fairly bland; he has no real friends, no real family, and he feels completely disconnected from the world. In all honesty, he’s boring. Like, if wet cardboard were a person. He doesn’t really care if he lives or dies, not because he’s a badass, but because he really doesn’t have anything to lose. No passion, no connections, nothing he loves that ties him to this earth despite the fact that he is a man of such strong convictions that he willingly joins this war. Robert is tasked with destroying a bridge, meeting comrades of varying philosophies along the way, who become a kind of found family to him. Despite going out of his way to avoid making connections, he falls in love, not just with the love interest Maria, but with his friends, finally giving him something worth fighting for, something connecting him to this life. The novel concludes as the group finally blow up the bridge (a task done in vain, since the Republican side has ultimately sustained more losses than the Fascists), and Robert is injured. He convinces the others to leave him behind so he can buy them time to escape. The novel ends just as it begins; our protagonist lying in wait in a forest, gun in hand, “heart to the ground,” on a bed of pine needles. (For more on cycles/mirrors/reflections, see here).

While there’s a much larger political message here that could parallel the themes of Cyberpunk, I want to focus more on the philosophical side, as it ties in with my previous analysis much more coherently. The biggest theme of this novel is about how interpersonal relationships are what matter most in this life, which is summarized very nicely by the poem by John Donne which not only lends the novel it’s name, but serves as it’s opening epitaph:

No man is an island,

Entire of itself.

Each is a piece of the continent,

A part of the main.

If a clod be washed away by the sea,

Europe is the less.

As well as if a promontory were.

As well as if a manor of thine own

Or of thine friend's were.

Each man's death diminishes me,

For I am involved in mankind.

Therefore, send not to know

For whom the bell tolls,

It tolls for thee.

This poem and the overall meaning of the book work on two levels. The most obvious is that we all die one day, that mortality is fleeting. But on another level, No man is an island. Our identity is tied within our communities, those that love us, and those we live for. “Therefore, send not to know/For whom the bell tolls/It tolls for thee.” Each time a person dies, a piece of all those who loved them dies with them. Funerals are not just for the deceased, but for us, a chance to bury the pieces of ourselves that died with them. “Each is a piece of the continent/Apart of the main/If a clod be washed away by the sea/Europe is the less.”

Johnny is incredibly similar to Robert Jordan. Despite knowing a lot of people and having a lot of connections, Johnny is not particularly loved, and that feeling is mutual. He even tells V that they are the only person who knows him that that doesn’t hate his guts. Both Robert and Johnny are men who base their morals and identity solely on principal and ideals; standing up for what is right, fighting against oppression, rebellion, but that passion is not borne from interpersonal relationships and connections. It is made of hate of the world, not love of their fellow man. This leads to one of Johnny’s fatal flaws; he did not fear death, because he did not feel as if he had anything to lose. He was consumed and driven by hate, not love, leading to all of his failed relationships. Had Johnny something to lose, he may not have taken all of the stupid the risks he did, acting as if he did not care about his own life.

V, in many ways, parallels Maria, Robert’s love interest in the novel. While Robert salvation lies in the love he has for all of his newfound friends, the main focus is on the love interest, Maria. Here’s an interesting bit of dialogue between Maria and Robert:

"Now, feel. I am thee and thou art me and all of one is the other. And I love thee, oh, I love thee so. Are you not truly one? Canst thou not feel it?"

"Yes," he said, "it is true."

"And feel now. Thou hast no heart but mine."

"Nor any other legs, nor feet, nor of the body."

"But we are different," she said. "I would have us exactly the same."

"You do not mean that." (20.66-71)

In this moment, Robert and Maria are talking about how they feel as if they have fused into the same person, as if they share a body. Yet there is a key difference in how they view their relationship: Maria wishes that they were exactly the same, while Robert states that she doesn’t mean that. Similarly, while Johnny seems to enjoy the growth he and V provide one another, his greatest fear is V/himself being changed into something they are not. Hmmmm….

Johnny and V are very different people by the end of Cyberpunk, finding meaning in relationships just as Robert has. For V, this means Judy, River, Panem, Kerry, Misty, Vik, etc. And for Johnny, this means V, and by extension, all of the people who make up V’s identity through their love and friendship. Despite dying and rising again as lines of code, V is able to finally show Johnny what it means to be human. His journey, I believe, can be accurate summed up by this quote from the novel:

“This was the greatest gift that he had, the talent that fitted him for war; that ability not to ignore but to despise whatever bad ending there could be. This quality was destroyed by too much responsibility for others or the necessity of undertaking something ill planned or badly conceived. For in such things the bad ending, failure, could not be ignored. It was not simply a possibility of harm to one's self, which could be ignored. He knew he himself was nothing, and he knew death was nothing. He knew that truly, as truly as he knew anything. In the last few days he had learned that he himself, with another person, could be everything. But inside himself he knew that this was the exception. That we have had, he thought. In that I have been most fortunate. That was given to me, perhaps, because I never asked for it. That cannot be taken away nor lost. But that is over and done with now on this morning and what there is to do now is our work.”

In addition, Robert’s final conversation with Maria as he is convincing the others to leave him behind so he can buy them time to escape is nearly identical to Johnny and V’s final conversation:

"Listen to this well, rabbit," he said. He knew there was a great hurry and he was sweating very much, but this had to be said and understood. "Thou wilt go now, rabbit. But I go with thee. As long as there is one of us there is both of us. Do you understand?" (43.319)

Here, Robert is telling Maria that because they are the same, only one of them needs to survive in order for them both to live. Compare that to what Johnny tells V:

V: For fucks sake, defend yourself! You’re not even trying!

Johnny: Hmm…sounds kind of familiar. We know that attitude. See, V? Stayin’ with you whether you like it or not.”

This scene is further paralleled by the fact that V crosses a bridge to reach Mikoshi, which is set to be destroyed, just as Robert was tasked with destroying the bridge. Furthermore, in the Suicide ending, the overall theme is about how V “never realized just how many friends they had.” Friends who, in all other endings, were willing to die for V, as losing them meant a piece of themselves dying with them. Similarly, Robert considers killing himself as his friends escape, as the pain of his injury becomes too much to bear. However, he is comforted knowing that his sacrifice will mean that they live, telling himself, "I don't mind this at all now they are away.” Despite now having something to live for, like Johnny, they are still able to brave their deaths as now they have been given meaning. And not just any meaning; love. No longer hate, or rage, or blind idealism. Love. 

This is the overall message of Cyberpunk: maybe you won’t change the world. Maybe you won’t win the war. Maybe your sacrifice isn’t going to change history. Maybe, in the grand scheme of the universe, you don’t matter, and you won’t ever be a legend. But you do matter to the people in your life. No man is an island. We were made to be in each other’s lives, to love one another, to change one another for the better. And that’s what life is all about.

[princess-geek]

Love Lesson

This fic is dedicated to my guardian angel @storyofmychoices. Besides she's a wonderful a writer, she's an incredible human being whose kind and light are endless. I never could thank her enough for what she has been doing for me.

Dear Dani, I know you usually don't read Hunt's fics written by other authors, but I hope you accept this one.

I hope you enjoyed it 😊💕

Choices Book: Red Carpet Diaries (a couple of years after Book 3)

Characters: Thomas Hunt, Miss Taylor (@storyofmychoices ), mentions to Jessica Massena (my RDC MC) and Matt Rodriguez.

Words: 1748

Warnings: none

Notes: English is not my first language. Please, excuse me any typos /or grammatical errors.   

Special thanks to @alj4890 for be by beta reader.

Jessica Massena exclusive pregnancy photos -  The most handsome Hollywood parents to be talk about the challenges of parenthood.

Thomas sighed and poured some more of the expensive scotch in the glass. He has no idea why he was wasting his time reading garbage press. He'll be the baby's godfather. He knew every detail about the issue. All the sacrifices she did to conceive...how the first months of nausea got her down. But now, she was radiant...healthy...happy...with Matt. 

She had woken up his senses and melted his heart unlike any other woman in years. He never actually had confessed his feelings because it was clear like crystal whom her heart belonged to.  For a while, it drove him crazy. Nowadays, he had made peace with his feelings and he came back to his old self. He also recognized that it was nothing more than a crush, a fever of an almost middle-aged man caused by her infectious joy.  Jessica Massena was a closed chapter in his life.

He abandoned the magazine and refocused on his research. A tragic death of a beloved teacher in a shooting at a high school inspired him to approach the question of USA public schools’ problems. He had read tons of news and academic papers about it, but they were too theoretical. He needed to breath that air, step on those dirty floors, hear the sounds. So, he decided to visit some public schools in area.

Since he was invited to speak at a university conference in New York, Thomas decided to visit some schools there too.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Kids and teens. Many. Too many. It was a banal New York school. Perfect.

As he wandered through the corridors, he saw a girl crying, hidden in the corner of lockers. Thomas wanted to do something, but he didn't know what to do or even what to say to calm the girl down. He never had a good way with children.

While Thomas was still distressed in his dilemma, a brunette stopped her hurried march, stepped back, placed a giant coffee cup on the floor and knelt beside the girl.

She gently wiped the girl's tears away. Thomas couldn't hear clearly what they were talking about, but he noticed that the girl calmed down as the woman spoke to her and stroked her hair.

“After class, I promise I'll go with you to talk to the principal. They can't do that and get away with it!”  the brunette promised hugging the girl tightly.

It was the last thing Thomas heard before the bell rings.

With confusion in the crowded corridors, Thomas lost sight of the girl and the brunette. 

The school board recommended him to visit Miss Taylor's class, classroom no.51. It took a while, but he finally found the classroom. Before knocking on the door, Thomas suddenly felt nervous, with a knot in his stomach.

‘In the name of art, Thomas, in the name of art …' he murmured before knocking.

The door opened. Many pairs of expectant eyes looked back at him with curiosity. When the door opened a little more, it revealed the brunette he had seen with the girl.

His eyes fixed on her sweet chestnut for a moment, and, no matter how cliché and cheesy this may be, his heart literally skipped a beat. Thomas felt an inexplicable warmth come to his face. Fortunately, the beard would camouflage his rosy cheeks. Whatever happened in those seconds, it didn't seem to affect the brunette who looked away.

“Is this Miss Taylor’s class?”

“Yes.”

“I have permission from school board to attend your class. I’m…”

“I know who you’re... please come in,” she smiled shyly, “I apologize for not having a seat for you ... the room is at its maximum capacity ... but if you want you can sit at my desk…”

“No way, Miss Taylor! Don’t worry about me. I am going to the back of the room. You won't even notice my presence. Thank you for having me.”

 She just nodded.

“Class, let me introduce you Mr. Hunt. He is a famous director…”

“We watched one of his movies a few weeks ago, didn't we, Miss Taylor?”

“Yes, we did…”

“Mr. Hunt, Miss Taylor is a huge a fan of you…she said she watched all your movies…”

Miss Taylor's cheeks changed to increasingly reddish tones.

“Kids let me finish, please…”

“Is it true that Jessica Massena blow you off?”

“Samantha don’t be nosy! I’m so sorry, Mr. Hunt…they’re well behaves kids. I'm sure this is the excitement speaking for them,”

“I'm not making anything up ... it's in all the magazines!” Samantha protested.

“Miss Taylor is single, and she already has a soft spot for you…You could ask her out!” another girl added.

“Children, you’re crossing the line ... one more inappropriate observation and you are grounded!”

“That’s okay, miss Taylor…they’re just kids.” Thomas said.

“Thank you for understanding, Mr. Hunt...As I was saying, Mr. Hunt will be here at school for some days and attend some classes for research proposals.”

“This is for a new movie?”

“Can we be part of it?”

The students were even more excited.

It took some time for them to calm down, but little by little, Miss Taylor, in a sweet and serene voice, managed to calm them down and refocus their attention on her.

After correcting homework, Miss Taylor started her Math lesson. The way she explained it was truly remarkable…inspiring. She put in those numbers the same passion he had seen in the greatest actresses.

She was very affectionate with the students. One of them was having troubles in understanding an exercise. Miss Taylor explained it once, twice, three times ... always calmly and patiently.

“Very good! I knew you could do this.” Miss Taylor encouraged the student.

Jessica Massena was a consuming fire, but the brunette teacher was warming his soul, a kind of heat that settles on the skin, on the bones and makes us feel good and at peace.

From time to time, when she thought he wasn’t looking, Miss Taylor threw him a discreet shy look. When their eyes locked, she blushed, adjusted her hair nervously and looked away.

Thomas found himself completely mesmerized. In fact, he felt like he was in one of those cheesy movies where the main character is completely lost gazing at the girl, there is a pop romantic ballad playing in the background and the sun shines brighter.

 He didn't notice time passing, delighted to hear and observe her. The bell woke him from the trance.

“Sorry again for the kids... and for and the indiscreet remarks.”

“No need to apologize. It's part of the children's charm ... at least that's what people say.”

“I hope you found our class useful for your research.”

“Yes...thank you for having me...”

There was an awkward silence for a few seconds. Whenever one looked, the other looked away.

“The pleasure was ours. If there is anything that kids or I can do for help...”

He barely heard her, captivated by her natural features. Her lips were two beautiful pink lines. Thomas had never thought of his life being enchanted by a nose, but Miss Taylor's nose was the cutest nose he had ever seen. The director was so distracted that he didn’t notice he was leaning against a desk, which, at some point, gave in to his weight, causing him to lose his balance.

She tried to grab his arm to hold him, but the force of gravity had no mercy and the director ended up falling on the floor dragging Miss Taylor with him who landed on top of him.

Just a couple of inches were separating their lips. “Kiss her!” a voiced shouted in a corner of his head, “Are you crazy, Thomas?” another inner voice replied, “You’ve only known her for a couple of hours ... What would she think of you?”

I must have hit my head very hard... his rational self thought.

“Oh Lord, I’m so sorry, Miss Taylor...Are you okay?”

“Yes...and you? I’m so sorry. I was trying help and my clumsiness got things worse like the usual…”

“No, it was all my fault, Miss Taylor.”

Her perfume. It was not like the expensive signature perfume the women who he usually crossed paths. Her hair smelled like honey and her perfume was soft with hints of flowers.

“Maybe we should get up?”

“Yes, of course, sorry.” Thomas babbled.

She got up first and held out her hand to help him. Thomas declined delicately. A gentleman must help the lady and not the other way around.

However, when he got up, he fell out of balance again, falling once more.

Miss Taylor smiled to avoid laughter.

“You can laugh. This is absolutely ridiculous,” Thomas said, allowing a smile to appear on his lips.

He rose from the ground with as much dignity as possible, shaking the dust and smoothing his blazer. Moved by the instinct of help, Miss Taylor helped him to clean up. At some moment, their fingers touched and grazed each other’s for some seconds. She blushed and took her hand from his arm.

“May I offer you to a coffee? I mean, offer a coffee to you…as an I’m sorry coffee,”

“You don’t have to do it, Mr. Hunt…”

“Just Thomas, please…and I insist…It’d be a pleasure for me.”

“I…I'd love it…”

“Great! Do you recommend any place special?”

“Wait , I can’t…I’m sorry, I promised to help a student after classes…she really needs me today…I’m sorry…”

“She…your students are lucky to have you.”

Miss Taylor blushed. “I’m not that special…I just love what I do…I think you can understand me on that point…You used to be a professor too...and, you know how it is...When we love our job, we don’t just do it...we breathe it.”

Yes, he could understand that. And he was understanding that this he was feeling was something he shouldn’t ignore.

“I’ll come back tomorrow to Mr. Somerset’s classroom. Maybe, after classes tomorrow?”

She smiled.

“Until tomorrow.”

Thomas gently grabbed her hand, taking it to his lips and planting a gentle kiss on it, “I’m counting the minutes. Have a lovely evening, Miss Taylor.”

He made his way out of the classroom, but not resisting to steal some glances of her along the way, which cost him a blow to the shin, courtesy of desk’s iron leg. When he threw a last glance at the doorway, she said:

“Danielle. My name is Danielle.”

[quagmiremarch]

The Lies We Tell to Find Our Truth

New fic for Yuri on Ice Regency Week ( @yoiregencyweek). Cross-posted to AO3. Yuuri Katsuki considered himself a respectable man. Simple, perhaps, from a common family and of no great note in either affect or appearance, but polite and mindful of courtesy. Certainly not the sort of fellow to find himself improper or inclined to rule-breaking. And yet, here he found himself, shoulder-length hair curled and artfully draped as he allowed Mr. Phichit Chulanont, his most trusted acquaintance, to fit him into, of all things, a ball gown, for the purposes of committing a most imprudent and scandalous fraud. All for the sake of saving his family’s good name from his sister’s most willful disregard. It had been her that found the Lord Bin’s carriage disabled along the sea road, and she that chose to bring the unconscious lord and his retainer to the onsen to be tended.  And while Yuuri certainly applauded her kindness, and would most likely have done the same, it was not his ‘uncanny loveliness and kind heart’ that had prompted the elderly lord to issue to the Katsuki family an invitation for Mari and an escort to attend the spring ball where she might ‘find a suitor to raise her to the station that was her due.’ So, why then had it fallen upon Yuuri to prevent shame from befalling his family? Because his sister, while kind, lacked in courtesy and graciousness in the face of societal obligations. Which was the polite way to say that she had taken a single glance at the invitation when it arrived and declared, quite loudly, “I will assuredly not waste a fine evening playing made-up strumpet for a room full of arrogant boot-lickers when there is real work to be done.” And then she had tossed the invitation into the embers of the hearth. Yuuri caught a terrible burn in rescuing it, and a mighty headache trying to explain why Mari had no choice but to accept the invitation. The lord had bequeathed the onsen with accolades, and the Katsukis with an honorary title of no real import or value, but which bore a certain weight of obligation. Mari had responded that should Yuuri care so much for appearances and false niceties then he was most welcome to attend the ball in her place. Though perhaps her wording had been a tad more colorful. Regardless, this is how it came to be that Yuuri found himself bedecked and be-gowned in a likely disastrous attempt to pass himself off as his sister for one night. He’d procured the proper clothing, and Mr. Chulanont had a suspiciously skilled had at the application of hairpins and beauty powders to soften his features to something passingly feminine. Though he suspected ‘uncannily lovely’ beyond his reach.

He had even taken time to learn the roles in the dances he might be expected to know despite the mirth of his mentor in this endeavor. Now, he simply had to get to the proper location, avoid causing any offense, and if lucky speaking at all, and return home without anyone learning of this perfidy.

“Why, Miss Katsuki,” Phichit drawled with a sly grin, “you certainly are a vision.” Then the man frowned and stuck a hand down the front of Yuuri’s grown, adjusting the fabric in place to mimic feminine assets he most assuredly lacked. “There, much better. Shall we?”

With a sigh, Yuuri took Phichit’s arm and let himself be led into the carriage. Already it looked to be a dreadfully long evening ahead.

##

To Yuuri’s great relief, the elder Lord Bin was not in attendance at the ball, a minor ailment keeping him away. Not perhaps that it would much have mattered in the crowded ballroom. Everywhere people moved about like eddies and whorls of bright color, men in dapper suits and tails fluttering from one group of young ladies to another much as bees would traverse a field. Yuuri, in the much simpler attire affordable to him, looked much like a robin among a sky full of blue jays.

He found he did not mind. Being overlooked made his plan of going unnoticed much simpler. Lamentably, he had not accounted for his chaperone disappearing onto the dance floor to leave Yuuri to on his own. Still, he tucked himself away in a corner, a single glass of iced punch at hand, and counted the minutes until he might politely excuse himself.

He’d barely reached seven before the first gentleman approached. Tall and broad of shoulder, the younger Lord Bin looked much as his father must have in his prime, all square lines with the darkest of hair and eyes. Not perhaps to Yuuri’s taste—though he kept his inclinations towards those of his own gender close to his chest – but appealing in a general manner.

“Miss Katsuki,” Lord Bin addressed with what might have been either a deep tilt of his head or the shallowest of bows, “it is a pleasure to find you in attendance. I had thought my father’s claims to your beauty exaggerated, but I see now he had, in fact, rather understated your virtues.”

“Oh.” Yuuri swallowed as he felt the heat creep up his ears. While he’d practiced the dancing and the ways of walking in such binding garments, he’d lacked access to information on the ways of upper class polite small talk, had hoped rather fervently to avoid the need to make any. Now, he found himself at a loss as to the proper response to what seemed a rather forward comment. “Ah. You flatter me to greatly, Lord Bin.” He kept his eyes down and hoped any lack of manners would be forgiven as ignorance due to his lower station and not a complete misunderstanding of the expectations of a woman in such a situation.

“I do no such thing.” He offered his arm. “Might I have this dance?”

Yuuri simply nodded, allowing himself to be escorted onto the floor. He found Lord Bin to be a passable dancer, and the jaunty pace of the Scotch reel left no time or room for words between them. He might, perhaps have feared the conversation to come, had another gentleman not swept him up immediately into the next set.

And so, for some time Yuuri found himself surprisingly more entertained then he had hoped, caught up in the mood and the music, always, it seemed, a new face looking to usher him across the floor, and precious little discussion expected of him beyond the niceties of introductions and polite platitudes.

The break for dinner proved more of a challenge. Yuuri understood that ranking and status determined the proper table at which he should place himself, but had a fair lack of context as to the ranking of most the other guests to use his limited information. Phichit, his absence as chaperone the topic of several comments Yuuri received, remained missing from the gathering and so could not be consulted.

“Do you need assistance, Miss Katsuki?”

Yuuri turned at the words and found himself gazing upon the loveliest man perhaps ever created. Taller than Yuuri, though not by a tremendous amount, his eyes shone blue as the summer seas, and he had hair of so pale a blonde as to shine silver in the lights of the ballroom. A friendly smile danced across the man’s fair features, adding an air of approachability to his noble bearing.

“Miss Katsuki?”

Yuuri started, pulled from his shock and suddenly mortified by his terrible rudeness. “Ah! My apologies. I fear I found myself...lost in thought for a moment.” An atrocious excuse for his blatant staring, but the best Yuuri could manage.

“No need to apologize at all. Might I escort you to a seat?” The man offered an arm.

Yuuri offered a shy smile, skin flushing as he felt the man’s warmth even through the thin silk gloves he’d worn to the ball. “Thank you...” he trailed off, at a loss for how to proceed. He knew not the man’s name, nor rank. He feared addressing him improperly as ‘Mister’ when a ‘Lord’ might be required would cause great offense. He worried even more that this might be some man of great import, a Baron or Earl (or Prince for he certainly looked the part) and that Yuuri’s ignorance of his identity might be just as great an insult.

“Victor, please. Might I be so bold as to have your first name?”

Bold indeed, but caught in that azure gaze Yuuri forgot himself entirely. “Yu-” he coughed, and recovered himself quickly, horrified he had so simply nearly thrown away the whole game. “You may call me Mari.” The words came out low, embarrassed. Even Yuuri knew such familiarity on so brief an acquaintance counted as unseemly and forward to the extreme. And yet, something in Victor’s soft smile and the hand resting firmly upon Yuuri’s own invited such misbehavior.

“Mari,” Victor beamed, smile heart-shaped and bright, “a suitably lovely name for such a beauty as you.”

Yuuri wondered if the aristocratic men were always so flirtatious and forward or if they felt emboldened by Yuuri—Mari’s – lower station. A thing perhaps to ponder, though not a terribly important one. After this one eve he was unlikely to ever see again any of these gentlemen.

Gazing up at the strong line of Victor’s jaw, Yuuri regretted that fact for the first time since he’d conceived of this ridiculous plan. Not that there were any point to longing for further acquaintance. Yuuri had arrived in the guise of a woman; any further meetings would lead only to anger and accusations should his deception be discovered. There simply existed no future for knowing this beautiful Victor. Best not to linger on such thoughts. Once dinner completed, Yuuri might reasonably return home and to his simple, but happy life.

Except that as dinner was served, Victor started speaking. He talked with love and mirth of his darling poodle, of the smell of winter on the sea as his favorite scent, of his love of dance.

Poor Yuuri felt defenseless in the face of these revelations and so shared his own: stories of his own dog, anecdotes about the onsen patrons, a long and passionate tribute to ballet as an art and his own less inspiring studies thereof. To the latter he left out the ridicule his devotion to the art inspired in his local peers. Such a study would seem perfectly appropriate for someone like Mari. Another thing Yuuri envied his sister.

Dinner bled into dancing in Victor’s arms, a waltz followed by a shared moment on the balcony as they each drank in silence side-by-side. In the quiet isolation of that space, bathed in moonlight, Victor looked to the sky as he finally spoke quietly, “You are wonderful company, Mari. Might I call upon you sometime?”

And Yuuri froze, eyes wide. “I--” A drunken laugh interrupted as the balcony doors opened and a much inebriated Phichit stumbled upon them. “Yuuri! Here you are! I--” He stopped, gulped as he took in the other person present.

“Duke Nikiforov. You’re...here. With….Mari. Huh.” Phichit blinked owlishly and then grabbed Yuuri’s wrist. “Well, it is certainly late. We should go. Somewhere. Not here. Very well. Good-bye!”

With that the smaller boy tugged Yuuri back into the crowded ballroom and out the door to their waiting carriage.  One part of Yuuri realized this the best course of action. The rest longed to run back to Victor, to tell him the truth and hope against hope the connection they’d formed remained. A pointless dream, he knew.

But, as he looked back once, catching sight of Victor’s bright hair and strong form chasing after, his heart beat ever faster, and he hoped nonetheless, even after the curtains of the windows blocked his view and the racing horses carried him away from the fantasy and home to the onsen where only lonely reality waited.

[sophisticated-creepy]

Daybreak was bright, crisp, and exhilarating, Lola feeling every fiber of her being humming with excitement as the brisk autumn sun kissed her face. She was inspired and playful, eager to attack the morning as she initiated day one of her research plans. The more she thought about the Hobblin’ Goblin for her story, the more she realized she didn’t know the essentials to his origins. She was completely attached to the idea of him being her “Mr. Goblin”, the imaginary friend and childhood companion, and never dove deeper into why he played his pranks, only that he did, and therefore, negated any notion for further investigation. He simply existed, and her imagination conceived the rest. Even Raphael, she discovered over breakfast, wasn’t fully aware of the iconic legend’s origins, and he was a history Professor.

“I guess I don’t know him as intimately as I thought,” she said, stunned to the awakening of her own ignorance regarding the goblin.

“Don’t feel badly,” Raphael had comforted. “I have no doubt you’ll turn this story of yours into an adventure yet.”

Taking her beloved’s advice to heart, Lola got into the proper mindset for delving into the task of research. Her deadline was fast approaching, and she wanted to make as much headway as possible in gathering her facts before putting pen to paper. Five hundred words held the capability to be irrevocably profound. This challenge was an opportunity to showcase depth instead of fluff, so today was all business, strictly pounding the streets for information, putting in the hard work of sleuthing, deducing, and discovering what exactly made the Hobblin’ Goblin tick.

Since the town was saturated in claims of the goblin’s mischief, Lola decided that she would first get as many personal testimonies from the victims of these pranks as possible. Then, upon more research, she would be able to see what connections in claims could help in unlocking the mystery of the Hobblin’ Goblin, allowing her assignment to look into the character of the people affected by the imp, and give her plot heart. Her own opinions were too biased in a light-hearted, flouncy sort of parody she perceived of the goblin’s personality, and while in some cases that may translate well in a fairytale aspect of playful misdemeanors, Lola wanted substance, something tangible to pull in the judges’ interests. As she gathered enough information, she would know in which direction to craft her words.

One such person she wanted to interview first was her former retail manager Stacy. Lola had spent a sizeable amount of time as an associate of the boutique Lotions and Potions, and had a few experiences of her own in her pocket to pull from if need be, but Stacy swore up and down that the place was actively haunted, sharing her stories daily of what went bump in the night. Stacy tended to lean on the side of over-exaggeration, but Lola wouldn’t discount any leads if the potential to find a nugget of inspiration rested somewhere in the spinning of a yarn, so onwards confidently she marched, notebook in one hand, coffee in the other, and entered the establishment filled with buttermilk and bubble bath.

The familiar chime sounding as she walked through the door brought a smile to her face, however, seeing Stacy on her hands and knees in front of a cabinet of decorative glass bottles had her frowning. A clumping of paper towels and a wastebasket at an elbow told Lola that, at least, nothing dire had happened.

“Do you need some help?” Lola asked, setting her belongings on the checkout counter as she fully entered the store. Stacy glanced up from her position, giving her head a slight shake, crookedly smiling at the former employee.

“You don’t work here anymore, Lola, it’s no longer your job to help clean up spills,” Stacy remarked, carefully scooping up a glob of lavender scented lotion mixed with glass shards.

“That doesn’t mean I can’t help out a friend.” Lola went to get the cleaning supplies on hand stowed in a nearby cabinet drawer for emergencies such as these. She handed the bottle of cleaner to Stacy while she herself took up a broom to gather fly away chunks of glass. “I didn’t mean to catch you at a bad time. What happened?”

“Oh, nothing out of the ordinary,” Stacy sighed, spraying down the ceramic tiled floor, cleaning up the last of the mess. “A bottle of lotion leapt off the shelf is all.”

“Really? That’s wonderful!” Lola grasped the broom tightly to her chest in delight, a beaming smile lighting up her eyes as she turned excitedly to the woman still crawling on the ground.

“Well, you don’t have to sound so excited about it,” Stacy informed. “I mean, product isn’t cheap, you know. I’ll be out of business if things keep flying off my shelves only to have them break on my floor.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Lola frantically apologized. “It’s just…I couldn’t ask for more perfect timing. May I record you?”

“Record me? What…?” Stacy watched flabbergasted as Lola rushed to her purse resting on the checkout counter, rummaging deep within the numerous confines before emerging with a portable tape recorder. Lola immediately rushed back over to her former manager, sliding to her knees, shoving the recorder up close to a bewildered Stacy’s face.

“How did the bottle fly off the shelf? Did you hear a noise prior to it falling, or after? Like, maybe a thumping, dragging sound? Was there an ominous presence before it happened? Did you see a shadow figure? Do you believe this was the work of the Hobblin’ Goblin?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Stacy laughed, rearing back on her haunches, straightening away from Lola’s tape recorder and barrage of strange questions. She couldn’t help but find humor in Lola’s exuberance. “Ease up there, gumshoe. Are you playing detective now, or something?”

“I’m in the middle of an investigation for the creative arts,” Lola declared seriously.

“Sounds important.” Stacy got to her feet, taking with her the wastebasket and cleaning implements, stowing the items behind the main counter, Lola a closely following shadow.

“So, about this incident with the lotion bottle…do you think it was a prank caused by the notoriously reputable Hobblin’ Goblin?” While leaning over the counter, Lola held her tape recorder out to Stacy. “Try to speak slowly and clearly. And enunciate,” she added, demonstrating her instructions in the same manner she wished her friend to speak.

“Why are you asking so many questions about the Hobblin’ Goblin? And why are you using a tape recorder? Do they even make tapes anymore? There is a thing called ‘digital’, you know.”

“First of all Stanley,” Lola began, indicating her tape recorder’s name, “has been with me since the beginning. He was there when I got scared by a bird that one time during an evening stakeout.”

“When did you---?”

“Secondly,” Lola interrupted, “I’m asking these questions because I’m working on a story about the Hobblin’ Goblin. Weird things happen in here all the time, and I wanted to get some of your stories and see if they line up with our local legend and his patterns for hauntings.”

“Well, that makes sense,” Stacy said with a smile. “I’d be glad to talk about the hauntings that happen here. I have plenty of stories to share.”

“Great!” Lola cheered. “Let’s get started with what happened right before I walked in.”

“Oh, that was nothing,” Stacy stated, waving her hand dismissively at the cabinet full of fancy lotions. “That was probably a case in gravity, if I’m honest. The truly weird things come about in the early mornings when I’m trying to get the store ready to open.”

“Tell me about these weird things.” Even with her recorder rolling, Lola still took handwritten notes to capture important details in the moment so as not to miss an idea that could be overlooked when reviewing the tape several hours later.

“For starters, it’s like I’m being watched,” Stacy described. “I can feel eyes on me, observing me, and it’s very unnerving. Sometimes I hear footsteps following behind me, and when I turn around to look, there’s no one there.”

“What kind of footsteps? Is there a limp? Are they heavy set? Quick?”

“More of a gentle shuffling,” Stacy clarified. Lola frowned while marking in her notebook.

“The Hobblin’ Goblin is supposed to walk with a crutch, so his step pattern should be different than ‘normal’ sounding footsteps,” Lola voiced her thought aloud. “Is there anything else out of the ordinary that you can think of? Maybe something that pertains to the goblin himself?”

Stacy thought hard, trying to recall occurrences of the abnormal befalling her boutique. “Sometimes I hear breathing,” she said at last. “And sometimes, things will fly off the shelves. I’ve had the record player cut off on me once or twice as well.”

All of Stacy’s stories sounded more of a casual haunt than specifically that of a trickster, the activity appearing more benign as opposed to mischievous. Lola wanted to stay as open minded and unbiased as possible as she asked her questions to help form her story, but she was honestly hoping for something more lively and extraordinary. “Can you tell me of anything…fun?”

“Fun?” repeated Stacy.

“I mean, has anything…I don’t know…silly…happened in the time you’ve experienced these haunts? The Hobblin’ Goblin is a light hearted trickster, he plays pranks. Do things go missing only to turn up in the most random places? Do the lights flicker as if to say ‘hello’?”

“I had a pen thrown at me,” Stacy shared. “I wouldn’t necessarily call that ‘fun’, but it was the most out of the ordinary incident to have happen to me.”

Lola perked up at hearing the news. “What were you doing when that happened?”

“Actually, I was talking with a customer about the Hobblin’ Goblin a few days ago,” Stacy recalled, the memory of the conversation returning to her mind. “When it happened, I just laughed, figuring he must not have appreciated what it was I had been saying.”

“What did you say?” Lola’s sparkle was back in her eyes as she eagerly listened to what Stacy had to tell.

“I said I thought that he was childish, and that there were a lot more scary things out in the world than an imp who merely liked to play tricks.”

“Oh, Stacy,” Lola admonished, clicking her tongue reprovingly. “That was cruel.”

“How was I being cruel?”

“You said his pranks were childish like it was a bad thing,” Lola pouted. “Goblins are generally mischievous, and you insulted him. I think you might even have gone as far as to hurt his feelings.”

Stacy laughed. “Why am I not surprised that you would defend the Hobblin’ Goblin?” The door chime announced a new arrival walking into the boutique as the friends were sharing a laugh. Stacy looked over Lola’s shoulder to greet the person, smiling friendly as she recognized the mail carrier. “Good morning, Joyce.”

“Good morning, Stacy. Morning, Lola,” the mail woman greeted. “I haven’t seen you in a while, little miss. How’s tricks? Staying out of trouble?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Lola jest. “Hey, Joyce, do you have any stories of being pranked by the Hobblin’ Goblin?” Lola turned her recorder towards the mail woman, prepared to document the newest insights into her subject matter.

“I have no time to deal with pranks,” Joyce stated. “I deliver the mail, and go about my day peacefully. I don’t call upon the Hobblin’ Goblin to play his tricks on me.”

“Meaning, she’s afraid of him,” Stacy snidely commented good humoredly.

“I respect the spirits, Stacy,” Joyce quipped in return with a smile, no malice exchanging between the two friends. “Why are you asking?” she then asked Lola.

“I’m doing research for a story about the goblin, and I wanted him to have some authenticity to his character,” she answered.

“I see. Just be careful where you go poking around,” cautioned Joyce. “You don’t want to inadvertently stir up trouble.”

“Actually, I think she does,” Stacy teased.

“More or less,” Lola agreed. “Thank you for your concern, Joyce. I’ll make sure I’m careful,” she promised.

“You’ve got a good heart, Lola, I’m confident you’ll be safe.” Reaching into her mailbag, she passed a handful of envelopes and a newspaper to Stacy. “You be careful, too.”

“I haven’t done anything wrong,” Stacy defended.

“Yet, but I know you also like to go looking for trouble. Have a nice day, ladies.” With a tip of her hat, and a wink of an eye, Joyce left the boutique.

“I should probably get going, too,” Lola sighed, shutting off her recorder and gathering her belongings. “I was going to see if maybe Mr. Jasons would be interested in sharing some of his stories next. Thanks for letting me bother you.”

“You weren’t bothering me in the slightest,” Stacy assured as she began filing through her mail. “Oh, hey, look at this,” she said, unfolding the newspaper to read. “The old train yard at the Miners Museum made the front page.”

“Neato,” Lola responded automatically, only half listening as she slung her purse over her shoulder, her mind already on her next objective.

“Oh, my God! Someone was attacked!”

“Wait, what?” Stacy’s declaration fully captured Lola’s attention. “What happened?”

Stacy’s eyes furiously scanned the front page, speed reading as much of the information as she could. “The police aren’t sure,” she shared after a breathless pause. “They say a security guard was pushed down while chasing away some kids during the middle of the nightshift rounds. He hit his head on the railway of the old mine train. He has a major concussion and a fractured skull.”

“That’s horrible,” Lola gasped.

“It continues to say that another guard found him in the train yard shortly after he fell. No evidence, however, of the kids, allegedly, playing around the site could be found,” Stacy concluded.

“Poor guy,” Lola sympathized. “Are they sure it was kids mucking about, and that he didn’t just accidently trip?”

“Looks like it,” she validated, continuing to rove the paper. “The second guard states the first guard, the victim, went to go chase away the kids playing by the mineshaft when they saw flashing lights from the security monitors. Here’s a picture of the scene.” Stacy turned the paper around for Lola to see the front page where a photo of the old steam engine and mine were pictured, and with it, just on the outer margins, was the backdrop of the Dead Forest. Lola felt a chill creep down her spine as she looked at the newspaper. Something ominous radiated from the main image, and she squinted critically at the photo, taking the paper to examine the image closer where a shadowed form blending into the tree line, a darker mass of shapes, hovered half-cropped out of frame. The anomaly warranted further investigation, and Lola knew just the person from whom she wanted a second opinion.

“Do you mind if I hang onto this?”

“You can keep it,” Stacy offered. “I don’t read much from the paper anymore.”

“Thanks,” Lola said distantly, her eyes glued on the blurry, pixelated blob. She began to turn and leave when Stacy summoned her back.

“Little witch,” she called. Lola blinked, focusing on Stacy. “Are you planning on flying out of here, or may I have my broom back?”

“Hmm? Oh! My bad,” Lola chuckled, embarrassed. “Sorry about that.” Lola leaned the broomstick she had been holding onto since helping clean up the broken bottle against a cabinet. “I didn’t even realize I’d still been holding it.”

“It’s hard for a witch to hide what comes naturally,” Stacy joked, giving Lola a look that spoke of amusement.

“Thanks for not blowing my cover,” Lola kidded back. “And thanks again for sharing your time and stories with me, I really do appreciate it.”

“Of course. Don’t be a stranger.” The two waved their goodbyes, and Lola stepped out onto the historic cobblestone, once more lost in the picture of her newspaper.

“There’s just something ‘off’ about this picture,” Lola murmured to herself. “I can’t put my finger on it, but I’m hoping Modesta can.” Folding the newspaper back into its original shape, Lola cradled the bundle into the crook of her arm along with her notebook, her coffee in one hand, and set her confident march towards her friend’s shop of Curios and Oddities.

~~~~~~~~~~

[quietepics]

                                       ♡ · 　INTRO.　 * .  II / ?.

                it’s me again !  this time with my other baby ,  mina wang .  she is a  daughter of macaria ,  and very angsty .  angsty lady with angsty problems .  her intro will be in the same format as gigi’s ,  so let’s go !

THE BASICS

name:  wang mina  ( 王米娜 ,  according to google translate ) ,  born wang mingxia ( 王明霞 ) nickname(s):  none ,  please give her one ! birthday:  january 8th, 1998 ethnicity:  asian ( chinese ) birthplace:  shanghai ,  china gender identity:  cis female sexuality:  pansexual / panromantic powers: death precognition by touch mixtape:  where’s my love? / syml ,  let me follow / son lux ,  x / chung ha ,  colorblind / counting crows ,  allerdale hall / fernando velázquez character inspiration:  rogue ( x - men ) ,  the little mermaid ( hans christian andersen’s tales ) ,  edward scissorhands ,  ophelia ( hamlet ) ,  xion ( kingdom hearts ) 

THE MUSE ( warning: animal death )

mina wang never met her biological parents .  according to the girl herself ,  her story begins at a random couple’s doorsteps ,  where the baby was left ,  wrapped around in silky black sheets, right inside a basket .  a single note rested on top of the baby’s tummy ;  it read  “ when time comes ,  call this number ”,   a phone number written right underneath the ominous words .

despite the instructions ,  they called the number right away .  no one answered ,  yet the more minutes they spent with the baby ,  the more mingyu and chunhua wang found themselves starting to care for it .  they’d been trying to conceive a child for quite a while now ,  so why not just raise this baby as their own ?  the next day ,  the baby had her own birth certificate and name .  mingxia wang .

the first couple of years of mingxia’s life were fairly smooth .  the little girl was cherished and loved by her parents ,  and she returned the love they gave her tenfold .  it was a little bit after the girl’s fifth birthday ,  however ,  that her life changed .  one afternoon ,  while playing with the family dog ,  juni ,  the girl was able to foresee the canine’s death .  

it was terrifying to say the least ;  mingxia had no understanding of death, of what it meant, of what it was that she saw .  what she did know was that one day ,  her beloved dog would stop moving ,  and she no longer would be able to caress his gentle fur  ---  as a matter of fact ,  it was by touching the very creature that such a vision came to her .  it was after that day that mingxia started to avoid skin - to - skin contact at all cost ,  and eventually ,  physical touch as a whole .

to her own surprise ,  not to mention her parents’, juni’s death came no more than a week after that fateful day ,  and it was exactly as mingxia had described .  the fact made the girl even more afraid ;  had she killed her own dog without knowing ?  would her own parents be next ?  was this a curse of sorts ?  fearing for their daughter’s health and life ,  mingyu and chunhua did all the research they could ,  only to find nothing  ---  until an idea came to them .

in the very back of a drawer in mingyu’s home office ,  the piece of paper mingxia had the night she was left at her parents’s doorstep was found .  this time ,  however ,  someone answered the phone .  the people of nemean lion heard the family’s tale ,  of their daughter and how frightened she was .  one month later ,  mingxia hugged her parents farewell and left china to move in with the people of nl ,  where she started going by mina ,  a name similar to her own .

MISC.

mina acts a lot stronger than she truly is .  you may think she’s a closed off wallflower upon first contact ,  but the truth is that she’s just a touch starved young woman who’s afraid of getting near people .

can usually be seen in various shades of red and black .  she always covers her whole body ,  except for her face and hair .

she wanted to follow the medical track ,  yet never had the courage to ,  due to the nature of her powers .  therefore ,  she’s in the standard track ,  and fancies herself a painter .  her art is a mixture of stephen mackey and the romanticism movement .

possible connections:  people who she tries to push away but are really insistent on befriending her, since its obvious she needs someone; someone who she had feelings for and returned her feelings but because mina is so afraid of getting close and touching people, she ended things before they even started, basically ghosted them (big what if vibes); someone who’s been in nl for almost as long as she, so they basically grew up together; a best friend who is always there for her; someone who just doesn’t get her / thinks she’s weird af; anything your heart desires !

[moon-in-daylight]

I dont know if you take requests for fics (if not - just ignore it) but just an idea for one - a dhawan!master x reader fic where they learn this fancy coupe dance (ya know space waltz or whatever) they have to perform at some posh important evening as part of some bigger very important plan? I feel like there's so much space for the married-couple-bickering and possibly some sTeAmY moments. Thank you!

Dancing Queen / Dhawan!Master x reader

Summary: The Master tries to teach you how to dance in order to build a cover up for one of his robberies.

Words: 2.2k

A/N: So, first of all, thank you for the request! I’m not used to write them because sometimes I can barely find inspiration to write my own ideas, but it’s okay to send me requests if you feel like it. Just don’t expect them to be written right away, because it will probably take me some time (even though for some reason I wrote this one incredibly fast lol). That being said, I hope this fits the idea you had for this, anon. I know nothing about dancing so apologies if the descriptions of it are a bit unespecific.

When The Master had said he needed your assistance in a very important plan of his, you had immediately agreed to help him.

It wasn’t the first time you took part in one of his heists. Ever since you started to travel inside his TARDIS, he had dragged you into all kinds of chaotic schemes. Like that one time he had asked you to seduce the monarch of a random planet so he could steal his diamond crown, or the time he took you to an art gallery to steal a painting of what you later learned was his home planet.

Truth was you were a bit reluctant to stealing back then, and you would usually refuse whenever he demanded you to take an important role in his robberies, which meant you refused to do anything other than being a distraction or a bait. But with the passing of time you had grown to enjoy the thrill of taking any valuable object and running away with it. You didn’t know why it felt so good, but the adrenaline bumping through your body as you escaped from armed guards, one hand on The Master’s and the other on the loot, was almost addictive. Addictive to the point you were even excited to learn about his new plan and its details.

When he told you the both of you were supposed to take part in an intergalactic dancing contest as a cover up, all your excitement went away.

You had absolutely no sense of rhythm, nor any idea on how to dance the most simple and typical dances of your planet. How were you supposed to learn another planet’s dance?

“Don’t worry, pet.” The Master immediately assured you when he saw the panic look on your face. “I can teach you.”

Now that you stood in the middle of the spaceship where the competition was supposed to take place, all dressed up and waiting for your turn to dance in front of everyone, you were second guessing his plan again.

Well, not his plan, but your ability to pull it off.

You should have practiced more. No one was going to buy that you were a professional dancer, like The Master wanted to make everyone in there believe.

The second you heard your fake alias’ name as they asked you to make your way to the dance floor, you almost felt the need to run away.

As strong as your fear was, you didn’t act on it. You had nowhere to go as you were floating in the middle of a distant galaxy inside a 54th’s century spaceship. And even if you had had a way to escape, you still wouldn’t have dared to abandon The Master. He definitely wouldn’t have liked that and your loyalty for him was too strong to do something like that. So strong that you were willing to make a fool out of yourself in front of every living being on the ship.

With trembling legs you walked to the center of the room, placing yourself in front of your partner in the initial position of the dance. He probably noticed your nervousness, because you could feel his grip on your hip tighten in what seemed to be a reassuring way. Taking a deep breathe and looking into his eyes, you tried to remember the lessons he had gave you.

“This is a very intimate dance.” He had warned you the first time you tried to practice it, in the console room of his TARDIS. “It involves lots of physical contact, that's why it’s banned in some of the most conservative parts of the universe.”

“Won’t that alarm some people then?”

“That’s exactly what we want, love.” The Master gave you a cocky smile. “We need to create a good distraction, to make everyone’s eyes lay on you. Now, get over here.”

Following his command, you stepped closer to him so that he could wrap both of his arms around your waist and bring you even closer to his body. So close that, with your body against his, you could almost feel the beating of his hearts throbbing against your own chest. You weren’t usually this close to him unless you were sharing a bed, and the simple thought of it made you involuntarily blush.

As he guided you through every step, you found yourself more focused on the way his hands held your body and how his face was barely inches away from yours than on the actual task of learning the dance. You hoped he wouldn’t ask you to go over the whole choreography from the start, because you hadn’t been able to memorize a single step.

“Loosen up.” He told you as he easily spun you around, making your back collapse against his chest, lips almost resting on the skin of your neck and sending a shiver down your spine as he spoke. “I know for a fact your hips are nimbler than this.”

“Master!” You reprimanded him, but deep down you were glad that you weren’t facing him so that he couldn’t see the warm tone your cheeks took when hearing his comment.

“When I said I wanted all eyes on you I meant I wanted them to desire you, not point and laugh at you.”

“I’m not doing it that badly!” You tried to defend yourself, even when you knew there were no excuses for your complete lack of fluidity when it came to dancing. “It’s the first time we practice, I will improve.”

“You’d better.”

With a swift move, he made you be face to face with him again.

You were surprised by how easily this was for him, by the way his body moved so gracefully. Judging by his usually harsh behavior, you’d had never imagined that The Master would be that good of a dancer, much less that he would be interested in something so harmonic and well structured, so far from his usual chaos. Giving it a second thought, you supposed that after having lived as long as he had, he had probably had time to learn more things than what you could possibly conceive.

You examined his face carefully as you felt his hot breathing hitting against your skin. His big brown eyes on you were especially distracting, and for a second you forgot about everything other than your desire to close the little distance between the two of you and smash your lips against his.

But the moment didn’t last long as his hands tried to guide you through the next step without warning. If it hadn't been for his strong grip on you, you would have certainly fallen to the floor as you tripped over your own feet.

But luckily, The Master stopped your falling as he effortlessly held you in his arms, making it look as if you practically didn't weight a thing. With a surprising ease, he brought you closer to his chest once more.

“I never realized you were so clumsy.” He teased you, not even trying to conceal the amused smirk that had formed in his face.

“Why don’t you get another dancing partner then?” You snapped as you got rid of his grip on you and tried to put some distance between the two of you. “I already know I’m bad at this! I don’t need your constant reminder!”

He didn’t waste a second before pulling you closer to him again, making you involuntarily squirm. Placing a gentle kiss on the crook of your neck, he chuckled.

“It’s okay, pet.” He whispered into your ear, making your skin rise in goosebumps. “Luckily for you, I’m a good teacher. A few more tries and this will be second nature to you.”

For the sake of his plan, you hoped he was right.

But you still had your doubts now as the both of you were dancing in that room full of people, his hands all over your body as he skillfully guided your every step.

You tried not to think too much and let yourself loosen up to the sound of the music and the feeling of The Master’s body against yours. If you started to overthink what you were doing, you would probably hesitate in your steps and mess everything up.

This definitely wasn’t the moment for that.

With his arms wrapped around you, it was easy to pretend it was just the two of you in that room. And that made things easier. It made you feel confident enough to perform the movements The Master had methodically taught you without any major complication.

As your body grinded against his, you found yourself having fun dancing, something you had never believed to be possible unless you were especially drunk and had lost all sense of dignity.

“Look at you, love…” His low tone made your heart race faster, but you didn’t let that distract you from what you were doing. “Such a good pet… I’m sure half of this ship would kill to be in my position right now…”

You didn’t hold back the smirk his comment brought to your face. Seeing that he was having fun with that situation too made you gain even more confidence as you went through the final steps of the dance, trapping his lips with yours in a passionate kiss as the music ended.

Neither of you pulled away for several seconds as everyone intensely clapped at you.

Damn, for a second you almost thought you wouldn’t have to actually steal the prize after all. Maybe you could even win that stupid competition.

Taking your hand, The Master guided you out of the dancing floor and through the people as they set their attention on the next couple. You silently followed his lead until you realized he was walking you towards his TARDIS.

“Wait, where are we going?” You asked as soon as you crossed his TARDIS’ doors and were sure no one could hear you. “Aren’t we supposed to steal something?”

“Oh, I already did that.” He assured you with a playful smile, walking to the console and setting new coordinates.

“What? When?”

“About fifteen minutes ago.” He shrugged, not giving it much importance. “I was expecting more security, to be honest. It has been so easy that it is actually disappointing…”

“Then why did we stay for the whole dancing thing?!” You asked in confusion.

“You’ve practiced so much for this, pet!” He knowingly laughed. “I just couldn’t tell you it had been all for nothing!”

“You’re the absolute worst.” You shook your head in disbelief. Ignoring his chuckle, you sat on one of the couches of his TARDIS so you could take off the uncomfortable heels you were wearing.

After setting the TARDIS on autopilot, he got closer to where you were and sat beside you.

“Don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy being the center of attention.” He took your hand in his and took it to his mouth to place a kiss on the back of it. “I know you did.”

He was right, and even if he hadn’t been, you wouldn’t have been able to pretend to be mad at him when he was being so sweet. Giving him a shy smile, you looked into his eyes.

“So where is it?” You asked. “What was that thing you wanted to steal so bad?”

“Close your eyes.”

Doing as you were told, you closed your eyelids. He hadn’t told you what you were supposed to steal this time, and you hadn’t asked either as you didn’t want to come out as nosy. You trusted The Master with your life, and you knew he must have had a reason to hide that information from you.

Still, you were tempted to open your eyes before he told you to, curiosity taking over every fiber of your being. You could feel the way he moved around you, and that made you more eager to see what he was doing. Biting the inside of your cheek, you did your best to keep your cool and wait for his permission.

“You can open your eyes now.” His voice informed you after what felt like hours.

As soon as you opened your eyes again, you found yourself looking at your own reflection. On the top of your head now laid a crown made of diamonds, almost identical to the one he had. Taking it off you started to examine the expensive object.

“These two are the only ones of their kind in the whole universe. Unique, meant to be together.” He explained, putting his own crown right beside yours so you could inspect it. “Sort of like you and me.”

You smiled as you watched the two crowns together, your heart warming at the sweet gesture he had had with you. You couldn’t find words to express your gratitude as you watch him put on his crown and then take yours from your hands and place it again on top of your head.

“You’re my queen.” He assured you. “The whole universe needs to know that. And now they can see it.”

Still grinning like a teenager, you leant in to kiss him once more, heart bumping in your chest. He gladly kissed you back as he placed his hands around you once more, guiding your body so that you were sitting on his lap.

“Thank you so much, Master.” You muttered happily in between kisses. “I love it.”

[thecriticalbuck]

Why I Wanted To Try Being an Amateur Movie Critic

Hello everyone! This is the Critical Buck (great name, I know right?). I am a movie enthusiast who's decided to try his hand at amateur film criticism. Why you ask? I'm glad you're so interested.

The first movie I ever remember “liking” was the 2002 Sam Raimi film Spider-Man. While I cannot recall seeing the movie in theaters, as I would have been just under five years old at the time of release, I do remember the movie playing constantly in the apartment I grew up in. Luckily, my father was just as happy to watch the movie with me anytime I wanted, as he loved it as much as I did, and my mother fell in love with the character of Peter Parker enough to tolerate the movie’s constant presence. Everything about that movie just worked so well for me at that age. It was serious enough to feel dramatic and “grown up”, yet was stylized to capture its comic book roots that made colors pop and dialogue simple but memorable. Performances were the perfect balance of emotional and over-the-top fun, particularly Willem Dafoe’s turn as Norman Osborne/The Green Goblin, who remains one of my favorite villain performances in the superhero genre. It was action packed, awkwardly funny, and most of all, epic. It was the perfect storm of a movie for a young kid like me. I was such as a fan, I got a poster of a shot from the movie, signed by Spider-Man himself. By Spider-Man himself, of course, I mean whatever guy could fit in the generic Spidey costume at the comic sale I got the poster from. But I didn’t care, it was Spider-Man. And quite frankly, I still don’t care, evidenced by the fact the poster still hangs on my wall to this day.

From that point forward, movies became a constant interest throughout my childhood. My dad’s easy distraction for me on days off from school was putting on any Star Wars movie. I would read the TV Guide magazine to look for any movies I hadn’t seen yet but had heard about from my dad, and then eagerly await the chance to watch them. Both my parents would tell me the stories of movies I shouldn’t have been watching yet, like my dad telling me A Nightmare on Elm Street or my mom telling me Child’s Play as scary “campfire” stories. As a kid, I came up with and drew my own superheroes, inspired by my greatest hero Spider-Man, thinking up all the crazy and fun stories I could. And while I grew and began high school, meeting plenty of other people who had similar experiences as me, I gradually learned that the passion and interest was in more than the ideas of these stories, it was in the medium as well. I didn’t just love superheroes, I loved superhero films. I didn’t just enjoy watching movies because that’s what kids did, I enjoyed them because they gave me new ideas, they taught me new concepts and virtues, and they made me think about what made the stories work so well.

It took me years to learn that those childhood memories and experiences translated to a love for cinema, for the art of filmmaking as a means to tell impactful, meaningful and entertaining stories. And like any person interested in movies, I pondered what I would be in the world of cinema, what I could offer to the art form. My own attempts at becoming part of the filmmaking process, despite my interest, have been few and far between, and inconsistent in quality at best. A friend and I tried conceiving and writing a comic book series in high school, utilizing all the creativity we had to draft interesting characters and stories. Long story short, we were woefully unprepared for the scope of such an endeavor. What else would be expected from a couple of fifteen-to-sixteen year olds with no writing experience?

I was fortunate enough to be able to take a course in screenwriting while I was in college, and I was proud to have finished my first complete draft of a full project: a 10-page short film. Rereading it now, it’s utter garbage, in my humblest opinion (hey, everyone’s a critic, right?). Yet, the entire process of completing the draft gave me the foundation for how to conceive stories and write narratives. Where did that lead me? A number of unfinished drafts, premises, and story ladders buried in a small folder on my computer desktop. Not much to show for, to be honest. But each attempt, each idea, each failure is something new for me to learn from.

And now, in wanting to learn even more about film and my own views regarding film, I'm undertaking a new endeavor: movie criticism. I'm hoping to take a more discerning eye to the movies I watch and enjoy the process of finding the strengths and weaknesses, all the beauty, of filmmaking today.

So, we'll see how it goes!

[rem289]

Q: Why are you writing this post?

A: Because during the Christmas holidays I started to receive attention from the Zootopia fandom which led me to re-discover some concepts that I thought I had made clear, and since this didn’t turn out to be true, I am forced to reiterate them.

Q: What happened?

A: I discovered that someone had reposted, obviously without my consent, an old comic of Aoimotion and mine on reddit, a site I don't like and on which I had already said not to publish my actually and old contents. This repost "reminded" this fandom of my existence, and after this event some people came to ask us questions such as "when Nick and Judy would reappear in our work?" and the like.

You can imagine how much it bothered me, so I went to reddit and wrote to immediately delete the content. Unfortunately, doing this I couldn’t help but notice how the post had become a place to waste insinuations and insults aimed at me and Aoimotion. In particular, the comments of three users stood out: @ggctuk , @owningsuperset7​ and @hammytotherescue

Q: Why did these users get your attention?

A: ggctuk, which I have no idea who they are, have proclaimed themselves as the narrative voice of the events that have taken place between us and the fandom, providing a lot of incomplete and, in the worst case, completely wrong information, about why we left the fandom and about the alleged "abusive behaviors" we had against translators.

Owningsuperset7 spoke about us (like he does every time the occasion presents itself to him), defining us ungrateful towards the fandom "that had fed us". But "fed" in what sense? It seems to me that we have been those who have definitely "eaten" very little… or likes can be monetized, just like the views on youtube, and I didn't know it? Did they break the keyboard in order to put those likes on our works? If it’s so, I'm sorry, but I certainly wasn't the one who pointed the gun at their head to follow my work. Always remember that paying attention to a work is always and only a reader’s choice. No creator has power over these phenomena, we just create and publish, the rest is always an unknown factor. So expressing yourself as a seduced and abandoned lover on an old and free work doesn’t make you a victim, it only makes you ridiculous. Anyway, I know the subject, who had already decided in the past to talk on DeviantArt before I blocked him, and I decided not to tell him anything in that moment, also because, what can you say to a person who clearly has problems that go beyond fandom? Sometimes ignoring is the kindest choice you can make.

Hammytotherescue instead claimed that he and I were friends in the past, before the duo formed by me and aoimotion became toxic. Since I had no memory of this person and I hate when someone alludes to relationships with me that don't exist, I wrote to him privately on Tumblr asking him if he could kindly refresh my memory about this "friendship" he was bragging about.

Q: How did it end?

A: The conversation, which I report below because I, unlike him, have nothing to be ashamed of, is as follows:

As you can see, Hammy never replied to my last message . But in reality the story was not over. A few days ago, in fact, I discover that the user in question "vented" in the post of reddit, not under my comment (so that I received notification of his reply) but in response to another comment that had been left to me. Showing, as always, the incredible maturity of these people.

After reading this comment, I decided to act by reporting the user on reddit, but the answer I received can be summarized as: "since you are a content creator, you deserve insults regardless." In short, a response as useful and smart as the people who gave it to me. So don’t worry Hammy, you won't be banned from reddit because the only braincell shared by you users agrees that defining a toxic and manipulative person is, to quote one of the wise moderators I talked to, "a fairly typical level of criticism". All is well that ends well.

Q: You mentioned "concepts to reiterate". What would they be?

A: Let's start by denying what ggctuk wrote in that reddit's post, given how much popularity his comments have gained.

My split from this fandom started because I simply lost interest in Nick and Judy and preferred to do something else, something of my own. Black Jack gave us the opportunity to invent many original characters and they was those I wanted to work on. We have never worked for ulterior motives other than having fun together. When we recognized that we no longer have anything to give to this universe, we declared it openly and closed this chapter of our "artistic life". This split could take place in a peaceful and calm way, I would have taken my own path and you yours, since it was obvious, since BJ times, that you had very little interest in our original contents. You also reiterated this between the lines of these last comments, so really, I make a terrible effort to understand your logic of contents belonging to your fandom. It's not your fault, don't worry. You have been spoiled by this entrenched habit of creating any anthropomorphic animal and attributing it to your precious and super-nutritive fandom. Once you labeled this attitude at heresy, now everything is fine as long as it helps you keeping this universe going, honestly, I just pity you. However it seems that your obsession with me prevents you from accepting the fact that my life would have continued even without this fandom and that I would have lived very well even without the amount of likes that fanarts could give me. Indeed my life would be even more beautiful if I didn't have to waste time like I am doing now.

Both me and aoimotion together gave you a lot, and in the end we simply got it back. Jack is a prime example: yes, he is a character born from the scratches of Zootopia's artwork, but thanks to our work he has evolved to the point of becoming a completely original character. This fandom has not been able to accept it and until the end has tried to claim him as its own, and even now it can’t accept that we have instead taken him back, and even less can you bear that we are successfully using him in our original works, which is why you insist so much on his "Disney" origin, as if this defines his identity, and for months you have made fun of us saying that we were claiming something that belongs to Disney as our own. Unfortunately, beyond a doodle and a hint of a hypothetical background, Disney has absolutely nothing. Whatever weight you have attributed to "Jack Savage" is only thanks to our work, Disney has nothing to do with your mania and it has nothing to do with everything we've built up over the years. Still, you took our job and stuck it over the "Disney" label, and that was even when Black Jack was long gone, so don’t use that excuse anymore. You even tried to attribute Cynthia to the Disney universe by calling her "Skye", since you are so desperate to keep your fantasies going, and when you had nothing more to say, you said that my art style was "clearly inspired by Disney". Did you think I could condone such an attitude? I suppose these statements derive above all from the certainly very poor culture that you have of the world outside the fandom (or fandoms), however there are artists who WORKED for Disney, who TEACHED drawing techniques at the Disney Academy and who work at own productions with that style, without anyone attributing anything to the major. If you don't believe me, try using the web for something constructive, like doing some in-depth research on the subject.

As for the matter of our alleged abuses on translators, I will only say two things: the translations started because of my naivety, and we prohibited them because the translators abused their role and went out of control, acting as if the comics belonged to them and / or as if there was a special relationship of complicity between me and them. I'm sorry I gave false hopes to these people, unfortunately I didn't have time to realize the misunderstandings that were being created and how our work was being used. There is a clear difference between the fan content and the original content, so now more than even, less our work passes into the hands of others, the better it is for us.

Now let’s analyzing the brilliant messages of Hammy, both on Tumblr and on reddit:

In both cases, what I see is a desperate need to cling to Rem's "pretty" facade while simultaneously demolishing the person behind Aoimotion. These insinuations suggest that the only possible Rem to conceive for your narrow minds is the kind and lovely one, and everything I say and do that does not fall within this definition is the work of aoimotion.

I will never go into detail about the dynamics between me and her, because frankly it’s not your business and I don’t want to give you further ground to cultivate your absurd speculations and your degenerated ideas. If you have decided to treat us as two two-dimensional characters of some fourth category fan fiction born from your fragile minds and then feel disappointed or offended by my attitude or a severe response I can give you, you cannot help but blame yourself and not who is my friend .

But you have to get it into your heads that when you talk about us in a personal way, you refer only on the basis of two web profiles. You don't know us personally and above all you don't know me. Being an extremely reserved person, I always decided to use social networks to share my artistic side or my interests related to entertainment, nothing more, nothing less. "Rem289" has always been only a blog, a showcase on the web, I’ve never attributed a real emotional and above all personal value to it, even before Zootopia. For the rest I prefer to live my personal life off the web. Unfortunately, you have been so careless as to decide to hit my personal sphere, my friendships and my affections. So no, Aoi didn’t take over between you and me, but the person behind Rem289 took over and you paid the consequences.

Still on the subject of aoimotion, it seems that the moment this comment was written on DA has remained particularly impressed: https://www.deviantart.com/comments/1/765376682/4647911119

This great insult, which among other things is attributed to her as if I didn’t think the same (if not worse) about you, has become the new reason why aoimotion is ugly and bad and is the reason why she deserves to be insulted and disparaged at the slightest opportunity, even during a conversation with me in which she’s not involved in any way.

Now, since this term seems to me rather dated to be used as a matter of indignation during your debates, and since I still find it rather ”soft” to use to outline my intolerance towards you, in order to give you another thing to think over, I will give you an attribute which seems more correct to me: you are sick. Confronting you is like talking to someone who has been brainwashed. You are a broken record that always says the same things over and over again. I can't even feel sorry for you, what I feel is just a great sense of unease. (Of course there are people that still participate in this fandom and are perfectly normal, but those are exceptions and they already know we think good of them.)

And it’s precisely your illness that prompted me to dissociate myself so violently from the fandom. Not aoimotion, as you have been saying for months between an insult and another that you address to her because perhaps you are too afraid of me to address them directly to me, which is rather contradictory since I should be the sweet and pretty one of the duo. After all, it's better to treat me like a poor brainless fool who lets herself be manipulated rather than admit that I also have my own ideas and that, you don’t say, you don't like them.

Q: In any case, you have no right to deprive your fans of old content they love so much, you just want to be spiteful! Why did all your old WildeHopps comics disappear from the web?

A: The decision to delete the contents created by me relating to the fandom from my web platforms or those shared with my partner was not born in the least out of spite or "punishment" towards the members of the fandom. It was a decision made to dissociate my name and my current work from fandom, because unfortunately it created difficulties for my image and real difficulties for readers to understand (you can go on and say that if people think your work is still Zootopia-related is not a big deal, but I assure you it is). All that came after, are only and exclusively speculations built on purpose to find the most sinister reasons of why it happened. Publishing content is only an accessory part of the job itself, a percentage of the process. Deciding to publish, not publish or cancel a publication is at the pure expense of the author, and no consumer has the right to impose his will on the creator. I understand that they are perhaps too complex concepts for you, since it’s clear that you are used to measuring the value of things based on the likes they receive, but this current of thought also exists and I hope it will be useful to you someday, in the remote possibility that decide to take moments of deep reflection (which would be more and more useful than tapping your fingers on the keyboard).

(Little curiosity: in the last few weeks we have forwarded about twenty reports to various sites to remove our old contents posted there without our permission. Not only all twenty reports have been accepted, but the contents have all been removed in less than 12 hours from the date of reporting. This is to remind you that if we don’t want our content on the web, we have them removed and it’s the reposters who pay for it, not us.)

Q: Well, however you can't force us not to talk badly about you or aoimotion, in fact, you can't stop us from believing that she's been manipulating you for years. Almost certainly it’s she who is writing this post without your knowledge, isn't it?

A: The people of the web are notoriously lazy and are therefore often uninformed and constipated in developing their own concepts. They spit sentences without even knowing what they’re talking about, they choose "comfortable" truths, such as the fact of attributing to aoimotion every not nice word that comes from me, and when this phenomenon is reflected on real persons, unfortunately it’s quite difficult to manage.

We are attributed with labels, words, concepts, faults, relationships that don’t belong to us and that are difficult to get away from. A simple comment or a wrong statement towards a person can spread like wildfire and end up marking them for life. Needless to say, these conditions often prevent these same people from continuing with their activities, which instead are healthy, in a serene and peaceful way. Even now, instead of drawing, I’m writing this latest post to defend me and my partner from your sick slanders. Those who allow themselves the luxury of damaging the "active personalities" of the web are people who fully enjoy anonymity behind a screen, and often people who have the matter of regulating them (like the reddits moderators, who are a joke at best) limit themselves to considering certain behaviors "ordinary” in the creator / consumer relationship. The mere fact of normalizing certain behaviors doesn’t smooth out the rules of civilized life, makes these "authorities" complicit and therefore only adds a problem. It’s more than evident that some people are not yet able to distinguish the boundary that exists between objective opinion and direct and personal insult, but from people who lose sleep at night because they have been defined as “lunatic” I don’t expect anything less. Who knows what you will do now that I have called you sick.

I conclude with a message to the interested party:

@hammytotherescue​: I don't know how old you are, however, judging by what you write and how you write it and how you act, I deduce that you should not be more than 14-15 years old. Unfortunately I regret to tell you that the fact you are a minor doesn’t mean that you don’t have to take responsibility for your actions, and if you still have doubts about understanding where you have gone wrong I advise you to ask your parents for advice. I gave you the opportunity to confront me but you ran away to cry on a public platform. Hasn't anyone taught you that real life doesn't work like that? If, on the other hand, you are an adult, I sincerely feel sorry for you, I say this from the bottom of my heart.

I know how comfortable it is to hide behind a group or in this case a fandom to vent one's dislikes towards the individual. This time you and your friends have received the same treatment, you have not caught generic appellations addressed to the fandom but I decided to speak to you personally. My only advice is to use this experience to learn how it behaves on the web, and when you have learned it, you could teach it to all your friends, perhaps starting with @owningsuperset7​.

For @ggctuk: I hope you will appreciate my effort in writing this long post, as so the next time you talk about us again, you can use it as a reference to explain how things went 🤗

[karliesbuzzcut]

When art really speaks to you, pt. 1: fans that have their eyes wide open

This was the ask that inspired the following TED talk.. which I think I’m going to divide into 2 or 3 parts, because I don’t want to overwhelm anybody. And by anybody I mean me. I’m a delicate soul. 

I know we keep pointing out how weird/fascinating/worrisome? it is for Kaylors to think T&K are communicating with them through coded messages. And for a while I almost understood where it came from. Taylor does like leaving Easter Eggs in her music videos, Instagram, etc. One, of course, could argue that an Easter Egg is not the same thing as a coded message. Pixar leaves Easter Eggs for past or upcoming movies, not a “I’m stuck in a loveless marriage, please send help” kinda thing. So I’d think the same logic would apply to Taylor... but what do I know. 

Nowadays, I can’t help but think of how basic it actually is? I mean, finding symbols and coincidences is Conspiracy Theory 101. You have triangles, 666, pizza; name the conspiracy and someone will give you a list symbols to look for. And you will find those symbols, whichever they are, and you will ignore all those times you found nothing. 

Our brains are wired to do just that. And all in all, finding patterns it’s a good survival instinct. The problem comes, I think, when we rely on it a little bit too much. When we give our brain way more credit than it deserves, without realising that our brain fucks up a lot. Ignoring that fact is how Conspiracy Theorists are born. And that’s not something I’m just pulling out of my cute little bum. It is believed that an easy way to predict if a person will believe a Conspiracy Theory or not, is to look at how much they rely on their intuition instead of the actual facts.

Back to the point. Looking for patterns is something we have been doing for a long time so, of course, we are going to take that tendency with us when we look at art. And that’s what I want to focus on in this 3 part series (yes, it’s three parts, I’ve decided it).

I’m aware that, in general terms, the Kaylor theory is most similar to theories like Larry and Camren. They all believe there’s a secret and gay love affair that has been oppressed by the music industry. They were born a few years ago, and coincide (sadly, for their followers) also on the lack of recent interactions between the parties involved.

I’ll admit I don’t know that much about Camren or Larry, but from what little I know, the belief of those two ships seems to, mostly, rest on interviews. Being that they were members of the same band, there’s a lot of footage for fans to dissect; to analyse secret brushes of skin and to look for sparks in their eyes. Arriving, then, to the same conclusion, not that “maybe they share a kind of friendship I’m unfamiliar with” or even “maybe they’re sexually attracted to each other because they are, well, humans, but also young and hot, with teenage hormones through the fucking roof”, nope. It’s undying love, period. And other than, Kaylors only having a few videos to work with, the logic is pretty much identical.

Probably it’s because we are talking about Taylor “storyteller” Swift, whose lyrics are famous for being personal, detailed and intimate (and fucking brilliant, if you ask me), that Kaylors base almost all of their current theories on these lyrics. Obviously, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with trying to know Taylor a bit better by paying attention to her lyrics. Quite the opposite. I think it’s a good exercise on empathy to try to understand an artist by analysing their art; matching, maybe, what we know about them: their age, their life’s experiences, their social economic class, etc. Basically anything that could guide us into answering why someone would feel a particular way and what drove them to express it in a certain style. This only becomes a problem when you decide that whatever prior knowledge you had about an artist is suddenly false and you’re going to uncover the truth through your interpretation of their art.

I don’t think I’m revealing new information by saying that art is extremely subjective... that’s the beauty of it, isn’t? Once a piece of art has been released into the world, it adopts a different meaning for each of us. That meaning will mostly reflect our vision of the world, not the artist’s. So, while looking for clues in a piece of art could be super fun, it’s also going to be extremely unreliable.

And not even a new concept at all.

Art (meaning: songs, books, paintings, etc) has conceived many conspiracy theories for hundreds of years. It’s not a Taylor-Swift-Easter-Eggs’ exclusive thing.

So, I went ahead and looked into many of these Pop Culture, art-inspired Conspiracies, because that’s my idea of a fun time. I selected a bunch that, either have some similarities with Kaylor, one way or another, or that I thought were somehow fun.

But that’s going to be all in the second part of this mini-series. I’m sorry I’ve pulled a Shane Dawson and just released an entry that only works as a long ass trailer for what’s to come. I knew I’d get carried away just introducing the subject... and I did. Wow. That’s a lot of text up there, how embarrassing.

Anyway.

I will leave you with this gem (that’s very on-topic, mind you) as an apology for blue-balling you ❤️

[curious-minx]

Heat Lamp vol. [i]

A how-to guide on harnessing the very best light for your under-lit overly priced hovel! In Style!

“Lighting is everything, you goon!” spits Magda Marlene, and, of course, she’s absolutely correct.

“Don’t call me a goon, Magda! I’m trying my best. Have you ever tried shopping around for the best possible lights? Of course not. The challenge of conceiving of wattage and luminosity in the abstract blue light tech etching our basic human retinas will never compete with the likes of you. “ Elroy wipes away the trail of verbiage slipping down his prominent jawline. He attempts to grab at Magda to make her take him seriously, but it was impossible, because after all she is enshrouded in light. She is the kind of bruising overwhelming beauty that is perpetually well lit. Magda has endured a panorama of over stuffed suits of testosterone tossing off a clip of one-liners about her “lighting up a room,” because she had already brightened her entire surrounding vicinity. Light seeping out as far as several stories above and below whatever apartment is lucky enough to grace her presence. You had to alert your local neighboring Vampire’s of someone like Magda coming around. To forget would be akin to a hate crime. 

“I do take pity on you sallow beef man. You are close, so close I can nearly taste your success, but this lack of suitable lighting! This will  be your ruin. That’s what all the Entertainment and Arts are all about-,”

“Yes, the lighting! The wonderful bright, but not too bright lighting. I know Magda. Ugh! I much prefer if we go back to when you would stick to sending me laymen articles on the anatomy of human eyeballs and the latest breakthroughs in light-based therapy, but now all I hear is your dogmatic barking.” 

“You sure do talk a lot for a layman. Why did you want to touch me? Don’t tell me you’re starved for human contact!” 

“Of course not! Don’t be foolish! You know I’m not attracted to you. It’s the only reason why you even bother gracing me with your infernal light. Why won’t you sell some of your light source already?”

“Oh no no no, not this this again. I will have no further discussion about the selling off of my light.” 

“You won’t share your light, you won’t sell your light, but all I ever hear you go on and on about is the importance of light! Don’t you think you’re being a little selfish?” Elroy tries sizing Magda up and all around with his big soulful hazel  brown dopey puppy dog eyes. 

“What is this, ‘on and on’ slander? That’s a complete and total falsity! I barely even talk to you! You asked me to come over and help you pick out a new light. Yet here you stand insulting me and everything I represent. I knew all men were trash! I really wanted a reciprocal  easy going friendship receptacle. Like the ones you see on flashy American sitcoms, but no! Instead you reek of man boy desperation. You are not Easy Elroy, nor are you sleazy enough to warrant a pass. Good day!” And with that Magda leaves Elroy in his room. A room that is painted a banana baby sick off-scrambled eggs shade of yellow that made Elroy think of himself as a “warmed over Simpson” whenever he looks at himself with his overhead lights on. Magda leaves him behind so that she can go attend a life devoid of preening men devoid of any elevated levels of cognitive stimulus. Magda had a strong feeling deep inside that being eaten out by Elroy would feel either like the confectionary sugar clinging to a beater or a cow pondering the universe with a cud.  Magda has bigger prospects to attend such as the purchasing of a new Ultrasonic Television, a television for people too interesting to own a regular television. Now this is a process more grueling than picking out some sort of pathetic LED lights set out to emphasize poor life choices. 

Magda’s candles burn ferociously for the scented perfume wick of her occasional beaux Hillary. Oh sweet sister Hillary.  Magda flips a dizzy spell as she gets behind the wheel of her space craft. In the driver’s seat she grabs and teases pinching caresses onto her sides, hands running underneath her shirt and imagines Hillary’s hazy visage.  Magda turns on The Quick’s Mondo Deco, the album is lodged into the fourth track already, “Hillary.” The porto-phrenetic ASMR zipper crunch! The perfect symmetry of a song making sense for the right woman in the right space and time. Magda wishes she could be some special somebody’s Kim Fowley. She knew she has the making of a Valkyrie companion. Mostly a bottom, but occasionally there’s a switch…a candy striped hypnosis stick being cradled in Magda’s hand turns her space craft into autopilot. The space craft assumes a sensible soaring speed, sharing the sky with all the other avians and sky ships. Magda lands onto the fetid grassless knoll where she finds the manor of Scent Maven Monique. A west coast equivalent of a Hobbit Hole in the Hills. Except instead of a 5,7” English gentleman it is a 5,7” Black American bohemian scientist woman. Magda lights up one of Monique’s Pixie Stix a jolt of nicotine, THC, estrogen, nootropicals, and most importantly caffeine. Cigarettes that don’t make you smell like cigarettes, that don’t make you smell like anything, but a hint, a wink, a whisper, and a prayer of exotic bubblegum. 

A Vaping Assassin is prowling on her rooftop. Antonia, The Daycrawler, of course. A woman so intimidating in strength and beauty that all law officers around the country worship at her talon toes. Lines of swat teams, cops, and military official personally see fit the they get their asses beaten by Antonia’s hand each and every year at The National Cop Christmas Party. Monique is constantly alienating, offending and inspiring everyone she works with, but they usually only send soft assassins like Soy Hands Flannigan or the Detangler. Magda believes that this must be the opening salvo of a new killer regime. 

“Quit your daydreaming Magda Marlene! Are you really about to let me red rover your special number one gal? I am dropping through the ceiling now! Catch ya later!” Antonia is always narrating her actions to her blind brother Donovan who makes glass sculptures for an assassin’s memento. Some assassins keep locks of hair, some assassins keep emails, some assassins bond and indulge their impotent’s brother pop art. The giant blocky neon green rotary telephone with each notch designed with a mysterious suggestion of a dreary person. A lot of guilt trips about being sent to  mental institutions and the occasional rainbow clamshell birth control pill case. All glass blown by the Daycrawler’s blind and naive brother. Monique doesn’t stand a chance! 

“Oh no,” mouths Magda. She’s going to be vaporized by that tall Nordic pillar of mayhem. Quentin Tarantino might as well be hanging himself up here on Monique’s roof turning himself into the human satellite, beaming this impeding cyclone of beautiful woman on beautiful woman violence for all of his cronies to see. “Not today,” mouths Magda. With a flick of her wrist, bracelets of light begin forming and overlapping. Discs of light coursing up and down Magda’s forearm. Magda then hides her arms underneath her long and flowing cherry blossom trench coat. Magda’s light does not instantly light up the rest of Monique’s abode. Antonia is hiding her frustration and she looks around Monique’s mostly spacious and poorly lit living quarters. Seeing only a completely stainless steel coated mini-kitchen and a chest level table top. No chairs. No other furniture or trace of personality. Magda hopes that this cat and mouse game will grow less cheesy and the Daycrawler will soon leave irate and hungry. 

“Aha! You got me good Light Bright. Of course you knew she wasn’t here and distracted me. For such good work I will personally see to killing you myself. I haven’t murdered anyone in over twelve hours. Do you know how rusty an assassin can get in that time? First, I must take a shower. Surely this lab rat has some sort of hose or bucket and pulley system to wash herself?”Antonia begins sizing up the space, trying to squint a bathroom into existence. 

“I believe her bathroom is right next the front door. You must have accidentally passed in when you were getting yourself worked up into this bloodlust.” Magda suddenly feels completely at ease. Yes, she could easily blind and frankly obliterate this toned and blonde killing machine. Doesn’t matter though, because Magda realizes that she has this whole ordeal in her pocket and it’s only a matter of Antonia getting into that shower. Magda goes to raise her fist in conquest but then meets resistance. Antonia’s silent rope snakes! They are giving Magda the world’s most cold blooded group hug. Magda knows she must submit to the plan. She grimaces feeling the ridges of her teeth and wait to unleash her light show. 

////

Antonia has been in the shower for over and hour and half. Magda is only now starting to bruise because the rope snakes have grown lethargic and weak ever since the water started. The rope snakes are clinging on to Magda out of obligation and lethargy. The water stops and a shrill elongated sigh is heard from the bathroom. Antonia, the Daycrawler, emerges from heavy plump clouds of perfumed steam. Magda thinks she can detect a hint of Ceylon Cinnamon and gun smoke, but you can never tell with Monique and her smells. Antonia is a lot drier than you would expect for someone who has ostensibly been bathing for the past two hours and she is wearing an oversized clumsy kimono with her hair wrapped up in a towel. 

“Alright, where is she?” Antonia asks in a voice that is almost saccharine and faint. 

“She’s clearly not here. Let’s revisit the fact that you were going to behead me as a house warming gift. How about instead you rob me of one of my kidneys? They are oozing with glow-stick fluid, but they never stop glowing! Please don’t kill me!” Magda says fully aware that Antonia is not going to kill, at least not while she’s so fresh out of the shower. 

“That’s what I need to talk to her about. I suddenly no longer have my urge to kill! Not you, you, or anyone else ever again!”says Antonia breathless like she is hearing her voice for the first time.

“I thought you were killing out of profession?”

Antonia crouches down and is almost blushing as she asks, “Why are you still on the floor like that? Can’t you not fry us up some rope snake snacks? Or wait! Are you like me and need the sunlight to fully operate?” Antonia begins opening up every window and even trying to create new windows in Monique’s house to let the light in. 

“Fine! I’ll do it! You made me do it!” Magda unleashes her light that sets off as a retina unfriendly supernova. The light charged specifically around her arms were even still lit up and racing to be shot off as blades of light into the nearest surface. 

“See? That’s wasn’t so bad! Why do you get so…so conservative about using your light whenever you’re around me?”

“I don’t want to end up blinding or hurting anyone.” Magda says still on the ground facing onto Monique’s steel plated sterile floors. 

“Even someone who was moments ago trying to kill your friend and you for the thrill of murder?”

“Your an easy target Daycrawler,” Magda gathers herself back up into a standing stance,” You are exactly the type that would change your mind if given half a chance. I still feel like you could plunge your famous ribbon blade into my personal generator… ” Magda trails off realizing that Antonia is no longer listening to her. She is still running her reformed(?) killer’s hands through her honey flaxen unwieldy tower of hair that only a towering murderess could support. 

“That shampoo it’s, it’s going to help a lot of people. I’m waiting to see the catch. Like with her cancer-free candy cigarettes they’re too good to be true, right?”Antonia takes in another long inhalation of her own hair and takes one lock and flecks her tongue only at the tip of the follicle. The one blank wall inside Monique’s apartment spins around revealing Monique on the other side who steps up and says without missing a beat:

“They’re called Pixie Stix!” Monique fully emerges from her illusion wall hiding the hint of a laboratory.  She lights up a Pixie stick of her own which begins flooding the spartan space. Who needs furniture when you bask in a smell this sweet? Magda lets her guard down and lights up the rest of the space turning the formerly drab and empty hovel into a chic and spacious boutique. “Lighting!” Continues Monique, “With the right lights and an overwhelming pungent odor reveals the path to an enveloping inner peace. No matter how small or unfashionable your home or hovel happens to be there could possibly be an outlet for a chosen few people that the three of us could use to build our own society or something?” Monique turns on music by malodorous mall core cyborg nu metal pop band called Neon Betty Degenerates. Antonia goes over to Monique and gently forces Monique’s bangled and gloved clammy hand into a boisterous hand shake. A Kashmir blossom shaped pin attached to Monique’s vegan leather newsboy cap opens up and contracts. The blossom is spraying out a mist invisible to the human eyes, directed into Antonia’s face. Antonia then immediately releases Monique and she turns away from the gangly scientist, she unravels the towel from her hair and starts sprinting outside of Monique’s house. Antonia begins climbing up the lone ancient hundreds of feet tall redwood tree watching over Monique’s property. Antonia climbs up to the tree in record time, she is nothing but a blur of momentum and rustling branches. Antonia, the Daycrawler, jumps out into the sky with the grace of a flying squirrel leaving her nest, and she’s reached enough height so that she can use the heel of her shoe to write, “I’m sorry! <3 I will work on respecting your personal space” in a cloud-based font. 

Magda turns to Monique who has completely flipped open her furtive laboratory, revealing the glow of scent analysis technology calling out to Magda begging her to crank up the wattage. Before submerging back into her lab, Monique turns to Magda and tells her, “Antonia is seemingly the only person my Perfumed Personality is working on. Do you think that will be enough?” Monique directs this question more to the ether than to anyone in particular. 

“Looks like it’s really working on her though. Oh right, before you leave. I am going through this really tough crush on someone and was hoping that you’d have some-“ Magda stops talking. Monique enters her lab leaving Magda behind in the empty kitchen and the lingering vapors of the ethical strawberry and lavender pacifist shampoo. Magda knows that she probably won’t see Monique emerge back out from her work for another two weeks at the latest. Magda shivers and steps outside and all of her pent up light energy continues bursting forth from her navel, banners of light shooting from her forehead, spotlights dancing out of each of her fingertips. Magda’s light even causes the clouds that Antonia used as calligraphy to break into a sweat. The extreme daylight and the small patch of rain causes a family of foxes to burst forth from out of the ground and carry on a quick and sweet wedding. Magda climbs on top of a dune and watches the wedding ceremony from afar. She remembers Hillary and groans, a sticky and somber sound. Magda has her revery broken by the sound of a voice calling from below the dune.

“cOuld yOu pleeze take Our picha, lamp lady? Da lurvely cOupa wOuld be sO grateful!!” The source of the voice is coming from an approaching silver fox who has a slight wobble in his gait. Magda looks at the silver fox further and notices that he also has two plastic and springy legs. Magda not wanting to seem judgmental, sighs and takes the fox’s hefty Kodiak bridge cam and without even taking time to focus the lens takes the picture. The newly wedded couple and the silver fox open up the camera’s finder and look at the results and start panting in approval. They have never seen themselves look so well lit before. 

“Daddy! You must pay this kind lady Beacon mucho ancient coins! I’ve never looked this good!” Magda smiles and shakes her head and puts her hands into her pockets, leaving the foxes behind. She readjusts her trench coat and puts on a large wide-brimmed blackout hat she keeps in a box shaped fanny pack. Even while wearing her light suppression accessories each and every passing streetlamp emits a powerful sphere of light that dims with each of Magda’s passing step. Most of the houses in Magda’s neighborhood are heavily tranquilized and sleeping in deprivation tanks so the dramatic light fluctuations don’t bother most. One overhead apartment pulls back its drapes and an angry shirtless and chiseled man has taken out a mirror and trying to reflect the light back down at the street. The power of the light’s heat creates another pothole into the road, which causes the man to start swearing and yelling incoherently. Magda kneels down onto the empty sidewalk and rubs her palms together causing the street lights to dim back down to their normal level. Magda’s face looks pale and she begins moving at a slower pace.

“Damn…I’m so close. Being mindful of so many people really sucks. I think I’m going to lie down in this pile of moss and maybe I’ll wake up back in my bed.” Magda hums a lullaby to herself and begins folding herself into a ball of fading light. Magda is blacking out.

///

She opens up her eyes as soon as she registers motion. Magda is being carried in somebody’s arms! Magda almost cranks up her internal light furnace but then she smells the tangy coconut cologne of Elroy. 

“What did I tell you about picking up tramps?” Asks Magda with a yawn. “Put me down you goon!” Elroy immediately does so and gives Magda her space.

“Of course, I’m sorry Magda. I was out scouting shoot locations for a new headshot this week and saw your abandoned space craft on the side of road. Knowing you as well as I do I had a feeling that you were probably enjoying one of your unnecessary sojourns. Thankfully you left it in one of the bougiest possible neighborhoods so I think you’ll be fine with picking it up tomorrow. I’ll leave you be. Clearly you are wanting some time alone.” Elroy brushes off a twig out of Magda’s hair and starts walking back into his own shabbier Electric Hover Desert Rabbit.  

“Any luck with your lamp search?”asks Magda causing Elroy to stop in his tracks and turn around revealing an excitable grin.

“I found this Ponce de Leon Torchier that promises to age and de-age me based on what kind of bulb I put into it. There’s  this audition for a movie about a man breastfeeding his own child I got. The role comprises of both the child and the father, it’s a student film but the kid directing is supposed to have a real stash of connections.” Chatters Elroy, clearly trying to regain a sense of joviality between him and Magda. 

“I have actually never really bothered playing with light in that way before. How are you so good at online shopping? And here I was about to actually consider giving you a droplet of my very own light” sneers Magda as she enters through the lamp shaded gate of her parent’s compound. 

“What?! Really! Wait Magda I’ll gladly take some of your light off of your hands! Come on, come back!” Magda leaves Elroy behind once again and a roving street sweeper pushes him up the current of streaming sidewalk leading deeper into the Energy District. He calls out to Magda yelling her name as he’s being street swept away. Magda turns copper green with regret with even toying around with the idea of sharing any amount of light. Especially with a total goon like Elroy! The family leopard spotted moth, Sapphire, comes whooshing up to Magda giving her a silky kiss. Magda grins and brushes the silk away from her face and picks up a floating torch, lights it with her finger and tosses it as far as she can throw, which due to the pent up hormonal surging emotional cycle Hillary has gotten Mega into, turns out to be quite far. Sapphire flap flap flaps her wings into a column of speed and chases after the floating torch. The outside ladder leading to her room has been rolled up. 

“Because of course!” Sighs Magda as she slips off her cycling light up shoes, the tongue of her shoes light up with a balloon showcasing the amount of miles Magda has walked from Monique’s house, nearly fourteen, if only Elroy hadn’t gotten in the way. Inside both of her parents are stationary as always. Wires running from the back of both of their heads so that when they glance over at the door in unison you can see the pulses of light traveling at the same speed from both of their skulls. Magda parents disgust her and she really tries getting up stairs into her room as fast as possible. 

“Magpie! Get your cute little grown ass over here and tell me about this nice young man you’re considering giving up your light to!”

“Journey,” Magda says addressing her mom by her proper name which causes her mom to feign a twinge,”Why must you two always insist on watching the security feed whenever I am coming home. Every. Single. Time. Do you two expect me to be still be living here until either one of you finally burn out? Just so you can always have a little show of someone else’s lives to watch? You’re almost as much as a goon as that ‘boy’ you are referring to. You know him already, that’s Elroy, we’re just friends.”

“See Enterprise? What did I say?” Journey says peering directly into her husband Enterprise’s vacant light producing sockets. 

“Aw dawlin looks like I owe you thirty pulses! I knew I should have betted on our Magpie giving her light away to some respectable enterprising lesbian. You’re donating your light to science right Magpie? That’s why you left today?”

“I am not donating my light to anyone! I am not anyone’s generator ready to be milked and sapped away for all of my worth.”

“Magda you know your light is strong enough that you could be a really successful crime fighter, or you could even be just another lamp builder like your lil brother and sister.” Coos Magda’s father, Enterprise.

“Or, she can be nothing too! Fine by me! Keep on going missy, I can see how much you are burning to get back into your precious room. All I ask is that at some point tonight please help your siblings make some kind of dinner. Your dad and I are going to be all tied up for the rest of the night running double concurrent shifts. Those damn strikers! We don’t need em! Ow ow ugh I’ve got to be quiet and focus.” Journey rubs her temple which emits a spark. 

“Relax my love. This is just a rough patch. Once there is a serum manufactured we’ll be able to import more workers and we can recharge for the next decade. Maybe even more.” Enterprise says this to Journey and they hold each other’s hands not even minding that they are becoming entangled within one another’s connecting wires. Magda hears the quiet scrape scraping of her younger brother and sister’s lamp and neon shop that takes up most of the second floor. Magda ascends up one more floor and reaches her bedroom at the end of a hallway adorned with family portraits. Mainly of her siblings Gidget and Chester selling lamps around the world. See Gidget and Chester in Bali with a lamp made from resurrected coral reefs. There’s a picture of Gidget, Chester and both of her parents soft shoeing on the grave of Thomas Edison. See Gidget defile the Tesla’s tomb. Chester burning an effigy of Musk. There’s one picture of Magda and Sapphire, Magda is only visible as a beam of light. Magda opens up her bedroom and finds Antonia, the Daycrawler waiting for her, suspending herself from the ceiling. Rotating around like a monk’s slimy finger circling around the lip of a singing wine bowl. 

“Hiya there Miss Shiney! I brought you a present!” Antonia says this in her persistently chippier and bubblier voice that has not  subsided since taking her shower with Monique’s personality shifting scented shampoo. Monique raises her right eyelid causing  one of her dimmest overhead lights to come on. The light reveals reveals the sight of a  tied up woman sporting a bouncy pompadour sprawling out across Magda’s bed. Soy Hands Flannigan! 

“What am I supposed to do with an assassin? All I want to do is curl up and shop. God I sound pathetic.” Magda says attempting to hide the  anxiety spiking through the roof of her dome  coursing down to her toes. 

“She knows how you can find Hillary!”

That’s all it took. All Magda needed to hear was her name. The utterance of Magda’s one and only Hillary causes each and every one of Magda’s three hundred and eighty five lights adorning her bedroom to flare out bright beams of all encompassing light. The kind of light that only glows for a woman once thought lost and dead to the world soon to be rediscovered. Maybe, thinks Magda, having a reformed violent and dangerous assassin as a companion wouldn’t be so bad after all. 

[cookiedoughmeagain]

Haven DVD Commentaries: 4.11 - Shot in the Dark

Notes on the DVD Commentary by Nick Parker (Writer for the episode) and Brian Millikin (also a writer on Haven). In which both men talk at a gazillion miles an hour and with much enthusiasm throughout the whole episode. And we learn that the Darkside Seekers are partially inspired by Supernatural’s Ghostfacers. And all kinds of other fun facts.

Both Brian and Nick were previously script co-ordinators for Haven (“the most junior member of the writing staff”) and this is Nick Parker’s first ever episode of TV he’s written. NP is really modest about his writing throughout, balanced out by BM being very enthusiastic about how well written it is and what a great episode it is. And they are both so enthusiastic in general and have so much to say, I love them.

[I haven’t necessarily quoted everything word for word and I have paraphrased sometimes. And they refer to all the full names of the guest actors and the director etc. but I haven’t put the names in (except the ones I already know) because I didn’t stop to figure out how to spell them because … I am lazy :p]

NP: We got to do something really fun here with this hand-held camera, found-footage look. Both Brian and I are big fans of X-Files and one of my favourite episodes was X Cops ... and one of my favourite television writers wrote a couple of episodes of Supernatural called Ghostfacers in this kind of style. And I always thought those were really cool episodes and break the mould of the show a little bit and particularly in this case allow for outsiders to come in and comment on Haven. BM: The found-footage documentary crew thing was something from the get-go that we were always going to try to do at some point in the series. [Brief interlude while they laugh at Seth falling over the pile of trash :) ] And my favourite thing about it is how funny it is. This is not only the funniest episode of the season, but is crucial to the season because it has been so dark that we knew that we needed (particularly before epsiodes 12 and 13 which are like a two-part season finale) a little bit of levity. And because our characters have so much going on, you sort of need that to come from guest characters. And this is easily the funniest episode of the season and I think one of the funniest ones we’ve ever done. NP: You’re being very sweet. I think a lot of that humour actually comes from our guest cast for this episode. Chris who plays Seth is one of the most talented people I’ve ever met. And he and Danny (who plays Anderson) - Seth and Anderson are named after my two brothers by the way, and I based the back and forth teasing between them on my brothers, because that’s how brothers are - are friends in real life and were able to play the humour really well. BM: I remember when we were casting this episode we reached out to Danny (who is good friends with Shawn Pillar) who was interested in the role, but felt that he was better suited to the cameraman role and suggested Chris for the role of Seth. And it couldn’t have worked out better. NP: It could not have worked out better. When Danny made the suggestion and I watched a movie him and Chris did together called Alter Egos - if you haven’t seen it, go and watch it - and as soon as I saw Chris in that and the style of it and the tone that he brings; this very dry humour .. he was perfect for it. He is more perfect for the role than the version I had in my head when writing it. BM: We so enjoyed Chris in this role that Seth is making a return appearance in season 5. They’re shooting that episode right now and from all reports on set, it’s awesome. He’s doing a great job once again. BM: We always knew from the get-go that there was going to be a lot of found-footage and the camera pov in this. And we just hoped that the director for the episode would be on board with it. You know, you hope that your vision and the director’s vision line up. And as it happens, with the director for this epsiode we got crazy lucky. NP: Yes. She is amazing. It was incredible the way everything came together. In the concept of the script, the original drafting of it, there were all kinds of limitations on the script for a variety of reasons but when we started to get on set and look at locations and I was meeting with the director and everything - it all started to fall into place. I was so impressed by how everything came together; from the casting, to the prop department making Seth and Anderson’s props, to the art department and the sets. It really just came together well.

NP: I love this moment here when Gloria goes to flick Anderson off. The timing of that shot where Seth steps into the frame in front of her took us maybe 5 or 6 takes to get the timing just right, but when we did we knew we had it. That parabolic microphone that Seth has there - there was something wierd about the plastic that whenever it would heat up stank like old vomit. It smelled so bad. So Chris was an amazing sport for holding that. BM: This is a small thing but it’s something we’ve never been able to do before; Adam Copeland looking right into the camera. This is something you never usually want to do, and there’s something unsettling and hilarious about our characters finally being able to look back out at us. It’s great, I love it.

BM: Just boucing back to a line earlier, we had a shoutout to the Haven Herald when Seth is mentioning all the crazy coverup stories and he’s like “How many gas leaks can a town have beofre they just buy new pipes?” and that was a line I had always wanted to work in. BM: Yeah and we need to throw in those types of lines once in a while to add some level of groundedness. Because while this is fiction, it is set in the real world. BM: This is the first episode since Fraudrey in season two where we have the outside world arriving in Haven and threatening to expose it. Which is something we always talk about and which is why Vince and Dave - and even Dwight when he was the cleaner - do what they do. And I love it like in this episode when we can make it more than just an intellectual threat that they are forced to protect the secret that is Haven. NP: Yeah, it puts it in context. BM: And it’s something we talk about in the writers’ room that Haven has been like this, with the Troubles, for hundreds and hundreds of years, but keeping the secret of the town is getting exponentially harder and harder in the 21st century and the information age. You know, when the people who made the Barn at the time I don’t think they expected things like the internet or cell phones. NP: Yeah, Sarah wasn’t having to worry about high-tech recording devices being pointed at her or camera phones carried in people’s pockets. BM: Exactly. We talked about it a ton back when we were doing the pilot and conceived the show, and we all knew that Audrey Parker - Emily Rose Audrey Parker - was not the real Audrey Parker, that she had the borrowed memories of a real FBI agent. So one of the questions that we always got was; Why doesn’t anyone try to friend her on Facebook? Why doesn’t anyone google her and look it up? Becuase they would see, clearly, that there is an Audrey Parker and she doesn’t look like Emily Rose, she looks like Kathleen Munroe. And we sort of had to just fly past that for the whole first season and just hope that people didn’t really do that. NP: And I think generally the show has done a good job of cleverly skirting those questions. And I think that’s part of what gives it a bit of a timeless feel, and a feeling that Haven has always been this way. And I think it works well. Ah I love Richard here, playing Vince, he’s amazing. BM: He is so one of our favourites on the show, he is so good. And this [as Vince talks to Audrey in her hospital bed after Nathan and Duke have left to investigate the Trouble] is one of several big emotional scenes about Audrey and who she really is that the two of them have had. There’s that one outside the Gull after he was tortured by Tommy, that was terrific,. There’s that one at the end of season two when she comes to Vince and Dave asking for answers when she’s found out about the existence of Sarah. And now this. And it’s almost like every season we get a chance to have this kind of conversation between the two of them. Because he knows previous versions of her, and here she is beginning to lear more about herself - to learn things now that even he doesn’t know. NP: Yeah, and I think the reason we always end up using him for those scenes - it’s not necessarily a conscious thing - is because he so well represents what Haven is, and the history of Haven. He embodies Haven in an interesting way, and so it just makes sense that it’s always him. BM: Absolutely. And he’s also such a deeply felt actor. He can say a lot without saying anything, which is one of my favourite things about him.

BM: I love how this all looks [as Duke and Nathan confront the Seekers in the warehouse/store room where they are talking to Jemma]. I think this is one of the best directed episodes of Haven that we’ve ever done. They totally nailed it. NP: I was really impressed. It was way better than I could ever have conceived it. And that it all down to the director and the DP Eric Cayla. They did an awesome job. The sequence here after the lights go out, after this was shot, Eric Balfour came over to the director and I and said he thought this sequence was the most dynamic and energetic thing we’d ever shot for the show. NP: There’s one moment here that we buried for Gingersnap fans where Seth repeats the line ‘I think it’s gone’ right before the monster busts through the door. Which is exactly what happens in Gingersnaps so we wanted to bury that for Gingersnaps fans. And there’s the monster, which was a very very nice, and very very tall man in a suit. And this is a very scripted and choreographed sequence to get all this in. We rehearsed it a bunch of times and we were shooting this for the majority of the day. And there’s a couple times where the camera sweeps over the ground [so all you see is darkness] and they would use those moments to match and morph different takes together. So it looks as though it’s one continuous shot but it is actually several different takes stitched together. So we shot several takes of each section, knowing exactly where we were going to sweep to the floor so that we could stitch it all together. And i think it looks great. BM: It does look great. And the director really embraced this approach from the beginning and ran with it. NP: And what I love about her is she’s this really energetic spitfire running about the whole time, so when we were talking about this sequence she’s running up and down the aisles acting like she’s got a gun and everyone else was just trying to keep up with her becasue she was moving so quickly. She was so enthused and really energetic about the entire sequence and I loved it. She was awesome. BM: She’s my hero.

NP: Eric Balfour and Danny [who plays Anderson the cameraman] are good friends in real life so it was nice having them all there together. BM: I could be wrong about this but I don’t think they’ve ever acted on screen together before, despite being really good friends.

NP: So the guy in the suit, is a man in a werewolf costume, which the wardrobe department did a great job of modifying to make it look spooky. And the guy who played that role was probably about 6’10”; he was really tall. And he was so nice to come in because that suit was a lot of plastic and a lot of fur and it was incredibly hot. And he did take after take and was awesome and never complained once.

[As we see Gloria talking to Duke and Nathan in the morgue] BM: I’m jealous that you got to write some Gloria scenes. I didn’t get to do any of that. NP: I love writing for her. And the actor was also in Dawn of the Dead and she is awesome. BM: She was great in Dawn of the Dead. NP: Her energy and her really dry and biting sense of humour is great. And I love the dynamic she has with Duke. They’re kind of oddly flirty, in a way.

[As Dwight is threatening Seth in the corridor outside the morgue] BM: I think Adam Copeland is one of my favourite parts of this episode. He is so good at being frustrated and angry at people. And he seems like he really relishes it. And he is also really good as Dwight, but it’s like with epsiode 9 where he got affected by the paranoia Trouble, where he gets to step out of the usual thing and show some attitude, he dives into it. NP: He nails it. I loved this moment where he’s threatening Seth; I think this is the closest we’ve ever got to representing Adam in his former career as WWE’s Edge. He goes full wrestler on Seth right now. We did a bunch of different takes where he was getting really intense and almost screaming, or a more quiet and controlled threat. But this was a super-fun sequence to shoot, just because we got to see WWE Superstar Edge coming out. BM: Who is in reality the nicest person on the face of the planet. NP: Incredibly nice. BM: I aspire to be more like him one day. NP: That is a goal we should all pursue. He is just a super-nice really good person. And so seeing him act like this is what makes it so terrifying. BM: I would have wet myself. NP: Yes! BM: He is huge. NP: And in incredible shape. I always feel bad that he has to wear this bullet-proof vest all the time, which makes him about 10 degrees hotter than everyone else in every scene. BM: Ardent fans might notice that his vest has changed from the one he was wearing last season. They made one specifically for him; fitted to him and as light as possible but still using bullet proof vest material. Just to give him some relief, even though it is still hot and constricting. [Some back and forth about how hot and humid it can get in Nova Scotia in the summer.]

[As Duke is asking Nathan if he’s OK] NP: So this is the big emotional scene between Duke and Nathan where Nathan reveals his fears about this connection between William and Audrery. BM: Back from when we were first talking about the details of this season, we always knew that was the one where we were going to learn who Audrey really was, and that we were finally going to meet someone who was like her, whatever she is. So that was why we had William in the Barn and he hitched a ride with Lexie to come to Haven and now we’re learning what his ultimate plan is that he wants to turn Audrey back into Mara. But we always knew that we would have Colin Ferguson in the first four episodes, and in episode 9 and 10. And because he’s the Big Bad for the season we knew he’d be in the two-part finale episodes 12 and 13 - and that left out episode 11 which we did not have Colin Ferguson for. And yet he is the main topic of conversation for the episode. NP: Which worked out interestingly. It was a restriction that we knew about and it made things difficult at first but in the end we were able to talk directly about what he was doing. BM: It kind of allowed our characters some space, which we don’t often have, to talk about what’s going on. And how they feel about what’s going on. NP: And the same is true for Jennifer. We only had Emma Lahana for two days of filming for this episode, so that was also a restriction. BM: This location here, the back room of the Haven Herald (which is a real location that we own in the middle of Chester) is the exact same layout as the Gun & Rose diner, which we outfitted this room to be, back when we had Jordan at work. NP: And what a great job the art department did with showing the effects of the rougarou trashing everything. BM: Oh it’s amazing. NP: Every time that I walked onto a set that they had set up as a post-crime scene, I was just blown away. BM: As an example of how good our art department is, when Duke was kneeling down just now [where he found Jennifer’s phone on the floor] there was a golden vase over his shoulder, I’m pretty sure that’s the exact same vase that Dave picked up in 3.12 and knocked Vince out with when they were interrogating Arla. NP: They’re smart about it. BM: They do their jobs well.

[As Duke Dwight and Nathan find the Seekers at their van] NP: So we always knew that we wanted to do this found-footage style, and we knew we wanted to tie that into the Season Four Digital Initiative. So if you happen to follow Haven on Facebook or Twitter you will know that the Darkside Seekers supposedly took over the Haven accounts and were reporting that Haven was this place with this massive cover up and all these supernatural things. BM: And it wasn’t just a few tweets, there was also footage shot for this with Chris and Danny. NP: Yep and it was a lot of fun to be able to do that and tie it in to the episode, which you don’t often see so we were lucky to be able to do that. BM: And we had that pitch from the get go and you were overseeing a lot of that digital stuff. And it was always going to be the Darkside Seekers (though we went through a thousand different names for them before we got that one cleared) and the pitch for that was always that those guys were eventually going to show up on screen in the show in Haven. And it made sense to slot it in to episode 11 because we knew that William wasn’t going to be in this episode so it gave us a bit of a pause for the series arc. NP: Right, and we also needed to build a mouting threat; it needed to be something more than just a normal Trouble of the Week.

NP: Ah Stan the Cop; one of my favourite characters. And Glen who plays him is nice as can be. BM: He’s been around since season one and he’s a bedrock of HPD. NP: Absolutely. Everyone knows Stan. BM: And he has a little bit more to do every year. We love Stan. I’m always wishing that we could do an All Stan episode, but we’ve only got 13 episodes a season and so much other stuff to cover. There’s unfortunately just not enough room. If this was a 22 episode season show, we would absolutely have had a Stan episode. It could have been called Stan the Man, and Stan would be in every scene. And you know, he saves the day and the rest of the characters have no idea what he’s doing. NP: Like that Xander episode [in Buffy] BM: Yep, ‘The Zeppo’

[They discuss the restrictions in terms of actor availability becasue as well as Emma Lahana only being available for two out of the seven days of production, they also only had Emily Rose for a few days becasue she “was also due for a break” because she had been “working like a dog” having been in every scene in episode 10. And also they didn’t have Colin Ferguson, so when we see a glimpse of William in the hospital - that is not Colin.] BM: So there are all these various restrictions and you have to write your scripts within these painted lines that are set out for you. NP: Which is why Chris as Seth ended up with such a big role, and this is one of the biggest guest actor roles we’ve had. It’s good that he’s so good. BM: And it’s not a co-incidence that this has a lot of humour. Not that our cast aren’t often hysterical, but there’s not always a lot of humour just because our characters, after four seasons, are saddled with a lot of emotional baggage and weight. NP: Yeah and the nice thing about a role like this [Seth] is that they can comment on the ridiculousness of the situation. BM: Jennifer and Lexie were examples of the same thing; they were able to bring some of that lightness because they were yet to be weighted down.

[As Seth is telling Dwight how he spent his summers in Haven as a kid] BM: This hill I think is the same spot that William brings Audrey to in 4.09. NP: Yes, I think it’s one of their favourite places to shoot just becasue it has such a beautiful vista and it’s close the production office as well. The prop department did an amazing job building Seth’s equipment here. BM: Everything looks fantastic.

[At the Teagues warehouse where Jennifer is hiding out] NP: This all looks fantastic. We shot a lot of this at this place called the Aspotogan Spa, but if you try and look it up online you’re not going to be able to book tickets for becasue it was this huge multi-million dollar spa idea that they had, up near Chester? BM: Yeah from Chester if you head up eastward up through Hubbards where the Grey Gull is located, around the corner on the tip of that peninsula is this big abandoned structure with parking lots and everything but it’s this half-finished spa that they started building years ago and the economy fell through and they never finished it. NP: It’s actually incredible because the whole thing is built, there’s pools, the windows are in. We filmed in the basement. BM: We filmed there before in 2.08; Friend or Foe. NP: Oh yeah. BM: And we always wanted to go back because inside it was fantastic. And this was the perfect opportunity. NP: But it’s crazy when you go in there, it’s like all of the worker’s just suddenly disappeared. BM: We do a lot of on location filming for Haven … and we could not have possibly built something this big to film in. NP: There are hallways upon hallways and it worked out great because the place was big enough for us to run two units at the same time. Shawn was off with one of these handheld digital cameras with Lucas, Eric and Chris running around the hallways while the main group [Audrey etc] was here. And Eric Cayla, our DP would do a lot of shooting with these handheld cameras, or one of our camera operatives. So they would run around with Danny on their shoulder giving the diagloue, and then they would hand the camera off to Danny and he would do the same thing again for a different take.

BM: I would like to talk about Unstake My Heart for a second, which wound up being extraordinarily important. We always knew that it was going to be. We knew that it would be useful when it turned out to be Fraudrey’s favourite book - oh poor Dwight! NP: Yeah Dwight is knocked out there because Adam had to go do a WWE event. BM: Ha! Amazing! NP: This was a change the day before when we found out that Adam had a chance to go promote Haven at a WWE event. So we wrote him out of the last day. BM: That’s right because the season was about to start airing. So anyway, Unstake my Heart wound up being this important thing that Agent Howard had used, and so here we needed Agent Howard to have left Jennifer something that was going to help her personal journey. And it seems like it’s a magical book but really we always thought of it more that it’s more like a placebo effect that allowed Jennifer to realise some of her capabilities. And this was always how we intended the episode to wrap up, that Jennifer was going to realise a little bit of why she was the target of Williams’ creatures. And sort of end up saving the day as a result (with an assist from Seth). NP: Yes exactly. The guy who plays Sinister does a lot of our stunts and he was Seth in that moment [attacking the monster as Jennifer grabs the book off the floor] knocking the rougarou off his feet. We had so much fun up there saying that word especially with so many French Canadian, they love saying ‘rougarou’; [rougarou in a French accent!] BM: A rougarou if I’m not mistaken is a kind of European werewolf. NP: Yeah, it’s a French werewolf legend, kind of a cousin to the werewolf. Way back in the day I used to play this old role playing game called Werewolf of the Apocalypse, and in that all werewolves call themselves garou and so I suppose ‘le garou’ is what a werewolf is in french. BM: And do they actually eat your hearts? NP: That is a thing that we created for the Haven version, to give them a signature. BM: Like a serial killer calling card.

[As Seth and Andersen get ready to leave and Seth is talking to Nathan] NP: This scene originally was not Nathan saying goodbye, it was Dwight because Dwight had had that moment with Seth before. But because Adam had this great opportunity to go promote the show, we reworked this scene the day before it was going to shoot, to be Nathan instead. BM: That’s crazy. And initially there was also a third Darkside Seeker. There was going to be this host of a reality show and two other guys as his back up. It was crazy because we were initially writing it for (we can’t tell you who) a bigger nam- or I guess a different kind of actor who was going to do the role. He fell through really close to production. NP: Days before. BM: And so we - or rather Nick - streamlined and reconceived the episode and made it just about Seth and Anderson. And it turned out far better. NP: I definitely like this version more. It was always one of those things were I was trying to fit a square peg into a round hole. BM: And the amount of restrictions we had on what we could and couldn’t do and who we could and couldn’t use, was more than I’d ever seen in four seasons of the show. But they say in TV you embrace the limitations, and it’s like why a bottle episode can end up being the best eipsodes. Those are the episodes you do to save money because you’re shooting the whole thing on one set; but they can end up being the best. And it’s the same thing here. This is one of the best epiosdes of the season and in many ways it’s because you had these parameters to work in. NP: That’s very nice of you. But I always think whenever you’re writing with restraints, whether they’re self imposed or due to what you’re working on, you’ll often end up with a better product just becasue you have to focus. Having everything wide open and being able to anything and everything doesn’t always turn out as good as you think it will in your head. BM: Yeah absolutely.

[As we see Jennifer joking about being Hermoine] BM: This is a big moment for me in terms of the Duke/Jennifer relationship which going into the season has always been a big deal for us. And here she is starting to learn that she is more than just Troubled. That there is clearly a major stake in what is going on in Haven tht involves her. It’s not just this book; it’s her. And that is going to come to bear on herself and her relationship with Duke. We had always known where we were going with her character when we introduced her and that it was going to get a little bit heavy in the next episode or two. And we love Jennifer and Duke, and we’re really happy that we earned their relationship.

*cell phone rings* NP: Oops that would be me. BM: That was the Game of Thrones theme? NP: In like old, midi form.

BM: Oh this is so sad with Nathan and Audrey too we knew what was going to happen at the end of the season. We knew what William’s plan was going to be for her. And it’s kind of a bookended season in that we started with introducing Audrey as Lexie and then now we’re going to learn who she really was; the original person.

[As Jennifer tells them about the riddle in the book] BM: How many versions of this cryptic message were there? NP: it’s funny, this was being changed up until the moment that we shot it. And actually Emma was nice enough to do a couple different takes with different versions of what she was saying. BM: There was a lot of debate about this. And that was my favourite version!

[isitgintimeyet]

The Ties That Bind

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Thanks for reading!

Thanks to @mo-nighean-rouge for the beta and support

Chapter 23: A Meddling Matriach

I have more than once observed to Lady Catherine that her charming daughter seemed born to be a duchess, and that the most elevated rank, instead of giving her consequence, would be adorned by her. — These are the kind of little things which please her ladyship, and it is a sort of attention which I conceive myself peculiarly bound to pay. - Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice

The Glasgow office of Fraser and Sons Distillery was located in a solid nineteenth century building, originally designed to showcase the wealth of some Victorian industrialist. There was still an old-fashioned feel to the rooms, even with the state-of-the-art technology housed within.

Jamie’s office was no different. The generous proportions of the room were accentuated by the large pieces of furniture. Dark wooden bookshelves lined one wall. The enormous desk was of the same wood, commanding the centre of the room and two large bottle-green leather chairs were against another wall next to a tall cupboard and side table. The furniture had obviously been in place for many years but it didn’t look old or battered, merely as though it belonged. There were newer additions to the office: a coffee machine in the corner, a large screen on the desk, wireless speaker on the windowsill, but to John, as he looked around waiting for Jamie to return, it always reminded him of an Edwardian gentleman’s club or, at least how he imagined one to be. John knew that in the cupboard next to him there would be several bottles of whisky and Edinburgh crystal glasses. The only things missing from the picture were a haze of cigar smoke and the quiet murmur of elderly gentlemen.

John moved over to the shelves behind Jamie’s desk. He recognised many of the photos, the collection built up over the past couple of years since Jamie took up his current position in the company. There were a few new photos that he had not seen before. A black and white posed portrait of Ian and Jenny with the two children and a formal photo of Jamie and Claire dressed up for Angus’ wedding.

The third photo was a candid close up of Claire, obviously surprised by a sudden gust of wind, laughing as her curls flew around her face, her hands ineffectually trying to calm her hair. John was struck by her sheer...no, not beauty… Claire was beautiful, no doubt, but then so was Geneva… it was, John realised, her vitality, her warmth, her charm. Hard as it was for John to admit, he could see why Jamie was so in love.

“That’s a grand picture, is it no’?”

John had been concentrating so intently on the picture of Claire that he hadn’t heard Jamie enter the office.

“‘Twas taken at Lallybroch the other week. She had been chasin’ Wee Jamie round the garden and I jes’ snapped her.”

John returned the photo to the shelf and joined Jamie on the leather seats, declining the whisky that was offered.

“So,” Jamie continued. “Now ye’ve met Claire, what do ye think? Ye can see why she’s the one?”

“She is pretty special. It was great to meet her.”

“Ye must come round for dinner some night soon.”

“That’d be great… wait, you’re not planning to cook are you? Hopefully, Claire can cook?”

Jamie laughed at his perceived shortcomings. “Aye, weel, a wee bit more than me. She does a mean lasagne.”

“Sounds like she's a keeper.”

“She definitely is and, er, the thing is...er…” Jamie appeared flustered. “John, ye mustna tell anyone this, naybody at all. I want tae marry her. I mean it. This is no’ some fancy. I want tae be wi’ her all the time.”

John was not surprised at this pronouncement, but was unsure of the reason for Jamie’s hesitancy. Based on his observation of Claire and Jamie together, he did not, for one minute, believe that Jamie’s feelings were not returned in full.

“So, have you decided how you’re going to pop the question? Great romantic gesture planned?”

“That’s the thing.” Jamie ran his hands through his ginger curls, forcing them on end. John longed to reach out and straighten them but common sense prevailed and he focussed on the topic in hand.

“I’m no’ goin’ tae propose. No’ jes’ yet anyways. I want tae, but wi’ all that’s goin’ on at the moment, the engagement would get lost in all the other noise. Nah, when I do it, I want the focus tae be on Claire. And I dinna want her tae think I’m doing it tae make meself feel less guilty about the bairn. I want her to ken that I’m doin’ it for the right reasons. Plus there is one more thing…”

“Geneva, I’m guessing.” John knew where this conversation was heading.

Jamie forced a weak smile. Unconsciously, his fingers tapped against his leg. “Aye, Geneva. I do need tae think about how it’d look. Geneva could play the part o’ the wee wronged woman. She’d be all over it, with me as the bastard who dumped a pregnant woman and Claire as a homewrecker. The fact there never was a home tae wreck, she wouldna even consider.”

Having known Geneva for several years, John had no doubt at all. However, he did have deeper concerns than this potential movie-of-the-week scenario. “Jamie,” he began tentatively. “Please, think about this, I’m not an expert in family law, but I can give you the name of a good lawyer who is. Is it not worth consulting him now, find out exactly where you stand, get it all sorted?”

“John, I ken ye’re tryin’ to help but I dinna think we need that. Geneva has her faults, but she wouldna deprive a bairn of its father, if that’s what ye’re thinkin’. And if I have tae tread careful round her for the next few months, that’s what I’ll do. It’ll all work out, ye’ll see. And who knows, mebbe this time next year we’ll be planning a wedding at Lallybroch.”

*************

This time, Jamie made sure there were no last-minute problems. He gave himself extra time for the journey to the hospital, the drinks holder in the car was full of change. Claire, he knew, was in theatre, so there would be no chance of an unscheduled meeting with Geneva.

He actually arrived at the ultrasound reception before Geneva with plenty of time to spare. The selection of waiting room magazines and leaflets didn’t exactly inspire him. He bypassed the ‘Postnatal care of your Perineum’ leaflet, although he did pocket a couple of breastfeeding leaflets for Geneva. He settled down with his phone to wait. A message appeared from Claire wishing him luck. For the scan, he presumed, although, of course, it may have been luck in handling Geneva.

Finally, Geneva arrived. She was still not giving in to pregnancy comfort, dressed today in black spike high-heeled shoes and a figure-hugging dress. Jamie was conscious of eyes, both judging and admiring, following her as she made her way over to him. He wasn't quite sure how that dress would work with the scan - she would perhaps have to take it off, or was that what she had planned?

She kissed him briefly on the cheek and sat beside him, crossing her long, tanned legs. The toe of her patent shoe lightly nudged his shin.

“Are you excited?” she asked, resting her hand on his jacket sleeve. “About finding out the sex, I mean?”

“Are we findin’ out, then?” Jamie shifted in his seat, dislodging her hand. “We havena talked about it. Can we no’ discuss it? Do ye no’ want a surprise?”

“We’re talking about it now, aren’t we?”

“Nah, we’re no’ talkin’ about it… we’re talkin’ about the fact that ye already made the decision. And ye dinna even ask fer ma opinion at all.” Jamie spoke in a whisper, aware that other people in the waiting room were bored and keen for some entertainment.

Geneva lowered her voice a fraction. “My body, my baby, my choice. Besides I need to know to decide on a colour palette for the nursery, and then there’s the printing for the baby shower invitations that Isobel is sorting out... and do you think we should have a gender reveal for family and friends?”

Jamie folded his arms across his chest. “No’ sure why ye ask me. Ye do what ye want. But, let me be clear, I will no’ be hostin’ any parties wi’ ye, gender reveal or no’, nor attendin’ and neither will my family.  I’ve already told ye plainly that there is no ‘we’ and never will be…dinna be thinkin’ I will change ma mind on this.”

“Geneva Dunsany, room three please.”

Silently they gathered their belongings and headed into the ultrasound.

*************

Jamie sat in his car, breathing deeply, trying to stop trembling. Leaning over, he fumbled in the glovebox, pulled out a tissue and ran it across his eyes, trying to process calmly the events of the last thirty minutes.

The first realisation was that Geneva, despite the conversation they had when they last met, hadn’t given up trying to create a ‘Jamie and Geneva’ relationship. She wasn’t stupid but obviously thought that if she pushed hard enough she would get her own way… again. And her own way did not consider his opinions at all.

The second was that she would use any opportunity, including an antenatal appointment, to achieve it. Her knowing glance to Jamie as she pulled her dress up, briefly revealing her black lace panties before the sonographer modestly placed a sheet across her hips confirmed as much.

So far, so predictable.

But the third realisation struck him like a thunderbolt. When he heard the whooshing heartbeat and then the sonographer saying “Good positioning, I can see… it’s a boy,” Jamie absolutely realised that he was going to be a father and he felt a sudden rush of love for that little, blurry, slightly alien image on the screen. And, as much as he smiled at Geneva and offered celebratory words, there was only one person he wanted to share it with.

Jamie checked the time as he pressed the redial button on his phone. Hopefully, the theatre session would not have overrun.

“Claire, Sassenach, are ye around? Can I come and see ye? It’s a boy, Claire. I’m havin’ a son.”

***********

Jamie had a quiet evening in ahead of him. Claire had decreed tonight to be a girls’ night, which meant the opportunity to catch up with Geillis and a couple of other friends. With Frank, she had felt herself slowly becoming alienated from them all. Fortunately the friendships were strong enough to withstand Frank’s isolationist tactics, but Claire was not going to let history repeat itself, no matter how wonderful the man.

And by now, Jamie thought as he idly flicked through the television channels, they would probably be on their second bottle of wine and comparing notes about their respective partners’ faults. Weel, they'll have plenty tae talk about there wi’ me!

The sound of the doorbell roused him from his contemplations, its frequent buzzing conveying a sense of urgency, if not panic. Jamie rushed to open the front door, expecting some emergency to be awaiting him in the door step. It was much worse.

Geneva's mother stood on the doorstep. She had, in her youth, been considered pretty, if not beautiful. Qualities which had attracted and held onto the wealthy landowner William Dunsany. Her prettiness had, over the years, transformed into a hard, majestic facade. Her only link to her glorious youth was the beauty of her much beloved daughter Geneva, who greatly resembled her and who she had always indulged without question. Isobel, who took after her father, had been more of a disappointment.

“Good evening, Louisa. Do ye want tae come in then?” Jamie was taken aback by her appearance at his door but chose to remain polite to minimise the unpleasantness that he presumed was about to head his way.

Without a word, Louisa brushed past Jamie and made her way into the living room.

Settling herself in the middle of the sofa, she began her speech. “You can be at no loss, James, to understand why I’ve come here this evening. Your own conscience must tell you. I believe in frankness, so I’m not going to beat about the bush.”

Jamie’s face assumed a passive air. He decided to let Geneva’s mother have her say without interruption.

“I’m here to remind you of your responsibility towards my daughter. You can’t think to leave her to do everything on her own.”

Jamie’s hands curled into fists, his nails digging into the palms, but still he remained silent.

“Geneva deserves a partner in this, you have an obligation to her. And what about the baby, my grandson? He deserves two parents, needs to be brought up in a normal family. Now...” Her tone softened, as if she was offering him a gift, a solution to his predicament. “Now, I’ve heard you have started a new relationship, and I’m sure she is very nice but you’ve not known her that long and  it would be easier to make the break now than let it run on and hurt her more with a messy split. And remember, you have a history with Geneva.”

Louisa looked round the room. ”At least you’ve had the sense not to let her move in with you. That makes it easier.”

“Her name is Claire, and I’ll thank ye not tae bring her into this. I dinna mean tae upset ye but even if Claire wasna around, Geneva and I wouldna be together, bairn or no’. I agree, this laddie needs two parents and that he will have. I will do my share and when he is a wee bit older and able tae leave his mam, I will look after him here too. We can sort out the arrangements.”

Jamie’s voice was calm and level, in direct contrast to the feelings building up inside him. He was trying to remain fair to Louisa, who, he assumed, was doing what she had always done - made sure Geneva got what Geneva wanted, whether it be the latest toy, another pet… or him.

“I’m no’ goin’ tae explain the reasons why Geneva and I are no’ and willna be together. That’s between her and me. I have said I will support her and I will, I promise ye that, but only as the father of the bairn. And I willna be giving Claire up, I can assure ye. If ye think ye can come here into ma home and make me change ma mind on this, well ye will have had yerself a wasted journey.”

Louisa stood up and moved closer to Jamie. “You have no regard, then, for the

feelings of my daughter? What she must be going through?”

“Louisa, I have nothing further tae sa tae ye. I have told ye the truth. I will not be moved on this. And I resent the fact that ye think ye can tell me what I should or shouldna do. This is no’ all ma fault, so dinna be acting like I’m some sort of … of...”Jamie felt his self control start to slip, his voice beginning to rise in anger. “... evil seducer. I willna change ma mind, no matter what ye say. And ye can go and tell that tae yer daughter too.” “Very well.” Louisa headed to the door, not waiting for Jamie to stand up. “I just hope this woman of yours is worth it.”

And with that she flounced out of his house, slamming the front door behind her.