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the-queen-of-fools · 4 years ago

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Coffee & Cowboys

Chapter 1

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Word Count: 1600 Pairing: Jack ‘Agent Whiskey’ Daniels x English f!Reader (no y/n, no descriptions beyond accent) Rating: Mature (For language and themes. Might become explicit at some point) Warnings: Swearing; slow burn; angst; mentions of death; mentions of afterlife; mentions of alcohol; post-movie; AU

A/N: Slow burn. Meta / self aware-ish. I have no plan. First time writing Whiskey. No idea how often this series will be posted. (I’m English, and I liked the contrast with our ‘Southern charm’-filled cowboy, so the reader is English too…)

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Saturday started like any other. No alarm, so you wake feeling refreshed and ready for the nothing you have planned. A nice long lie in, read for a bit in bed, hot shower, and very comfy clothes. You walk downstairs and into the kitchen as usual, eager to drink the glorious caffeinated nectar of life, when you stop abruptly. There’s a man stood there. His back to you, showing off some rather tight jeans, broad shoulders in a dark denim jacket and what looks like a stetson. Who the fuck wears a stetson? “What the fuck? Who are you? What are you doing in my house?” You yell, as you pick up the first thing you can find in reach - a chopping board. A chopping board? What? He turns around, face slack. You grabs a jar and throw it at him. It flies straight through him and hits the wall behind, glass shattering and coffee spreading everywhere. You’re both just staring now, right where the jar should have stopped on his body. Your eyes meet his, matching expressions of pure shock on your faces.

Uh... no. You shake your head and turn, running back upstairs and shutting your bedroom door behind you. You slide the lock in place, and dive back in to bed. Still holding the damn chopping board, you throw the duvet over your head and squeeze your eyes shut. You’re asleep. You have to be. You’re asleep, and dreaming of your nice relaxing morning routine. When you open your eyes again you can start the day right, have another lie in, a nice shower, and then a coffee without any men in your kitchen. Deep breath in, out, eyes open. Sitting up, throwing the duvet off, you look up and fuck! There he is, stetson and all. “Where am I?” A southern drawl crosses the room to you. It’s deep, and velvety, and if you’d heard it at a bar you’re sure you’d feel very differently about it. But in your bedroom? “Why are you here?” “Where IS here?” “How did you get in, anyway? The door was locked?” That stops him. His face softens slightly as he looks at you and says, “I... don’t know.” He furrows his brows, two deep set lines forming between them. He’s staring at the door, and when you lean forward you can just about see that the lock is still in place. “Did you walk through the door?” You whisper. He’s silent, still staring. “Are you a ghost?” That gets a reaction. He whips his head around, and glares at you now. “No.” “Are you sure?” His brow furrows again, face changing from its glare to a more fearful look as he whispers back to you. “…No.”

…

You’re both in your living room now. It’s taken over an hour to get you both to the stage you can share a room without shouting or throwing things. That would have been hard to explain to neighbours or your housemate. Admittedly, he calmed down quicker than you did. You’re pretty sure an existential crisis will do that to you. Plus, the novelty of throwing things through him took longer to wear off than you thought. Grasping tightly on your coffee (finally), the mystery ghost man paces in front of you. “You’re making me dizzy, would you stop?” You ask. He stops moving, sighs deeply and sits down on the chair across the room. “Huh.” “What?” He replies sharply. “Just curious why a jar goes through, or a pillow, or a chopping board, and you seem to be able to walk through doors without thinking about it, but you can still sit on a chair without falling through.” You explain to him, taking another sip of coffee. “Stupid metaphysical contradictions,” you grumble to yourself, and it actually brings out a slight chuckle from the man, who quickly tries his best to hide it. He shrugs. “Well, darlin’, I know nothin’ more than you.” “Don’t call me darling, cowboy.” “Cowboy?” His brows shoot up, a smirk lifting one side of his moustache slightly. “Because of the hat?” “And the accent. Thought you might prefer it to Ghost Boy... or Creepy McGee.” Another little chuckle falls from his lips as he leans forward, and looks at you. “You did follow me straight to my bedroom before. Creepy McGee would be a kind name for that.” “Cowboy is fine, sugar. Thanks, I guess.” “Ew. That’s worse than darling.” You finish the rest of your coffee in one mouthful, and look over to the man as he stands. “I’m still not convinced you’re real, just so you know.” “What are the options then, darlin’? Ghost or what, exactly?” Or what, indeed. “And more importantly, how do I get back home?” “The way I see it, we have three options.” “Based on what?” His hands are on his hips, and you forget for a second that he might not be there, he might not even exist. The breadth of his shoulders exaggerating the narrowness of his hands on his hips. Shit. Why couldn’t you have just met him in a bar instead? Why did he have to appear in your kitchen? He clears his throat, jolting you back to reality and you flush at the idea he’s just been watching you stare at him. The stupid smirk is back. “See something you like, darlin’?” He says, with a stupider wink.

Ignoring him and his smug face, you begin. “Option One: I’m having some sort of mental health crisis and you’re a figment of my imagination. A symptom, if you will. Option two: You’re dead. You’re a ghost and, for whatever reason, you’re haunting me. Or, option number three,” you pause, “You’re not dead.” “Preferable, from my point of view.” He interjects, frowning. “Option three is more like, you’re not dead, but you’re close. Like you’re in a coma, but you’re still sort of haunting me. An apparition, astral projection, you know?” He’s nodding along, but silent, and still frowning. “Let’s rule out option one, I have no history of visual or auditory hallucinations, nor a family history of such things. So. Onto option two; there is a fairly wide and agreed consensus about ghosts, so we have ideas on next steps. Option three may be a little trickier though...” You trail off, placing your empty mug on the table in front of you. You stand, and walk over to a shelf to vaguely look at the DVDs. “Why is that one trickier?” He asks, sitting down onto the chair again. “Resources, mostly.” You tell him, over your shoulder. “There’s a lot of hauntings in film and TV, so a decent amount of lore to look into and test. But apparitions not so much.” You turn to him, and shrug. “Wait.” He says, processing what you’ve told him. “Film and TV? Those are your resources?” “Oh. I’m sorry. You got a library book recommendation? Name and number of an expert, perhaps?” You are just met with a huff and Ghost Cowboy just folds his arms and leans back. “Uncharted territory here, Mr Grumpy.” The look that replaces the sulk is priceless. “Sorry, sugar. But I think I’ll get my own answers.” He stands up and walks to the front door. His hands passes straight through the handle, so he sighs, and just walks forward. He can’t get through it though, hitting it like he would usually instead. Another sigh as he turns to you. “What now?”

…

He’s pacing again as you voice each thought crossing your mind. “So. Physical limitation to a place: ‘Beetlejuice’, ‘The Others’... Pretty common trope.” You pause. “Ooh, can we try something?” He stops his pacing and looks at you with a huff. “Why not?” He says, throwing his hand out. “It’s not like it can get fuckin’ worse.” You stand and walk to the door. You open it, and walk back, past Mr Grumpy-Ghost-Cowboy, to the other end of the room. “Try to go through.” He does, hitting the invisible barrier. “Okay,” you move next to the open door, “try now.” He isn’t happy, but he tries again anyway. Nothing, still stuck. “Fine.” You move to the other side of the doorway, into your front garden. “One more time?” You raise your eyebrows and try to look sweet and innocent. “Please, Cowboy?” His hands are back on his hips. “Last time, English.” You nod, ignoring the newest nickname. It is decidedly better than darling and sugar, anyway. He tries again, and success. The cowboy walks through the door without any resistance. He looks shocked, and tries to walk further, perhaps out of your life forever. He’s stopped, again, at the wall. “Huh. Interesting.” You walk back inside your house, the ghostly intruder following you after a moment of pushing the solid air. “Very interesting. You weren’t dragged back by my reentering the house.” You close the door again, and move back to sit on the sofa. “So. We’re looking at… limited physical proximity to a specific person instead: ‘Heart and Souls’, ‘Just Like Heaven’, maybe? Sort of. Not quite.” You start to mumble to yourself, before lifting your head and looking directly at your guest. “I’m going to plan a movie marathon.” The ghost cowboy just shakes his head, frowning more than you thought possible. Any more, you think, and his eyebrows will start to fold in on themselves. “Look,” you tell him, “you’re not in pain, and you’re not fading away. I’m dealing in my own way, but I’m open to suggestions.” “Alcohol. Whiskey. Lots of it.” “A cowboy who likes whiskey. Groundbreaking.”

#agent whiskey #jack daniels #Martha writes #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x you #kingsman 2 #kingsman: the golden circle #Coffee & Cowboys fic

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kbstories · 5 years ago

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Deconstruction

de·con·struc·tion (n.) The act of breaking something down into its separate parts in order to understand its meaning.

To Trafalgar Law, trust has never come easy.

(Or: Luffy does his thing and Law recovers.)

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Trafalgar Law Needs A Hug, Recovery, Nakamaship, Luffy Being Luffy, Minor Canon Divergence

Set between Dressrosa and Zou but Sanji is there because the author mixed up the canon timeline woops. Content warning for references to suicidal ideation (in the context of Law’s plan).

***

The coffee is good, Trafalgar Law thinks as he follows the wood grain pattern of the Sunny’s dining table with zero interest. His eyes itch like there’s a sandstorm raging between cornea and lid; Law is certain they’re swollen something fierce too, and can’t bring himself to care. Fuck, his head hurts.

Another sip, and Law’s lips twitch into a frown. Scratch that, the coffee is fantastic, and isn’t that another entry on the ridiculously long list of things-to-resent-Luffy-for. Admittedly, this particular dose was administered by Strawhat’s cook. Luffy-by-proxy, then.

Never let it be said that Trafalgar D. Water Law can’t be both a master strategist and a petty asshole.

Cigarette ever-present between his lips, Sanji regards him with something-like-sympathy. The look doesn’t stick around, there and gone while he prepares enough food to be considered a light lunch on the Thousand Sunny, and a veritable feast anywhere else.

Sour mood or not, Law can appreciate the space he’s given. Unlike a certain someone, most Strawhats know to leave him the fuck alone when Law asks for it.

With a porcelain click, a plate is placed next to his half-empty cup of coffee: It carries a colorful assortment of cut fruits and two onigiri, perfectly shaped. The portion is small enough not to challenge the loveless marriage Law has with his appetite, and the glass of water that follows is served sans the usual snide commentary.

So much for that.

Law glowers at Sanji but the cook has already moved on to the dozen other dishes in varying stages of preparation, and to have a staring contest with Sanji’s back would be, well, childish. And unproductive.

The past few weeks – and yes, it’s weeks and not years or decades as his overtaxed nerves will have him believe – have taught Law a great many things. How much he appreciates wonderful concepts like privacy and personal bubbles, for example, and that the Sunny is a parallel universe where those things simply do not exist.

Oh, and also that food is not to be wasted, or else.

Thus, Law doesn't. He eats, and a quiet breath makes it out of his mouth that is only partially the annoyed sigh he intended. Because the food’s fucking delicious, and his stomach decides to stop hating him because it’s his favorite, and the headache that’s been shadowing his every step since he woke up eases just like that. Suddenly, the mother of all emotional hangovers dims and for the first time in hours, Law can think.

Sanji smiles like he knows it, too, the bastard.

Weeks of this bullshit and he’s at his limit, defenses shot, walls badly patched up and crumbling regardless. Law blinks and groans, presses tattooed fingers to closed lids in a desperate bid for the moisture building there to fuck off already.

And he’d thought he’d cried himself into a desert just yesterday. A naïve assumption to make, on a ship populated by sentimental idiots.

“Luffy finally got to you, huh?”

Oh, Law does not want to talk about it. The crux of the problem is that he wasn’t raised among thieves – at least, not entirely – and with the empty plate in front of him and the pleasant tingle of caffeine in his system, politeness dictates some form of reciprocation. Bepo would be oh-so-proud of him, if…

Well. That thought is added to the pile of others he pushes far down to be able to function.

So Law mumbles, “That’s one way to put it”, a fleeting glance over the rim of his cup ensuring that yup, that damnable glint of kindness is back in Sanji's eye and this time it's going nowhere. Law’s shoulders draw up so tight they might as well be made of granite, as rigid and unyielding as he wants to be. Strawhat made quick work of that illusion, too.

“Listen, cook–”

“You really think you’re the only one?” Sanji interrupts him calmly, a statement-turned-question for Law’s sake, and Law shuts up and watches the other smoke for a few, tense seconds.

Tense for him, at least. Sanji looks like he does this every fucking day, leaning against the counter with his back straight and his legs crossed at the ankles and his words piercing past all pretense like he’s the one known to wield swords, not the other way around.

Law just gives him a look. Sanji chuckles and turns his head to blow out the smoke away from him; in return, the doctor spares him the comment about deadly habits that he’s probably heard from Chopper a thousand times anyways.

“Well, you’re not. Luffy pulled that shit with every single other person he’s decided to befriend, so we’re all – pardon the pun – on the same boat here.”

“…Everyone?”

Even Zoro? is the real question here, because Law can imagine pretty much every Strawhat losing it eventually (they’re an overly emotional bunch even on a good day) but somehow his mind blanks at their first mate. And Nico Robin, while he’s at it.

There’s a particular sort of glee in Sanji’s gaze, then. “Everyone. Captain’s a charming little shit, and he hates seeing someone being sad on his ship. With that fucker Mingo gone and”, he gestures casually at Law’s… everything, and Law glares, “it was only a matter of time, really.”

“I see”, Law says but he doesn't, not really. Even after sailing with him, fighting with him, bleeding with him, Luffy remains an enigma and ultimately unpredictable. Law taps a rhythm against the edge of the table, catches himself doing it, stops.

“I don’t know how you stand it.”

What he means is the incessant laughter, the constant interruptions, the Hi Traffy! and What are you doing, Traffy? and Traffy, play with us! and You’re funny, Traffy! – yet all he thinks of are intense brown eyes and a starburst scar and Luffy’s voice, quiet with sudden sincerity:

Don't you know? You deserve to be happy, Law.

Law misses the flippantly dismissive tone he was aiming for by a nautical mile and then some. He winces, looks away with a huff; there’s no way Sanji can miss the rough honesty in Law’s voice, obvious and crimson-red like a target sign, pointing to the parts of his soul left aching and raw.

All Sanji does is shrug as if to say, you get used to it, and he extinguishes his cigarette and picks up the plate and leaves the cup with a pointed look. The cook returns to his craft and just like that, Law is off the hook again.

Oh.

His coffee is cold by now but he finishes it anyway, downing the rest like a shot of liquor. Carefully, Law returns the cup to the counter next to Sanji’s elbow, and his murmur of thanks is accepted with an easy-going smile.

Law’s motivation to step outside and face the day is fractured and hazardously taped together at best. There is no reason to delay it any further: It’s a miracle the galley hasn’t been invaded already, especially with the smell of grilling meat wafting all over deck at this point. Law will take whatever his pitiful sense of luck will grant him.

That is, until he taps his hat in parting, opens the door and promptly stumbles over Monkey D. Luffy, captain of the Strawhat Pirates and recently-assigned commander of an extensive fleet, as he loses balance and rolls into the room with a dumbfounded look of surprise on his face. Law stares as it is swiftly replaced by a delighted smile.

“Oh, hey Tra–!”

With a flash of blue and the dull flop of a book on wood, Law disappears.

The sun is dipping towards the horizon and painting everything in vibrant reds and gold when Law decides to stop avoiding Luffy.

It’s a bizarre amalgamation of factors that leads up to it: Nico Robin’s look of mild curiosity as he appears in the library without warning; the fact Law has already dug up and read every book that is even tangentially related to any of his interests (and those that aren’t, too); a rare sense of yearning to feel the wind on his face and to watch the sea as she tosses and turns playfully against the Sunny’s hull–

The sea is out there, however, and so is Luffy, and were his self-control to slip any further, Law would shudder with the nervous energy that tingles in his veins at the thought.

The truth is that Luffy is brilliant. Perhaps not book smart like Law or as mechanically gifted as his shipwright or his sniper – people and emotions, that’s what Strawhat Luffy knows better than anyone, and it’s fucking terrifying. By his own design, Law is more lies and deceit and meticulous strategy than he is a person; it’s what carried him from being a child-beyond-death all the way to Dressrosa, the island-that-would-be-his-grave. It’s the one element that didn’t change in a plan he revised and adapted a million times over the years.

And then Law shambled Luffy out of the air and Luffy smiled at him and they set sail again and there, with all escape routes barricated by endless blue, the man dedicated a whole week of his life to go look for what’s left of Trafalgar Law in the aftermath and just... No.

A real shame that the ally he chose turned out to be allergic to plans. And common sense, and doing things in reasonable amounts, and– He sighs, a tired little noise that is lost to the uncaring backs of countless books.

Yeah, this is getting ridiculous.

Thousand Sunny can rarely be described as quiet by any definition. Stepping out on the quarterdeck, Law is met with the idle cries of sea gulls high above and the fluttering of the gaff sail as it turns to catch a lazy breeze. The sight of a napping swordsman, a sun-bathing model, and a skeleton delicately partaking in afternoon tea with a reindeer really shouldn’t register as anything other than bat-shit insane. He finds himself immediately losing parts of the habitual scowl he keeps on his face, and once again he has to wonder what kind of forbidden magic the Strawhats wield to simply do that.

No matter. With steady hands, Law tucks the tips of his hair under his hat – it’s gotten rather long, without Penguin around to cut it – and makes his way across deck, side-stepping Zoro’s comfortable sprawl with an ease born of practice.

The same ease with which he ignores the mumbled comment of “Fucking finally”, as much as it makes his stomach churn. The notion that everyone on the ship knows is not a comforting one.

Your crew is waiting for you! Are you gonna give up on them, too?!

You don’t know shit about my crew, Strawhat!

Then again, a screaming match between two captains in the small hours of the night can hardly be categorized as ‘stealthy’.

Framed by the sun, Luffy is a proud silhouette atop the figurehead of his ship. His legs are crossed, hands hooked under his shins as if to limit the amount of excited twitching to be done; boundless energy slips through the cracks like the glow of a firefly held between two hands. Law huffs a breath, shakes his head. A botched attempt at holding back but an attempt nonetheless. He can respect that, at least.

The unwritten agreement among the Strawhats is that this spot, it’s Luffy’s and Luffy’s alone. The man claims no other luxury on his own ship – which contains a captain’s cabin, Law checked with the cyborg on that, it’s just that it’s used for storage because Luffy-bro doesn’t like sleeping alone, you know? – and there hasn’t yet been a situation which required contesting that.

Thus, Law hesitates just outside the invisible circle drawn around the Sunny’s wooden mane. And, while there’s little doubt the other can track his approach, he knows he owes him for the tactical retreat earlier in the day.

“Luffy.”

Law’s tone is neutral, expression marginally softened by the clear relief in Luffy’s reply of “Traffy!” that comes with a glance over his shoulder. The grin that follows may be the only predictable thing about the guy, and Law can’t find it in himself to begrudge him for that.

“Come up, come up! I wanna show you something.”

For once, he walks instead of using Room. There’s nothing to replace himself with up there except for Luffy’s hat, and (the expected outcome of his big plan aside) Law doesn’t actually have a death wish. Step by step, Sunny’s head reveals a breathtaking view that only a handful of people have seen: From end to end, the line between sky and ocean disappears in the purple-pink swirls of twilight and a world that stretches on to infinity below their feet. Up here, a universe of possibility is within reach for those courageous enough to try.

No wonder Luffy adores it so much.

Law sits next to him with as much grace as he can muster, one knee pulled close to his chest and disregarding the painful twinge from his side where the nerves of his arm have yet to fully reconnect. His gaze remains on the horizon for a while longer, soaking up the sight befitting of a king.

“So that’s why you’re always up here.”

“Huh? Oh, yeah! It’s cool, right?” Luffy snickers, patting the polished wood under them like one would a well-behaved dog. Or lion, in this case. “Sunny’s the best. But that’s not it. Look!”

Law throws him a measured glance to see what he means and gets stuck on the scrap of paper cradled in Luffy’s hand with care, inching straight ahead. “Nami says we’re getting close”, Luffy tells him, voice radiating warmth and giddy anticipation in equal shares. “I can't wait to see them all again!”

Bepo (Bear), it says in Law’s own writing, with a miniscule scribble of the Heart Pirates symbol next to it.

“That’s...”

His train of thought is derailed by the sudden longing wrapping around his heart, there and impossible to push aside. Law misses his crew, misses Bepo’s stupid apologies and Ikkaku’s stern reprimands and the hopeless blush Penguin and Shachi share when a woman merely acknowledges their presence. In hindsight, the months without them seem unbearably lonely, bleak and shadowed without the cozy togetherness of his family and the comforting hum of the Polar Tang all around him.

To Law, giving that Vivre Card to the Strawhats was the last bit of reassurance he needed to make his plan a reality – a wordless promise for them to find his crew and tell them it worked, perhaps some final words, if he got lucky enough to utter them. Now, after, it takes all his resolve not to snatch the precious paper away and never let it out of sight ever again.

He snaps himself out of it in time to stay exactly where he is, opening his mouth without the faintest idea where to begin putting it all into words, but by that point Luffy is already showing him his palm, offering Law everything he holds dear without asking anything in return or even a shred of hesitation.

A captain without a crew is sad and lost. Don’t you know? You deserve to be happy, Law.

In that moment, it doesn’t matter how vulnerable and exposed he felt the night before or that Luffy saw– Law takes the Vivre Card back and holds it up to his eyes, barely blinking as the paper wriggles impatiently between his thumb and index, surrounded by the tender colors of dusk.

“I... When? Tomorrow? The day after?”

“Tomorrow”, Luffy nods and it’s the tone he makes promises with, filled with determination and the courage to dream. He leans back on his hands, says, “Told ya we’ll take you home”, the smile on Luffy’s lips now soft with fondness.

It's an unfamiliar comfort, to watch the sun disappear knowing dawn carries with it a brighter future. For the first time in years, excitement bubbles warmly in Law's chest. Humming, he quietly admits, “Yeah, you did.”

Then Law laughs, rusty and a little awkward, and feels freer than he ever has.

#one piece #trafalgar d. law #monkey d. luffy #fanfiction #lawlu #one piece fanfiction #i just want law to be happy.......#this fic is also on AO3!#my stuff

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dawnwave16 · 6 years ago

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Not what I expected

3; 4(here); 4.5 ; 5 ; Pictures for Interlude ; Interlude

Chap 4

“It's confirmed,” she said with a soft smile, then looked at Hotch. “Congrats, Dad, it's a teenaged girl!”

Hotch was driving home to pack extra things into his bag when he realised that he should probably fetch Jack first. After all, if he remembered correctly, Jack was meant to be having an art day at school and the last thing he wanted to do was take Jack on a plane covered in paint and other art supplies. He had requested that Garcia book accommodation for them as the last thing he wanted was to arrive in Paris and find out the was nowhere for them all to stay, so he knew they would be staying in the Grand Paris Hotel, they would pay for their rooms after they arrived though.

That planned he picked up a very messy, yet excited Jack and got everything else that he needed done sorted and met the team at the airport. He was admittedly a bit nervous, after all, he'd just found out he had a teenage daughter and he had no idea if she knew that Tom wasn't her father. The team boarded without any issues and settled in for the flight. Since D.C was 6hrs behind Paris, despite them leaving at 1 pm they would be landing in Paris at 6 pm.

They had been on the plane for about an hour when Reid, who had been quiet for the most part, spoke up.

“I think we should look into Marinette's teacher as well as the two girls Matt mentioned.” Seeing the confused looks he continued, “While it may be possible that the teacher hasn't noticed what is happening with Marinette. If we go by what Matt said about how she seemed relieved that an adult other than her parents believed her, I think we can deduce that the school hasn't supported her. I read through the records about her that Garcia was able to get and her school file indicates that she has almost been expelled a few times since Miss Rossi joined the class. I find that strange because before that she had an almost spotless record there is even a note stating that she is generally quiet but will stand up to bullies. If you then take Frances' policy of emphasising the teacher's authority and how much they stress analytical thinking, it paints a picture of either a weak-willed teacher or one that just doesn't care.”

“I see where you going with this Pretty Boy, you think that the teacher has seen everything that Marinette is going through but instead of trying to help her, she's making Marinette lock away her natural reaction of standing up for herself in favour of trying to maintain the status quo. Marinette has probably tried to speak to her teacher but been told to simply keep quiet, which has then lead to her classmates thinking that she's been reprimanded and that what they are doing is the right thing.” Morgan sounded contemplative as he spoke.

“I could see that happening if the teacher wasn't very experienced with teens or perhaps was better suited to teaching much younger children.” This time it was Prentiss that spoke up. “Garcia can you-”

“Already ahead of you there. Records sent to your tablets but to summerise what I have found this is Caline Bustier's first teaching position, she applied to only teach art as she wanted to gain a bit more experience before teaching full classes. She has a history through her school career of fading into the background whenever there was any conflict near her. Ironically enough she was always found at the scene of a fight but never seen to be directly involved.” Garcia's fingers were flying over the keys of her laptop even as she gave her brief report.

JJ frowned, “Do you guys think she could have instigated those fights only to step back as the fight got bigger? I don't think I'd want to let her near my kids if that was the case.”

“That's presuming the parents knew about her history in the first place,” Reid interjected.

By this stage, Hotch was glad he had had the forethought to pack a tablet with games and movies along with headphones for Jack. He knew how strong Jack's sense of right and wrong was and knew that if Jack heard about what was happening to his big sister he wouldn't be happy. When he had told Jack where they were going and why Jack had just about bounced off the walls even as he promised to be the best little brother in the world. Apparently, some of his classmates had older siblings then themselves and Jack had been jealous of the bond they seemed to share.

The rest of the flight passed in much the same manner with the only pause in the conversation being for their in-flight meal as Jack took his headphones out while he was eating. They spoke about the backgrounds that had been pulled up for each of the people in Marinette's' class and felt they knew which ones would have been swayed and why as well as which ones would keep quiet out of fear. By the time their plane landed, they had agreed they would have to talk to Marinette first but they were pretty sure she would want to change schools to get away from all the negative memories that had been formed by her class.

The trip from the airport to the hotel was also uneventful however that changed soon after their arrival. They checked into the hotel and received their key card and were just about to gather their luggage when something large and scaley ran past them fairly quickly. It stopped near the doors watching them eagerly, it's tail waving wildly. They blinked then Reid broke the silence.

“Either I am seeing things or that is a crocodile. What is a crocodile doing in Paris, let alone in an upmarket hotel?” The team couldn't answer however it seemed they didn't need to as their answer arrived in the form of a teen with Ravens wing blue hair pulled into pigtails walked through the door, only to drop what she was holding as she fell to the floor with a lap full of the reptile.

“FANG!” she yelped. “Hey, silly boy why are you down here and not upstairs with your dad? You know you not allowed out of the room without a lead on. Did you escape just too great me?” Even as she calmed down and spoke, she was rubbing its jaw showing absolutely no fear of it despite its size. She even seemed to scold it through the giggles that were now trying to escape her lips. The huge croc simply rumbled in what could only be described as a purr. Another teen stalked into the reception hall to see what the commotion was, only for a sneer to cross her face.

“Uugh, it's you. Seriously why are you even here?”

“Hello to you too, Chloé. I'm sure I don't have to explain myself to you so instead of fighting, why don't I simply take Fang back to his room and then you don't have to see me.” As she replied to Chloé, she pushed the croc off her lap and gathered the bags that she had been carrying. They seemed to be clothing bags of some description. She then looked up and the BAU realised who the girl was, Marinette. Why was she here on a Friday night? Shouldn't she be at home? Why was she so comfortable around such a large crocodile?

“Fine! Just get out of my sight. This is ridiculous! Utterly ridiculous!” The blond, Chloé, spun on her heel, flicked her hair and flounced off. Marinette looked at the BAU and seemed to read their confused faces as confusion over Chloés' behaviour.

“Don't worry about her,” she said reassuringly, “ Chloé is always like that, her father is the mayor and owns this hotel. She was also one of the temporary hero's at one stage so she likes to act like everyone else is beneath her.” She then looked down at the crocodile, “Right, let's go, Fang, your papa is probably pulling his hair out looking for you. I have his and Penny's order with me, they just need to have their final fitting then we can have some more cuddles, how does that sound?” The crocodile pranced in place, acting more like a big puppy rather than the reptile he was, then as Marinette walked towards the elevator he walked next to her, as perfectly behaved as any army dog. As she got the elevator she frowned then looked at them again.

“Since there are so many of you would some of you like to travel up with Fang and me? He's a big softy who wouldn't hurt a fly, I promise.”

Jack immediately started tugging Hotch's hand, “Please Dad? I want to pet him!”

Hotch smiled softly yet worriedly, he was a little nervous for this to be his first interaction with his daughter but his paternal instinct wanted him to get to know her and find out why she was here with garment bags in the first place. JJ noticed his dilemma and volunteered to go up with them. Hotch smiled at her in relief and the three of them joined Marinette just as it arrived so they all piled in. Marinette quickly showed Jack how to pat Fang and the croc seemed to lap up the attention. It was pure chance that they were all going to the same floor so when the doors opened again Marinette let them out first then walked out only to be greeted by an overly loud shout.

“MARINETTE! And you found Fang for me! Rock on!”

@virgil-is-a-cutie for the idea about madam Bustier

@a-marlene-s for all her support! You Rock!

#mlb #miraculous ladybug #criminal minds #beyond borders #lila salt #au bio dad for marinette #marinette #fang

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packsbeforesnacks · 5 years ago

Text

Darkness Arrives (and Departs) || Lydia, Mercy, & Winn

TIMING: Friday, July 10th, 2020, Day LOCATION: Lydia’s Home PARTIES: @inspirationdivine, @cryxmercy, & @packsbeforesnacks SUMMARY: After Winn’s collapse, Mercy and Winn turn to Lydia for help. Lydia explains. Mercy regrets. Winn processes. WARNINGS: None, but it's sad.

Collapsing less than a week after you’d killed a man really took a lot out of you, it turned out. Winn was exhausted, right at the cliff’s edge where, if he was lucky, it would slip into awake again. His body wasn’t going to get a real break, he knew, until this was all over. He put a hand to his chest, hoping the pulse was still there, that he wasn’t already dead, and this was some sort of, he didn’t know, near-death experience? Living out a life he’d never get to lead. Shaking the admittedly super morbid thoughts away, Winn pulled up to Lydia’s home, looking for Mercy in the setting sun. When he found her, walking across the street to him, he gave her a tight nod. “Thanks. For comin’, I mean.”

Mercy had never expected to hear anything about Winn’s memories again. It had been simple. He’d wanted them gone, and Mercy had known a way to make that happen. They did the thing. It worked. And Mercy had taken the young wolf to Europe. All sorted. Or it had been. Until he’d called her up out of the blue, asking for help to get them back. So what choice did she have? When she saw Winn’s car pull up, Mercy crossed the street, greeting him with a nod of her own. “Welcome. You ready for this?” She tipped her gaze towards Lydia’s home.

“No,” Winn said, honestly. “She… I don’t know, she might not be able to help us, or, uh, help me, I guess. But if neither of us know how to get them back…” Winn shrugged, walking towards Lydia’s door to knock gently.

“What’re the other options? Y’said the ravens came from a museum, Lydia knows about art and…” Winn waved a hand loosely. “I mean, I don’t know what she, um…” He sighed. “I’m not good at this shit. But we have to try. And I don’t… I don’t know why I collapsed. And we can’t ‘put that thing where it came from or so help me’ my memories, if they’re somewhere else. So… No? But, let’s do it anyway?” Winn tried to give Mercy a smile, but, if he was bein’ honest, he felt like shit and was startin’ to get pessimistic about his chances of ever recovering what he’d lost.

At least he was honest about not being ready. That could save them a lot of trouble in the future. False bravado only got people hurt. Or worse.

As for other options, Mercy gave a small shrug. “Nothing I know of that’s pleasant.” But they would discuss that later, if this visit didn’t pan out. But hopefully, Lydia would be able to help. Speaking of. “Just be careful what you say around her.” Mercy gestured to the door as they approached. “She’s fae. I don’t know her personally, but don’t let her promise-bind you into something.” She gave him a pat on the shoulder, and a small smile as he knocked. “Meaning if in doubt, just keep your mouth shut, hm?”

Who on earth would knock when Lydia had a perfectly functional doorbell, and when she lived in such a grand place? Fortunately, Winn had messaged ahead, so she was ready. They wanted her artistic expertise, he’d said, which had intrigued her. Adjusting her sunflower yellow jumpsuit, Lydia opened the door. “Winn, darling, do come on in. And, if I recall, Mercy, right? Can I get either of you a drink?”

Winn straightened as Lydia appeared before him, a fragile (but true) smile on his face. “Hi, Lydia,” he said. “It’s real nice to see you again.” And it was, despite everything. Lydia had been kind enough to help him save face at the auction, and here she was again, offerin’ her expertise — well, Winn had asked, but she had to say ‘Yes.’ Winn hadn’t had much experience with fae, but knew better, given Juliet had beaten it into his head for a week, not to promise anything that he couldn’t, or didn’t want to, deliver on. Winn gave a low whistle, this house nice even by his loaded standards. “Dang,” he said aloud, openly staring at pieces of art that caught his attention.

Mercy waited quietly next to Winn as he knocked. She’d had her share of experiences with fae — some good, some not so much — but all in all, she liked most of them. Even envied one or two that had trusted her enough over the centuries to show her their wings. But that was neither here nor there. The door opened, and Mercy gave Lydia a nod in greeting. “That’s me. And I’m fine at the moment. But thank you.” She followed Winn inside, looking around the beautiful home. It was impressive. As were a few of the art pieces that were displayed throughout. Was that… a Degas? And across the way… an actual Rembrandt? Mercy’s fingers itched to get up close to them, but she remembered herself after a moment. “Someone knows their art,” she said, turning back to the others. “I’d say we’re in the right place.”

“My job is art restoration, darling, you’d certainly hope I would.” Lydia looked from one to the other, and clasped her hands when they both declined the drink. “Right, in which case, we can retire to my office and then you can explain what exactly it is that you need my help with.” She led them through a door to their left, into the main working studio, with several benches and easels all with art in various stages of reconstruction. She had one on the vacuum table, having the hide glue drained from canvas, another painting on wooden panels that had split and she was clamping together as it dried, another on the easel with her paints out, half way through concealing a coffee stain on the left corner. From there, she led them into her office, where she perched on the front of her desk. “Right, so what can I help with?”

“Uh,” Winn started, really showin’ off his elegance. It was a little overwhelming, if he was bein’ honest, to see such a… lavish display? It wasn’t bad — wasn’t gaudy, like he felt that maybe ‘lavish’ hinted at — but Lydia lived at a level of wealth that seemed, to him, to dwarf even his considerable trust fund. “So, I, uh, I’ll explain the situation, and Mercy can explain why we’re here, specifically?” There was too much of a question to his voice, he knew, but it wasn’t like they’d had time to rehearse. What had been a relatively normal interaction had suddenly catapulted to urgency — even if Winn wasn’t sure how urgent. “So, there’s a hole in my memories. From a time where I… from a time in my life I guess I thought needed buryin’. Found out they’re hidden somewhere from a friend of mine, that they aren’t in my head. Found out from Mercy here that we used, well… Mercy, would you mind takin’ it from there?”

Mercy merely hummed in response before they moved off towards Lydia’s office. She sat next to Winn and waited patiently — eyes roaming curiously over the works in progress that filled the space — while the young wolf started to explain. When it was her turn, Mercy looked back at Winn, gave him a small smile, and then turned to Lydia. Reaching into the satchel she’d brought with her, Mercy pulled out a very, very old book wrapped in a bit of worn leather. “This book contains the spell we used to remove Winn’s memories.” She sat the book on Lydia’s desk for her to inspect if she wished. “A pair of ravens were used as focal points for the spell.” Mercy set a second carefully wrapped bundle on Lydia’s desk. “I brought them out for Winn to see again, thinking maybe they would help him remember. Because the book says nothing about reversing the spell.” She glanced at Winn. “Can you tell her what happened when you touched the raven?”

“I saw me askin’ her to take my memories. Just that,” Winn started. “It was… painful. But it passed. I woke up on the ground.” Winn looked at the wrapped Raven, wonderin’ what would happen if he touched it again. Would it just kill him outright this time? “And then a few minutes later, I collapsed again. Since then, I’ve felt… weaker. It almost feels like I’m losin’ a connection to my wolf, like that part of me is bein’ muted, somehow.” Now, diagnose me, Winn wanted to say, but there was one more detail. “I’ve lost two years of memories, Lydia. It— We didn’t mean to take that much away, and we don’t know where they went. If they’re gone, why does it… hurt? Why does it feel like my heart is,” Winn clenched his fist in his shirt, grabbing at his heart, “dying.” There. He’d said it aloud. It was out there.

Lydia ignored the book, but picked up one of the Ravens, her face sinking into a heavy frown as she listened, waiting until the end before she commented. She weighed it from hand to hand, feeling the wooden grain and grooves under her fingers. “You’re centuries old,” Lydia said to Mercy, remembering her conversations with the woman fondly, discussing labyrinths and monstrous creatures within them, “which means that you likely aren’t a spellcaster.” She looked back to Winn, hearing the pain in his voice and unable to escape just how much it rattled her. There was no easy way to break her reply, as she carefully set the artefacts down on her desk, swallowing hard as she clasped her hands in front of her. Her lips were pressed into a thin line before she answered, her gaze full of concern. “These are fae artefacts, that have been missing for centuries. Between the two of you, you’ve misused them, desecrating this ancient magic in ways it wasn’t meant to be. You probably feel like your heart is dying because it is. I may have some answers for you, I want to help, but this is no small thing to ask of me. ”

Mercy’s eyes never drifted from Lydia as the other woman examined the raven. Winn’s story, while important, was white noise to the Fury who knew they were swiftly approaching an impasse. Two roads would soon diverge in the proverbial wood. One where Lydia was unable — or unwilling — to help them. And another, where she could. But that road would require a toll. Such things almost always did.

When Lydia finally spoke as Winn’s story concluded, Mercy nodded. “I am.” She figured Lydia as someone who’d seen her fair share of years as well, considering the lifespan of most fae, but didn’t comment. As for the spellcaster part: “Correct again. Which is why an acquaintance of mine performed the spell,” Mercy clarified. “I only spoke the three words at the end.” Lydia pressed on, explaining things to Winn much as Mercy had initially. Straight to the point. Mercy felt ice water rush through her veins. Dying. Gods…

“Fae artefacts?” Mercy said, frowning slightly. She didn’t doubt Lydia at all, it was simply new information. And it wasn’t often Mercy found herself genuinely surprised. “They were in a display on Norse culture. In a museum in Europe. Over three centuries ago. We only knew they didn’t belong with humans.” She didn’t elaborate on the ‘we’. “That they were… old. Perhaps even dangerous. So we took them. Stored them for safekeeping.” Mercy scrubbed a hand through her hair. It wasn’t an excuse, merely an explanation. If she had known they were Fae… “No one ever came looking, so they stayed with me. Stored away.” And what about the book? Was it fae too? When Mercy had thought otherwise? Gods what a fucking mess. A heavy weight seemed to settle across Lydia’s face, and Mercy looked to Winn, hoping he remembered what she’d told him earlier, despite the fact that the other woman wanted to help. Though what choice did he have? It was this, or die.

“Okay,” Winn said, after a solid minute of silence. “Okay, alright,” he said, after another five. He huffed out a humorless laugh. “So, have I been dyin’ since I had ‘em taken out? ‘Cause I—” Fuck. He could hear the brokenness in his own voice. “I have so much more I want to do, Lydia.” Winn wasn’t mad at Mercy, couldn’t find it in himself to even be angry at the situation. No. No, this was grief, pure and unadulterated. Anger, maybe, would come later. For now, he’d settle into denial, thanks. “I have so, so much more that I will do. ‘Cause you— you said you might have answers, and I…” He swallowed, hard around the knot in his throat, looking into his trembling hands. No claws were coming out, no fangs forming at the stress he was under. In this moment, Winn was small, and vulnerable, and so, so very fucking human. Death really was the great equalizer, huh? Ha. Hahahahaha. Winn went from laughing in his head to laughing aloud, a bark of a thing, high and panicked and intermixed with shuddering breaths. The look on the faces of the women was pitying. Pull it together, Winner. You have to. “I don’t want to die,” he said, finally, and then, quieter, a sob working its way, finally, out of him, “I don’t want to die.”

While Lydia was listening to Mercy, her eyes were on Winn, frozen with her admission hanging in the air in front of him. She nodded at Mercy’s summary. “Let’s put a pin in that,” she murmured, because at that moment, Winn cracked. More than cracked, he crumbled in front of her, his jaw trembling. Lydia stood up from her desk top perch, eyes widening in increasing alarm as he laughed, tears beginning to cloud his eyes. He wasn’t quite a stranger, but he was hardly a dear friend either, and so she didn’t quite know whether to cast her gaze away from him when he sobbed, or to take his hand. “Winn, I—” she said softly, but there was no reassurance she could offer that wasn’t a lie. Instead, she gave his forearm a tiny squeeze, before walking around her desk to reach into a drawer there, pulling out three crystal glasses and a bottle of whiskey, pouring one out for Winn, and bringing it back to him. “I’m so sorry.”

Winn couldn’t find it in him to lie, say ‘It’s okay. We all have to go sometime.’ So, instead, he downed the entire glass in one gulp, letting the burn ground him into the moment, back into the studio, the present, and not a future he might not have. Tears still ran down his face, but he swallowed the sobs. If he was going to die, he wasn’t going to spend his final — days, weeks, months? — moments wallowing in his sadness. “Thank you,” he said, finally, holding the empty glass between shaking hands. For once, he was sure he wouldn’t break it. “I’m— I’d rather know. Gives me time to… make arrangements, say my goodbyes or, um.” He thought of Noah, and his heart broke. Winn had promised. Winn had promised he wouldn’t leave Noah. If there was any chance he could survive this, any chance at all, Winn had to take it. For both of them. Mercy’s words echoed in his head. No promises. Ask questions. “Is there anything I can do?”

Mercy gave Lydia a small nod, and turned her eyes to Winn as he started to fall apart. Her expression was carefully neutral save the tiniest furrow of her brow, not because she didn’t care - she did - but because to show anything else was to risk her influence affecting the situation. She’d used it on Winn in the past, and even though what had happened was ultimately his decision in the end, who’s to say what would have occurred had Mercy not been involved. A voice in her head said that it was unlikely Winn would be dying, but she shoved it away.

The past was done. It couldn’t be changed, and lingering over what if’s wouldn’t help anyone. Least of all Winn. And Mercy would do everything in her power to make this right. “Dying isn’t dead,” Mercy said, grim determination in her tone as she glanced between the others. “Don’t hasten it’s coming by thinking they’re one and the same.” Her gaze lingered on Winn for a long moment before it settled on Lydia. “How long does he have? And what can be done?” she asked, adding her own questions to Winn’s.

Lydia only grabbed the bottle, and poured Winn more to drink. “I don’t know, but let’s also not waste time on false hopes. Can you show me the spell you used?” Lydia’s eyes lingered on Winn a moment more, before nodding to herself. First Luce, then Remmy, then that lady detective. Fae secrets, every time risking her safety and her community all at once. These were old, too, entrusted to the Leanan-Sidhe to safeguard. True art, made by fae, to which human art had no comparison. Fueled with frequent human meals, she walked over to her full bookshelf, and crouched at the knee. She grabbed one of the shelves, and lifted up the entire bookcase, which slid up on hidden railings. The floor had cut outs, and so by lifting she revealed two additional shelves of the book case. Straining a little, she grabbed one of the larger volumes, and lowered the bookshelf back so that what was hidden remained hidden. Wiping a drop of sweat from her brow, she flicked through the book, setting it open on the page of the raven models, Huginn and Muninn.

“Right,” she said, skimming her fingers over the texts, written in the dialect of her father’s Aos Sí, reminding herself of the tales she’d read as a child, as an adult. These were the things that needed remembering, especially those that were stolen by humans. To see them in front of her again made her hands tremble. And it was them, no cheap imitation. It was the pieces missing from the fae community, and they were killing Winn. “I’ll explain more if you like, but the main answer is… that, well, you’ll die when you’re most human, at your weakest.” Lydia looked back up to Winn. That wolf mask felt mocking in retrospect. “The next new moon.”

Winn snorted. He couldn’t help it; it was too perfect, too ironic for words. “Awoo,” he said, dryly. Taking another slug from his refilled glass, Winn slipped out his phone, scrolling to the calendar. “New Moon’s on the 20th. So, I’ve got… ten days, or thereabouts. Cool, cool. Nice, even number. 1:33 PM ain’t a bad time to die, all things considered. Not gonna ruin my mornin’, and, hell, if I really party my ass off the night previous, I might be able to sleep through it. Makes total sense I’d die on a Monday. Fuck Mondays.” If he rambled enough, he could pretend this wasn’t happening, right?

The spell. He turned to Mercy, pointing to the bound volume on the desk in front of them. “Spell’s in that book, right? The definitely-not-an-evil-book book?” Winn knew there was a reason he hated reading. It really would kill him to have to read. He laughed again, a dark sound in the back of his throat, and leaned forward to open it, flipping through the pages with mock-interest. “Please, Mercy, tell me what page it’s on. 666? 13? 320 for some big ‘Fuck you, Winner’ energy?” At least the book wasn’t makin’ him go through a flashback. One point in its favor. “And does the spell say why now? It’s been two-and-a-half years, y’all. Does this spell just hate July?”

Mercy nodded, and reached carefully for the book. Setting it in her lap and gently opened the ancient text to the page that contained the spell they were looking for. The words were there as they’d always been, written in faded ink and surrounded by beautiful, scrawling artwork in the margins. “This one.” She glanced at Winn to confirm the answer to his question, and set the book back on Lydia’s desk as the other woman moved to a set of shelves across the room. Mercy watched as they were lifted clear of the floor — quite easily, she noted, tucking the information away — revealing hidden rows beneath the floor. Clever, she thought to herself.

Winn was understandably upset, and Mercy didn’t stop him or chastise him. What good would it do? Best to let him rage and cry and do whatever else was necessary at the moment. Because later he would need to focus. If there was a later. Which is what they were here to find out, wasn’t it? She glanced at Winn as he pointed at the book. “Most magic is neither good nor bad.” There were exceptions, of course, but from what Mercy had learned over the years, it was the intent that mattered more. Just like anything else that could be used as a weapon.

She leaned forwards to look at the pages of the book Lydia set down. Mercy immediately recognized the ravens — so ingrained in her own history and beliefs — but didn’t recognize the language. The Fury looked back to the pages of the first book, which to her was still written in Irish Gaelic. “There are no page numbers,” she told Winn distractedly. “And no. It doesn’t.” Though Mercy had her theories on ‘why now’.

She also had questions. The first of which was why an Irish text seemed to be linked to Norse-inspired artifacts, even if they were fae. But then Lydia answered the most important question of them all. And Mercy felt herself blanche slightly.

Ten days.

Gods...

Less than two weeks and Winn would be dead. Unless they got his memories back.

“Where are his memories now?” Mercy asked. “And will getting them back stop this?”

“You’re going to need to give me some time with this,” Lydia said, pulling Mercy’s book towards her. “Even then, I might not have all the answers. If this text is what I think it is…” She looked down at it, tracing over the hand penned pages. Then she turned her own book, the fae histories to them, so that they could see it too, although the irish gaelic, quechua and spanish were more modern than anything in Mercy’s book. “These ravens were made between eight hundred and a thousand years ago. They were a collaboration between an A— a fae commune and spellcasters, to make all the local humans forget their existence after a particularly voracious mushroom season. Combining human and fae magic is an inherently unstable and risky endeavor, no matter how powerful it may be. Time has only made this magic more volatile.”

Lydia paused, looking to Winn. When she spoke to him, it was entirely gentle, but there was no kind news here. “The spell when first created killed several of the humans it affected, and throughout the centuries it has killed many humans that have come in contact with the ravens, until it was stolen. At a guess… something to do with repeated exposure, your body trying to process the gap, that you’ve been exposed to both the spell and the artefacts, the fact that you are much more human than Mercy and I. I’m sorry, Winn.”

She tapped Mercy’s text. “This is a copy of the original spell. However, it’s going to take me some time to decipher all of it. You’re welcome to hang around while I give it a go now, take advantage of my kitchen or my garden. Just be aware that if I need to call in some other fae to help translate, it may take longer.”

“Take your time, Lydia,” Winn said, trying not to think about how ironic that sentiment was, now. Standing, he put a hand on Mercy’s shoulder. “I’ll be in the garden. Think I want to spend as much time takin’ in nature as I can before… y’know. Come get me, if Lydia finds somethin’.”

The garden was beautiful, Winn could admit, even through the exhausted malaise that seeped into him, infecting even the wildflowers with a tinge of melancholy. Would this be the last time he’d see them? Lydia’s garden was new to him; would this be his last first time somewhere? No. No, he wouldn’t let that happen. Maybe he could convince Noah to… He pulled out his phone, flung off a text, and pocketed it again.

Winn chose a patch of grass beneath a shady tree to lay down, staring into the sky. Center yourself, Winner. He could hear birdsong from above him, felt the grass blowing gently against his skin, smelled the earth beneath him, and, closing his eyes, he let himself enjoy, maybe for the last time, the simple pleasure of living.

“It looks like Irish Gaelic to me,” Mercy said, if only to inform Lydia. She leaned forwards to look at the second book as Lydia explained what had happened all those centuries ago. She scanned over what she could translate, but when Lydia revealed the true origins of the ravens, Mercy’s gaze snapped back to the other woman. And suddenly that piece of an ages-old puzzle fell into place. “Well I’ll be damned.” She shook her head and sat back. There was no joy in her expression or her tone. Not this time. Mixing species-specific magics was like mixing oil and water, or so she’d always been told. “We knew they didn’t belong in that museum.” Again, Mercy didn’t elaborate on the ‘we.’ “They had… left a trail of death in their wake. Only humans. Never supernaturals.” If they had, she never would’ve— but that didn’t matter now.

“Sort of like… a much older, much more prolific version of the Hope Diamond,” she said, trying to find a good comparison. But it still fell short of the true gravitas of the situation.

She glanced at Winn as Lydia did, nodding at his request and feeling another wash of guilt as the young wolf excused himself. Mercy watched him go, her face a mask of neutrality. When he was out of earshot, she turned back to Lydia, rolling everything she’d learned over in her head. Finally:

“It’s not really written in Gaelic, is it?”

Lydia watched Winn go with an unplaceable expression, her chest hard and heavy as she pulled her notepad towards her and a pen, to write down her thoughts as she worked on understanding it. She looked up, briefly at Mercy’s question. She wanted to help them where she could, but the intricacies of Aos Sí language were still a secret to be kept close to the chest. “Mercy, I need to focus. If you mind?” Lydia nodded to the door of her office, and set pen to paper, working.

After an hour, Lydia rubbed her face, setting down her pen. It was legible in a long, roundabout way, much like the fae themselves, but the complex intertwining of languages left segments where their meaning was indecipherable to Lydia. What was decipherable, at least, gave some insight into the working of the spell, and the conditions around it. Yet it was the last line, with the words Mercy had spoken that Lydia was staring at now. Better not to be hasty. She read the sentence again, and again, before picking up Mercy’s spell book and her own notes, dashing from her office, through her work studio, and into her home proper. “Mercy?” she called, before spotting Winn under the trees outside.

Lydia swung open the french windows and ran over to him, and knelt in the grass and twigs and foliage beside him. “I have good news. This might be completely reversible.”

Winn hadn’t fallen asleep. Then, he never slept easy. Had it always been that way? Or… Instead, he focused on the sounds he could hear, even with his weakened hearing. Eventually, he heard the swinging of a hinge, soft feet on the ground, and blinked open his eyes, wincing at the sunlight which was now shining closer to him.

He sat up, pulling his legs close to his chest to regard Lydia. Hope was a fragile thing, and Winn wouldn’t let it root in his heart. Not yet. “Tell me more? Please?” He wanted to ask if there was a catch, wanted to know what he’d have to give up to save his life, but held his tongue. No need to be an ass to the one woman that could help him.

Mercy knew when she was being asked to leave. She didn’t take it personally, and rose without comment to leave Lydia to her work. But the lack of answer — where a simple yes or no would’ve normally sufficed — to her question said enough in itself. And that didn’t sit well with Mercy. At all. Not because of the secrecy, everyone had things they kept closely guarded, but because if it was some… fae language… what had Mercy potentially attached herself to in speaking the three runes? She had never felt different than she had before the spell. Maybe she was just thinking of the worst possible scenarios for herself. Even though Winn had gotten the short, shit-covered end of the stick, if she was being honest. So Mercy found somewhere to sit while she waited. She closed her eyes, and tried to rein in her wild, errant thoughts before they could run out of control. When Lydia called her name a bit later, it took Mercy a moment to open her eyes. Once she did, she saw Lydia going outside to where Winn was sat. She followed, standing in the doorway to listen.

Her heart leapt a bit at Lydia’s announcement. This was good. Really good. But with every good thing came the consequences. Mercy didn’t ask what the bad news was, not having the heart to smash the tiny flutter of hope that crossed Winn’s face. Instead, she let Winn take point with the questions, and waited to see what Lydia had found.

“Your memories weren’t destroyed. They were just stored in someone else, unreachable to both of you,” Lydia explained without dally. She looked back to Mercy. “You said you spoke the last three words? In doing so, you accepted taking his memories into you.” She turned back to Winn, her eyes sparkling. “If you can find a spellcaster who can find the memories in Mercy and return them to you, you’d disentangle yourself from the spell entirely.”

She looked down to her clasped hands, and picked up a brown leaf, dried to crumbling in the summer sun. As she spoke, she cracked it into pieces between her fingers. “I couldn’t understand all of it, and there’s plenty more I don’t understand simply because I am not a spellcaster. There will likely still be consequences and dangers. Memory magic, well, as you have learned, it is not simple. I don’t know if there is a spellcaster in town capable of it.”

Winn could feel his mouth hanging open in soft surprise as Lydia explained. Memories, stored in another person. It seemed too unreal to believe… and yet, not really any stranger than his memories being gone in the first place. “Wow,” he said, looking at Mercy. “I… actually know someone who can help with that.”

He tried to phrase his next remark to Lydia as carefully as he could. Winn trusted her, completely, but knew one wrong move could bring about some fuckery he just didn’t have time to deal with. “Lydia,” he tried. “I— I don’t know what to say.”

Not destroyed. Only stored away. Alright. That wasn’t the worst, right? At least Mercy thought so until Lydia looked in her direction, asking Mercy a question that Lydia herself already knew the answer to. Gooseflesh crept up her spine, but Mercy nodded that she’d been the one to speak the words. What came next was the last thing the fury expected to hear.

“I’m sorry… what?” She pushed up from where she’d been leaning against the doorframe. “I never consented to a goddamn thing. Those runes were Norse. And the only reason I spoke them was because the caster didn’t know the words. They were meant to repeat them after I translated.” But even as Mercy spoke she knew it didn’t matter. Winn had collapsed the moment the runes had been spoken out loud, activating the spell. The caster never got the chance to repeat them. “Fuck,” Mercy said to herself. She shouldn’t be upset, it was karma at its finest. But there was no helping it. “So… what now?” she said to them both, making herself speak calmly if only for Winn’s sake. “I’m just supposed to let some random caster dig around in my memories?” Mercy crossed her arms, looking between them both. “Been there. Done that. Didn’t buy the t-shirt because it fucking sucked. Turns out memory magic gets a bit overwhelmed when there’s a millenia to muck through. And that was over 200 years ago.” The revelation of her age was deliberate, because they needed to understand. If they were even going to consider this… if Mercy was considering this— fuck… what choice did she have? This was her fault. She had to make it right. She would make it right. But first… first they needed to know:

“One caster won’t be enough.”

“Those are fae rules. You spoke them; you’re bound by them.” Although, Lydia knew, to an extent, all magic was fickle when it came to words and intention. For that reason, her sympathy for Mercy was limited, relative to Winn, who was dying. That said, letting any human, even a spellcaster, rummage through her thoughts was enough to make her feel queasy. “What you do with that information isn’t up to me. Nor where you find your casters.”

She looked back to Winn again, and took his hand in hers. A small, reassuring squeeze was all she could offer. What else was there to say, in the face of impending death? “So don’t say anything yet. Just send me a text in eleven days' time.”

Casters? Winn looked up at them, a small smile bleeding through the anxiety he still felt: “I’ll make some calls.”

#wickedswriting #para #Lydia #Mercy #Darkness Arrives (and Departs)#Chain of Memories #//#my 1000th post #lol

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solacefruit · 5 years ago

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Hi Grey, I struggle a lot with world building and I think it's easiest for me to learn by example. I was wondering if you had any books or series you'd recommend that you thought did particularly well in the world building department or that you found inspiring. I'm trying to start building a list of things to read, could be any genre

Hello there and thank you for your patience! I’ll be honest, this one’s a challenge to answer, but I’ll do my best. I’ll put it all under a read-more, because I’m going to talk a lot about why I feel these books are good places for thinking about world-building.

Northern Lights, by Philip Pullman. (fantasy)

This one comes up a lot when I’m making recommendations and that’s because I love it. For me, it was deeply formative in many ways, and especially when it came to world-building, because Pullman uses a style of world-building which really clicks for me--which is basically throwing your reader into a world and not explaining much at all, leaving many things gestured at but never explicitly said. Things just happen, things just are, and the reader has to keep up. There’s a lot that goes unsaid in this book, and it means you as a reader have to start thinking and “solving” the gaps in the world yourself. There’s room for speculation and I thrive in that environment, and lean on it heavily in my own work.

A great example of that comes in the first chapter of the novel, on the fifth page and then again on the seventh:

“As Lyra held her breath she saw the servant’s daemon (a dog, like almost all servants’ daemons) trot in and sit quietly at his feet...” - page five. “... and said something to his daemon. He was a servant, so she was a dog; but a superior servant, so a superior dog. In fact, she had the form of a red setter.” - page seven.

That’s good oblique storytelling, because you are told so much and simultaneously so little. From these two tiny pieces, you now know that:

servants usually have dog-shaped daemons

some daemons, even within a family, are “better” than others

daemons mean something about their person

But these pieces tell you enough that you can now speculate and question the world as you read on. Things like:

why do servants have dog daemons?

what makes a red setter daemon better than another dog daemon?

what does a dog daemon mean?

what is the hierarchical system of daemons, who is better than whom?

are people sorted because of their daemons, or do the daemons reflect where the person is sorted to after the fact?

what do other daemons mean?

are these meanings innate or cultural?

The book itself will directly answer maybe one or two questions, hint at a few others, and leave many completely unresolved. But that’s not bad world-building. For me, that’s the kind of world-building I love best. The book can now say, “this person’s daemon is a butterfly,” and you will be primed to read symbolism and significance into that, even in moments where the book itself doesn’t give you any. You’re a participant in creating the world as you read. A little goes a long way.

The Discworld novels, by Terry Pratchett. (fantasy, comedy) If you’re trying to pick a first book, start here.

And now for something completely different. Pratchett’s Discworld is an absurdist world, created to satirise fantasy tropes and play as the stage for social and political commentary. What makes Discworld so interesting as a place to learn about world-building is that it is a world that doesn’t take chronology or “consistency” or “authenticity” seriously. Where a lot of fantasy writers will stress over making sure every detail lines up, and their fans will often get very upset if they find anything “inconsistent” or “incorrect”, Pratchett’s world entirely rejects that way of doing things. Pratchett commented:

“[S]ometimes I even forget [...] where things are ... I don’t think [...] even the most rabid fan expects complete consistency within Discworld, because in Ankh-Morpork you have what is apparently a Renaissance city, but with elements of early Victorian England, and the medieval world is still hanging on. It’s in a permanent state of turmoil, which is very interesting for the author.” (quoted in Hills, Guilty of Literature).

There’s something very liberated and fluid in how Discworld forms, because it’s such a committed pastiche, but it doesn’t at all (at least, for me) undercut believing in the characters or story. I adore Discworld and its characters. I think it’s very valuable to read if you’re in fantasy writing (or speculative fiction in general), because it’s easy to fall into thinking that unless you make everything Perfect and Realistic and Consistent, your world-building isn’t good.

Something else about Discworld worth noting is that, despite being absurd and fluid, it is also grounded in the real. Pratchett’s world is in turmoil, but it includes sewer systems, passages of trade and commerce, and a pervasive sense of the civic life happening and living outside of the plot-line: it’s not just a diorama to be walked through, but a place where people exist and do mundane things and have everyday needs. I personally find it fascinating that the story manages to exist sort of balancing at oppositional ends of the “realism” spectrum at all times, but I think that’s also the key to why it is so successful at what it does.

(Side note: Matt Hills’ chapter in Guilty of Literature is a great read if you want to know more!)

Ancillary Justice, by Ann Leckie (science fiction)

I’m not a big reader of science fiction, because my heart is with fantasy, always. But this series was super interesting and I can recommend it, especially if science fiction is more your flavour! It’s been a while since I’ve read it, so I can’t give the same amount of detail as I’ve done above, but it was thoughtful and intriguing and I loved the ways this trilogy defamiliarised and refamiliarised ideas through the world and characters.

“The Ones who Walk Away from Omelas,” by Ursula K. Le Guin. (short story)

It’s only four pages long, but it’s haunting. I’ve put this story on the list because I feel like Ursula K. Le Guin belongs in many conversations about world-building; her work, in her time, was often radical--and remains so, in many cases. She didn’t flinch away from making her worlds alien, not in the sense of writing about space and people out among the stars (which admittedly she did also do!), but truly questioning and challenging cultural and societal norms and creating new ones, even (and especially) when they were uncomfortable to the status quo.

To me, that’s a core part of good world-building. You can just recreate the world we live in, with all the biases we’re raised to have, with the beliefs and expectations of conduct we have, with all the same bigotry--or you can push yourself to pull it all apart and pick from it the pieces you want to play with. You can push things to their extreme limits, or erase them entirely, or just... slide things a little to the left and make the whole world slightly off. Being able to be flexible in your thinking is vital for making vivid, interesting worlds, and Ursula K. Le Guin's work is a place you can start exploring that kind of thing if you’re unfamiliar with it.

For instance, in her novel Left Hand of Darkness, there is only one pronoun (a theme you’ll notice in Ancillary Justice) and the people of the planet Gethin change sex regularly. In her collection of short stories, “The Birthday of the World and Other Stories,” she writes about sedoretu, a four-way marriage she invents, as well as exploring gender, religion, culture, and society. Any of these are worth taking a look at, if you’re feeling a little boxed in.

However, despite saying all this: I don’t really enjoy her writing! I don’t have fun reading Le Guin’s work in practice; it doesn’t mesh with me beyond my delight at the conceptual elements she discusses. I often feel about reading her work like how kids think about medicine: tastes kind of awful, but it’s good for you. I’m grateful to her for paving the way, but I don’t read her work for fun.

The Girl Who Circumnavigated Fairyland in a Ship of her Own Making, by Catherynne M. Valente.

I’m throwing this one in the ring for a few reasons. One is that I am heavily indebted to nonsense; I grew up on Dr Seuss, Roald Dahl, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland + Alice Through the Looking-glass, Edward Gorey, A. A. Milne, H. R. Pufnstuf, and a little later, A Series of Unfortunate Events and Discworld. This book feels representative of that big love, and taps into what I love about nonsense.

Another reason is that it’s a good example of what I think of as delightful lawlessness in storytelling. It feels--as respectfully and lovingly as I can say this--like a game of mad libs turned into a book, because of how free and wild it is with what is allowed to happen. I think it’s very difficult to do something like this well, but I also think it’s a great place to play around when you’re first beginning to get to grips on world-building. Spin a wheel of options and go, “okay, so there’s a manticore in the basement, what now?” Make up reasons for things on the spot as a game for yourself. Ask and answer questions, just for fun! “Why is there a manticore there?” “It got in through the magic portal.” “Where’s the magic portal?” “It’s an old picture of the protagonist’s grandmother.” “Why is it a portal?” “The grandmother is secretly a witch and the ex-queen of a fantasy land.” “Why is the manticore here?” “Come to retrieve the queen, but accidentally takes the protagonist by mistake.” “Why does the manticore want the queen?” “Extreme Trivia Night at the Castle has really sucked lately. Also she misses her.” And just like that, you’ve got the start of a wacky but not impossible-to-tell story.

My final suggestion isn’t a book, but a podcast!

Be The Serpent (a podcast of extremely deep literary merit).

A fortnightly podcast by three charming writers who discuss a different theme or topic each episode (using a couple of texts as reference material), and will also make media recommendations. I love listening to it and it’s a great place to think about writing, both as a reader and as a writer. I don’t have a lot of writing friends myself, unfortunately, so it’s honestly so valuable to me to be able to hear them discuss their process and ideas on topics I care about.

I hope this helps! Best of luck to you, and please feel free to write in if you have any other questions.

#reply #advice #world-building #book recommendation #tumblr automatically put my reply under a read-more and i can't undo it?? what on EARTH is going wrong with this website

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missgoalie75 · 7 years ago

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gilmore girls | chilton au | jess + luke

prompt: anon prompted: missing scene between jess and luke after jess is kicked out of hartford. word count: ~1,900 note: chilton au is this fic, reblog link here, so please read that first before you read this. also sorry anon this took a while to happen - i hope it’s worth the wait!

Jess winces when he walks to Luke's Diner as he brings a thumb to his jawline, muttering a fuck under his breath before reaching up above the doorway to grab the key to let himself inside Luke's Diner.

Once he grabs it, he pauses. He doesn't do this. He usually leaves, wanders, keeps away until enough time has passed and then he comes back.

Except that fucking panic he felt when he walked down black streets, utterly silent save for the cicadas, made it obvious that he can't do that – not in suburbia. He was able to slip under the radar and not be noticed by ACS, but here in Connecticut, at a school where demerits are handed for creased pants, he can't risk testing mandated reporters.

He finally lets himself in, cringing when the bells ring overhead. He finally hears Rory driving away and he smiles a little; of course she wanted to wait until he was safely inside.

He quietly locks the door again and his stomach grumbles when he first smells remnants of fries. Maybe he can make himself a sandwich or something before he goes upstairs and –

A light turns on behind the curtain. "Hello?" Luke demands, his steps loud and uncoordinated as he goes down the stairs.

Jess clenches his jaw. "It's me," he says.

Luke stumbles into the diner and squints. He has a bat in his hand.

"Really?" Jess questions, staring at the bat.

"What are you doing here? Is something wrong?" Luke asks, turning on the light.

They both wince at the sudden brightness.

He wants to say nothing, but once Luke's eyes properly work, they're bulging out of their sockets when he notices the mark on Jess' face.

"Where'd you get that?" Luke demands, striding over. His hand is rough but gentle when he tilts Jess' head to get a better look at it. "If it's that guy, I swear to God –"

Jess removes himself from Luke's hold. "Can we go upstairs and talk about this?" he asks, stopping him short.

Even though the blinds are down, he still feels too exposed. He stuffs his hands into his pockets.

Luke inhales sharply. "Yeah, okay, come on."

Luke leads him up the stairs and Jess takes care to shut the lights behind him. Once they're inside the apartment and Jess drops his duffel, Luke turns around and asks again: "Did he do this?"

"No."

Luke exhales in relief.

Jess doesn't know why – maybe it's the heat or exhaustion or shock – but he has to swallow over a lump in his throat before he can speak. "It was Liz."

There's always been a lingering bitterness when it came to Luke – sending money, enabling his crazy sister and her fucking bad habits. But seeing him go through the five stages of grief in the span of a second made him realize that Luke really fucking thought his sister was better than she is.

Poor, naïve bastard.

"It was her ring," he explains emotionlessly.

He looks off to the side when he sees tears in Luke's eyes, giving him a moment.

"I have Arnica, but I don't want to irritate the cut," Luke says in a rough voice. He clears his throat.

"It's fine. I've had worse."

Luke holds up a hand. "I don't need to hear that."

Jess breathes. "You didn't hear a lot of things, Luke," he says, not unkindly.

"I'm sorry," Luke says and Jesus Christ, his voice broke.

Jess exhales. "Can I crash here? At least for tonight –"

"You're staying here indefinitely, end of discussion," Luke takes over him, looking around the apartment in thought. "Sheets…I may have them…" he mutters.

"I don't need indefinitely."

"If you think you're living with your mom after tonight you're delusional. Go use the bathroom – shower – I'll get you set up with a bed."

"I can sleep on the couch."

"No, you'll sleep on some sort of mattress. Go shower."

Jess furrows his brow. "Are you telling me I stink or something?"

"Showering will help make you feel better."

Jess tries not to laugh. "Aw."

"Shut up." Pause. "Did you eat? I can make you something."

"I'm fine."

"I'll make you something."

Jess rolls his eyes, but picks up his duffel and heads toward the bathroom. He didn't bring much with him – a handful of shirts, two pairs of pants, some boxers, his favorite books and CDs, some hair gel, and a pack of cigarettes. He does have a bottle of shampoo in the bathroom here because of an incident over the summer involving misplaced flour; no good deed goes unpunished, indeed.

He turns on the shower and avoids looking in the mirror as he undresses. He has a feeling that Luke is probably doing other things besides preparing the apartment for him, like calling Liz, so he takes his time. He tries to avoid thinking about what's going to happen next, like Luke says he'll house him, but will he actually? And if not, can he really do the next two years in that fucking mansion? And what if he does live in Stars Hollow – what about Chilton? Will his dick of a step-father really shell out the money for Chilton after tonight? And if that's the case, then so what? Why does Jess give a shit about Chilton when he hates the fucking uniforms and the school work is absolutely insane? He could go to Stars Hollow High and wear his regular clothes and be bored out of his fucking mind (and not be entertained by Rory taking notes and biting her lip) –

(Okay, he's going over his options.)

He shuts his eyes tightly as he rinses out his hair, forcing himself to recite "Howl" until his mind clears.

He turns off the water and dries himself, wrapping his towel around his waist when he hears a sharp knock on the door.

"I have clothes," Luke says, his voice muffled.

Jess considers arguing, but he's tired now and it seems easier to open the door and take the offered clothes: a pair of sweatpants and a Mets shirt. Jess had figured Luke would be a Red Sox fan given the 860 territory of Connecticut, but he doesn't plan on questioning it.

When Jess leaves the bathroom, he finds Luke in the kitchen, flipping what seems to be a grilled cheese.

"I used provolone and cheddar. Did you want a tomato in this?"

"I'm good, thanks."

Luke flips it one more time to check the bread and reaches for a plate to put the sandwich on. He hands it to Jess.

"Thanks." Jess checks the fridge and there are a few cans of Coke left. Figuring soda isn't the best thing given that he has residual nicotine buzz in his system, he grabs a water bottle and sits down at the table.

The grilled cheese is pretty damn good. Once Luke is satisfied that Jess will be eating the entire sandwich, he goes to the stove and breaks out a fucking tea kettle. Jess grimaces, figuring correctly that Luke would be making two cups of herbal tea.

Luke finally stays still and Jess notices Luke's red rimmed eyes.

"I spoke with your step-dad. Your mom wasn't available," Luke says in the stilted way that Jess had picked up on weeks ago to be Luke's 'lying out of his ass' tone.

"She was passed out," Jess corrects him flatly. "What did he say."

"I told him you were staying with me and he was more than okay with that."

"Okay. And Chilton?"

"He said he'll continue paying for it as long as you continue to keep up your grades," Luke snorts. Then pauses. "What are you getting?"

Jess smiles.

Luke grumbles and shakes his head. "Well, if it's good enough for this jerk, it's good enough for me."

He's obviously still paying as a status thing, or a way to avoid scandal, which, whatever. At least he'll get to enjoy Rory in knee-high socks in the fall.

"I gotta ask – how did you dent your car?"

Jess snorts and takes a sip of his tea. Nope, not good. "It was months ago and I backed into a pile of snow."

"And you didn't tell anyone?"

"I wanted to see how long it would take for anyone to notice."

"Well, it got noticed alright." Luke sighs. "We'll figure out the rest tomorrow. Are you still hungry?"

"Nope."

"Okay. So…not a fan of tea?"

"Not really," Jess admits, but he picks up his mug again and takes another sip. It's somewhat getting better, but he'd never make it himself.

"Let me see if I can find you a spare toothbrush."

Luke gets up from the table and halfway to the bathroom, Jess says, "Thank you."

Luke stops walking. "You're welcome." Then continues to the bathroom.

(Jess tries not to laugh when he years shit falls out of the medicine cabinet and Luke cursing.)

Luke seems to pass out immediately, but Jess, despite his exhaustion, is awake on his blow-up mattress or raft or whatever the hell he's on.

Over the year he's gotten used to the utter lack of noise at night, mostly with the help of music. It's still weird and it's downright eerie at times, but it's not as bad as it was in the beginning.

Although this – Stars Hollow – is probably even worse than where he was living before.

He only has six CDs with him and as much as he loathes to admit it, he probably needs to listen to something that's more akin to Parachutes and not Never Mind the Bollocks.

So, he's left with the silence. And Luke's intermittent snoring. Eventually, he's lulled to sleep, mostly because the adrenaline and nicotine are long gone and the hot shower did help a little, even though he won't admit it.

When Jess wakes up, he's alone. He checks his watch and it's a little past six. He groans and considers falling back asleep, but the raft has deflated a little and he heard Luke drop something in the back, so he sits up with a wince, rubbing the back of his neck.

He tries to get his hair back in order, but gives up after a few minutes. The cut looks worse in the daylight, but he ignores it. He rubs his cheek against his growing stubble and figures he needs to really make these living arrangements official and buy bathroom supplies later.

He heads downstairs and seeing Rory first thing in the morning is admittedly one of his favorite things. He can get used to having breakfast at Luke's every day and maybe he's a little relieved to have Luke with him when they go back to Hartford since he always believed in the power of the getaway driver. He just hopes that Luke can have a lead foot when it's important.

(Which, it turns out he does while they're speeding up I-84 on the way there and speeding down on the way back; they should get along just fine.)

#jess mariano #luke danes #chilton au #gg fic #gilmore girls #missgoalie writes things

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sailor-cresselia · 7 years ago

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Zi-O 14: Raw viewing

Hm. Hmmm. HMMM.

omoshiroi.

Here’s the liveblog for Zi-O 14, pre-subs.

These are apparently taking me several hours to watch now, since I’m taking notes live, and with checking the wiki to get names right and backing up frequently to check images and figure out what I can actually hear. Whoops.

(WOW that phrase comes in handy.)

Woz, where’d you go – oh, so the clock’s not just some sort of Aesthetic Background. It’s actually there.

Okay, I can’t tell if he’s pissed because Sougo’s kinda dead, or because he’s not the reason Sougo’s kinda dead, but Geiz is pissed.

Aw. I think he might actually care.

“Can’t you just tell them that I’m right here?”

“They wouldn’t believe me.”

Urgh, I can’t actually get what they’re saying. I THINK it’s along the lines of:

Takeru: “So, I’m the only one who can see you, and it ‘might’ be because of this.” He pulls out the Ghost watch.

Sougo: “Ohhhh. So Geiz is headed to see the past you.”

Takeru: “Wait, what? The past?!” (oh god no not time travel again!)

(Re: the opening)

HEY WAIT.

Apparently, episode 11 was the last time that the final shot of the Opening had that uncomfortable ‘burning page reversing itself while grainy footage of Zi-o on his bike’ sequence. Episode 12 turned it to being a straight shot of Zi-o Riding his bike straight at the camera between two jets of flame. I only noticed watching 14, just now, but huh. I thought the only changes that had happened so far were the shots of the Time Jackers updating.

I’ll have to check on that later.

Ohh… Another Ghost immediately went after the crane operator… that’s really heartbreaking.

(Geiz, bud, what’s with the terrible green-screen? Your transformation’s usually better done than that.)

Hora: Come on, we need to kick Geiz’s butt in the past.

Tsukasa: Pft. Plebe. I can travel on my own, thanks. (proceeds to open a dimensional portal of his own)

Thank you for not summoning the hoodies this time, Geiz.

Enter Ryuki!Decade… who promptly changes to Ghost!Decade… oh, this could be good. (I paused mid transformation to write, mind you.)

The rules of time travel say that only one version of a rider’s powers can exist at a time. Somehow, the Another Riders count as this, but the Ride Watches don’t, which bugs me. But now… We have Another Ghost present, Geiz is using the Ghost Watch, and Decade is about to use the Ghost Card.

How will this play out… (spoiler alert to 2:00 am samantha from 3:30 am samantha: it made absolutely no difference. drat.)

SURE, you’ll let TSUKASA be spooky, but what about Takeru, huh? HUH?!?

Okay, so Geiz just summoned Musashi and Edison. Another Ghost has Robin Hood and Newton. Tsukasa got Billy the Kid and… um. I think that’s Beethoven? Yup. Beethoven.

OUCH. Geiz’s losing streak continues, with a distressing looking slash from the Gan Gun Saber, followed by a pair of Rider Kicks from Ghost!Decade and Another Ghost.

That red-and-black aesthetic of Another Ghost’s Emblem behind his kick though… Mm. Yes. This is still such a good Another Rider look. … and actually, this is the first time since Another Build and Another Ex-aid that we’ve seen this much of an Another Rider using their bases powers, isn’t it? Build was making bottles and using them, and Ex-aid was summoning bugster mooks. Okay, that’s admittedly actually a Bugster thing, but he was also generating game areas, so it still counts.

Hm. No sequence breaking for us, it would seem. Decade just wiped the Ghost Watch, turning it blank… and tossed Geiz the Decade Watch before taking off.

Interesting.

Or we could have some compeletely different sequence breaking, seeing as how Takeru had to pilot the time mazine for Sougo. Yanno, due to incorporeality. THEY landed just before Mika’s brother dies, as opposed to Geiz landing just after.

I hate to say this, but Nani The F*ck? So clearly, inherently magical Takeru can also force shove objects, because he just deflected the beams before they could hit either Mika or her brother. So now he can’t become Another Ghost, which sends Sougo back to his body… in 2018. While 21-year-old!Takeru is now in 2015. Where spooky!18-year-old!Takeru is supposed to also be.

Oh deary. So Heure pulls out the blank watch he was going to use to make Another Ghost, and summons a bunch of Ganma mooks with it. Fine, good, he’s ticked, makes sense. They attack 21!Takeru. Fine, fine.

Makoto shows up, asking why Takeru isn’t transforming.

He’s asking 21!Takeru – who, being from an altered timeline, does not remember being Ghost (allegedly).

“Oh, right, I’m a Kamen Rider. Makoto, let’s go!”

Mind you, Makoto is played by the same actor as always, and clearly neither of these men have aged a much more than a day since 2015, since they still look pretty much identical. This is for the best, because otherwise we’d have to wonder why Makoto doesn’t catch that suddenly Takeru (who should not be aging in 2015) looks bit older than he ought to.

((Takeru: Oh, man, I’m out of practice, last time I did this was December, one year ago for me, two years from now… I might be stuck here… ~oh well~ ~not like I haven’t gone off script like thirty different ways before~))

I don’t know what just happened in the hospital (2018) but I do not like it. That was very uncomfortable to watch. I can get that the whole Sougo-going-back-to-his-body thing just was undone, since Another Ghost exists again, but. What was Woz explaining? And he didn’t move when he said ‘waga maou.’ That was… that wasn’t a thought sound effect for that, the ‘stylization’ for thoughts and narrative are about the same, and they aren’t as faint as that. That felt like… idk, a telepathy thing?

~It’s not Ghost without sister issues~

Takeru: (oh no oh no I think we pulled it off? Maybe? Oh no Makoto’s looking at you say something)

Takeru: Uh, okay, uh, hey, Makoto, give the other Takeru my regards.

Makoto: ???

(exit: stage future)

Geiz is worried. That is a worried Geiz. And a stressed Sougo. And an uncle who is definitely faking his usual, already awkward laughter.

Sougo’s uncle has too many dishes ready to not have known there were extra people coming.

(Hee, Narita’s got Akari’s Shiranui cannon! And they mentioned her by name! Eee!)

TEAM WORK. THIS IS THE BEST THEMATIC TEAMWORK YESSSSS.

Sougo using the Ex-Aid watch with his mech is cool enough – it gets the same hammers that he does.

And then Geiz comes in with Genm. AND THE PURPLE WARP PIPES YESSSSS!

Is that. That’s the Cross-z watch.

MECHA BUILD AND CROSS-Z UGH YES.

Bottle boyfriend mecha RIDER KICK!

Hm. More mook summoning, by Another Ghost this time, ala Ex-Aid and OOO.

Pft-ahahaha.

I love Tsukasa’s reaction to Woz’s speech.

Tsukasa: What. What are you doing.

And Woz just growls.

NEAT. I knew that the Decade Armor let Zi-o get the Mid-forms of the Legend Riders, but I didn’t think of how that screen variant of the helmet could come into play with it. It shows the Zi-o-with-Decade color scheme before he changes, and when he puts in the Build watch… it’s shuffling, kind of like a character select screen – or cards being dealt. You can see Ex-Aid most clearly going by, but I can tell there were others.

Welcome back, RabbitTank Sparkling!

And Tsukasa just tells Woz to shut up and grabs his book. Was he always like this? Because I’m liking the snark.

I don’t know what this sword is called but I really really like it. Not only are the Ex-aid sound effects back in English, but it let him summon Max Flare, Funky Spike, and Midnight Shadow’s tires! (fangirl squeal)

Welcome back, Grateful!

“Why did I give him my watch? Eh. Thought it’d be interesting.”

(I think that’s about what he was saying? Ish? Approximately?)

Hang on, that screen? The mask for Decade is a Zi-o variant, but RabbitTank Sparkling and Grateful are their usual appearances.

And now Geiz has someone he wants to punch even more than he does Sougo or Woz.

So, overall...

Interesting indeed, Tsukasa. Interesting indeed.

#kamen rider zi o #kamen rider ghost #kamen rider decade #sailorcressy says #wait when did i learn to liveblog?

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shinylitwick94 · 7 years ago

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Shinylitwick reads Wheel of Time - Book 14 -A Memory of Light

Warning:Contains spoilers for the whole series

So here we are - finally at the end!

Took me about 3 months to get through the whole series, although admittedly with a lot of skimming in some of the slower storylines.

All in all it’s been a great journey and I’ll do a whole series post too, but for now on to AMoL!

Hands down the best book in the series, although perhaps that is not so surprising - it’s what we want from a good finale, after all!

Compared to the rest of the series, even to the other Sanderson books, the pacing here was extremely fast.

It had to be, otherwise we’d probably have ended up with 15 books instead, but that means that unfortunately many of the smaller characters and storylines and even some of the bigger ones don’t really get closure at all.

The difference in style between Jordan and Sanderson is also pretty clear here -action is what Sanderson likes best and it’s what he does best and there’s plenty of it to go around. I suspect if Jordan had had the chance to write the last battle, there would have been more character interaction and less cool and inventive ways to kill Trollocs. And I don’t mean to criticise Sanderson here at all, I think he did splendidly, but they do have different strengths as writers.

I don’t always think epilogues are necessary, but I feel like this could have benefitted from one. I liked the ending scene itself pretty well, but I just wish we’d had a little more time for everyone else.

What takes up the bulk of this book isn’t Rand’s struggle against the dark one, but everyone else’s struggle against the armies of the shadow. Which, I think, makes perfect sense - deep down we all know how Rand’s clash with the Dark One will end. We know, because that’s the way stories work, that even if the hero somehow were to fail at the end, he’ll find a way to turn the tables. So Rand was actually not as interesting to me in this book as he has been up until now.

Still, I was surprised he made it out of there alive - I wholly expected him to die for real.

Rand’s whole peace treaty thing also felt a little out of place to me. I think it’s totally justified, given Rand’s character, that he would try. I also think it won’t last 10 years, let alone 100.

So that whole conflict was a bit meh, because it was just...Rand sweetie I know you’re trying to do the right thing here, but it’s really really not going to survive your corpse.

The whole meeting was worth it for Moiraine’s entrance though.

As for the other stories, I loved Pevara and Androl to pieces and I’m super happy they made it through. I was a little disappointed he never got to confront Taim more directly, I was looking forward to that.

Lan was one of the other stand out characters in this book. He’s pretty one-note as a character overall, but this book brings out all of the best in a character like Lan and doesn’t stop until the end. Loved every scene with him!

I was a little surprised that none of Rand’s 3 girls died. I thought for sure Aviendha was going to die in that fight with Graendal. I think I would have liked it if one of them had died, probably Min or Aviendha, killing pregnant Elayne sounds too dark for this series, but it’s fine this way too.

I was really sad that we lost Siuan and Gareth Bryne, I really liked their relationship, but I suppose Siuan’s character’s purpose was pretty much gone the moment Egwene became Amyrlin.

And speaking of Egwene, that’s the death that probably hit me the hardest. She’s had such a long journey as a character and it was an incredible finale for her, but I really wanted the Two Rivers kids to get back together at the end.

Perrin’s story was more engaging than usual, however I still feel that Slayer is too obviously made to be Perrin’s villain and feels a little too dettached from the main storyline for me to fully connect. At least here there was the Black Tower at first and later protecting Rand too.

I kind of wanted Faile to die, not because I dislike her character, but because I think it would have been tragically ironic for Perrin to spend half the series worrying about Faile, only to fail at the end. Again, probably too dark for this series.

Mat was pretty great in this, as I’m sure everyone expected him to be. I don’t think anyone had any doubt that Mat would lead the armies of the Light ever since he got his memories. And of course he did splendidly at that.

There were still some incredibly irritating Mat moments, mainly whenever he was around Tuon. Mat on his own was mostly ok. What stuck out to me was him threatening to spank Egwene and Tuon. What.The.Fuck is it with this series and spanking? It just pulled me completely out of that scene (and it was such a great scene too!). It was stupid, absurd, out of place, infantilizing and just plain gross. Who in their right mind would say that at that stage?!

The Seanchan problem was left completely unresolved in this book, unfortunately. I found the way Rand agreed to Tuon and the way Mat fawned over her to be a little disgusting, to be completely honest. I’ve never been sold on Mat/Tuon, but I’d sort of grudgingly accepted I’d have to deal with it. To see Rand accept those terms, when he has been so much harsher with everyone else and went around changing the laws of every country he ruled just pissed me off.

I get it - end of the world, deal with the devil, etc, but Rand didn’t even seem to be all that upset about it.

I think I might have accepted his decision better if we actually got to see Rand struggle with it, instead of getting the whole scene form the point of view of Mat, who doesn’t give a shit.

I liked Demandred and from what I hear there’s a whole short story about him and the Sharans. I kind of wish that had made its way into the main books. This way the Sharans felt like they were coming completely out of nowhere, just so that the Light’s forces would need to get help from the Seanchan.

Nyneave didn’t get much to do here, as a side effect of being with Rand for the duel with the Dark One, but I still enjoyed what little we got of her.

All in all, it was a spectacular final book for this series and I’m very happy I stuck around long enough to read it all the way through!

Favorite scene(s): Lan and Demandred, Egwene’s flame of Tar Valon, Moiraine’s entry into the command tent, Androl’s lava gates, Rand’s final scene, Brigitte’s return, Olver blowing the horn, that refugee woman with Logain, many many other scenes

Least favorite scene(s): The part of the Mat-Tuon-Egwene scene I already mentioned, Rand and Tuon, some of the smaller battle scenes felt a little repetitive sometimes,

Favorite character(s): Lan, Egwene, Androl, Pevara, Moiraine, Nyneave, Rand

Least favorite character(s): Tuon, Taim (just disappointing...)

Book rankings so far: 1.MOL 2.TOM 3. TGS 4.LOC 5.TSR 6.TGH 7.TFOH 8.ACS 9.TDR 10.WH 11.KOD 12. TEOTW 13.TPOD 14.CoT

#shinylitwick reads books #wheel of time #a memory of light #and there was so much more i wanted to say that i couldn't think of

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vspirit8 · 8 years ago

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Call me an easy-to-please dumbass but...

All the decisions Hanyu’s made in his career thus far have turned out to be practical, and sound ones (even when they didn’t seem like it at first) while remaining exciting. This one is no less so, even if it might seem disappointing at first. Why is this, you ask? Let’s put a few things (28, to be exact) into perspective (I’m not blindly positive, y’all):

Hanyu’s winning pattern has always been one problematic skate, and one redeeming and/or explosive one.

Prior to 2012, his SPs were almost always uh-oh! while his FSes were what saved his ass (even if they weren’t super clean).

Post-2012, but pre-2015, when he skated clean, it’s almost always only in the SP.

When he finally skated *both* programs clean in a single competition, he did it with Ballade No. 1 in its second season and SEIMEI in its 3rd competition–more than a decade since he first started skating competitively.

SEIMEI is also the first FS he’s ever skated clean, like *truly* clean, and the first time he skated it clean was also following a clean SP performance. To date, it remains the *only* FS he’s skated clean more than once, and the only one he’s skated well *twice* despite following a clean SP.

Skating it clean following a clean SP means he wasn’t simply chasing, but he was utterly and purely dominating—that was his very first taste of it and methinks the boy man Likes the Feeling Very Much.

In the 2016 WC, after two clean sets of performances in prior competitions, he reverted to the clean-SP-problematic-FS pattern.

And in WC 2017, he flipped the switch and it’s now back to his whoops!SP and explosive!FS pattern.

If there’s anything he wants more than a second Ollie gold, it’s two clean skates on the Ollie stage (preferably preceded by clean skates in prior comps). Especially so since he’s pulling double duty in going for that 2nd gold *and* proving to the world that he rightfully deserves his first one.

So based on his pattern all these years, he’s only been able to pull off complete dominance for part of a single season, and that’s with a recycled SP and the only FS he’s skated clean twice.

Chances of him skating clean next season, the most crucial one, with two brand new progs: next to 0 (not with his anal retentive fusspot tendencies)

The feelings for SEIMEI he has are so strong, he’s apparently already decided it was gonna be his Ollie program after GPF15, a decision he’s stuck to despite his poor showing of it in WC 2016. I think his fanboyism of Mansai and all the lovely input he’s gotten from the man himself prolly also played a critical part in his choice.

So it’s a good program in his mind that’s left him with unfinished business with it, since he’s essentially never skated it clean in a major championship, national *and* international, a development that basically told him it’s still too early to pack the program in and consider it a perfectly done piece with no more room to grow. Sides, he’s put in so much effort in the making of the program, from the music to the choreography, it stands to reason he’d want to get some more mileage out of it, if he could.

So his choices, as of end 2015, were a brand new SP and SEIMEI or a repeat SP and SEIMEI. Depending on how he performed LGC in the 2016/17 season, it would either be his Ollie SP or it would be something else.

If it leaves him with good feelings, he’ll either use it again or chance a new SP.

Sadly, that didn’t happen and instead, he was left with negative feelings and mental impression for both the program itself and SPs in general, so no repeat of LGC and his mind is telling him his mental focus probably won’t be able to handle a brand new SP in the Ollie season. Not especially if he wants to up his tech further while increasing even more bells and whistles.

At this point, (end of the 2016/17 season), everything is telling him to reuse Chopin and SEIMEI.

But because he is Hanyu and he’s already upped his tech last season, he has to either maintain or up it further.

And because he’s reusing both programs, he’s left with no reason to not raise his tech content level and it’s gotta be way bigger than last season.

All in all, if we want him to skate clean on the Ollie stage while still doing what he always does, well, we’re getting it.

But if we want him to skate clean with one new program just to please us fans despite all the above, then I think we’re asking for the impossible, even from the guy who’s been giving us the impossible all these years.

We’ve got two new and beautiful programs last season. If this were another season, and not an Ollie one, I’m willing to bet we’d have at least one new program.

So let the guy do what he thinks will allow him to win in the way he wants to on a stage he’s been looking to deliver his best on since he was 7. I think he’s proven himself enough to deserve unconditional support in getting there.

Delivering his absolute best is one but, let it be said that we *still* don’t know what his absolute best can amount up to, only the promise of it and that’s already so far above and beyond what everyone else in the field is capable of delivering right now, it’s not even funny anymore.

If there’s anyone who can build something that’ll make the world’s collective jaws drop even further than they did before with the same programs but *better*, it’s Yuzuru Hanyu.

And remember, if he skates clean at the Ollies, for most of the world, it would be their first time going slack-jawed. Especially amidst all the warhorses. SEIMEI is definitely going to make them sit up and pay attention. Because not only is it different (being definitively non-Western), it is bold, it is powerful, and it is fierce. Plus, it oozes a sort of masculinity most have never seen before in men’s FS. And it appeals to a wider range of audience, no matter their culture, because it’s just such an obviously damn cool program. So people who’s always made fun of men figure skating will have to STFU.

If it’s any other skater, this might be seen as lazy and playing it safe, but then I ask myself this: has Yuzuru Hanyu *ever* been lazy? And since when did 5-quads start being considered as safe? All he’s doing is entrusting his ultimate dream and desire to a *program* he trusts. Not a layout. A program. So that he’d be free to chance a high-flying layout packed to the high heavens with transitions and exquisitely performed elements–without having to kill or maim himself in the process. Which means, the only thing disappointing about it is that it isn’t a brand new program. That’s it. And if I have to sit through an entire season of watching a program I like again to see it taken to never-seen-before heights, as opposed to a brand new program I may not like as much and watching him struggle and make compromises in order to simply *deliver*, and during Ollie season at that, it’s a no-brainer which I’m going to go with.

What Hanyu wants to do isn’t just to win and to wow. He wants to completely dominate and he wants to go down in history doing it. He’s gotten a taste of it two seasons back and wants to make damn sure he gets to relive it again, preferably for a longer stretch this season and most definitely covering the Ollies and perhaps even the WC in Milan. And these two programs are his best chance at achieving just that next season.

Really, there’s just way too much at stake for him to not do this. Our brains know this, but some of us still can’t help but feel just a wee bit disappointed in our hearts. Still, as long as we know where he’s coming from, those of us who are disappointed will likely come around sooner or later, because we know what truly matters this season and would conclude that we’d have made the same choices if we were in his shoes. If we’re even the teeniest bit invested in him, we won’t even have a choice about it, I guarantee it.

As for me personally, I’m just fawning over the fact that the whole world is finally going to get to know SEIMEI, not just the FS one. And it’ll stand out so beautifully among all the warhorses. SEIMEI is an Olympic-worthy program and in hindsight, no amount of new programs has a more rightful place, especially since it’s proven itself more than worthy once before, and even left its skater room to develop it further.

And get this, it’s not even my favorite program from him. LoL. It’s #3 on my list at best, so I was neither hoping for it nor against it. But now that we’ve got it, I can now see it so clearly for what it really is. Plus, there are bonuses that only SEIMEI can afford. If he skates it clean with higher tech content, he’d be able to corner the judges into giving him scores that at least match what the 2015 judges gave him for the same program. Because imagine the kind of questions they’ll have to answer if they don’t. And with this, he’ll be able to surpass his old scores with his BV. It is the one surefire megaweapon he has against his younger rivals that was cultivated long before they are the threat they are today as well as iffy judging (in a way, I feel that his hand was forced) and it’s time he reaped and harvested the fruits of his foresight, talent and hard work.

So there is everything to celebrate and absolutely nothing to feel disappointed over. Not for friggin’ SEIMEI as the Olympic program for the Yuzuru Hanyu.

(Admittedly, I was a tad disappointed back when he announced he’d be doing Chopin for the third time, but knowing the mess LGC left behind in his mind, I forced myself to accept it and after what he’s shown us of it in FaOI, I’ve come to wholeheartedly embrace it.)

I don’t know if all this will result in gold still, seeing as there are still very human factors involved in the judging, but if he delivers everything clean in PC, I’m going to consider it a win in my books.

And yes, I’d still like to see him make more history with new programs so hopefully he’ll stick around for at least one more season after this and we’ll get to see him doing that.

One thing though…the guy is now a confirmed LIAR. Cos he’s said right after WTT that he has no plans for the Ollie season and here he is claiming he’s already decided SEIMEI would be his Ollie program right after GPF15.

I get that he wanted to dodge those interview questions, and what he said was very obviously a lie (because only a bigger dumbass than me would believe anyone hoping to make it to the Ollies the next year who says they have no plans at least 2636351 years in advance, much less him) and I’m not sure if there’s anything else he could’ve done but flat out lie but it amuses me to no end to be able to loudly call him out as a big fat liar. xxxxD

#yuzuru hanyu #that lying sack of...#...star dust #and bird feathers #and molten lava #men's figure skating #figure skating

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peanutdracolich · 8 years ago

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Peanut Dracolich watches (Hammer) Horror: Dracula Has Risen From the Grave

The fourth Hammer Horror Dracula film, the third with the magnificent Christopher Lee as Dracula, and the 2nd in which he speaks. The film was at its heart a Hammer Horror Dracula story, possessing the trappings of the Romanian wilderness, the small town plagued by Dracula, and so forth. In fact the film in many ways echoed the original Dracula story. There’s Dracula, the morally loose first victim, the morally upstanding second victim dragged in by his spell, her lover who must vanquish the vampire to keep his girl from being seduced away by Dracula’s dark powers.

What sets the film apart is the sexual charge. Vampires are full of sexual metaphors, but this film makes it overt (though not explicit). It all lies just beneath the surface where only a true innocent would miss it. Maybe it’s the era of film (I’ve not watched many 60s 70s vampire films) and the sexual liberation that American cinema has backslid from, but it really brings out those sexual metaphors.

This sexual charge is not really bad, it’s not gratuitous boobs for the sake of boobs, and it is not overt enough to just be erotica. Still it actually surprisingly avoids the female vampire, instead preferring displaying the addictive and yet abusive and sexually predatory nature of vampirism and makes me want to look for metaphors about unsavory relationships and think about the basic metaphor implicit in the young suitor saving his beloved from moral degeneration of being a ‘loose’ woman. I’d say that might be more an alchemical reaction that the film alone cannot be blamed for, but its choice of an atheist hero sets the stage for it even better.

And of course you have Christopher Lee offering another excellent performance as Dracula, and bringing an unrivaled charisma for the role (I find Bella Lugosi’s Dracula lacking by comparison, and even as a youth the film made me want to read the book because it had to be better). The other actors while not having Lee’s sheer Presence give enjoyable performances and the film while not being scary (it’s a vampire film it’s not supposed to be scary unless you’re scared of a foreign count coming and taking your woman because you’re a wimp and then abusing her) has its fearsome moments. Over all the film was quite enjoyable, and definitely superior to the others in the series (save perhaps the original, though to give a true assessment I’d have to watch them close to each other).

Good/Bad/Ugly and play by play below.

The Good:

Christopher Lee: I have never seen an actor more fit for the role of Dracula than Christopher Lee. I can honestly believe that he could stare you in the eye and hypnotize you, and has the dark charisma to compel a man of god to his bidding. Christopher Lee was going to make the movie on his own and he does.

The Sexual Charge: I found it quite effective for creating an impact and getting me thinking about vampires as sexual metaphors.

The Atheist Hero... and Renfield Priest: The film just had a good choice of roles. While they are basically analogous to roles in the original book (this is most true for Zena and Maria as Dracula’s victims and the loose woman with many suitors and the faithful woman torn from her love). Still while the actresses are charming, able to make small actions expressive without need for directly telling us feeling, I’m not really talking about the acting. From a story view I liked the atheist vampire slayer and the lapsed priest forced to serve the Dark Count.

The Bad:

Cliche: The story is, admittedly, rife with cliche and easily dismissed as just another Dracula story. Sexual charge alone doesn’t really make it horribly unique, but the film was well done and of its period and type an excellent one. Still it’s full of the cliche of its genre and does not edge outside in any particular aspect.

The Ugly:

Dracula’s Death: While the scene is actually beautiful and enjoyable, he comes off looking sort of suddenly so much less at the end which is sort of disappointing.

The Play by Play:

We begin with a lava lamp. It is supposed to be a creepy backdrop for the opening credits, but it's generic horror music (as expected from Hammer Horror) and a lava lamp.

We find a church and the rope for the church bell is covered in elderberry juice! Oh no. Berry juice. Our whistling finder of said juice goes to see who has been pressing berries in the bell and begins to scream, not telling the priest what he has found for he is far too shocked. I joke around but while we know there's something up there (and this is the 60s they can't be too grotesque in showing a body, we don't know what for a good time and when we do see it's a woman, upside down, blood flowing from her throat where a vampire's teeth had killed her.

We get some exposition from the new comer, a priest of the church visiting the valley that was the domain of Dracula till his death one year ago.

He finds the church with no priest saying mass, the priest drinking in the tavern instead, and the church boy a mute.

The man come to check on the town is pissed at the town for not attending church, and disbelieves that there is still evil in the castle that can reach into the House of God. Or at least he does before the villagers, when dealing with just the priest he is far more accepting (though still seems disbelieving that it's anything more than superstition) and he intends to prove there is no evil still there.

The mood is suitably creepy. The film is not going for shock and terror, but a sort of creep and dread (as is the nature of older horror films). The music is well not ineffective, but not anything great and a little too obvious. It puts me in mind of a group traveling in a Ravenloft adventure of D&D... which isn't itself a bad thing... And the local priest just collapsed on the journey. Somehow despite leaving at dawn they arrive near dark and the superior priest goes the final way alone for his companion refuses to continue.

There is dread here. Something will happen to this priest as he prays before the dark castle of the archvampire. A storm begins, the lightning as fake as the mountains, and the local priest tumbles down from where he watches a far ways off; hitting the ice which encased Dracula in the last film, and cracking it unconscious from a head wound. Blood trickles down to Dracula, and the superior priest returns to look for the local one, disgusted that he has been drinking and seemingly assuming he wandered off drunk.

We know better. And we now know that while a mirror will not reflect a vampire a pool of water will.

Lee does nothing more than stand and glower but he remains an imposing figure, the intensity of his look almost something supernatural. This is Lee's unique power.

The superior from the Catholic church returns to the town believing he has done his duty, and asks after the priest, and prepares to leave. The townsfolk claim the priest returned and left, and we see the priest is now Dracula's creature, and Dracula cannot enter his castle with that golden cross sealing it. He must have his revenge.

The film shows us the priest and his... well she seems to be his wife, but eventually it assures us she is not and in fact implies she's more likely his brother's widow... and it is his niece's birthday and she is having a young man over. One training to be a shirtless doctor, got to get some beefcake in.

Oh and we also see Dracula and his new minion digging up the corpse of the woman from the opening. She's rather rotted and it's sort of fan disservice. Still the scene is good, chilling, and for the time a bit revolting.

Still we see the local tavern. It is far more boisterous than that in Dracula's village. The waitress is jealous that our doctor to be (now in a suit) is going out with someone else. Apparently she likes all the guy flirting with her and has 'more boyfriends than she can count' and takes that with pride. We also see our heroine, the lovely Maria. She's got a very nice looking face, lovely blonde hair, a fetching heroine.

We learn something horrible about our protagonist, Paul, something that truly shocks and amazes Maria's mother and uncle, he is an Atheist. The priest has limits to how far he values honesty, and blasphemy crosses them. I wonder if Paul will still be an atheist by the end of the film.

I also wonder how long until our saucy barmaid becomes a bride of Dracula.

Paul gets drunk, Zena (the saucy barmaid) takes him to bed, kisses him, and starts to undress him when Maria comes... even after she decides to cup a feel of his crotch. She is rather disappointed that Maria drives her away. I mean he'd sort of invited while merely nearing black out drunk, but he was past remembering that and at the 'why are you in my room' stage of black out drunk.

Still our waitress leaves the tavern and begins the walk home alone in the dark, a walk that leads her pass Dracula's carriage. When it begins to follow her she reasonably starts to run, when it speeds up she runs into the woods (also reasonably). The woods are wide spaced and it doesn't help but it's reasonable. And she does manage to lose it, diving through a row of bushes. This simply leads her to walking up to Dracula where she is paralyzed with shock and his gaze. She does not resist his embrace.

She returns to the tavern before morning, dressed in her shift and a light cloak, and hiding her bite. She is cranky though more afraid that her bit will be seen. She hides it with a scarf before day proper. Dracula's priestly creature tries to rent a room, and the tavern keeper tries to say they have none... but Zena (having recognized him from the night before) speaks up despite (creepy) priests being bad for business. And Paul tells Dracula's pet priest that the Monsignor has a niece. Zena and the priest is interesting to watch. She is torn, she fears him, knows that he was part of her attack the night before. He makes her neck itch. Yet she cannot bring herself to reveal it, and in fact worked to ensure he would be there. It's an effective way to show how she is drawn to him, or more him through his master, even as she fears him and feels revulsion and an unclean self-disgust at the entire thing.

A leg would have gone up were a cat not on them, an intense showing of Dracula. And I am reminded that more perhaps than even Lugosi's Dracula, vampires from the 80s till Twilight tried to invoke Lee's tall, dark, and intensely charismatic count.

Zena is jealous of Maria once again when Dracula reveals that he wants her. 'What do you want her for, you've got me'. It's a parasitic, twisted relationship, but the sexuality of the vampire-victim dynamic is highly visible in this film. I mean it's been part of Vampires as long as they've shown up in the English language, but vampirism as a destructive, abusive relationship is rather displayed here without it being too 'treats you like an idiot and explains it' about it.

Zena grabs Maria and hands her over to Dracula. Paul finds out that Maria came looking for him and everyone assumes she's with him... not staring into Christopher Lee's hypnotic (though in this film overly bloodshot) eyes. Only Paul's arrival scares off Dracula enough that she escapes... for a time.

"You have failed me" So much menace in his voice. Christopher Lee reminds me of nothing so much as Darth Vader (on a good day of Vader's) here. And then the understated "You must be punished" just sends chills. Zena pleads for mercy, asking why he needs Maria when he has her, he has her! It's a good scene, and one which is intense.

Zena is turned completely, but the priest is tasked with killing Dracula's new creation by shoving her into the fire that heats the bakery's stove. It's an effective scene. The film is an effective film. It's the best of the Hammer Horror films other than probably Horror of Dracula that I've seen.

Maria is ashamed to go home in a state where her mother might see what has happened to her and how distraught she is at it. She hides her assault from her family for the shame of it all.

No one seems to notice that the priest is acting drugged. I mean given the period and his position as a priest, and the lack of our knowledge of what's actually happening it's understandable.

Still we get more of Maria's family assuming she was just sleeping around with her boyfriend that they disapprove of, and not that she was the victim of sexual assault. And hints that she may have actually been bitten, just not on the neck itself. Dracula arrives and you see Maria's fearousal, and despite initial fear after looking into his (no longer bloodshot) eyes she yields to him, a face of rapture as he does not quite kiss her, though she years for it, and then... he bites. It's the vampire's bite as sex in its pretty purest form. Highly charged with eroticism, elements of seduction mixing with assault, it's intense and functional.

Maria's uncle, the Monsignor, finds the bite on her throat and he knows what it is; he failed at Dracula's castle and in so doing has somehow drawn Dracula's wrath upon him.

As is the cliché in the Dracula tale they close Maria's window for her, but do not watch her and she of course opens it to invite Dracula in, baring her throat to him and a bit of her chest, waiting in eager rapture... only to be saved from Dracula when her uncle bursts into the room with a crucifix leading to her mute and disappointed seeming relaxation. Also Lee's eyes are super bloodshot again. The chase is good.

It plays with the normal symbols of the vampire story quite entertainingly in that Paul is an atheist. I mean usually the vampire is... he is the foreigner, the man who has no moral standing in the social order, who is corrupting the young women of the land with his dark ways and sexual nature. The traditional story as crafted by Stoker uses the loose woman with many suitors (Lucy, Zena) and then the chaste and holy one (Wilhelmina, Maria). And in the latter though Dracula gets a foothold upon her soul, and leaves her soiled, in the end she breaks off the affair and becomes a good, proper, chaste, and virtuous woman more devoted to her husband for the ordeal. She is more devout for it, more reliant upon being righteous and walking with God and faithful to her husband. Here we see a movement away from that religious aspect of virtue, a little death of God as the moral arbiter. The Priest is Renfield, and the Atheist is a servant of truth and virtue without God.

Oh and I skipped a (good quality) bit, but Paul is now standing in for God to force the priest back onto the path of righteousness. Paul stakes Dracula in an anti-climax, but is told that he must pray. Dracula pulls the stake from his chest for without Christian faith it cannot kill him (so that's time to back some of the prior. Fire though is a weapon that can still harm him... and Maria is coming for Dracula, coming to be his bride. Dracula casually, disdainfully even, defeats Paul, and declares his revenge complete as he leads Maria away.

Paul takes a horse and rides to Dracula's village and we get... more good scenes.

The music builds well as Dracula makes Maria unseal his castle, throwing her like an abusive boyfriend and ordering her to remove the blasted cross.

Paul arrives, and his call to her combined with the recent abuse snaps her from the spell momentarily and he wrestles with Dracula, causing the vampire and him to tumble over the railing, Dracula being impaled upon the same cross he could not remove. Finally the Renfield Priest uses pray and the vampire is defeated. The scene is both anti-climatic and effective and Maria is freed.

#peanutdracolich watches horror #Hammer Horror #Dracula #Christopher Lee #dracula has risen from the grave #Good movie

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imagitory · 8 years ago

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Well, my friends, I have finally seen the new live action remake of my favorite Disney animated film of all time, Beauty and the Beast! I am one of the few people that was not anticipating this movie from the start, since I knew from day one that this film could never match or improve on the original, which is pretty darn close to perfect in my book (and I know I am not alone in my opinion on that). Therefore I went in with my standards incredibly low and so was able to find a few things I enjoyed in this reimagining, even despite the many things I frowned at. Before going into spoilers, I will just say that this film at the very least didn’t spit in the face of the original like I feel Maleficent did to Sleeping Beauty and even though Belle's feminism was a little hammered in at points in this, the film carried it all the way through rather than doing it only in a few scenes, like I feel the remake of Cinderella did. So if you know my negative opinions of those, I can testify that Beauty and the Beast (2017) is better than those. It did bring in some interesting new ideas, some of the musical numbers were well-staged, and two of the new songs were pretty good, though perhaps not the best performed. Basically my view is that the film is...decent. That says a lot, given my high opinion of the original...but it was not a humongous disappointment, because, let’s be honest, I was expecting next to nothing.

I shall leave my friends who wish to avoid spoilers with this Belle Disneybound I wore! Should you not fear spoilers, feel free to read on!

The Good!

+The overall look of the film is, as one can see in the trailers, very impressive. It says a lot that this film actually got me liking the castle’s design as much as I did, considering that I think the original’s castle is the single best castle design I’ve ever seen in any film, animated or otherwise. The costume design at points I have problems with (which we’ll come back to), but for the most part the grand, upscale outfits do fit with both the period and the tone the film is embracing. I also really liked the village for the most part -- I’d love to visit Villeneuve!

+Some aspects of the curse were expanded in an interesting way. The idea of the objects turning more inanimate and the castle slowly breaking apart as the rose wilts was very clever, and I like how the film addressed that all those who were cursed were erased from their loved ones’ memories. That addresses a rather large plot hole in the original -- namely, that the townspeople had no idea that there was an abandoned castle in the woods right by their town and that the young prince and all his servants had presumably gone missing. As much as I wasn’t as fond of these interpretations of the enchanted objects, as well, the scene toward the end where they lose their life and become still objects was still pretty emotional. (I do have an issue with that scene, admittedly, but we’ll come back to that.) I actually even cried out in terror when Chip jumped as if to join his mother, who had just frozen still, because I feared that he would freeze mid-jump and shatter himself on the ground -- I was so relieved when Cogsworth caught him.

+Josh Gad’s interpretation of LeFou, although so little like the original I frankly think the only reason the film even called him LeFou is because they wanted to salute the original because the name has NOTHING TO DO with the character they wrote, was not half-bad. There are a few hang-ups I had with him, mainly due to some critiques I have for Gaston’s characterization, but I do feel Josh did very well with the material given to him and he did very well performing his solo.

+Speaking of Gaston, the staging of that number was very well done, as was the opening number Belle (though the second could’ve used more group dancing, in my opinion -- think The Prince is Giving a Ball in the 1997 film version of Rodgers and Hammerstein’s Cinderella). Even Be Our Guest had some interesting visuals.

+Every time Audra McDonald got to sing was enjoyable -- wish she could’ve sung more, frankly, she was easily the most talented person there!

+I laughed SO FRIGGIN’ HARD when the Beast threw the huge snowball in Belle’s face. And I got another laugh when Belle and the Beast went to the library -- Emma’s little happy dance at seeing all the books was pretty funny. OH, AND WHEN THE BEAST SCOFFED AT BELLE LIKING ROMEO AND JULIET -- OH MY GOD, BEAST, THANK YOU!! THANK YOU FOR PUTTING MY IRRITATION WHEN I FIRST HEARD BELLE GUSHING ABOUT THE LOVERS IN FAIR FRIGGIN’ VERONA INTO WORDS!!! THANK YOU, YOU WONDERFUL THING.

+There was an interesting new character added in the form of Pere Robert, the local minister who owns the books that Belle borrows, and I really like him! Not only does it make sense that Belle would borrow books from another educated individual (like a minister), particularly in a town that seems to discourage higher education, but I thought there being less books for Belle to read made her finding the Beast’s library that much more special and highlighted all the more how unusual Belle is in the town, since there isn’t even a book seller Belle can visit. Only downside is I wish this character had been given more spotlight! He only really cameos in that scene and then he sort of just fades into the background -- couldn’t he be, like, one of the few people that tries to stand up for Belle and Maurice at the end? I want to know more about him!!

+Days in the Sun and Evermore were both pretty decent songs, though I do think Watson’s and Stevens’s auto-tuned performances didn’t always show them off the best.

+Maurice’s music boxes were charming, even if they didn’t add much to the story...but at least it does give some rationale later for why he could conceivably know how to pick a lock. And the scene where we’re introduced to him through them and Belle helping him work on one was a very good scene that helped show off the closeness of their relationship.

The Not-So-Good...

+Emma Watson. And you know, that really hurts to say, but...yeah, Emma Watson is not a good Belle. It’s not just her voice, even though her autotuned tone made me cringe several times during this film -- it’s also her performance. There are a lot of points where I couldn’t help but think to myself, “I should care about what’s going on, shouldn’t I? And yet I’m not.” And the reason behind this is that Emma throughout this whole film seems to have difficulty depicting any of her character’s thought process unless it’s through spoken word. For example, when her father goes missing and she takes Phillipe to go find him, we see music box pieces on the ground. Belle rides past them -- we don’t see her looking at them very hard, any recognition rippling over her face, any realization, any concern...she just looks and rides. Belle is a very thoughtful and introverted character -- something else that sets her apart from everyone else -- and yet everything Emma is feeling is only what’s written down in the script. There is little to no deeper acting in the scenes where she’s not speaking where we can see the gears in her brain working, giving us a hint to what she’s thinking and how those thoughts inform her action. And that is important to being a good actor -- it’s more than just spouting lines, it’s creating a character out of them and being that character. You have to then stay true to that character and be that character even when you’re not talking -- you have to eat as that character, walk as that character, breathe as that character. That’s how the actor can fully disappear into the role and the character can take over in the memories of the audience, and Emma never gets to that point -- she isn’t Belle, she’s Emma playing Belle. Then of course there is her motivation -- unlike in the original, Belle is trying to escape from the off-set...so why is she suddenly interested in finding out what’s in the West Wing? Shouldn’t you pretend to be heading off to bed so you can continue with your escape attempt...or, I dunno, just go out the front door, since Mrs. Potts already figured out you wanted to leave and didn’t seem to be putting up a fight to keep you there? And then of course after the Beast saves her, she seems not to be that worried about her father being alone anymore and seems perfectly content to stay. In the original Belle stayed, but it was out of her own need to keep her word. It was a moral obligation to her that she could not in good conscience break unless her life was put in some danger, as it was when the Beast chased her out. But Belle doesn’t have the moral obligation in this version, so her choice to stay truly seems to be motivated more by her forgetting her father and being swayed by the servants who blindly put all of their faith in the Beast to break the spell and assure her there’s more to him. It’s only after she finishes healing him that he starts to show this, and by then it feels like, “...Wait. Belle, couldn’t you just have left after bringing him back to the castle? Are you still not worried about your father being alone? Does your promise to him to escape no longer matter, just like your deal with the Beast to stay in your father’s place apparently didn’t matter since you tried to escape immediately afterward?” Then there’s Emma’s attitude regarding Gaston. Sometimes it’s actually not that bad -- for example, there’s a bit where Gaston grabs her skirt where I felt Emma reacted in character to Belle, trying to get him off without slapping him or yelling at him...but there is another moment that REALLY rubs me the wrong way, and it’s when Gaston offers her flowers and asks to join her for dinner. The original Belle -- the REAL Belle -- would have just politely accepted the flowers but declined his request to come to dinner and headed on her way. What does Emma do? She scoffs. And this encapsulates the single biggest problem with this version of Belle that director Bill Condon and Emma Watson are depicting...Belle does not look down her nose at the people in her town. She calls it provincial, but she is NOT condescending to them. She doesn’t look at them with disdain. And you want to know why this aggravates me? Because if Belle truly sees her townspeople as being so stupid, then why does she care what they think about her? Why would she even want to fit in with them? And most important of all, why would she think for a second that they would listen to her when she’s going back to save her father and convince them that the Beast is not dangerous? If they’re so short-sighted and terrible that they don’t think girls should learn to read and will destroy her “washing machine” invention thing, then why in the world would she have any hope that she could convince them of anything?

+On that note, the town itself looks so interesting in its opening sequence, but from the start, all of its people are depicted pretty badly. From the obnoxiously chanting schoolboys plodding up the stairs to the haughty washerwomen and girls, everyone is looking down on Belle just as much as she does them, and honestly, it makes for a rather unappealing environment despite the nice visuals. And this feeds into my confusion as to why Belle or Maurice would even try to get anyone’s help in that town -- if they’re all jerks and they don’t like you, then why in the world do you think they would help you? The Maurice in the original was too naive and trusting to see how outcasted he and his daughter were in the town, so it made sense that he would go to the tavern pleading for help, but in this film, it doesn’t add up!

+Gaston. *dodges knives and rocks* ALL RIGHT, LISTEN. For the record, Luke Evans is not a bad singer or actor -- not by a long shot. He’s quite good, honestly. But he’s not good as Gaston -- if anything, I would’ve loved to see him portraying the Beast, because I can’t help but feel his singing voice would’ve suited Evermore better than Dan Stevens’s did. Gaston needs to be vocally intimidating -- he needs a lot of energy, charisma, vocal timbre, and most of all volume. Luke Evans is just not big enough to play Gaston, and I’m not just talking visually. He needs to be a commanding figure, both as the town hero and as the villain: the kind of character that turns heads as soon as he enters the room, not just for his good looks, but for his overall attitude. Add on top of this that Gaston’s story arc is trampled and scrunched up in this movie to the extent that in one scene, he’s a comic buffoon trying to earn Belle’s hand and the next he’s TYING MAURICE TO A TREE TO GET EATEN BY WOLVES WHAT THE FRIGGIN’ HELL, and I really don’t like this portrayal. I heard people arguing that this portrayal is more realistic than the cartoony version from the animated film because Gaston being a war hero gives the town reason to love him as much as they do, and honestly, I hate to be rude, but...I have to call “bullshit” on that. Gaston in the original was over-the-top, yes...but now that we have seen first-hand how easily an over-the-top, grandiose, self-aggrandizing personality can win over the uneducated and make them serve his selfish means, I think Gaston in the original animated film is more relevant than ever. Gaston IS Donald J. Trump. And I am frankly flabbergasted that Bill Condon decided not to take advantage of this historical timing to lampshade this and instead decided to change Gaston into someone who at first it looks like the film is trying to make sympathetic and then abruptly turns into a complete and total asshat. And for me, at least, the idea of Gaston being a soldier I just find insulting. The whole idea behind Gaston in the original is that, like Donald Trump, he got all sorts of praise for puffing himself up and doing a lot of unimportant stuff. Even if you try to depict him as selfish, greedy, arrogant, and violent, Gaston is still considered a war hero by the town -- meaning he did do brave and selfless things. He actually did do something worth praising in this version, which sort of defeats the point of why Belle doesn’t gush over Gaston like everyone else. They’re supposed to love him for being a town hero -- something exciting to this small-minded town -- and Belle, being more interested in her books, just doesn’t find much interest in him hunting large game for sport like the others do. Again, even if Gaston is arrogant and a prat and all that, he would still deserve some small respect for having served in the army, as all veterans do. So Belle scoffing at him before he did anything remotely insulting seems even ruder -- for Christ sake, woman, he may be a prat, but he stuck his neck out so your father wouldn’t have to, show some molecule of decency. When he starts grabbing your skirt, THEN you can withdraw that decency and give him a sizable berth from then on.

+LeFou’s arc, because Gaston’s was so stilted, ended up pretty stilted too. His heel-face-turn was too fast and was never given a real moment of acting to convey the transition properly -- the shift literally was expressed in one friggin’ line during the battle, with little rationale other than basically he’s a “woman scorned.” We get hints before the heel-face-turn, and we get a line afterwards explaining that he has heel-face-turned, but we see no acting footage of the heel-face-turn itself. You couldn’t at the very least give Josh some acting bit where he realizes what he’s done for such stupid reasons, not even a short one, not even one without dialogue? That would’ve been at least a small step up.

+If the last petal fell, then BELLE WAS TOO LATE TO BREAK THE SPELL. PERIOD. I don’t care if the enchantress popped up (though, if she was the woman from the town, why didn’t she curse Gaston, he was CLEARLY just as jerk-ish as the Beast was!!), the terms of her curse was that Belle had to preach love before the last petal fell. You can’t break the universe’s rules just to pull at our heartstrings and not expect people to notice.

+Why is Maurice leaving Villeneuve, if it isn’t to go to the fair to showcase an invention? He says something about a market, but...why? Can’t he sell his music boxes in town? Wouldn’t he know his way there if he goes there a lot??

+If the castle is truly so scary to Maurice, it should not have stopped him from GETTING THE HELL OUT, damn the flower. I’m quite sure Belle would’ve forgiven it. And why are we backtracking, with the whole “steal a rose, lock him up for life” thing? In the animated film, what set the Beast off was Maurice trespassing in his castle -- in this, it goes right back to Maurice taking one of his flowers, like in the original fairy tale. The animated film gave some logical sense to the action, and this version took that sense away, just to salute the original story. The reason given for it (”a flower like that condemned me to worse”) is pretty weak, too.

+The enchanted objects’ designs were just not as good. The originals all had charm, but the wardrobe in particular I just found...creepy! Even Lumiere’s design has always baffled me -- he is so humanoid compared to everyone else, and the only reason I can see for it is so that he can more easily dance in Be Our Guest. It just seems lazy compared to the others. And why the hell is Plumette a bird feather-duster? She barely even looks like a feather duster half the time -- she’s basically a ceramic bird ornament that can fly!! I mean...what??

+If they were going to add in musical numbers, why didn’t they just use some of the ones from the musical? There were plenty of good ones. I understand not using Home when you have a lead actress who can’t sing that well, but why not use Me for Gaston, or Human Again if you were already adding so much material for the castle servants? As much as the new songs were nice, they weren’t as memorable and didn’t really lend their way to great staging or dance numbers.

+Several musical numbers were also pointlessly dragged out, and it didn’t help the pacing of the film that already felt choppier than the original. There were extra chords added for no reason into the title song and Be Our Guest, and in the second of the two, Emma Thompson’s part as Mrs. Potts was WAAAAAY slowed down, I guess because Ms. Thompson couldn’t sing the words that fast?

+The prologue uses the EXACT SAME TEXT as the original movie, and yet we see (since the actors are acting out what the narrator is saying, as opposed to stained glass still images) that the enchantress never warned the prince that beauty is found within and that the prince never “dismissed her again.” There was also no mention of the magic mirror in the opening (all we see is that the prince used the mirror in the beginning, though it wasn’t magic then) or the magic book. Oh, yeah, did I forget to mention that? There’s a magic book that can transport them anywhere. ...Yeah. And yet Belle rides back to the village on Phillipe. COME ON, BEAST, IF TIME WAS OF THE ESSENCE AND YOU’RE ALREADY GIVING HER THE MIRROR, WHY NOT LET HER USE THE BOOK TO GET BACK TO THE VILLAGE?

+Speaking of the book, that back-story with Belle’s mother (as well as Beast’s with his)...I really don’t know what those were supposed to add. It didn’t really add much to Belle’s relationship with her father (dunno why he would keep it from her, honestly, it’s nothing that shocking or scandalous), and the Beast’s back-story pretty much ended up boiling down to, “Oh, you should feel sorry for him because he had a bad childhood.” I guess it’s supposed to mean they see commonality in each other, but...I dunno, don’t you get that enough and better through them bonding over books?

+LeFou’s “gay scene”...you’re kidding me, right? Right? That’s it? THAT’S what movie theaters were banning? TWO FRIGGIN’ SECONDS? I mean, yeah, on the one hand, I can see it, because anti-gay people can be amazingly stupid, but...WOW, was that a lot of nothing. Honestly, I don’t think anyone would’ve batted an eye if Disney hadn’t been crowing, “Ooh, look, we put in a gay scene!” Disney...now that this movie is making money despite threats of boycotts, you have no excuse -- UP. YOUR. GAME.

+The costume design confused me, especially for Belle at the castle. The wardrobe when she first meets Belle gussies her up in over-the-top fashion fitting that period and the clothes we’ve seen so far in the castle (in a really garish dress-making sequence that felt SO OUT OF PLACE in the rest of the film), but at the end, she’s making her this super “modest” dress out of the blue and actually BREAKS PARTS OF THE ROOM DECORATIONS APART (????) to turn them into sparkles on her gown. ...WHAT?? Is this turning into a Barbie movie or something? Now we have to watch a whole sequence BEDAZZLING our princess’s dress? Just -- huh?!? Add on top of that that there was no shift between our wardrobe being all fussy in her fashion and Belle suddenly wearing more “simple” clothes. We don’t see any evidence that Belle told the wardrobe what she preferred to wear or even that the wardrobe had any dresses in her drawers at all instead of just making them all herself, so where does Belle’s fashion sense come from? It doesn’t match any of the other “royal” fashion sense in the movie, Belle clearly didn’t bring her own clothes, and the Beast certainly wouldn’t have more peasant-like clothes around.

Hey, I told you that I’d put my standards low -- this is why I, in the end, was able to find some entertainment in it. But that doesn’t change the problems that still glared at me in the face. I do not hate this film -- Maleficent fills me up with infinitely more frustration and rage than this. And considering I went in expecting nothing, I was pleasantly surprised by what I got...but I think seeing this movie once is more than enough for me. I’ll stick with the original animated classic.

Overall Grade: C

#oh boy here i go #reviews #disney #beauty and the beast (2017)#beauty and the beast #disneybound #my disneybound #belle

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recentanimenews · 6 years ago

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Bookshelf Briefs 9/19/19

A Bride’s Story, Vol. 11 | By Kaoru Mori | Yen Press – Back to Bookshelf Briefs with this volume. Not that it’s not good; it’s very good. But I don’t have a lot of detailed analysis about it. This is possibly a slower-burning romance than even Amir and Karluk, as Mr. Smith is an English Gentleman and Talas is chasing after love after several husbands have all passed away. The “husband and wife” part goes quickly—in fact, Smith proposes almost immediately—but, as with a lot of couples in this series, actual romance is awkward and relatively innocent—the best part is a ride on a swing where we finally see Talas fully open up emotionally. In any case, we now get to go ALL THE WAY BACK, as Smith and Talas decide to reverse his journey. Which means we get to check up on everyone. Peaceful reading. – Sean Gaffney

Cells at Work! CODE BLACK, Vol. 1 | By Shigemitsu Harada and Issei Hatsuyoshiya | Kodansha Comics – Yikes. I knew this was going to be a bit more serious than the main series based on the premise, which is that we see a red and white blood cell in a crappy body that’s smoking, drinking, impotent… the works. But this ran in a seinen magazine, and is not afraid to pile on the gore… as well as the boobs. A lot of the cast die trying to save the body, the liver is portrayed as a host club with girls galore, etc. In among this is the aggrieved Red Blood Cell, male in this spinoff, and his stoic White Blood Cell friend, who is also busy dealing with the fact that White Blood Cells are vanishing. Heck, even the Killer T’s get brainwashed and then arrested (and presumably executed). For hardcore fans only. – Sean Gaffney

Cells At Work! CODE BLACK, Vol. 1 | By Shigemitsu Harada and Issei Hatsuyoshiya | Kodansha Comics – One of several spin-offs of Akane Shimizu’s Cells at Work, Code Black takes the same premise—personifications of human cells, viruses, bacteria, etc.—and moves the action to, well, a body that’s really not doing so well health-wise. The first thing I noticed about Code Black was its mature content warning. In part this is earned due to subject matter (for example, one chapter deals with erectile dysfunction), but also because the creators incorporate a fair bit of fanservice into their interpretations of physiological processes (the white blood cells’ breasts are barely contained by their uniforms and rest and recuperation in the liver includes some nudity.) Code Black also examines the effects of smoking, drinking, and sexually transmitted infections. (Someone is having a rough time of it.) While the original Cells at Work is so far the stronger series, Code Black, like its predecessor, can be both entertaining and educational. – Ash Brown

A Centaur’s Life, Vol. 17 | By Kei Murayama | Seven Seas – After the anime of this aired, and perhaps after hearing from fans, I’ve been noticing that the lesbian members of the class have been appearing more and more and getting more and more out. Though here we hear that it’s not lesbian but “yuri” as yuri is “pure and innocent,” which is meant to be pointed commentary, I believe. If so, it fits right in with the rest of A Centaur’s Life, which continues to have things like parasites trying to blend in while taking over human hosts, kaiju monsters helping to save battleships, and Manami straight up beating her grandfather into the hospital when he accuses her sword style of being soft. I honestly have no idea what’s coming next. Nor does the author, I suspect. – Sean Gaffney

Giant Killing, Vol. 16 | By Masaya Tsunamoto and Tsujitomo | Kodansha Comics (digital only) – The flashback to Tatsumi’s playing days concludes with him being branded a traitor for accepting an offer with an English team, even though he only did it so his teammates would no longer be so dependent on him. Back in the present, he’s seeking the help of Kasano, the man who recruited him to ETU in the first place, to help bring in some promising new players. This whole scene—“I know his faith isn’t dead yet”—made me unexpectedly verklempt. And then it’s time for a midseason training camp, where Tatsumi attempts to foster team unity by subjecting his players to various weird tasks. I love how skillfully the creators depict that this strategy is actually working, and that some players are discovering abilities they didn’t know they had. I’m glad volumes of this have started coming out again! – Michelle Smith

Haikyu!!, Vol. 34 | By Haruichi Furudate | VIZ Media – A high five made me cry. Honestly, that probably tells you all you need to know about Haikyu!! and how Furudate-sensei creates characters so beloved that readers celebrate with them. Finally, Karasuno and Nekoma are facing each other on a national stage, and what really got me here is that Tsukishima and Yamaguchi prove that Kageyama and Hinata are not the only rookie duo to look out for. Yamaguchi’s floating serve paired with Tsukishima’s blocking proves a very effective strategy, only possible because various people have helped Tsukishima both with technique and with allowing himself to shed his reluctance to really try. Unfortunately, Karasuno still can’t manage to win a set off Nekoma, and the volume ends as the second set begins. I’m sure this’ll be a game that spans multiple volumes, but man, is it going to be a good one. – Michelle Smith

Kakuriyo: Bed & Breakfast for Spirits, Vol. 5 | By Waco Ioka and Midori Yuma | Viz Media – Sometimes all you need is one customer with pull to turn things around. So Aoi finds when she ends up serving a tanuki who enjoyed her boxed lunches and is also a writer… and when he enjoys her meals and also (natch) finds out about her grandfather, he gives the place a write-up. Of course, now that it’s doing better it’s also attracting attention, as Aoi is asked to cater to another couple where the husband is a yokai and the wife is human—what sort of food would serve them best? And yes, there’s more romance here and there, but for the most part this has become a food title. My one complaint is it’s too short—the lower page count means less plot happens. – Sean Gaffney

Magi: The Labyrinth of Magic, Vol. 37 | By Shinobu Ohtaka | Viz Media – Let’s get the big complaint out of the way: a series that began with a fun cast of three ends with only two of them saving the day, despite a token attempt to have Morgiana do something. She needed to be in the final battle. Still, Aladdin also gets a bit shafted, as in the end this is Alibaba’s journey and his story, as it’s his choices that prove to carry the day time and time again, to the point where they save the world—admittedly a world that is a bit topsy turvy. And we do end with a wedding. Magi got a bit drawn out by the end, and a lot of its best fights were interrupted by lectures and platitudes, but I was happy to read it, and will miss it now that it’s over. More Shonen Sunday series, please! – Sean Gaffney

Snow White with the Red Hair, Vol. 3 | By Sorata Akiduki | Viz Media – My wish is granted in this third volume, which has no short stories at the end and is entirely about Shirayuki. She’s still trying to deal with the first prince, and also her own self-doubt. Things are not helped when Prince Raj, the jerk who started this whole mess, shows up on a visit between royals. Fortunately, he turns out to merely be an immature schmuck (tum-tum may be the funniest part of the book), and his presence actually makes her feel better about herself. Which is good, because we continue to get vague romance, and politics, and both of those have to be solved by Shirayuki being clever and plucky. A volume that shows why fans were clamoring for this license for so long. – Sean Gaffney

Wonderland, Vol. 3 | By Yugo Ishikawa | Seven Seas – I must admit, I was expecting the main cast to stay shrunk for the entirety of this title, so seeing our heroines (and the old guy) return to normal due to the power of hot baths was very startling—it was startling to them as well. Unfortunately, Yukko’s parents are still dead by cat, though they also appear to now be normal sized—but still dead. So Yukko is going back to school and attempting to process everything. Fortunately she has her friend Takuya. Unfortunately, she also has a government minder, and she seems intent on erasing Takuya’s memory of everything that happened. I suspect “cast vs. the evil government” may be the theme of this series, but will Yukko shrink again? And can she reunite with Alice? Still weird, still good. – Sean Gaffney

By: Ash Brown

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lodelss · 6 years ago

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Evelyn McDonnell | Longreads | March 2019 | 11 minutes (2,166 words)

When Janelle Monae inducts Janet Jackson into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame on March 29, it will be a beautiful moment: a young, gifted, and black woman acknowledging the formative influence — on herself and millions of others — of a woman who seized Control of her own career 33 years ago. It will also be an anomaly.

Jackson is one of only two women being inducted into the hall this year, out of 37 inductees, including the members of the five all-male bands being inducted. The other woman is Stevie Nicks. During the 34 years since the hall was founded by Jann Wenner and Ahmet Ertegun, 888 people have been inducted; 69 have been women. That’s 7.7 percent. The problem is spreading.

A November Rolling Stone article announced that the Metropolitan Museum of Art, in New York, was collaborating with the Rock Hall on a new exhibit of “iconic instruments of rock ‘n’ roll” called Play It Loud. Scheduled to open on April 8, the list of acts whose instruments would be on display included only one woman. My social media feeds exploded with rage and quips, as we wondered whether St. Vincent made the cut because the curators assumed from her name that she was male. Since then, the Met has added several women (and men) to the exhibit list, including Patti Smith, Wanda Jackson, and Joan Jett. It isn’t clear whether the Met added these women as a result of the internet outrage or if they were part of the show all along. After all, all three institutions — the hall, the museum, and the magazine — have, as Jett might say, a bad reputation for excluding women from their reindeer games.

People and institutions have to stop defining rock and rock ‘n’ roll as music played by men, especially white men, with guitars.

The Rock Hall is the most obvious offender in what I’ll call the manhandling of musical history. Manhandling is akin to, and often — as with the Rock Hall — intersects with, whitewashing. Manhandling pushes women out of the frame just as whitewashing covers up black bodies. People of color account for 32 percent of Rock Hall inductees, a far better figure than for women, but still not representative of the enormous role African Americans and Latinx people have played in American popular music. Manhandling is standard practice on country radio; there were no women in the Top 20 of Billboard’s country airplay chart for two weeks in December. Manhandling is standard practice on classic rock radio, where women are relegated to token spots on playlists, and are never played back-to-back. It’s standard in histories of music; there are no women featured in Greil Marcus’s seminal book Mystery Train: Images of Rock ‘n’ Roll in America. And of course, it’s standard practice at IM Pei’s partial glass pyramid in Cleveland. One year of affirmative action at the Grammys cannot wipe away decades of manhandling.

The problem is pervasive, and it is ideological. It is a way of seeing and presenting the world that is based on projections of power and control, not on reality. People and institutions have to stop defining rock and rock ‘n’ roll as music played by men, especially white men, with guitars. We have to change this image, this historiography, this institutionalization, this lie. In short, you do not need a cock to rock.

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Exhibit A: Sister Rosetta Tharpe. In the 1930s, the blues and gospel singer began picking her guitar in a way that we now recognize as the foundation of rock ‘n’ roll playing — she laid the foundation upon which Chuck Berry and Buddy Holly built. There’s footage of her with a Gibson that’s been viewed 2.7 million times on YouTube. If you’re not one of those viewers, become one now. Tharpe was finally inducted into the Rock Hall in 2018.

Holly and Berry were both among the first 16 acts inducted in the Rock Hall, in 1986. All their fellow inductees were male. Built on such grotesquely imbalanced footing, the institution may never get itself right. After all, its main instigator was Ahmet Ertegun, an admittedly legendary records man who treated women abominably, according to Dorothy Carvello’s 2018 memoir Anything for a Hit. Carvello is a music executive who began her career working for Ertegun at Atlantic. Ertegun subjected her to crude sexual harassment and once fractured her arm in anger. The Rock Hall named its main exhibition hall after Ertegun. How can this ever be a place where women feel welcome, let alone safe? Just as universities have removed from buildings and fellowships the names of film executives who gave them money, such as USC renaming their Bryan Singer Division of Critical Studies, the Rock Hall should remove Ertegun’s name from the building and from the annual industry executive award that bears his name. It’s an award that has never been given to a woman.

I would like to not care about what institutions such as the Met and Hall of Fame do.

I pick on the Rock Hall because I care. I love rock ‘n’ roll, to borrow a phrase. I attended the building’s inaugural event, and despite my ever-growing disenchantment, I always pay attention to who is nominated and who wins. I even get to vote — finally. Aware of the way it was increasingly being seen as a sort of hospice for aging white men, the hall has been trying to diversify its voting body, or risk obsolescence. After two decades as a professional rock writer, I was finally asked to vote a few years ago, and to recruit friends. The problem is, every inductee also gets a vote. So every year, more and more men get the franchise and vote in their friends and heroes, who tend to be men. The hall rigged its own system with its testosterocking inaugural class, and despite efforts to add gender and color balance, the numbers are getting worse.

It’s tempting to just say so what. I would like to not care about what institutions such as the Met and Hall of Fame do. They are essentially shrines to white men created by white men, so of course, they honor white men. But they pretend to serve the public — and in the Met’s case, it is in part a publicly funded institution. The Hall of Fame and its associated museum have enormous cultural power, writing in stone the historical importance of individuals in a way that no other institution or publication or organization does. They also create real economic benefits for culture workers. Being inducted into the Rock Hall doesn’t just look good on your resume, it helps sell records and tickets. Most importantly, these institutions provide inspiration — role models — for future generations. And if the only women you’re going to see receiving awards on that stage at the Barclays Center are Janet Jackson and Stevie Nicks, would you, if you were a little girl, go pick up a guitar?

Time’s up for the Rock Hall and the music industry. The Grammys got called on its #GrammysSoMale gender gap in 2018. After women complained that they were largely shut out of the telecast winners, Recording Academy president Neil Portnow responded that female artists needed to “step up” and they would be welcome. Needless to say, that patronizing, clueless comment went over like a lead zeppelin; there were calls for Portnow’s head, including an online petition for him to resign. So this February, the telecast featured an impressive roster of contemporary and historic talent, from Lady Gaga and Brandi Carlile to Dolly Parton and Diana Ross. But then Portnow stepped on stage and publicly patted himself on the back for the show’s sudden gender balance, like he was our white savior, our knight in shining armor coming to our emotional rescue with this feel-good moment.

Moments are not enough. Thankfully, Portnow is stepping down from his position in July. And yes, I’m sure a woman would be happy to take his place. This is part of the change that must happen in the businesses and nonprofits that support music. Women must be hired and promoted across all facets of the industry: as the editor in chief of Rolling Stone, the chairman of the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, the CEO of Universal Music Group. After all, a recent study from the University of Southern California shows that women are outnumbered in most aspects of the business, accounting for only 2 percent of producers and 12.3 percent of songwriters, for instance.

Some of this imbalance is a result of outright exclusion or unwelcoming environments. (Just ask any woman who has worked at a music magazine or a recording studio what it’s like to be, as former Rolling Stone writer Robin Green titled her 2018 memoir, “the only girl.”) Some is a result of sexual harassment or assault, which leaves women so traumatized that their careers stall or even stop. Ever wonder why a favorite artist, songwriter, or DJ ghosted for years? Increasing revelations about the predatory behavior of musicians, publicists, producers, managers, and executives show that, as a whole, the music industry can be a frightening place to be female, whether you’re a young intern working for R. Kelly or a talented country singer married to Ryan Adams. Mandy Moore married Adams in 2009, and hasn’t released an album since. They divorced in 2016. A New York Times investigation of Adams’s alleged predatory behavior toward younger women described him as “psychologically abusive” to Moore.

Guys like Ertegun, who died in 2006, reportedly manhandled in the workplace, in addition to creating the Cleveland shrine to gender inequity. Carvello’s book documents in scandalous detail how he and other executives created a boys’ club environment where women had to either pretend to be one of the boys, betraying their sisters, or trade sex for promotion. In Ertegun’s world, women were not allowed to step up; they were stepped on. Having systematically excluded and oppressed women from the business of making music, Ertegun and his cronies at the Rock Hall then carved that exclusion into stone by essentially writing them out of history, year after year after year. When women do get let into the Rock Hall boys’ club, it is on the arms of men: Carole King is there for her songwriting with Gerry Goffin, not as the woman who recorded numerous hit songs herself, including those on the record-smashing album Tapestry. Tina Turner was inducted alongside her abusive ex-spouse Ike. Indeed, the hall seems to define rock in a way that is disturbingly masculinist, as opposed to expansive and risk-taking — the qualities I like to think of as defining popular music. How about a Hall of Fame that includes Selena, TLC, Patsy Cline, and Grace Jones?

There’s nothing so scary to certain men as a bunch of women banding together. That’s another tool of the patriarchy: divide and conquer.

I’m delighted that two deserving female artists, Janet Jackson and Stevie Nicks, will be inducted this year. It’s particularly noteworthy that Nicks is getting the nod as a solo artist, after she was already inducted as part of Fleetwood Mac; she’s the first woman to be inducted twice, joining 22 men in the so-called Clyde McPhatter Club. Next year, the Hall must do the same for Tina and Carole. After being nominated so many times, Chaka Khan must finally be inducted as well.

That still won’t be enough to counteract the sheer numerical voting power of all the male musicians who get in as members of bands, especially if the men of Rufus, Khan’s collaborators with whom she has thrice been nominated, are inducted alongside Khan. There are three things the Hall of Fame can do to rectify that imbalance: 1. Flood the nominating committee and voting membership with more women. Six out of 29 members of last year’s nominating committee were women; the notoriously tight-lipped hall has not revealed this year’s committee members. 2. Reduce the voting power of members inducted as players in bands (so, say, the five dudes in Def Leppard each get one fifth of a vote). 3. Nominate a shit ton of all-female bands next year.

Female musicians and groups are particularly absent from the Rock Hall, as from the industry. There’s nothing so scary to certain men as a bunch of women banding together. That’s another tool of the patriarchy: divide and conquer. It’s why Lady Gaga is basically the only woman in A Star Is Born, a film ostensibly celebrating female artistry. She has no mother, no sister; even her girlfriends are male, and they’re drag queens. By focusing on individual artists, not a collective, the entertainment-industrial complex elevates the star, not the gender. The lioness is separated from her pack.

That’s why some women involved in music have formed an activist group, named Turn It Up! As our mission statement says, we “advocate for equal airplay, media coverage and industry employment of groups who are historically and structurally excluded from the business and the institutions of music-making.” And yes, we’re coming for you, sons of Ertegun.

Here’s who I’d like to see inducted in the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame next year:

Tina Turner

Chaka Khan

Carole King

Diana Ross

Dolly Parton

The Go-Go’s

The Runaways

Bikini Kill

The Crystals

Labelle

Salt N Pepa

That would add more than 30 women to the voting rolls. It’s not enough to correct the historical record, but it’s a step up.

***

Evelyn McDonnell is associate professor of journalism at Loyola Marymount University. She has been writing about popular culture and society for more than 20 years. She is the author of four books: Queens of Noise: The Real Story of the Runaways, Mamarama: A Memoir of Sex, Kids and Rock ‘n’ Roll, Army of She: Icelandic, Iconoclastic, Irrepressible Bjork, and Rent by Jonathan Larson. She coedited the anthologies Women Who Rock: Bessie to Beyonce. Girl Groups to Riot Grrrl, Rock She Wrote: Women Write About Rock, Pop and Rap, and Stars Don’t Stand Still in the Sky: Music and Myth and edit the Music Matters series from University of Texas Press. She lives in Los Angeles.

Flor Amezquita, Marika Price and Adele Bertei assisted with research for this article. Figures are based off the official Rock and Roll Hall of Fame’s induction page, which was then cross-referenced with multiple lists and sources.

Editor: Aaron Gilbreath; Fact-checker: Matt Giles

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