#and ensured its success after I left and it has since flourished!

[nope-body]

.

[nzagencies]

How Does A Creative Branding Agency Convert An Idea Into Business?

Creating a brand for your business is all about connecting with your target audience. It's important to know who you're trying to reach, what they want and what kind of tone they use on social media. Best And Creative Branding Agency Auckland will help you develop your idea into a plan that will convert into business. Here are some steps they take:

An outline of the business plan.

So you have an idea for a new business, and you're ready to start building. But before that happens, it's important to take the time to create a plan for your business.

A business plan is essentially a blueprint of all tasks that need to be completed in order for your company to run smoothly from start-up phase until it reaches profitability. It helps you keep track of everything from operational details like budgeting down to what type of paper should be used for printing brochures or how many servers are necessary for web hosting purposes.

It also offers insight into how much funding will be needed in order for the project/company itself can flourish. The last thing any entrepreneur wants is spending thousands on something only find out later there isn't enough money left over after expenses are paid out so as not only sustain itself but also grow bigger than originally intended..

A report of how to increase brand awareness.

A report of how to increase brand awareness

A brand is the connection that an audience has with your company or product. Branding is how you create that connection, which can be done in many different ways, including advertising, website design and development and more. 

For example, if you're selling a product like bottled water at a grocery store then building a brand around "clean water" would make sense since it's something everyone needs to survive. If people aren't aware they need clean water they won't buy your product—but if they do know about its importance then they'll consider buying yours over others'.

To build a successful business from scratch without any existing experience or connections within the industry can seem daunting at first glance but there are plenty of resources available online where companies offer services like branding for small businesses at affordable prices (like our own!).

A content marketing plan.

A content marketing plan is a great way to build your brand, reach your target audience, build trust with your audience and build your brand's reputation.

With a content marketing plan you can create engaging content that is relevant to what they want to know or need help understanding. This will help you grow your online presence through search engine results pages (SERPs).

For example: If someone searches “how do I get started with a Creative Branding agency?” You want to show up in their search results page so they click on your website when they see it listed after searching for answers on Google or Bing.

Creative ways for the client to reach their target audience.

The way you reach your target audience is just as important as the creative idea itself. You want to ensure that your branding campaign capitalizes on the strengths of your brand.

How do you know if you have the right target audience? Take some time to identify your brand’s core values and how they align with those of potential clients or customers.

If a creative idea does not resonate with its intended audience, it won’t work for long—or at all. When brainstorming ideas, think about what kind of message will appeal most strongly to an individual customer or client base—not just in terms of aesthetics but also through messaging and language style used throughout the project process

Conclusion

The most important thing of branding agency Auckland is to be aware of what your clients are looking for and provide it. This can be done by taking the time to really listen to their needs and wants. However, this doesn’t mean that you should give up on your own ideas; sometimes they may need some convincing!

Source By - https://bit.ly/3GlK05D 

[muddyorbsblr]

relinquish the crown part 2: traditions old and new

Masterlist

Summary: Your father has summoned you to the war room to inform you of the traditions in determining the line of succession. And of your engagement

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Warnings (trust me you need these): themes of incest (he's adopted but still), arranged/forced marriage, mentions of death, language, Loki's definitely kinda dark in this one [let me know if i missed anything and i will update immediately]

"Why so morose?" you jested with the palace guards currently escorting you to the war room. 

"We are deeply and truly sorry, Lady Y/N," one of the guards, Skarde, addressed you. 

"Listen, I am positive that whatever my father has to tell me, it's nothing as devastating as your faces make it seem to be," you laughed as they opened the doors, revealing to you the King and his sons. You immediately righted your stance and proceeded to bow. "Your Majesty." 

"No need to be so formal, dear Y/N," Odin addressed you. "You are my favorite grandchild after all."

You chuckled as you stood up and took a warrior's stance. "I'm your only grandchild." 

"Yes. Yes you are." His tone sounded almost regretful. As if he dreaded what words he would be saying next. "Y/N, I wished to delay your education on the tradition of our lineage and our methods of succession until so came a time that your father would be the one to relay the information, but I'm afraid I can only delay it for so long. And time has finally caught up with me." 

"Grandfather." Your voice was laced with worry and panic now. "Are you ill?" 

"No. No, my granddaughter. Nothing so morose as that." He seemed to struggle to find the words. "I simply wish to educate you before you learn of it from the words of others. They would be more…subjective, in their approach. Flourish the information with their opinions rather than simply speaking it with objectivity." 

"Then tell me," you answered him simply. "I'd prefer my information untainted by gossip." 

"Very well." Odin cleared his throat. "In the ancient days of our ancestry we had traditions in place that cemented its integrity. It showed the Nine Realms our dedication to keep our family strong, to ensure that the realms would be handed down to the most capable individuals alive. When I ascended the throne, I set aside this tradition in order to marry Frigga, your grandmother. Because I have broken this tradition, opinion of me throughout the realms has…faltered. They question my ability to rule with the tenacity of those who occupied the throne before me."

"Grandfather, I'm sure after a…an extended adjustment period," you caught yourself. It had been centuries since Odin ascended the throne. Eons. "I'm sure after some more time to acclimate to this new tradition, the people's faith in you will be restored to our family's former glory. You abolished an archaic practice in order to wed for love; any man, woman, and child in their correct faculties should understand that. To wed for love is everyone's dream."

"I know it's mine," Loki interjected. 

You pointed a finger his way. "He gets it." You looked his way and saw him eyeing you with pride, to which you responded with a playful scrunch of your nose. 

"Y/N, in order to have done so, I had to accept a new tradition proposed to me by my predecessor. My father. This tradition being that if I were to have more than one heir, determining who would succeed me would involve…permanent consequences." 

"A duel," your father finished. 

The air left your lungs. "A duel?" you spat out. You looked between your father and his brother. "You would have to kill one another?" 

"Or one would have to yield." 

"That is barbaric, Grandfather! What could have possibly been worse than this that it had to be abolished?" 

"Y/N," your father began. "Before Odin's rule, our ancestry sought to keep its lineage…pure, as they would call it. That is how the faith of the people was ensured. That the realms would be ruled with the most reliable individuals alive, passed down from generation to generation. Our generations. Pure, meaning--"

"Now now, Brother," Loki stopped him. "Let Y/N come to the conclusions herself. Have faith in her knowledge of the worlds." He smiled at you and silently instructed you to do exactly that.

"Pure," you tested the word, as if you were trying to understand the word itself. "Untainted?" The men in the room nodded at you. You felt your heart sink the slightest bit. "Untainted…by others?" More nods. "Untainted by other realms. By other lineages," you spat. "Am I getting warmer?"

"Yes, Granddaughter. This was once the tradition of our family. I was arranged to be betrothed to my father's sister's cousin before I  met your grandmother. Had I accepted, all our lives might have turned out quite differently."

"Grandfather, that's incest." You spat out the last word in derision. 

"Now do you understand why this barbaric tradition was placed, Daughter?" 

You nodded reluctantly. "But one of you would perish. At the hand of your brother." And then realization sunk in and you faced your father. "Is this why you and Mother chose to not have children after me?" Your heart dropped as he nodded with tearful eyes.

"So that you would never have to carry that burden, my dear child. I would never place that burden on your shoulders."

You held your tongue at the words entering your head. That your father would carry the burden of his brother's death. You knew he would win. Instead of voicing your thoughts, you composed yourself and resumed your warrior's stance. "Well I wish you both the best of luck." In the safety of your thoughts, you silently bid your uncle a permanent farewell.

"That's why we called you here, Y/N," your grandfather began  again. "Loki has relinquished his claim to the throne. Your father is now my sole heir, if certain terms are to be accepted." Your heart soared at this news. Mainly because this meant that you wouldn't have to watch your father live with the burden on his heart knowing that he had taken his brother's life, but also in part because you were quite fond of the trickster prince. 

You'd met him much later on in your life; you were already fully grown. He hadn't even known who you were when your paths first crossed and you bested him in battle because you'd mistaken him for an intruder. 

To lose him would be to lose a piece of your heart. You'd grieve him almost as much as your father would.

"What terms?" you prodded, the relief more than evident in your features. 

Odin sighed deeply. "That we restore the archaic tradition. To fortify the people's respect in our lineage once more." 

You felt your heart sink to the ground, along with a dreadful pit in your stomach. You saw your grandfather's somber eyes in a new light as you tried to remember all the unwed females in your family. "No," you whispered in disbelief. "You couldn't possibly mean--" Your eyes shot to your father, the sorrow so clear in them. "You would wed me--?" 

You didn't need an answer. It was already clear. Summoning you to this room made it clear. They'd already accepted these terms. All to escape the bloodshed. 

Your eyes turned something akin to hateful as you looked at your father again. "You signed my life away. You purloined from me the opportunity to wed for love. And you--" You turned to address Loki. "You squandered yours. Why?" 

"No," he answered you. "I didn't." Your blood ran cold as he stood and made his way to you. 

"No…" The look on his face took on a new meaning for you. It was love. Undoubtedly so. But it was an immoral love. 

"Yes," he spoke softly. "I've loved you for as long as I've known you." 

You felt hollow. "You've known who I was since the day we met." 

"Yes, I remember, darling." You balked at his term of endearment for you. All those times he called you that or any other tender name were now shown in a harsh new light. A light you so desperately wished to snuff out. "You bested me and when I gazed upon your face I knew. I was meant to be yours. And you mine." 

You recoiled as he cupped your face, overwhelmed at all the new information you had to process. His confession being the worst of it all. Every memory you had with him was now being tainted with the truth. With his true affections. With his lechery. 

As more realizations came to light in your mind, you could feel the bile rising in your throat. "All those times you said you loved me…you did not mean it as family loved family. You--"

"I meant it as a man loves a woman." 

You could feel a rage burning inside of you as you addressed your father and Odin again. "The people will look at this union and see it for what it is. Sinful. Shameful." 

"This was tradition for generations upon generations. Ages before even I was born, Y/N," Odin answered you. 

"There have been new generations since you rose to power! They were not exposed to this depravity! They will see this union as something so base, so morally corrupt. They will look at the offspring of this union and think them bastards. And give them enough time and I assure you that they will look at me and think me a whore." Even as the words left you, the rage remained, and your indignance fueled your next words. "What happens if I refuse?" 

"What do you think happens, my love?" You wanted to scream at his words, at his brazenness to call you such in present company. 

"If I refuse then the terms of your relinquishment are unmet," you whispered. "If I refuse the duel commences." The tears that welled in your eyes from moments ago rolled down your cheeks. 

"It does," your father confirmed. "Daughter, I'm terribly--"

"You've given me an impossible choice," you fumed. "All of you." You struggled to keep your composure as the despair began to overtake you. "Either I lose a part of my family…or I lose my life. My future. Signed away to avoid the bloodshed of new tradition." 

You were desperate for a moment of reprieve. For someone, anyone, to hold you and tell you that everything would turn out alright in the end. That you would emerge from this nightmare of a choice and you would be able to move forward with minimal damage. You'd take that comfort from anyone. Even the man who'd just bared his reprehensible affections towards you. 

"Please don't view it so bleakly, darling," 

"Well how else do you suggest I see it?" you snapped, glaring daggers at Loki. Another harsh realization felt like white hot needles stabbing into your mind. "Is this why you insisted that I never call you Uncle?" 

"In part," he admitted. "Try to see it less pessimistically, I implore you. You wouldn't lose your life. You wouldn't have nothing. You would have a husband who adores you, who loves you with his entire heart. Wouldn't you agree that you could do a lot worse than being wed to a man who loves you as I do?" 

You refused to heed his words. Instead you tried to think as  your parents once taught you, trying to see this situation as a battlefield. To weigh the options and choose the path with the least collateral damage. The one whose consequences would ripple in the least devastating way manageable. And when you saw it that way, there truly was only one logical choice.

"I accept your terms." Your words were barely enough to be audible. You swallowed a sob as you faced Loki again. "I accept your surrender. Only because I love my father. And I do not wish to see him live out his days haunted by the memory of losing you by his own hand." 

A smile broke out on his face as he reached for your hands. You fought the urge to pull them away in disgust. "I know it will take time but you will be able to find a way to love me, too." 

"That's the tragedy of this all, I already loved you," you said somberly. "Just not in the depraved way that you do." You felt something in you chill at your next words. "But any affection I may have held towards you dies today." You faced your father again. "You get to keep your brother. At the cost of your daughter." 

And then you threw the door open and marched back into your chambers as you cried what was left of your heart out.

A/N: If you feel uncomfortable with this story, please tell me so and I will take you off the taglist for parts 3 and 4, and return you once I'm back to writing your regular scheduled fluff.

Taglist: @lokisgoodgirl @lokischambermaid @imalovernotahater @redbluekjw @lucylaufeyson3 @thomase1 @springdandelixn @ficitve-sl0th @mochie85 @laliceee @xorpsbane @gigglingtigger @silverfire475 @cabingrlandrandomcrap @vickie5446 @salempoe @lokixryss @sinsandguilt @lokidbadguy @alexakeyloveloki

[silverflame2724]

WWX decides to kill two birds with one stone and with the help of WQ reforges the Stygian Tiger Seal into a artificial golden core replacement which she implants into WWX.

WWXs eyes are now permanently red and he has the full power of the seal at his fingertips at all times because its part of him now.

Another side effect of this Stygian Core is discovered when WWX misses JZXs ambush and is instead attacked and disembowled in Carp Tower in full view of the cultivation world but then immediately regenerates without a scratch and blood ruined robes.

Watching WWX be more annoyed at the bloody robes than being disembowled because the Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation has apparently cultivated to immortality USING RESENTMENT shakes a lot of people.

“Huh.” Wen Qing says as she observes yet another failure of Wei Wuxian’s inventions quite literally blow up in his face. “So this Seal of yours protects you?”

Wei Wuxian coughs from the smoke of his busted invention, “Well, yeah. What about it?”

“It’s sentient, correct?”

“Yeah....?”

“Hmm.” Wen Qing observed the Seal slowly bobbing up and down. “Can you circulate resentful energy through the Seal for a moment? Don’t make it do anything. Just channel resentful energy through it like you would if you channeled spiritual energy normally.”

“Okayyy??” Wei Wuxian was perplexed but nevertheless obeyed and watched as Wen Qing’s eyes brightened. “What? What is it? Wen Qing, tell meeeeee! Don’t leave me out!!!!!”

“Brat, I’m trying to concentrate.” She scolded him, but her tone was fond.

Wei Wuxian waited a few more moments before it seemed like Wen Qing had seen enough.

“I want you to calm down when I say this, but I think you can reforge the Seal into a core which I can transfer into you.”

Wei Wuxian was silent......for about two seconds. “............What?”

Wen Qing sighed. “Wei Wuxian, when you channeled resentful energy through the Seal, the Seal acted much like how it would if someone were to channel spiritual energy through their core. The Seal can be made into an artificial core is what I’m saying.”

“I.....you are sure?” Wei Wuxian asked. He knew Wen Qing wouldn’t joke about this.

“Yes. I’m about eighty percent sure this will go well. I can even knock you out when I cut you open this time.”

“I.....okay.” Wei Wuxian was at a loss for words.

“So I’ve rendered you speechless.” Wen Qing smiled. “That kinda feels good.”

Wei Wuxian pouted.

...........

It took a few days to reform the Seal into a form that would resemble a core but Wei Wuxian was a genius and having Wen Qing there to bounce ideas off of helped in giving him a clue as to how a core should look and feel like.

“Are you ready?” Wen Qing asked.

Wei Wuxian, who was one hundred percent not ready, said, “Yes.”

Wen Qing saw through this. “It will be alright.” She squeezed his hand. “This time, it will be alright.”

That was the last thing he heard before he was knocked out.

.

.

.

When he awoke, his eyes had burned for a little before the pain dissipated.

Wen Qing had been in the midst of declaring the operation successful when she suddenly paused, “Huh.”

“What is it?” He asked nervously. Did something go wrong?

“Oh.....it’s, hmm. A’ Ning, get me some water, will you?”

Wen Ning returned not long later and locked eyes with Wei Wuxian. He seemed quite startled and that made Wei Wuxian even more curious. Based on Wen Qing’s reaction, it wasn’t anything bad, but still.....

“Wei Wuxian.”

“Yes?”

“Look at your reflection and you’ll understand why A’ Ning and I looked startled.”

Wei Wuxian did.

And he was shocked to see that his eyes have now become a brilliant shade of red. “What the hell?”

“Mmhm.” 

“Why are my eyes red???”

“Well, Wei Wuxian, I’m not sure if anyone’s told you, but you’re aware your eyes turn red everytime you use demonic cultivation, right?”

“Umm, no??”

“Well, they do. And considering what your core is, well. I’m not entirely surprised this happened. It was certainly unexpected though.” She finished cleaning up and left Wei Wuxian to just sit and admire his reflection.

...................

A week and some carefully supervised experiments later, Wei Wuxian had full control over his core. It was really just the same thing as how one would normally use a golden core, so it didn’t take long for him to get the hang of it. However, considering his core is the Seal, he also had the ability to control thousands of corpses and this time without any of the side effects.

He also spent time trying to get Suibian to respond to him using resentful energy. Considering that the sword was a spiritual sword, he was unsure of the compatibility but Suibian seemed to adapt well enough and Wei Wuxian was so glad he didn’t have to give up ever using his beloved sword again.

The next step on his agenda was to update the wards. Using the power of the Seal to strengthen it was a walk in the park and Wei Wuxian finally felt like despite how the cultivation world was always on the verge of killing him and the Wens, they’d be safe. The wards would hold out.

He then started absorbing all the deep-seated resentment in the soil to make it more fertile as well as trying to clear the Burial Mounds resentment by listening to the stories of the dead and helping them pass on. He also painstakingly dug up all the strewn about corpses, burned them and held proper funeral rites for them.

The crops flourished, the Wens and him were well-fed, and the Burial Mounds started to lighten up. Wei Wuxian no longer looked to be on the verge of death and he was able to cultivate without any problem.

Like this, time passed peacefully.

..........................

He was invited to his nephew’s one month celebration not long later and Wei Wuxian decided that this would be a good time to show the cultivation world that he truly is the grandmaster of demonic cultivation they all claim him to be. (In truth, he never considered himself to be any sort of grandmaster considering how little he knew of demonic cultivation, but it was different now.)

He told Wen Ning and the other corpses - of the resentful spirits that stayed behind saying they wanted to help him - to watch for any Jins since he trusted they’d take this chance to attack the Burial Mounds.

After he put on a concealing talisman for his eyes - since he knew that his different eye color would make a huge uproar -, he took to the skies with Suibian and nearly teared up. He’d missed flying. He’d missed this feeling. Laughing happily, he circulated the resentful energy in his core and sped up, becoming a black blur as he flew straight over Qiongqi Path.

When he landed at the foot of Koi Tower, invitation in hand, the Jin guards seemed surprised to see him there but had to let him in, not wanting to offend him. 

Jiang Yanli-- no, it was Jin Yanli saw him and waved excitedly, beckoning him over. Out of his sight, Jin Guangyao and Jin Guangshan seemed surprised to see him there.

“A’ Xian!”

“Shijie!” The form of address slipped out.

Her face softened. “You made it!”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world!”

The whispers of the people around him, wondering why he was there, surrounded him, but he ignored it. “Shijie, here’s my present!”

She looked at the bell with a little bit of wonder. “What does it do?”

“It’ll ensure that high level resentful beings and below won’t be able to move!”

“Oh, A’ Xian! This is perfect.”

“Thank you.” Jin Zixuan said, awkwardly. Wei Wuxian had forgotten he was there.

“No need! If it’s for Shijie’s son, I’d do anything!”

“He’s my son, too.”

Wei Wuxian made a face at that. “Well, yeah.”

“Wei Wuxian!” Jiang Cheng called and then stopped. “You have your sword?”

Wei Wuxian shrugged, “Yep!” He twirled around. “I started picking Suibian up again! But let’s not focus on that, Jiang Cheng!”

Jiang Cheng seemed hesitant but dropped it readily enough as they started bickering like they used to.

Suddenly--

“Wei Wuxian!” Someone yelled.

Wei Wuxian groaned. Can one day go on without someone yelling my name with hatred??? Like, please??

“Yeeeeeees?” He drawled tiredly.

And some Jin guy that vaguely looked like Jin Zixuan stomped in, looking murderous. “You, remove the curse that you put on me!!”

Murmurs started up all around them.

“Curse?” Wei Wuxian looked confused. “What curse? And who are you anyway? Am I supposed to know you from somewhere??” 

“You know who I am!!”

“No, I don’t actually.” Wei Wuxian scratched his head as he walked forward to get a better look. He really didn’t know!

“That’s Jin Zixun.” His shijie said, coming up to him. “From the Phoenix Mountain hunt?” Before Wei Wuxian could say anything, she continued. “The one that was supposed to apologize to you.”

“Hmm?” Wei Wuxian thought really hard. “Oh! I remember you now!” He said to a rather red-faced Jin Zixun. “Sorry about that buddy, but uhh I didn’t curse you! I didn’t even remember you until now!”

“It must be you! It has to be you!!” He screamed and it was really grating on his nerves. “See! Look at this!” He ripped his robes open and everyone gasped at the evidence of the Hundred Holes curse on his torso. 

Wei Wuxian whistled. “Well, that’s quite some curse. But I still didn’t do it.” Jin Zixun looked ready to refute so he continued, “Why would I curse you secretly when I usually make a big production of those I kill?”

People had to admit he had a point.

Jin Zixun continued to scream expletives until he finally rushed forward and in a rather bold move, drew his sword, plunging forward. However, in his anger, he completely missed his target and the direction of the blade pointed towards Jin Yanli.

“A’ Jie!!” Jiang Cheng screamed

Wei Wuxian was the closest to her and pushed her back, stepping in front of her taking the sword to his gut.

“A’ XIAN!!!” “WEI WUXIAN!!” “WEI YING!!” Jin Yanli, Jiang Cheng, and Lan Wangji, who was actually there, all screamed.

And Wei Wuxian who had just been disemboweled, grit his teeth and pulled out the sword. Which, in hindsight, was a horrible decision since blood got everywhere. Though not so much when his stomach stitched itself back together. “................Huh.” I knew I regenerated quickly considering how often I got hurt plowing the fields and digging up the corpses to put them to rest, but damn that was quick. Though..... “My robes!” He fake-cried, turning his attention to a stunned Jin Zixun. “You ruined my robes! I just managed to scrounge up enough money to buy this new pair and you ruined them!!!!” He fretted over the large rip over his abdomen. “What am I going to tell Wen Qing? She just told me not to stain them!”

The entire cultivation just stared at him in silent shock, making Wei Wuxian feel a little self-conscious. 

“Uhh, what are all of you staring at me for?”

“Wei Wuxian,” Jiang Cheng said with all the patience of an exasperated brother. “Is that the only thing you can ask?!” He glared, signaling for two Jiang disciples to restrain Jin Zixun from anymore stupid ideas he’d like to enact. “When did you cultivate to immortality?”

“I didn’t??? What do you mean??”

“Wei Ying.” Lan Zhan said, checking him over. “Are you alright?”

“Hmm? I’m a little dizzy considering all the blood I’ve lost, but it’s nothing big!” He grinned. It felt nice to have Lan Zhan care for him rather than fight with him.

“Wei Wuxian, stop flirting with Hanguang-Jun and answer the damn question.”

Wei Wuxian turned his attention back to his brother and pouted at him, missing Lan Wangji’s red ears. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“A’ Xian.” Shijie said and Wei Wuxian abruptly realized her robes had his blood on them. 

“Shijie, I’m sorry I got your robes dirty!”

“It’s fine.” She patted him. “But A’ Xian, I know you didn’t pay attention to those lectures, but only immortals can heal from wounds like that that quickly.”

“Really?”

“Mn.” Lan Zhan confirmed.

“Huh. So I’m immortal?”

“Yes.” Jiang Cheng deadpanned. “And you didn’t even notice it. In true Wei Wuxian fashion.”

Lan Zhan frowned then. He had still been checking Wei Wuxian’s pulse. “Wei Ying, what happened to your core?”

“Hmm? .........Oh shit.”

“Why is it covered in resentment?”

“Oh. Umm.” Wei Wuxian really was at a loss for words now. “We can discuss that later?”

“Wei Ying.”

“Aiya, how do you make my name sound like reprimand?”

“Don’t try to deflect the conversation.” Jiang Cheng said, now paying attention.

Wei Wuxian groaned. “Okay. Well, everyone would have found out sooner or later but umm. I might have cultivated to immortality accidentally via demonic cultivation? Haha, ha......”

No one laughed with him. They all looked pretty shaken and Wei Wuxian wanted to laugh at their reaction. He felt pretty detached from it all, to be honest.

“Can we all just forget about this and continue celebrating Jin Ling’s one month celebration?”

And everyone collectively said, “No.”

“Aww.”

___________________

To this day, I’m still unsure of whether it’s Carp Tower or Koi Tower.

[robin-josephette-biden]

A Statement Through Horror: BDG and YouTube

In his video announcing his departure from Polygon Bryan David Gilbert [BDG] stated, “I want to make things that one day people will make a show like unraveled about.” [Paraphrasing here]. Since that announcement he has made some of the most interesting and engaging comedy videos on the platform. On Bryan’s channel, there is a section called “bdg’s scaries” that contains three videos. The first how to make jorts was released April 27, 2019 and will not be part of this analysis, as we are focused on the other two videos. These two videos are Earn $20K EVERY MONTH by being your own boss which was released on October 25, 2020 (two months before his final Unraveled video and departure from Polygon) and Teaching Jake about the Camcorder, Jan '97 which was posted March 3, 2021. If you have not seen these videos yet you should stop reading immediately and go watch them both (honestly everything on his channel is amazing, especially the surprisingly compelling and personal Dances Moving! series) before continuing to read this as I will be spoiling both of them. The position of YouTube celebrity has been the source of a good bit of commentary as short form online media has become more and more central in our culture. Bryan has created two videos that I feel do an excellent job of exploring the relationship between youtuber and audience. I should also point out that this is merely my interpretation of these videos and is in no way BDG’s intended message. I’ll start by going over the first video. Earn $20K EVERY MONTH by being your own boss opens with BDG outside an apartment building, standing in front of a black car. BDG points up at one of the windows and says, “Three years ago I was living in that apartment right there. Third floor, leaky windows, cockroaches, the worst.” I do not know if the real life BDG actually lived in that building, but the 3 years timeframe does line up neatly with his beginning to work at Polygon. BDG continues to bad mouth his old apartment and mentions how he has turned it all around stating, “But just last week I paid off my very first Subaru Impreza. And I own my own house in Nebraska.” This radical change in life-style he credits to, “. . . [working] from home, [making] my own hours, and [being] my own boss. And you can do it too.” I think that it is interesting that BDG’s career up to that point mirrors that of his character, going from newly graduated content creator making small videos in his apartment to one of the most popular creators on Polygon. And all that being accomplished through work that many (rightly or wrongly) would not see as fitting into the mold of the traditional 9 to 5. The idea of making millions working from home, at your own pace, and with no boss is intrinsically tied to the mystique of the YouTube celebrity. Moving into BDG’s office he explains that he makes $20k a month working on spreadsheets. A massive spreadsheet appears behind him that is dated, 01.12.88 (nothing of note happened on January 12, 1988 and the only thing that happened on December 1, 1988 is a large cyclone that struck Bangladesh, January 12, 1888 is the day of the Schoolhouse Blizzard which struck the midwestern US and killed 235 people (remember this for later)) and is filled, seemingly randomly, with garbled nonsense symbols. Many of the cells are the same as other cells and there are empty cells scattered haphazardly throughout the spreadsheet. BDG explains that he got this strategy from Dorian Smiles. In exchange for working on these spreadsheets BDG receives $10k - $20k a month (an amount that lines up pretty damn well with the amount he should be getting through his Patreon page currently, I don’t know if this was true when the video was made though) from Dorian. Wanting to know where the money is coming from BDG asks his bank and they explain that he is wiring the money to himself from another account he has. He grows confused as to the nature of this work and the disproportionately large amount of money it brings in, explicitly mentioning his confusion as to how the money is coming from someone with, “. . . my name and my voice.” and sets about to find and confront Dorian Smiles. BDG sets off for Center Nebraska, which is close to where Dorian lives (a small town in the northeast corner of Nebraska). He states that Dorian’s address hasn’t existed since 1888 (that’s a familiar year isn’t it?) when it was supposedly condemned during an enormous blizzard and is, “. . . just woods now.” The video then transitions to BDG walking through dark woods while his narration talking up the Dorian Smiles program continues becoming increasingly broken. He comes across a figure sitting in the woods that is convulsing strangely, when he calls out to it the figure turns and is him (heretofore named Dorian). Dorian slowly puts his hands over his nose and mouth while staring at BDG at which point the narration cuts out. BDG copies Dorian and when Dorian removes his hands in a flourish, BDG does the same to reveal that he no longer has a mouth. The video quickly cuts back to BDG in his office talking about the program, he asks the viewer, “Why don’t you join me?” and then sits back and smiles while that line repeats without him moving his mouth. The most pressing mystery is who Dorian Smiles is. I think the most likely answer (and one I know I am not the progenitor of) is that Dorian is a reference to The Picture of Dorian Grey by Oscar Wilde, the story of a young man that has a portrait that ages and takes on the ravages of the debauched life its subject lives while Dorian himself does not. BDG would therefore be the unwitting recipient of that blessing, reaping massive rewards while his double, Dorian, lives in poverty and solitude. I like this explanation for Dorian, but I find it to be far more mechanical than thematic. On a metatextual level you could read that Dorian represents the character of BDG. The person that is in all of BDG’s videos, and the one with whom so much of the audience forms a parasocial relationship. In this lens the parallels with BDG’s own life make more sense. By this point in BDG’s career it is not difficult to imagine him feeling stifled creatively at work (I feel comfortable saying this given how soon after this video came out that he departed Polygon). His character had grown too large, potentially becoming alien to him, no longer reflecting the art he wanted to make and so he made a video about a distorted version of himself stealing his voice. In this way the video becomes a statement on his artistic integrity and his desire to test new boundaries and go in different directions. In hindsight, with the knowledge of his departure and then success after leaving Polygon, the video becomes almost heartwarming (if it weren’t terrifying) in the same way that a before and after picture of someone improving themselves can be. We will return to the Dorian Smiles system, but now we must move to the second video, Teaching Jake about the Camcorder, Jan '97. I’ll save you the blow by blow breakdown and aim for a quick summary instead. This video is a simple stationary shot of an old CRT tv. A VHS tape is inserted and a video of a man teaching his, evidently young, son how to use a camcorder plays. It is relatively wholesome and corny in that way that all home movies are and when it ends the tape rewinds and the segment plays again, this time with a few deviations. Over replays the father becomes aware of what is happening and begins trying to reason with Jake through the camcorder begging him to stop watching the tape and move on. The father is menaced by a large shadowy figure that does not speak or move when confronted. Eventually the father resorts to simply taking the camera and recording his own screams of pain. On the final rewind the father simply says, “Attaboy.” before calmly walking out the room and into the dark hallway, a doorway opens at the other end, filled with orange light, and the father walks through and down stairs. The final shot of the video is of the television, showing the hallway, as orange light begins to flicker in the background of the left side of the TV. The sound of the father descending the stairs transitions from the TV to diegetic and a shadow appears briefly in the light. On one level the video is clearly a statement about loss and about trauma. Jake is losing himself by watching these videos on repeat, trying in vain to relive a happier time. In that desperate desire to regain what was lost he is distorting it, making it into something it isn’t, hurting it. At the beginning the father says, “Never ever press the rewind button, otherwise you might record over a precious memory. We always keep the recording going forward . . .“ I think there is an additional, and more personal for BDG, reading however. The father is the modern character of BDG, and we, the audience, are Jake. He is pleading with us to leave the past behind and move on. This was only his 3rd video that he posted after leaving Polygon. It is a plea from him to leave the old character behind and stop trying to make one into the other. To stop obsessively comparing the new videos to the old. To let the future be the future and let the past be the past. He is telling us that his new work will not be like the old, that he has progressed past that and that now his viewers need to as well. The detachment and confusion of Earn $20K EVERY MONTH by being your own boss has transformed into a desire to move forward. But he needed to ensure that his audience was ready to come with him, and so he made a video about loss and the dangers of sinking too far into it. I know that there are some of you that feel I am reading too much of what I assume to be BDG’s thoughts and emotions into these interpretations, and I am the first to admit that I might be. In no way am I trying to say these are the only interpretations of these videos or even that they are correct. I think there is so much more of an artist that they put into their work than they realise. I do not know the mind of BDG, only he does, but these videos made me feel that I had a glimpse into the feelings of a man whose work I admire. These videos are either longer or a drastically different tone to the material he has put on his own channel and as such they stood out to me. They felt different, and they seemed to ask for a different level of scrutiny. On some level maybe BDGs videos can not be divorced from the story of BDG as a content creator, the same as any modern internet semi-celebrity, or indeed any artist. I guess there was also a part of me that wanted to answer the call to action I heard when BDG left Polygon, to unravel his work. I hope in some small way I’ve been able to do that.

[madrasbook]

Once Upon a City: Amusing Anecdotes about Madras

Madras that is Chennai celebrates its birthday on August 22, possibly on presumption, going by what S. Muthiah, the city’s finest chronicler who left a treasure of information on the city, records in Madras Rediscovered, which has run eight editions starting from 1981. A deed was signed on behalf of John Company by Francis Day and Andrew Cogan with the local Nayak rulers in Wandiwash and Poonamalle, Venkatappa and his brother Aiyappa, and that deed is dated as July 22, 1639.

That grant is dated July 22, 1639, but since Day reached Madraspatam – the name mentioned in the grant – only on July 27th, the chances are that ‘July’ is an error and August 22, 1639, is more likely the date the East India Company acquired the land to found their settlement.

The British men were given a small strip of land (which Muthiah terms “no man’s sand”) on lease on which they established a “trading post that was in effect a warehouse-cum-residence with some fortification,” to quote Muthiah.

And the land was chosen in Madras hyped up on a lie by Francis Day that cotton cheap in Madras as Day claimed in his recommendation to his superior, Andrew Cogan. And the city—which did have a notorious scale of gossip and scandals later on due to colourful men decorating the East India Company’s services or their agents, friends, or just men from England—was ostensibly founded on a famous gossip:

Day’s own explanation for choosing this barren, sandy site was that its hinterland offered “excellent long Cloath and better cheape by 20 per cent than anywhere else”! A noted gossip of the time, however, had it that the choice was determined by Day having a mistress in Portuguese San Thomé; the nearby settlement-to-be would ensure “their Interviews might be the more frequent and uninterrupted”! Whether this was indeed the case is a matter for conjecture, but that there was a mistress appears to have been gossip with some substance; a friend and successor to the charge of Madras, Henry Greenhill, is reported as having succeeded to the willing gentlewoman!

Madras Rediscovered is not a boring collection of facts and details to construct the past of Madras but a charming text to be read to understand how a small trading post evolved to become the metropolis of modern times, told in a very conversational, yet sophisticated and flowing language.

Where you actually give yourself to giggles, laughs, disbelief, and even tears are the anecdotes that punctuate the 20 chapters, which Muthiah chooses to name Once Upon a City. The first one begins thus:

I had promised to show him Robert Clive’s watering-holes in and around Madras. Little did I realise he’d turn up at my house in the best Clive manner, complete with coach and escort. His outrider that morning roared up on an iron steed, quickly dismounted at my gate and threw a smart salute. Moments later the carriage chugged up behind the police inspector and ensconced in the auto-rickshaw was a short, tubby, safari-suited Stanley Clives peering owlishly through heavy glasses to make sure he’d got right an address no Clive had ever known. Once sure, he broke into a broad, most unClive-like grin and proceeded to explain the comedy of errors that had earned him a police escort and which had raised in his esteem more than a notch the Madras police force whose sense of duty encompassed helping harassed strangers.

So a Clive (he also tells how the Clive became Clives) descendent arrived to meet Muthiah in an autorickshaw escorted by a police vehicle. What a setting! That engaging style, with wit and humour, is what you could expect to be treated to in these anecdotes. The main narrative about Madras is full of flourishing text that draws you in, arrests your senses, and piles up your curiosity.

You better read up on how the Survey of India had its roots in Madras. There are stories on mysterious murder, heads over heels love that would make would make “true love an eternal bestseller”, and the forgotten merchantmen (among whom my favourite is Coja Petrus Uscan, the Armenian merchant who enabled the connect between Mambalam and St. Thomas Mount through the Marmalong Bridge [now Maraimalai Adigal Palam]).

Muthiah delves into the Cooum (which once was a bather’s delight, now a polluted nightmare), the French dalliance with Madras that fell through only because of a poorly designed treaty, and life of Annie Besant and how printing came to Madras in the following anecdotes.

The stories of Parry & Company and Crompton & Company, two of the affluent British firms of Madras in their heyday, the founding of Indian Bank, Indo-Saracenic architecture, Edward Winter who was Day’s contemporary, film making in Madras and the city’s metamorphosis are captured in other anecdotes.

I have my favourites though in those Once Upon a City anecdotes—about The Hindu, on my lifeline poet Bharathi and on mathematical genius S. Ramanujan, and the Chepauk cricket ground.

The bewitching write on Chepauk first:

To me – and to most enthusiasts of the game as played in another, more leisurely, perhaps, even more gracious, age – cricket in Madras will for ever be associated with Chepauk’s lovely sward of lush springy turf tended with infinite patience and care to billiard table smoothness by Munuswamy of old, the entire emerald oval surrounded by towering cassias and acacias, some a century old, shedding their cool shade over low, tin-roofed stands. From these stands, which did nothing to mar the English county cricket ground atmosphere of Chepauk, you could watch in stretch-legged comfort Johnstone and Ward and Nailer, Gopalan and Ram Singh and Rangachari do epic battle against each other in the annual Pongal Week ‘Tests’, the Presidency Match that pitted European versus Indian in many a famous contest, then team up together to do yeoman duty for Madras against the rest of India in the Ranji Trophy matches of the 1930s and 1940s. [my emphasis]

Once Muthiah bowls you over, you go on to finish the story in double quick time and keep going back to it for inspiration, again and again. Talking of Pongal tests, which at one time the Chepauk was famous for, and we, the young then, often termed Indian sloppiness on the field as buttery fingers (after a generous scoop of Sakkarai Pongal with hands)!

The Hindu is an icon of Madras, always holding a place in the city’s ethos with an unparalleled history, a rare case of a newspaper intertwined with a city’s culture. Muthiah wrote Madras Miscellany for years in this newspaper without a break! Except once when his home was flooded in 2015 and when he finally had to give up due to his uncooperating health. Those stories were served on Monday morning with unfailing regularity, with this chronicler’s gaze often deep and amusing. But let’s get back to The Hindu itself, in Muthiah’s words:

“You might like The Hindu or you may not,” starts this chronicler, who should have collected copious paper cuttings of this newspaper in to his journals. And goes on to say, albeit grounded in the very tradition of the land:

… the paper has always reminded me of a one-time neighbour abroad. A middle-aged wisp of a woman in a nine-yard saree, chattering away in impeccable but strongly accented English, she organised the neighbourhood’s best coffee parties and bridge sessions in the mornings, drove herself through snarled traffic for sareed tennis in the afternoons, and with supreme aplomb threw boisterously successful cocktail parties or staid sit-down dinners, replete with her best silver and traditional vegetarian cuisine, in the evenings. Yet she remained true to Olde Madras in all those years, in dress and makeup, in habits and customs, above all in the practice of rituals of faith and worship. She was, bless her daunting soul, the finest example I knew of that rather overpowering but slowly vanishing personality, the Modern Orthodox Madras Conservative. And The Hindu has tended to be that over the years.

Only he could style The Hindu as “A middle-aged wisp of a woman in a nine-yard saree.” And what follows about the newspaper’s history is nothing short of fabulous. And he told me once that he was so inspired by the coverage of Lakshmikanthan murder case in the newspaper.

The mathematical genius of Ramanujan is not what Muthiah dwells upon but his life struggle and his work. Not so much with linguistic flourish though. On occasion, your eyes moisten while reading it because of the way the story is told. Combined in this anecdote is also the story about S. Chandrasekhar, the astrophysicist who won the Nobel in physics, long after it was due though. Maybe the future generations would get some inkling of this outstanding scientist from Muthiah’s account. I for one didn’t know much about this tall figure in such detail before reading it here.

Bharathiar is a universal poet. And there would be a few who wouldn’t have heard about him in the Tamil land. And to immerse yourself into his works gives not only inspiration but also a charge that would light up your life, for ever. Muthiah writes:

During the two years that he was a subeditor with the Swadesamitran, Bharati not only was trained as a journalist by Subramania Aiyer but also acquired his fire. The bouquet of heady wine made Bharati want to burst into patriotic verbal extravagance.

Not much about Bharathi’s fiery poetry finds mention but more of his journalistic career and life forms Muthiah’s focus. He says:

Bharati, in exile and deprived of a journalistic career, undoubtedly turned softer. The same thing had happened to VOC, who had come out of jail a crushed man, and, earlier, Subramania Aiyer, who had been shattered by the very threat of imprisonment. Aurobindo Ghosh, a fellow exile in Pondicherry, turned to spiritualism and V V S Aiyar, another fiery revolutionary in exile, turned to the world of letters, writing the first Tamil short story in 1917, Kulathangarai Arasamaram, after an initial spell of training gunmen. In this atmosphere of broken dreams and literary timewhiling, Bharati attempted to retain his interest in politics by writing sedate letters to the editors of Madras journals. As his prose became less fiery, his verse became more lyrical. He became the supreme poet. He also gave up his rural indifference to appearance and opted for a buttoned-up frock coat, loose turban to hide his baldness, and a pampered moustache to go with his clean shave.

Muthiah weaves into Bharathiar’s life as a careful observer, picking up the story in its magnificent simplicity, and this was so thrilling to read, of his meeting with C.R. Srinivasan, manager of Swadesamitran, when Bharathi rejoined the newspaper:

They introduced themselves. Srinivasan later recalled: “The Bharati I saw that day is indelibly imprinted on my mind’s eye. Middling height. Thin build. Shining, light brown complexion. Layer after layer of a turban wound round the head. A broad forehead. A dot of kum kum of a quarter anna size in its middle. Thick brows that stood guard over the roving eyes. The upturned nose highlighting the sunken cheeks. Though an aggressive moustache hid the upper lip, the lower lip revealed a listless life. A shirt without buttons to cover the body and an alpaca black coat over it. That too torn while jumping from the cart. He sat on the chair. Tongue-tied, the eyes rolled around, sizing everything. They alighted on me also, moving up and down. Rebellious eyes; sorrowful eyes; eyes that exuded peace; eyes that captivated. They stole my heart.”

The greatness of Bharathiar told in succulent text, captivating to read. Who says Muthiah has left us? His text speaks to us and the city’s now popular historian, Sriram V, has kept alive his memoirs of the city by covering many of the sites, especially favouring North Madras, described in the book in his heritage walks.

If working with these two men of letters and history isn’t a blessing, what is?

[asktheboywholived]

If I Could See Your Face Backstory:

(( OOC: Body-swapping concept inspired by the film “Every day.” )) 

The Soul Exchange: 

James Potter met Lily Evans in Flourish and Blotts three years before IICSYF takes place. He’d gone to pick up a copy of “Quidditch Through The Ages” and saw her standing behind the counter. He was instantly smitten. 

James, having not an ounce of shame in his entire body, and used to having girls fawn over him (considering his standing as a well-known quidditch player), attempted to chat her up.

Turns out, Lily didn’t know jack-shit about quidditch, nor did she find his joke about what “position” he plays very amusing. 

Needless to say, it didn’t go well.

The next day James begged his best mate, Sirius Black, to lend him his motorcycle. He desperately wanted to impress Lily and get into her good-books (pun intended).

On his way to the shop he got into a terrible accident, a result of careless motorbike flying and a rogue owl. The owl survived, but James fell into a coma. 

However, having a will of iron and a reckless nature, James’ soul refused to be trapped in a stagnant body and was thrown out, attaching to the first person on the scene, an Auror named Alastor Moody. 

The phenomenon is called a soul-exchange, or “walk-in”, and is extremely rare. It requires an obscenely strong will and is often confused with possession. Possession can only take place if either the inhabiting soul is willing and invites the other soul in, or is too weak to fight the invading soul. 

Two combative souls could not coexist in one body, and Alastor was forced into the only body available... James’. 

However, once James’ soul willfully left his body, it became untethered, and without the connection to his physical mind he was left unable to remember his past, only collecting information from the present. 

Eventually the will of the original inhabitant overwhelmed James’ own as Alastor took control of his body once again, causing a chain reaction that forced James to move on to the next available body with each passing day. 

With every exchange, the original soul of the host would be forced into James’ body at St. Mungos, where they’d spend a day in a dream-like state, unconscious. Because of this, James was unable to learn anything about where each soul would go when interrogating his previous hosts. 

After nearly half a year of selfish fuck-ups, where he managed to cause a lot of damage in the lives of his hosts and leave chaos in his wake, James began to make a conscious effort to cater to the host instead. It wasn’t fair of him to disrupt their lives just so he could live for a day. 

As the years passed, James, unable to find or be himself, began to lose himself. He learned how to dress the part, catering to each person’s style preference. He was a quick learner, and gained the ability to think on his feet, doing his best not to get anyone fired when he couldn’t call in sick.

Sometimes he mourned for other people’s losses, too. Even without its original soul, pain and grief could still linger in a body. Those were the hardest days. 

James tried to interfere with his host’s lives as little as possible. However, on one occasion he found himself inhabiting a particularly awful person, and turned himself into the authorities... but he doesn’t like to talk about that.

When James met Lily, a connection was reignited, since she was the last person his physical mind had thought about before his accident. As the connection grew stronger between himself and Lily, the connection to his body did as well. Eventually, the desire to ensure that he could keep his promise to Lily (attending her birthday party) drew him back to the one body that would ensure it happened – his own. 

James returned to his original body, but the soul was still untethered, having been separated for so long. It needed a solid connection, a desire strong enough to keep it anchored. 

That happened the moment James’ realized how much he loved the girl lying next to him in the hospital bed... someone who was willing to endure a future of hardship in order to keep him close. 

In that moment the soul and body reconnected and his conscious mind took over, the memories of his physical form returning – but not the memories imprinted on his soul. That required a deeper connection. 

That required Lily. 

IICSYF – AU WORLD BACKGROUND INFORMATION:

The wizarding war did not take place in this timeline. Prejudice is still at large and bubbling under the surface, but the scale has not tipped towards violence, and things are relatively normal... or as normal as anything can be in the wizarding world.

Schooling: 

Remus didn’t attend Hogwarts. With no wizarding war looming, Albus didn’t see a future need for him, and thus didn’t extend a hand. Remus was homeschooled by his parents instead, and spent a lot of his time engaging with the muggle world, where life was simpler. He eventually attended a muggle university.  

Sirius was forced to transfer to Durmstrang after disappointing the family by being sorted into Gryffindor. He ended up fleeing his family home at 14 because of the conditions and lack of support, living with his uncle Alphard instead, but continued to attend Durmstrang, grateful for the lack of contact with his family (his brother and cousins still attended Hogwarts). He played beater for Durmstrang’s quidditch team, something Alphard encouraged as a productive way for him to get out some of his pent up aggression... Sirius had a lot of aggression to vent. 

Sirius became a skilled player and, with the help of his uncle and his connections, was eventually picked up by the Montrose Magpies, one of the most successful teams in the league. 

James attended Hogwarts and was sorted into Gryffindor. His skills as a Chaser and captain for the Gryffindor team were unrivaled, and he was eventually scouted by several teams, settling with the Montrose Magpies, where he met Sirius Black. 

Lily attended Beauxbatons after her father was offered a job in France. It was there she became friends with Marlene, who had been sent there by her parents in a last-ditch effort to turn her into a “lady”. Though they may not have been successful in their attempts, she certainly developed an advanced interest in “ladies” instead.

After leaving school, Marlene, having family connections, secured a job at Flourish and Blotts. After a pulling a few strings, she was able to find an opening for Lily as well, who had been missing England. The two moved back to start the next chapter of their lives... as bookworms.  

Sirius and James: 

The infamous duo met after being drafted into the Montrose Magpies quidditch team. James immediately adored Sirius and his brash, aggressive attitude, even if he was a little rough around the edges. James’ easy-going nature and natural confidence was something Sirius admired and aspired to have. The two became fast friends in no time. 

A year after being drafted to the team, James’ parents passed away of Dragonpox. James, unable to stand living in the huge Potter estate by himself, moved into a flat in London near Diagon Alley, closer to Sirius (who was living in Alphard’s old flat, having lost his uncle recently as well). The two became as close as family. 

The flat that James moved into was in the same apartment complex that Remus and Marlene would eventually live in (hence why Remus walked out of his flat to find Sirius in the hallway).

After James’ fell into a coma, Sirius continued to stop by his flat to check up on things... which he did at least once a week, without fail, for three years. He was positive that James would wake up, and wanted to ensure everything was ready for him when he did.

When James awoke from the coma, Sirius, being listed as family, was the first person contacted.  

Remus and Marlene: 

Remus became friends with Marlene after meeting her at a local gay club. It was a muggle club, and it was Remus’ first time there. After watching the jumper-clad man sit at the bar for a solid twenty minutes without talking to anyone, Marlene took pity on the nervous newbie and became determined to show him a good time. 

After far too many drinks, the two of them had a long, sloppy conversation. Marlene could tell something was up, and Remus, with a bit of liquid courage and some pestering, eventually opened up to her. 

Having only attended muggle schools, having just lost his mother, and not wanting to burden his father with his problems, Remus had recently moved out of his family home... and he was in a tight spot. 

He had resorted to living in a one-room flat that could barely be called a room, and his job searching was producing abysmal results. He wanted to become a part of the wizarding world, but it seemed like his efforts were being constantly thwarted by prejudice. 

Things were not going well.  

Something he didn’t tell Marlene was the fact that he’d had a few close-calls in the muggle world due to a lack of understanding towards his condition... situations that he wasn’t aware of, like super moons and eclipses, that produced unexpected results. He was desperate to work his way back into the wizarding world in order to learn more about himself... but it was proving to be much harder than he’d anticipated to fit in.

After an emotionally vulnerable conversation, a couple of trips to the loo to empty the contents of his stomach, and a wobbly exit from the club... Well, Remus didn’t really remember the rest, but the next day he found himself in Marlene’s spare room with a “Welcome Home Bitch” cake on the bedside table, all of his belongings, and no recollection of how they had gotten there.

And that was how Remus Lupin became Marlene McKinnon’s roommate. 

Remus and Sirius: 

Sirius had passed by the muggle club on the corner several times with James on the way to their usual post-game-celebration pub. Every time they passed, his eyes would linger, and James, catching on, always offered to accompany Sirius inside (the proposition including an excessive amount of eyebrow wiggling, which always earned James’ a solid punch in the arm). 

Sirius had never gone in, but that night, standing outside and listening to the music thrumming indoors, he decided Fuck it. Tonight will be the night. 

~*~

It had been 6 months now that Remus had been living with Marlene, and he still couldn’t hold down a proper job. Today shouldn’t have come as a surprise, everyone found out eventually, but Remus had really liked his job and had hoped that this time it would last. 

His mistake. 

He knew Marlene wouldn’t care, she was unwaveringly supportive and laid-back about the whole thing, but he still dreaded telling her. She’d offer to get him a position at Flourish again, but Remus knew they didn’t need any more employees, and couldn’t stand living off of her charity. 

On his dejected walk home he’d halted outside of the familiar club. He’d only ever gone in once, but that one time had brought him to Marlene. Maybe this time... 

He didn’t want to go home, he didn’t want to be recognized by someone he knew, and he didn’t want to be sober – so might as well. 

~*~

Remus sat down at the bar, feeling nervous and sweaty in his jumper. It was hot, and the music was unnecessarily loud. He quickly ordered a drink, intent on drowning himself. 

Remus glanced to the side and froze, his eyes widening. 

Sirius Black was sitting next to him. As in... famous Quidditch player, ridiculously handsome Sirius Black. 

Remus glanced around, surprised that the man wasn’t being accosted by adoring fans – but they were in a muggle club, and Sirius was just another body among the masses. 

Remus tried to calm his breathing and focus on his drink, his eyes flitting constantly back to the dark haired man beside him in spite of his efforts to remain aloof. God, he wished Marlene knew more about Quidditch teams! She only had eyes for the Harpies (of course), and she wouldn’t be able to give him the appropriate response warranted for this remarkable chance encounter when he told her about it later.   

Sirius’ eyes were on the dance floor, his finger tapping against his leg with the beat. He was smiling comfortably, looking at ease.  

Remus nearly choked on his drink when Sirius turned suddenly, looking in his direction. He tried to play it off like he’d been sparing Sirius a passing glance as opposed to staring at him for the last five minutes – but if the smirk that spread across the other man’s face was any indication, Sirius hadn’t been fooled. 

Remus nearly jumped out of his skin when the quidditch star plopped down in the seat next to him, striking up a conversation as easily as lighting a match – which was dangerous considering the fact that Remus was about ready to explode. 

“Were you going for a bold, stylistic choice with the jumper, or are you just a glutton for punishment?” 

Remus glanced down at the jumper, which was starting to stick uncomfortably to his skin, and licked his lips nervously. “If I say it’s stylistic, will you kindly turn the other cheek when I collapse from dehydration? It’s kind of the look I’m going for, so...”

“How avant-garde of you.”

The conversation flowed naturally after the initial ice-break. Remus was surprised with how well they got on, although the conversation was fairly surface-level, neither of them wanting to reveal too much about themselves. 

It was fun, simple flirting, and Remus hadn’t had that in a long time.  

Sirius glanced down at one point, then grinned. “Is that a wand or are you just happy to see me?” 

Remus froze, glancing down, then slowly reached into his pocket, drawing the long wand out. 

Sirius’ eyes widened in shock, “Oh my god, it’s a wand!” 

Remus had been avoiding discussing the wizarding world, hoping to keep himself from acting like a fan-boy. Sirius was now staring accusatorially at him, as if he’d been lied to. He'd probably thought he was talking to a muggle.

Remus took a deep breath, desperately searching for something to say to cut through the tension, “So... I showed you mine...?” 

Sirius stared for a moment more, sizing him up, then snorted inelegantly. “Is that your pick up line?”

Remus laughed, relieved. “Did it work?”

Sirius stared for a moment, then nodded ever-so-slightly. “I’d say no... but the jumper kind of did it for me already, so really anything works at this point.” 

Remus choked on his drink. 

Sirius bit his lip, glancing hesitantly at Remus as he set down his beer. “... You doing anything after this?” Remus shook his head before his brain could catch up to his body, then cursed inwardly as a sly smile spread across Sirius’ face. “Well then, mind if I take you home?” 

“You want to walk me home?”

“No... I want to take you home. My place... but only if the jumper comes too.” 

“Well, I wasn’t planning on removing it tonight.”

“You can keep wearing it if you’d like.” Sirius shrugged, his grin broadening. 

Remus could feel the blush rising, his ears heating up. “I... I’m not really looking for anything right now,” he stammered, feeling the word-vomit rising to the surface as the anxiety took over, “I mean, I know I look incredibly put-together in my knitted jumper, but I have to be honest with you, my life is a bit of a mess–”

“You say right now,” Sirius cut in, drumming the counter lightly, his grey eyes piercing. “But am I safe in assuming you mean you’re not looking for anything later... Because I’m alright with right now if you’re not interested in later.” 

Fuck. 

~*~

Remus had never had a one-night-stand before. 

He was hesitant, but Sirius was fun and unfairly attractive, and he’d enjoyed the short time they’d spent together. He needed something uncomplicated, and Sirius was offering exactly that... so, why the hell not?

Turned out, a one-night-stand with Sirius Black was great. Really great.  

They had come to an understanding, and Remus left the next morning without waking the other man. It was only after that he realized... he’d never given Sirius a name.  

Part of him felt a twinge of regret, but that’s what he had wanted – a nice, uncomplicated memory to hold onto. 

Now he had one. 

~*~

Sirius had no idea that Remus was living in the same complex as James. Remus lived on a different floor, and he was always out job-hunting when Sirius stopped by around lunch for his weekly visits... but one particular morning, Sirius woke up at the crack of dawn, feeling peculiarly groggy. He shook his head, glancing at the ornate clock on the wall that had the time, date, weather forecast, and for some reason, the creative cuss-word of the day. That was uncle Alphard for you. 

Friday. Sirius had to double take. Friday? God, had he missed an entire day? He’d been sure it was Thursday. 

Strange. 

Friday was James’ day. Sirius dragged himself out of bed and made his way to the flat, knowing he wouldn’t make it in the afternoon and worried about James’ plants, which were looking a little grim and god-forbid he let a fucking cactus die, of all things. 

Sirius was preoccupied with his thoughts and accidentally got off on the wrong floor. He instinctively started making his way towards what he thought was James’ flat, all the floors looking exactly the same, when he heard someone calling out to him... 

That voice sounded familiar. 

[diyunho]

The Joker x Reader - “Queen Of The Damned”

In the whole eternity, The Queen of the Underworld only loved once: he was mortal and died shortly after she gave him a child. So when The Joker says he’s a Prince, he’s not actually lying or being a presumptuous lunatic: the green haired man is in fact royalty and sole heir to The Realm Below.

“Stop fidgeting!!!” the nurse admonishes. “This is a new experimental drug and it will help you, OK?” she tries to reason with the patient confined inside a straitjacket, heavy chains bounding him to the metal table.

“Let me go!” he hisses and tries to bite her as she checks his neck for pulse.

“I can’t let you go, Mister Joker. We’re trying to make you better, alright?” the caregiver dodges his teeth before J can sink them in her flesh.

“If you don’t untie me, my Mother will come!!! She doesn’t like it if I’m in danger!”

“Shut the hell up, you insane bastard!” the attending physician can’t hold in his bitterness while mixing the serum.

“Doctor Reeves!” the woman raises her voice. “That’s not the way we talk! I know you are new at Arkham Asylum, but I would really appreciate it if you treat our cases with respect!”

“I’m sorry,” the physician apologizes for his unprofessional remark. “He gets on my nerves!”

“Yes well… Please keep your personal opinions to yourself because they’re not doing any good! The patient is very agitated; would you like me to take over?” she offers and gets cut off.

“I don’t need your expertise, I’m a doctor for God’s sake!”

“I wasn’t implying otherwise,” the nurse sighs at his obvious crankiness; why does she have to be stuck during the night shift with Reeves?! Arkham’s South Wing is already harboring the worst criminals and a psychiatrist that took the job for the thrills can’t possibly render assistance to the troubled convicts incarcerated here.

“I’m done,” he taps the syringe and approaches The Joker when the lights suddenly flicker. “Another power outage?! The storm is not that bad!” the guy rants and doesn’t realize the prisoner is not struggling to escape anymore.  

“My Mother’s coming!” the most demented smile flourishes on The Joker’s lips. “I warned you!” he maniacally starts laughing with delight. “You should have listened!”

A low rumble shakes the immense building and the convoluted hallways fill up with mist: the Queen of The Realm Below steps in the world of the living again, surrounded by her loyal army of twisted warriors.

“Protect The Prince!” the invisible wraiths shriek, crawling on the walls in order to destroy the cameras. Some fly through brick and metal with the sole purpose of fulfilling their ruler’s command: no greater honor than aid her son trapped in the human kingdom.

He often gets in trouble and somehow miraculously vanishes or avoids hazardous situations; this is his first time at Arkham and the authorities will believe tonight’s events are an inside job or simply an elaborate breakout plotted by The Joker’s team.

Ironically enough The King of Gotham is not even crazy: his mind works on a totally different level due to the unearthly heritage. There is no cure for a person that’s not sick, no medicine or therapy allegedly mending something that’s not fractured.

“Why isn’t the generator kicking in?” Reeves stares at the ceiling and the nurse carefully listens, pointing out a disturbing detail:

“Do you hear that?”

“Hear what?” the doctor crinkles his nose. “It’s silent.”

“Exactly,” she mutters. “Why is it so quiet?”

“I have no idea,” he prepares to poke The Joker’s arm when the halogen bulbs instantly go out. “Ana, can you…” the psychiatrist mumbles as the lights turn back on. “Finally!” he turns towards the woman and gasps at the frightening apparition standing next to him. Your sword whooshes in the stillness and the corpse falls to the ground, abruptly followed by the caregiver’s: both didn’t have the opportunity to process what they saw by pure coincidence. It was gone in a second along with their existence.

The Queen towers over the medical ward, slowly taking off her helmet; her hair intensely burns, eternally fueled by the fires of The Underworld.

“You came!” The Joker face brightens up with pure happiness noticing the creatures’ claws release him from his constraints: they grumble, coo and chirp seeing The Prince is safe and sound; he pets a few kneeling at his feet while rushing in your arms. “Mother!” J sniffles and you hold him tight until his body relaxes a little bit.

“Are you hurt?” you whisper and your son pouts, burying his cheeks in the cold silver of your plated armor.

“No,” the muffled word prompts a kiss on his forehead; The Joker lets go, unwilling to watch his mother depart: he’s aware she can’t linger for too long, yet the desire to stay close to her never fades. “When are you going to take me with you?” the piercing blue eyes inherited from his father glare into yours.

“Soon,” the elusive reply makes him frown.

“You promised and I’m always left behind!”

How can you explain why he’s still here?... J wouldn’t comprehend what coming with you to The Realm Below means: he would have to get rid of his mortal shell and you just don’t have the strength to witness him die.  

Despite the horrifying moniker, The Queen of The Damned is neither good nor evil; her actions are invariably guided by circumstances.

She takes care of lost, damaged spirits and although powerful and feared, Y/N is also the recipient of her legions’ constant devotion, for no other Monarch of The Underworld ever enjoyed being cherished by its subject as much as you are.

The abomination born from her love with a human didn’t diminish the horde’s allegiance: it actually made them adore The Queen more because affection is desperately craved in The Realm Below and they can’t wait to have a Prince willing to share his Mother’s duties!

But The Joker’s arrival keeps on getting postponed…  

“You know what I’ll do?” J mischievously snickers. “I’m gonna call my crew and tell them to pick me up. The mystery of how I’m able to walk out of this place without their intervention will drive them nuts! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!” his sinister chuckle resonates in the room; he feels such gratification thinking about it one could presume he’s in a cheerful disposition. “Did you clear the path for me?” The Prince inquires and the entities snarl, excited he’s paying attention to their mighty deeds. “Perfect!” your son praises. “I’ll signal when to open the gates, ok?”

They growl at his approval and you have to interrupt the joyful mood:

“I have to go…”

“Is dad waiting for you?” J asks, already guessing the answer.

“Yes,” you nod and reassure: “Don’t worry, I’ll return when you need me!”

Before the sentence ends The Queen disappears, abandoning her descendant inside the Arkham Asylum. The Joker sulks, upset he can’t follow you and gets distracted by the commotion created on the other side of Block H: apparently some guards weren’t annihilated as expected.

“You said you cleared the path!” he scolds and picks up the phone, dialing Frost’s number. “No matter, I’ll get reinforcements and we’ll make this a party on our own, hm?” the silver grin widens at the concept of fighting his way out himself.

In the meantime, J’s mother materializes by the Endless Wall that separates The Realm Below from The Realm Above: its transparent, glass like composition is meant to keep you apart from the man you love. Why?

The response is easy: The King reigning over The Realm Above always craved your fondness and felt betrayed when you gave your attention to a mere human; deciding to give Kai a child was the epitome of mockery for the jealous emperor. He never accepted your choices had nothing to do with him. Thus he took the matters in his own hands and ensured Kai’s demise, making certain you won’t be able to save him: the mortal you loved was killed in a car crash and went to The Realm Above, which was the plan all along. Since The Joker’s father was at peace when he passed and not a lost, broken soul, he didn’t wind up in your kingdom; The Emperor sealed the borders as soon as Kai appeared on his domain, making sure you won’t touch or hear each other again.  

You tried to break the spell without success: only the one that casted such magic could reverse it and The King has no intention to do so. He likes torturing The Queen of The Damned and her beloved, that’s why he lingers in the shadows to glutton at their agony every time they meet.

Today is no exception and it sure brings The Emperor great comfort to view the aftermath of his revolting actions: it probably hurts because you’re unable to do more than gaze at the man you love. Such a fit punishment for a stuck-up Queen rejecting his proposal. You sure got what you deserved! All the powers you possess are useless against his impenetrable curse unleashed out of pure resentment.

Hmm… what’s going on?... You suddenly seem flustered and The King is trying to estimate on the motive; Kai keeps on calling your name, yet you can’t discern the sounds anyway. You swiftly fade in a hurry, neglecting to wave goodbye for a valid pretext: the sharp ache in your chest alerted that something awful happened to your son.

**************  

The Joker is lying on the floor, almost unconscious from the blood loss. The red stain under him is growing bigger and bigger, reaching the collapsed security officers that stood between J and his freedom. He was overly hyped and decided to create mayhem: being reckless provoked the dark side of his personality and he didn’t wait for his gang nor allowed the wraiths to intervene.

The Clown Prince of Crime definitely counts on his Mother’s aid, therefore he doesn’t have to worry about consequences to his endeavors. He trusts you won’t fail to show up and get him out of messy situations like this one.

“M-mother…”, The Joker wheezes as you hover over him. “Mother… h-help me…”, he begs and your hesitation puzzles your heir; his father distracted you and in exchange J got severely injured.

“… …. …. I won’t… I can’t have your father, but I’ll take you…” The Queen confesses, adamant to overcome her delay in fulfilling his wish for years. Maybe she won’t be determined like she is now if another chance will arise in the future.

“Really?...” the hope in his tone makes you sadder. “Mother…” he winces in pain, trying to touch you. “Please h-help me…It…it hurts…”

You grab his fingers and squeeze them in yours, pecking his tattooed knuckles.

“I know…I’m sorry…”

“W-why won’t you…” and he pauses, taking a last labored breath, “…help m-me?!...”

His eyelids are closing, the individual labeled as one of the worse criminals lastly fleeing the prison of his mortal half. The Joker is dead and The Prince of The Realm Below emerges from his remains, stunned to wake up next to you.

“Mother?...” he blinks and you cup his face, relieved you had the courage to do what  you deferred in the past.

“It’s ok,” you smile. “You’ll get used to the sensation, give it a few moments,” you pass your hand to his burning hair, amazed at the terrifying beauty he was blessed with thanks to his ancestry.

“Boss!!!”

“Mister Joker!!”

“Mister J, where are you?” the questions echo in the deserted Block H: his henchmen finally infiltrated the area, spooked at the unnerving feeling that something is shady. When they arrived, the Asylum’s gates were open; nobody around on the street, no guards, no medical personnel, nobody they could spot anywhere on their way to pick up The Joker as instructed.

“Over here!” Frost shouts and rushes to The Joker’s corpse, swiftly taking his pulse. “Shit!” he mumbles when he detects no heartbeat.

“What the fuck?!” Panda is the second to stumble on the scene, baffled to notice his employer covered in blood wearing just a pair of sweatpants.

“We need to get out this instant!” Frost commands as the others join the small group. “Help me carry him!”

“J?..” a woman’s voice emerges. “J?” the visibly pregnant Ava runs on the empty corridor. “Oh my God!” she panics when she sees them trying to lift him up. “J?” she gently caresses his face, panicked when there’s no movement. “Is he dead?” she presses on his wounds and starts crying since the guys are quiet. “Aren’t you going to do anything??!!” she screams, desperate to acknowledge not too much can be done.

“… Mother…” The Prince articulates and you already predict his request: “… Can I stay?”

Who else understands him better to begin with? He loves the mortal and you can relate to his anguish. Of course he wants to go with you also, yet there are things that are holding him back in the human world.

“I suppose I’m condemned to ages of loneliness…” you utter and give him a violent nudge before you change your mind.

The Prince falls back into his body; The Joker gasping for air makes Frost and Panda almost drop him on the marble floor.

“J!” Ava exclaims in disbelief. “Baby??!!” she brings her ear to his lips because he’s saying something.

“Mother… Mother…” J faintly repeats and the woman misinterprets. “Yes, I’m going to be a mom and you’re going to be a dad. You already know this, hm?” she caresses his face. “Be careful!” Ava reprimands as they wrap Richard’s jacket around The Joker and Panda drags a stretcher next to them.

“Jesus boss, we thought we lost you!” Jonny adds and barely deciphers his reply:

“You’re not that lucky…”

The Joker keeps staring at The Queen and the army hidden to the rest of them: she’s leaving and although weakened, he wants to apologize for generating more sorrow when she doesn’t deserve it.

“Forgive me…” J whispers and your last words only he can discern give him unexpected bliss:

“There’s nothing to forgive.”

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

You come near the transparent wall, seeking to find consolation even if it’s impossible: Kay is on the other side, the palm of his right hand against the invisible barrier. You cover it with yours, wishing you could tell him so much but what’s the point?...  He can’t hear you.

“I couldn’t bring him with me,” The Queen whispers nevertheless. “He wanted to stay… and I couldn’t force him…”

Something is trickling down your face and you touch it, confused.

What is this?! Tears don’t exist in The Underworld; a few drip on the barrier and it starts sizzling to your legion’s dismay. They sniff the bubbly fumes, curiously scratching at the expanding chain reaction: the wall is melting.

You and Kay watch the gap becoming larger and larger until there’s enough space to fit. Is this real or an illusion?!

I guess you’ll have to find out so you take a few shaky steps towards him, not being able to suppress your astonishment when he yanks you in his arms.  

The Emperor is lurking in the shadows, furious his unbreakable magic is dissipating with each passing moment. Your warriors are granted free passage again and they spill inside The Kingdom Above, howling while awaiting orders.  

As she hugs the man she loves, The Mother of lost spirits sneers through her clenched teeth:

“Attack!”

Also read: MASTERLIST

You can also follow me on Ao3 and Wattpad under the same blog name: DiYunho.

[juniperwindsong]

Necessary Monsters (6/16)

A/N: Well, as of recent game updates, my story is now AU. I considered rewriting this chapter, and I do reserve the right to go back and change it later to keep to canon. But for now, I'd like this chapter to stand in memory of a character that had no business dying (looking at you, JC).

Summary: "I need a favor." "You what?" "Don't be a prick." "Oh, off to a champion start, you are."

The only thing worse than an alarm clock is an enchanted alarm clock. Felix is sure the squat, tin object takes malicious pleasure in stabbing him to consciousness with its incessant brrrring. He groans and slaps a hand in the direction of the trunk currently serving as a bedside table, but the clock dances away from Felix's outstretched fingers, its shrill ring sounding suspiciously like laughter. Groping about in the dark for his wand, Felix waves it at the clock, now doing an ungainly jig beside the bed, and it falls forward onto its flat face in disgruntled silence.

Stumbling to the wardrobe, Felix pulls out shirt, jumper, and trousers without looking, then stares about him in the darkness for his boots. The outline of one peeks from under the foot of his camp bed, and he trips over the other on his way toward it. Sprawled across the floor, all sense of urgency knocked from him, Felix fumbles for the treacherous shoes and tugs them on with heavy fingers. He reminds himself he's only 22, which is far too young to be this ornery about his turn at night-shift. He knows the one week a month of reversed sleep cycle, and the impish alarm clock that comes with it, aren't the real reason his nerves are on tenterhooks. But they certainly don't help.

Still spread-eagle on the cold, rough wood, Felix allows his eyes to fall closed as he sends up a silent prayer to whatever entity is responsible for managing his cosmic affairs: Please, please let it come today, he thinks, over and over again, until sleep begins to trickle back through his veins.

As the breathing of its current master deepens and slows, the alarm clock rights itself and toddles across the floor towards his ear. It rubs its hands together in undisguised glee.

-

The Romanian Reserve is not at all what Felix had expected. It reminds him of what he always imagined work in an office would be like: shifts and staff meetings and performance reviews. In Peru, Felix's schedule was set by the sun or the activity of the dragons he tracked. Here, he flicks his wand over a time card in the main building and marches past the hall of tiny rooms to the cramped office where the equipment is stored, and which he has to share with the Senior Dragonologist for the Peruvian Vipertooth.

Luis Rashbold takes up almost the entire closet-sized room. Leaning back in the only chair with his feet propped on the small desk, both pieces of furniture creaking in distress, he dictates his report to a typewriter clicking away on its own. He's only a decade older than Felix, but full of the self-assurance that comes with being one of the youngest researchers to achieve a senior position.

Felix reaches across the desk and snatches the paper from the typewriter, glancing over the events of the day.

"Any change?" he asks Rashbold without looking up from the parchment.

"None. That she-dragon of yours is still hell-bent on getting to Alicanto before the mating season ends. But it shouldn’t last much longer. The summer's half gone."

Sharp pangs constrict Felix's chest at the reminder, but he breathes through them.

"The rotation started over today, didn't it? Who do we have this month?"

Rashbold flicks his dark ponytail back over his shoulder. "Lambton. And do try and go easy on the lad, the healer quit this morning. "

"You're joking. He hasn't been here a fortnight!"

"I've known shorter," Rashbold shrugs unconcernedly.

"And the one before that only got here a few weeks before I did." Felix steps around the desk, carefully avoiding Rashbold's dirt-crusted shoes. "Is the job jinxed or something?" he asks as he lifts the fireproof gauntlets and chest-plate from their hooks on the wall, eyeing the sweat stains on the inside of the equipment with distaste.

"Doubt it," replies Rashbold, sliding another piece of paper into the typewriter. "Most people just aren't cut out for dragons." He catches Felix muttering a cleaning spell under his breath and shakes his head.

Felix pulls the chest-plate over his jumper, glancing at the papers scattered across the desk.

"Did the post come yet?" he asks with a practiced nonchalance that does not fool the older man one bit. Rashbold cracks a wicked grin.

"Sorry, nothing from your secret admirer. What's it been, a fortnight now?" As always, heat rises in Felix's face unbidden, and Rashbold's grin becomes a laugh. "Too bad you didn't pick the Fireball, mate. Your face would make excellent camouflage."

Felix stomps from the room, cheeks still bright red. Rashbold's infuriating laughter follows him down the hall.

Disappointment begins its natural evolution into bitter anger as Felix strides quickly out of the building's backdoor and down the gravel path. He wastes a few minutes wishing apparition was permitted on the Reserve. It's only a twenty minute walk to the Vipertooths' habitat, which is practically nothing; it takes the Horntail dragonologists an hour to get to their plot, housed at the very back of the Reserve. But work is the only thing keeping Felix sane just at present. Each minute of silent walking is a minute he cannot stop his brain sliding into anxious thoughts about what might be happening to Juniper so many miles away.

-

When Felix first arrived, Juniper's letters, while abysmally short, had at least been consistent. No longer half a world apart, Felix received her owls almost every other day, a privilege he had been denied for many years and did not take for granted. He could tell by her wobbly and often unintelligible penmanship, Juniper's hands had not yet improved enough to make writing an easy task. Nor had her attempts to charm her quill into writing for her been successful either, she explained in her first letter, since she couldn't hold her wand steady enough to cast anything. But after being discharged from St Mungo's and purchasing a quill that took dictation from Flourish and Blotts, her letters were once again full of news: How she had been excused from end-of-year exams; how she still had no memory of her attack or attackers; how Dumbledore had insisted she spend the summer at the Khanna tree farm, an out of the way country house with many magical protections surrounding it.

Felix got the distinct impression from her letters that Juniper was frustrated with the decisions being made for her. She had been expressly forbidden from leaving the Khanna property, except for regular visits to St Mungo's, and Dumbledore and the auror, Moody, checked in on her frequently. But Juniper offered no further information about her protection detail or her recovery. As always, she kept her letters to questions and comments about Felix's new life in Romania, though even those seemed more careless with each owl. Then the frequency of her letters dipped. By the end of July, they had stopped coming at all.

Worry now keeps Felix in a constant state of nerves. He's sure someone would have contacted him if something had happened to Juniper; another attack or a sudden relapse. He remembers Snape's warning about uncharacteristic behavior, and more than once has sat down at his desk with the intention of consulting the Slytherin Head of House. But he isn't sure if a mere lack of correspondence qualifies as unusual, particularly in light of her condition. It's entirely possible Juniper is simply too busy, with her recovery and her other friends, to keep up with their new fast-paced writing schedule. Still, the vacuum of silence he's left in without her letters makes him edgier with each passing day.

Work is the only relief Felix has from the continual parade of worries and what-ifs. And today's arrival of the new junior assistant, a position that rotates between different species on a monthly basis, ensures Felix has no extra brain space to think of anything except keeping the nervous young man alive and relatively unhurt.

Ten hours later, dripping with sweat, dirt, and blood, Felix trudges slowly back across the Reserve just as the sun peeks over the horizon. Pulling off his gauntlets and stretching his sore muscles, he waits for the ever-present torment to reassert itself. The desperation to hear from Juniper, even just a few quick lines to know she's alright and hasn't forgotten him, is a physical ache nothing will soothe. Two weeks is long enough to be objectively concerned, he decides. The time has come to send an inquiry.

Debating which of her many friends to write to, Felix is startled to hear his name being called from somewhere ahead of him. He focuses on the figure in the foreground: a tall, muscular man, though that describes most of the dragonologists here, but with the addition of a cowboy hat, which can only mean one person.

"Hey there, Rosier!"

"Grahame," Felix inclines his head wearily at the Reserve's resident American, who trots toward him with an irrepressible grin.

"I got - shit, you're a mess!" the dark man exclaims cheerfully, as he looks Felix up and down.

"May I help you?" Felix replies, trying to keep irritation from his voice. The American is a junior dragonologist as well, though several years older. Felix doesn’t usually mind the man’s company, but he isn't in the mood for conversation just now. Fortunately, Grahame appears to be in his usual hurry. He thrusts something at Felix as he passes.

"Rashbold asked me to hand that to you on my way. Said you'd want it asap!"

Felix looks down at the object Grahame is pressing into his hands. It's an envelope.

"I - yes. Thank you." He tries to sound aloof, but can't keep excitement from slipping out around his hasty words.

“No worries," Grahame assures him, walking backward to keep sight of Felix. "Catch you later at the pub?" The American pronounces the final word with a fake accent and wry chuckle, but Felix doesn't notice. His entire attention is given over to the envelope in his hands.

The name on the back isn't written in Juniper's writing. Felix isn't positive, but he thinks he recognises the small, cramped script of Rowan Khanna. The morning feels suddenly chill. Fingers trembling, Felix unseals the envelope and pulls out a small slip of parchment. He reads the half-dozen lines once, and then again. Then he starts to run.

-

"Rashbold!"

"Rosier?"

The Senior Dragonologist looks up from behind the desk, taking in Felix's breathless state in mild curiousity. Felix props an arm against the doorjamb, clutching a stitch in his side.

"I need...a favor," he gasps.

Rashbold guffaws. "You what?"

"Don't be a prick," Felix growls as best he can while still panting.

"Oh, off to a champion start, you are," the larger man chuckles. He falls back against the chair, which squeaks in protest, and kicks his boots up onto the desk. He tries to fold his beefy arms casually behind his head, but the office is so small he smashes his elbow against the wall.

"What could I possibly do for you, Rosier? Never been to Peru, have I? Never chased a dragon across mountains and through forests for weeks without sleep. Don't see how I could possibly help someone such as yourself who's so much more experienced, so-"

Felix can't even feel indignant as he interjects, "This isn't a work favor. It's - personal."

Rashbold's sarcastic smile slips a little. He notices the frantic look in Felix's eye and the parchment crumpled in his hand and asks, more seriously, "What's wrong, then?"

"Something's come up. Back in England, and - I need to take a bit of leave."

Rashbold lets out another raucous laugh, this one incredulous. "What? You can't! You just got here. You're not eligible for six months at least, and even then you know Guivré hardly ever approves-"

"I know!" Felix interrupts, "That's why I need you to cover for me."

"For how long?"

"I'm not sure." Felix runs a hand through his hair in distraction. "A few days, maybe."

Rashbold shakes his head. "Nothing doing, mate. I'm jiggered as it is, I can't pull double shifts that long. I've not got enough wide-eye potion left."

"Please!" Felix's abject pleading shocks both himself and the older man. "Please. I wouldn't ask if it wasn't urgent."

Rashbold looks Felix up and down, then shakes his head again, his expression now apologetic.

"I'm sorry, Rosier. But Stella's on me about my hours as it is. If I try to pull something like this, I'll wind up in divorce."

The larger man shifts his gaze to the desk, lifting papers about at random, unwilling to look Felix in the eye.

Felix takes a heavy breath. "Fine." He tosses the gauntlets and vest in the general direction of the wall.

"Hold on." Rashbold stands in alarm. "You're not still going, are you?"

"I have to."

"But, Guivré will fire you if he finds you've gone without leave! I know you're still a bit new here, but you should know what he's like by now."

"I don't have a choice." And Felix is surprised to find his voice even and calm. It's a career-ending decision he's about to make, but somehow, he's entirely removed from any anxiety about it. It's the same feeling of clarity and focus he's used to experiencing in the wild, when circumstance demands immediate action without the luxury of second-guessing.

Rashbold crosses his arms. "Is this about your mysterious letter writer?"

Felix considers a lie, a family crisis would probably garner more sympathy, but his habitual blush betrays him.

"Yes."

Rashbold snorts. "You're seriously going to throw away your position for some girl? That won't even write?"

The heat in Felix's face becomes irritation.

"No. I mean, yes, I am, but she's not some girl. I mean, she is a girl, but..." He struggles to find words to describe everything between him and Juniper to this man who doesn't know either of them and whose business it really isn't anyway. "She's more than just a girl. She's - she's important."

"More important than your job?" Rashbold fixes the junior dragonologist with a shrewdly calculating stare that Felix hadn't considered the other man capable of. Felix holds his gaze steadily, and nods just once.

There's a short silence while Rashbold considers. Finally, the older man heaves himself back into the groaning chair in resignation.

"Alright, look. I can cover you for the week-end. I'll say you got a bad bite and are taking the cure." He points a large finger at Felix. "But if you're not back by Monday, you're on your own, alright?"

Felix's knees almost buckle with relief.

"Thank you, Rashbold," he manages, but the other man waves his words away with a massive hand.

"Don't thank me, just don't make me sorry."

-

The Khanna tree farm is as picturesque as a Christmas card in the mid-morning light, but Felix isn't in the mood to appreciate the scenery. Security measures have prevented apparition around the property for a league in every direction, so for the second time that day, Felix is forced to race on foot through the grounds. He pelts up the walk to the main building, and bangs on the door with his fist.

It's barely a minute, though it feels like an age to Felix, before the door opens and Rowan Khanna stares eagerly out, face falling slightly when she recognises him.

"Oh. Felix. I thought, maybe you were-"

"What's going on? Where's Juniper? What's happened?" he interjects in a breathless rush. Rowan's dark cheeks turn suddenly fuschia.

"Oh. Um...well, it's sort of complicated."

"What do you mean? Your letter said Juniper needed help."

Rowan stutters wordlessly, shifting her weight between her feet, face still unusually coloured, and Felix's frayed nerves snap.

"Khanna, I've left my job without leave to be here! Tell me what's going on. Now!"

The door opens farther and Felix is surprised to see Penny Haywood standing behind Rowan, expressive face full of worry.

"Are you here about Juniper?"

Felix rolls his eyes hugely. "Yes!"

The blonde girl tugs Rowan aside by the sleeve, allowing Felix to step over the threshold.

"That's good. We need all the help we can get."

A few silent minutes later, Penny is brewing tea while Rowan and Felix sit at the kitchen's wooden farm table. Rowan stares nervously down at her hands, picking at splinters in the wood. Felix takes several deep, steadying breaths, trying to keep his temper under control. If Juniper were in immediate danger, they would surely have taken him to her. But if she isn't, Khanna is going to receive an earful for putting him through all this.

"Where is Juniper?" Felix asks, with what he considers impressive calm.

"She's...not here," Rowan admits, and silent tears spill from her eyes before she can stop them. She wipes them with the back of her sleeve, knocking her glasses askew, and Felix digs his nails into his palm to stifle his panic. He calls up his old prefect skills and speaks as soothingly as he can.

"Khanna, just...calm down, and tell me what's-"

"She's alright," Penny says, turning from the heating kettle to face the table. She's mercifully tear-free, but looks concerned enough to contradict her statement. "She's not...not been attacked again or anything like that. It's - " she sighs deeply. "It's hard to explain.'

Felix closes his eyes in a quick plea for patience. "Please, try."

Penny leans back against the cooker.

"When was the last time you heard from Juniper?"

"Why?" asks Felix suspiciously.

"Because I need to know how much you don't know."

"It's been...two weeks," he admits. "but before that she wasn't saying much about what's been happening to her."

Penny hugs her arms about herself, taking a moment to gather her thoughts, while Felix drums his fingers against the tabletop in agitation.

"Okay. You know Dumbledore made her come stay here for the summer, right?"

Felix nods.

"Well, the thing is...at hospital, she seemed alright. Normal, you know? She was making plans for the summer and next term, like she always does. Even the healer said she was recovering better than expected. But...once she got here, she...changed. We thought she might just be ill or something. She was..." Penny glances toward the ceiling, presumably searching there for the right words. "Subdued, I guess. She wasn't eating, said nothing tasted of anything. And she couldn't sleep. Or wouldn't."

"What do you mean?" Felix interrupts.

"She started having these awful nightmares," says Rowan in a quiet voice. "She'd wake up screaming, didn't - didn't know where she was. It was...scary-" She sniffs, but manages to keep herself from tears. "So, she sort of stopped sleeping. At night anyway. She'd kip a bit during the day, but she'd stay up all night just - just sort of pacing and stuff. It was weird. And then she started - started..." Rowan's lip quivers violently and Penny steps in.

"She started acting, well, really kind of nasty. Snapping at Rowan, and just...really irritable all the time. I've been here a good bit, so I saw it too. It reminded me of Beatrice last summer, you know after being trapped all year. Just...not like herself at all."

Alarm bells go off in Felix's head.

"Did you tell anyone?" he asks. "Her healers or Dumbledore?"

Penny looks down, uncomfortably. "I thought it would get better. Juniper's a lot stronger than Beatrice. Stronger than anyone. You know what I mean, stuff doesn't really get to her like other people."

"I mentioned it once to Healer Early when she was here," Rowan interjects, "but she said there wasn't anything she could do. Something about how magic can't heal the mind and Juniper would just have to...get over it, somehow."

Felix frowns at this.

"I thought Juniper was visiting St Mungo's a few times a week? Why's the healer coming here?"

Rowan and Penny exchange significant glances.

"Did...did Juniper not mention?" Penny asks cautiously.

"Mention what?"

The kettle behind Penny whistles and she turns hurriedly to prepare cups, leaving Rowan to explain.

"When she took the floo to hospital, she'd have these awful sort of attacks. Like, doubled over in pain. For a really long time. And it made her hands worse." Rowan looks down at her own hands lying limp on the table, reciting her words blandly as if they were lines from a textbook. "The healer said the damage to her nerves from the Cruciatus Curse was pretty bad. And that can make magical transportation hard on the body."

Felix raises his eyebrows. "So...Juniper's not supposed to use the Floo network anymore?"

"Or apparate," Penny adds softly without turning around. "She didn't get to take the test with the rest of us."

Penny pours hot water into three cups, and sends them floating across to the table with her wand. Seating herself between Felix and Rowan, she makes a production of adding milk and sugar to her cup, stirring for longer than strictly necessary. Rowan purses her lips around the rim of her tea cup without waiting for it to cool, the steam fogging her glasses. For several minutes, the only sounds are the chink of porcelain and the gentle sipping of scalding liquid.

"Is this...permanent?" Felix manages eventually.

Rowan's cup clatters as she drops it back onto the saucer. She shakes her head violently from side to side.

"No! The healer said it should get better! That she might even be able to take the test next summer! It - It really wasn't...that big of a deal."

But Felix doubts Rowan's dubious tone convinces even herself. Juniper has always been accustomed to quickly mastering spells far beyond her year. And apparition is considered a rite of passage. He can only imagine just how "big a deal" being unable to apparate would be to Juniper.

"After that," Penny continues, still swirling her spoon through her tea. "Everything just got so much worse. I've - I've never seen Juniper so unhappy."

She trails away, staring miserably down into her cup. Felix waits as patiently as he can with his heart racing like a locomotive, but neither girl seems about to continue the story.

"So, does that mean Juniper's back at St Mungo's, then?"

Rowan busies herself cleaning the fog from her glasses, looking anywhere but at Felix.

"No," admits Penny. "See...we thought that maybe it would cheer her up to see her friends, since she's not supposed to go anywhere. So we invited them to come. We had everyone visit in shifts. You know, Barnaby and Andre one week, then Bill and Charlie. And then," Penny's chest heaves with her steadying breath. "Tonks and Tulip. They came up a couple of weeks ago, and they thought Juniper...needed to get out a bit."

Felix almost knocks over his still-full cup of tea. "But Dumbledore said she wasn't to leave the farm!"

"I know," Rowan moans, covering her face with her hands. "I tried to tell her. I knew she'd get into so much trouble if they found out, Dumbledore and Snape and that auror. But, you know what she's like."

"And Tonks and Tulip don't set any store by rules either," Penny adds in disapproval.

"But - but," Felix splutters, "where would they even go? If Juniper can't apparate-"

"Tonks has a muggle motor," explains Penny glumly. "Her dad taught her to use it. So, they all went into the city one night."

Felix struggles to keep his frustration at the two students in check. He's only four years their senior, but they suddenly seem ridiculously young to be watching out for Juniper by themselves.

"To be fair," offers Rowan timidly. "Juniper did seem a bit more herself when she got back. Or at least, she was talking again, laughing, you know?" She lowers her head to her teacup, slurping loudly.

"And I guess that encouraged Tulip and Tonks," says Penny, now fiddling with her tea spoon. "So when they left they...they sort of took Juniper with them."

"What? Where?" barks Felix in alarm.

"London," Penny and Rowan say simultaneously.

"London," Felix repeats. "So, it's taken you the better part of an hour to tell me that Juniper's run away to London?"

Both girls look uncomfortably at the table. Rowan's lip quivers violently again, but Felix's mounting frustration smothers the part of him that cares about such things.

"Surely, you wrote to me as an afterthought." Felix's voice trembles with poorly suppressed fury. "Presumably, two of the smartest witches of their year would know to contact Dumbledore immediately. Or Healer Early. Or that auror. Someone in the same country and able to ensure Juniper's safety in a timely fashion."

By the end, Felix's words are a venomous snarl, and Rowan begins to sob again. Penny looks from her to Felix, eyes pleading.

"Juniper didn't want anyone to know! She made Rowan promise not to tell anyone at the school. She - she wasn't very nice about it, either."

"And-and-and I didn't w-want her to get into trouble," wails Rowan.

Rising from her chair, Penny puts her arms around the other girl's shaking shoulders.

"We were afraid if we told Dumbledore or anyone else, Juniper might be expelled. And Rowan didn't want to break her promise," explains Penny in a soothing voice, stroking Rowan's hair. "Barnaby was the one who suggested we write to you, because...Juniper never said we couldn't tell anyone, just not anyone at the school. And you and Juniper write and she looks up to you. We thought she might listen to you if you told her to come back."

Felix is unsure whether this is true or just flattery designed to quench his anger, but either way it has the desired effect. His whole body relaxes as worry and concern take a backseat to a newly re-kindled hope growing rapidly into excitement. Perhaps this is the opportunity he's been waiting for: a chance to help Juniper when she needs it most. This isn't the monster he'd always imagined saving her from, but it could do in a pinch.

For a few minutes, Felix indulges in a half-plan, half-fantasy of knocking on Juniper's door in London, reveling in the look of shock and awe that crosses her face upon seeing him before she throws herself into his arms, just like at the Quidditch match. Well, perhaps with a few more tears, only natural given what she's been through. But all the horror is sure to melt away as he holds her, murmuring comfort against her hair, until she turns her face to his, eyes full of appreciation and something else he's only ever imagined...

Felix pushes back from the table decisively.

"Where in London?"

-

Chapter 7 | Masterpost

[gibelwho]

Top 5: Directorial Debuts

This Top 5 reviews Directorial Debuts, considering the film that was the opening gambit in a director’s career. The requirements for this list are straightforward - the films considered must be full length and had a theatrical run, so short films (although oftentimes a way into the business for directors) were not counted and neither were made for TV movies. Additionally, this list is considering films that were directed by a single person, so first films with co-director’s were not considered (although some fantastic films fall into this category, such as On the Town or Monty Python and the Holy Grail). The final consideration, although not a firm requirement, was that this first film was an opening artistic achievement that became a launching point for a notable and long career to follow.

Gibelwho Productions Presents Directorial Debuts:

5. Spike Jonze / Being John Malkovich

4. Rob Reiner / This is Spinal Tap

3. Pete Doctor / Monsters, Inc.

2. Alex Garland / Ex Machina

Rob Marshall / Chicago

Spike Jonze / Being John Malkovich (1999): This film was not only the theatrical directorial debut for music video savant Spike Jonze, but was also the first feature penned by the now acclaimed screenwriter Charlie Kaufman. Their appreciation for bizarre storylines and unique artistic sensibilities combined to make a mark on the cinematic landscape of Hollywood and opened the doors for both to careers that continue to tell non-traditional stories. Jonze had to contend with a confounding script, but managed to keep the audiences engaged with the twists and turns, and also tuned into the emotional journeys of his main players, including a representation of real-life actor John Malkovich himself. The film is filled with memorable visual sequences, including an office floor with cramped ceilings, John Malkovich’s point of view shot when ordering bath towels, and the incredible mind-bending sequence when John Malkovich enters the portal into his own mind, encountering a world filled with multiple John Malkovichs.

Rob Reiner / This is Spinal Tap (1984): Not only is Rob Reiner’s first feature a hilarious mixture of conceits with a generous helping of improvisation from comedic actors, but it also launched an entirely new genre - the mockumentary. To keep the documentary feel, Reiner produced a mix of shooting styles, including hand-held cinema-verite style, titles to introduce band members, creating black and white faux television “archival” footage, traditional documentary interview footage, and also capturing onstage theatrics. While most of the humor is in the actor’s improvised lines, the camera is not just silently observing, but also gets into the jokes and elevates the gags with visual commentary. With this film, Reiner transitioned from an actor to an established director and continued into a fabulous career that dipped into a multitude of different genres, producing several films now considered modern classics.

Pete Doctor / Monsters, Inc. (2001): While Toy Story was the original revolutionary release from the new animation studio Pixar (also with a first time director), Monsters, Inc. earns its place on this list because of the genius of Pete Doctor. The film was the fourth feature from Pixar, and the first to be helmed by a director other than John Lasseter. Pixar’s legacy (and now future, as he has assumed the role of Chief Creative Officer at Pixar following Lasseter’s exit for inappropriate behavior), was in safe hands with Doctor, who has consistently produced the Pixar films with the most unique conceits and beloved characters. This all started with his story development and leadership on Monsters, Inc., a film that achieved technical advancement with the realistic rendering of monster Sulley’s fur, but also one of the most breathtaking action sequences Pixar has ever envisioned, involving the hunt for little Boo’s bedroom door amongst a cavalcade of children’s doors, all swirling around madly in the warehouse storage space. Doctor’s first effort at Pixar produced a delightful tale, proving that Pixar could still herald the magic when the reigns were handed to other directors, and setting him up for more delightful classics to be directed.

Alex Garland / Ex Machina (2014): Alex Garland transitioned from a successful screenwriting career to directing with this astonishing piece of art - intellectual, challenging, visually stunning, and with a twisting plot that ensures the audience is on the edge of their seat throughout the film’s runtime. The screenplay was especially tight, as to be expected from a writer of Garland’s quality, but his work behind the camera was also incredibly solid, playing with the various textures of the setting’s remote mansion’s stone, wood, metal, and glass and also with the robot Ava’s combination of machine metal and human flesh. Garland expertly uncoils a new element in each conversation, scene, and session, slowly expanding the audience's understanding of the world and motivations of each character, until an explosive ending that revels in a woman taking control of her own destiny.

Rob Marshall / Chicago (2002): What are the odds that a directorial debut revitalizes the musical genre for a modern audience - and then goes on to win the Academy Award? Rob Marshall’s background as a dancer and choreographer masterly transferred to the filmmaking space - expertly conceiving the musical numbers (and entire film!), using all the tools at a filmmaker's disposal that a live theatrical experience cannot - camera composition such as close ups, crafting pacing through editing cuts, and matching sound to image. In the best tradition of Bob Fosse, newly minted director Rob Marshall set his mark upon the filmmaking landscape and brought back musicals as a viable avenue for the industry - a popular success at both the box office and amongst critical circles. Plus the film is so damn fun, with inspired performances by Renee Zellweger and Catherine Zeta-Jones as the two murderers on death’s row that just want to make it in show business. Each number tops the next and (with the small exception of Richerd Gere’s tepid singing and dancing skills) are executed with such spirit and razzle dazzle. And all that jazz!

Honorable Mentions:

Orson Welles / Citizen Kane (1941): For the movie that is consistently hailed as the greatest cinematic film ever to be made, it is quite amazing that it was created by a first time director who also cast himself as the lead role. After Orson Welles notorious stunt with the radio broadcast of The War of the Worlds (which caused mayhem as many in the public believed the play was in fact news outlets reporting actual happenings), Hollywood courted this untried director, giving him immense freedom inside the usually structured studio system. The result was a film that experimented with cinematography, editing, writing and narrative structure - all which have since been hailed as innovative leaps forward in the conception and construction of filmmaking. While the film at the time was a box office flop, Welles left his indelible mark on the industry after the promotion of his efforts by the celebrated French film critic and auteur theory supporter Andre Bazan in Cahiers du Cinema. The film can be a bit rough to the tastes of modern audiences, including the exaggerated performance style, but its technical achievements are not to be missed.

Frank Darabont / The Shawshank Redemption (1994): Another film that did middling during its initial box office run, but has since achieved the status of cult and critical favorite, came from the creative spirit of Frank Darabont, who adapted a Stephen King novella and, by sticking to his resolution to lead the film, was eventually given the chance to direct the feature. With a tight screenplay, phenomenal performances by Tim Robbins and Morgan Freeman, and cinematography by the masterful Roger Deakins - it flourished in the rental market and endured to become one of the highest rated films across many critical lists.  

Andrew Niccol / Gattaca (1997): Another writer / new director’s debut contains provocative ideas and powerful imagery paired with striking production design. It is incredible what Andrew Niccol accomplished on a smaller budget, all in service of the story’s dystopian future that feels as though it could be only a few generations away from our own time, where genetics determine a human’s entire future and those who were conceived naturally are condemned to live as a lower caste. The human’s desire to improve their lot in life and explore the universe comes in direct conflict with how science can be used to create fissures in society, enabling human expansion to space, but also limiting a single human’s rights and liberties. Grand ideas and grand design are the drapery for a compelling human story. 

Upcoming

Lin-Manuel Miranda /  tick, tick...Boom! (TBD): Based on the first stage musical by Jonathan Larson, this will be Lin-Manuel Miranda’s first foray into the directorial seat. Since the debut of the smash hit Hamilton, his career has been expanding by leaps and bounds, but he has taken a studied, measured approach to stepping into the director’s role. Miranda cited one reason for signing on to the Mary Poppins Returns movie as a chance to study under the masterful Rob Marshall, receiving a front row seat to a masterclass from one of the best filmmakers to capture musical theater in the cinematic format. Miranda himself was part of a theatrical production of tick, tick...Boom! earlier in his career, so he is very familiar with the material (although the screenplay will need to significantly expand the set of characters from a modest three to include the many roles that have been cast). Unfortunately, at the time of writing, due to the pandemic, filming has shut down; but once they have resumed and the film has a chance to see the light of day on Netflix, I will be eagerly awaiting one of my most beloved musicals to come to life through Miranda’s nascent directorial vision.

[keto-body-tone-australia-re-blog]

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https://youtu.be/wAAXxC7nhBg

[stunudo]

BAU Prep School AU: Class of 18

Welcome to the Frederick Buchanan Institute located in scenic Quantico, Virginia, a senior high academy that shapes the best and brightest minds. Its motto is “Behavior, Analysis, Unity,” the mascot the Submariners, colloquially “the Unsubs”. The small school supports the most accomplished faculty from across the country. (image link)  2016-2017 school year  Class of 18 

Okay, my lovely Submariners, it has been far too long and I apologize for that. About half of my usual audience has vacated Tumblr with all the excitement, but I hope some of you are still out there and still interested. A very special shout out to Nicole @dontshootmespence for writing the clues for the hunt, she is far more clever than I.

The Scavenger Hunt

Friday March 23, 2018 7:10am

The silence in the usually bustling space sent Headmaster Aaron Hotchner into a suspicious scowl. His leer lingered on the un-womaned front desk of the main office. No Ashley. There had never been no Ashley before. Hotch thought she would rather infect the entire school with germs than miss a day of the gossip and constant paperwork. She hated to fall behind in the daily attendance logs and phone calls. He checked his watch with his briefcase still firmly in his right hand before heading into his office to check his email.

Just as a sigh of relief left his lips, Penelope stormed in, rolling up the sleeves of her violet cardigan.

“Just heard about Ashley’s cat. Poor baby. Where do you need me first?”

“Let’s get through morning announcements and then we can decipher Ashley’s very detailed list of instructions for the remainder of the day.”

Two hours later

Penelope had sorted through announcements and daily communications, once the first period’s attendance was logged, she cross-checked it with any approved absences. She swore there had to be a more efficient way to do it. Somethings just took longer than she had patience for and technology had seriously evolved in the past fifty years. Hotch began organizing the mail and other fliers left in the office’s inbox when a square unmarked envelope caught his eye. Thinking it was a simple greeting card, he opened it to get it sent along to its intended destination. What he found instead was a simple handwritten not in capital letters:

HERE YOU FIND A MILLION WORDS, BUT YOU MUST READ THEM FOR THEY CAN’T BE HEARD.

“Garcia? Is this something I should be concerned with?” Hotch’s eyebrows raised in confusion while Penelope flitted over to read the card.

“Probably not, but can we?” Penelope clenched the paper in her bejeweled hands. “Sir, please? I mean, it will only take a second to find the next clue.”

“Clue to what?”

“Precisely! To what!” Penelope beamed with curiosity. Hotch rolled his eyes and shook his head as a conspiratorial smirk crept across his face.

“Alright, let’s go see if Ms. Donovan has found any peculiar envelopes today.”

The Delaney Owens Memorial Library, 9:37am

Dr. Spencer Reid had plans to start his weekend with a good book, which is how he found himself roaming the stacks of the cavernous library with little inkling to what would catch his fancy that crisp Spring morning. The use of his prep period for such a personal use would be suspicious if it was the Regents Board monitoring the staff like prisoners, but luckily for Spencer, his silent companion wouldn’t breathe a word outside of the sacred space. He hadn’t had many interactions with the secretive librarian since he took the science position, but mostly that was because she was exceptionally shy.

Their communication tended to be mostly non-verbal, which added to her general mystery and librarian clout. As Spencer lingered in the Poetry section, something out of place jutted out between two well-worn volumes. He reached out to grab the white envelope as the heavy doors opened ominously. He instinctively slipped it into the back pocket of his dress pants, like a thief prior to discovery and spun to see who had entered. Their telltale voices floated through the vast quiet and Spencer chuckled beneath his breath.

“Hey, Hotch, Penelope, what’s up?” Spencer approached, hands in his pockets and slightly concerned.

“A plot is afoot, Boy Wonder!” Penelope was instantly shushed by the Headmaster and the Librarian behind the low counter. She waved them off, thrusting the card from the Main Office to her fellow genius. Spencer’s brow pinched as he read the riddle.

“Well, let’s just see the next destination for the hunt, shall we?” Spencer whisked his matching clue in flourish from behind his back.

“Reid?”

“I didn’t plant the notes. I just found this in poetry when you came in.”

“Very suspicious, if you ask me,” Penelope squared her shoulders and held her hands on her hips.

“He’s not lying, Garcia.” Hotch said flatly.

“He’s not?! But that was too easy.”

“Right place, right time.” Spencer shrugged before reading the next note for the waiting ears, “Sit down and eat and don't be rude, if you're mean you get no food.”

Cafeteria, 10:58am

Jackson Curtis had perfected balancing his lunch tray on the seat of his walker-scooter, something he had switched to from his arm-crutches in early October. Like most days he made sound effects as he walked, keeping people out of his way while entertaining himself. Rita Cruz giggled as he made a hydraulic hiss and a Tardis-reminiscent whooshing before settling across from her at the end of the nearly empty table. Fourth period lunch was the least populated because a lot of the upperclassmen knew to schedule their classes, ensuring they didn’t eat so early in the school day. The two freshmen were aware of others’ preferences, yet they liked the quieter atmosphere for their own extremely different reasons.

“Have you noticed the teachers today?” She asked as she watched Ms. Blake and Coach Jareau bending over and checking beneath the tables and benches.

“Think it’s a mysterious package they’re looking for?” Jax wiggled his eyebrows, earning a wad of bread crust tossed at him.

“Not funny, but no, we’d be evacuated, and somebody’s parents would be up in arms and all sorts of crap would happen if there was a threat. But, seriously, what is their deal?”

“I think you mean everybody’s parents would be throwing a fit.”

“Pretty much.”

A short screech rang out across the cafeteria as the Drama teacher flagged down her fellow faculty, Coach Jareau jogged down the center aisle as Ms. Blake ripped open a small white card, Rita could see her lips working over the words without hearing her over the surrounding ruckus. The soccer coach pulled her phone from her pocket and snapped a picture of its contents, leaving their audience in the dark.

Teacher Lounge 11:40am

Emily kept checking her watch and Chef Rossi noticed, not making a comment, but not keeping the Italian snark from his face either. JJ and she had lunch together everyday and today, of all days, JJ was late, and Emily was increasingly anxious the later she got. Did she have the wrong place? Had she remembered wrong? Was this whole thing a mistake, was this note she found in theatre not meant for her? What the hell was going on?

Stabbing into her chicken cutlet was the last straw, Dave cleared his throat. “You know, Emily, there are these fancy new gadgets called cell phones. You could call your girlfriend and ask where she is?”

If looks could kill, Alex Blake would have just qualified for a hefty inheritance. Without a word, Emily pulled out her phone and dialed JJ all the while keeping Dave locked in a staring match.

“Jayge?”

Dave didn’t get to find out what was going on, but by the quirk of her lips Emily told him it wasn’t serious. She single-handedly cleared her place and clipped out of the deserted dining room. Leaving the chef shaking his head as he sipped his cappuccino.

Just down the Hall, outside of the Cafeteria

Stephen Walker was holding up two plain index cards beside Penelope who held up another, while Dr. Reid articulated with his hands to a rapt Hotch, JJ and Tara. Emily slid into the semi-circle as the cards became legible.

HERE YOU FIND A MILLION WORDS, BUT YOU MUST READ THEM FOR THEY CAN’T BE HEARD.

SIT DOWN AND EAT AND DON’T BE RUDE, IF YOU’RE MEAN YOU GET NO FOOD.

I MEASURE SUCCESS IN APPLAUSE AND YELLS, THIS IS A PLACE WHERE THE MUSIC SWELLS.

Silently, Emily unfolded the missing piece she had found during first hour. Adding it in sequence into Penelope’s left hand. Returning beside JJ she leaned in, “I thought you were being cute.”

JJ gave her a confused face as Tara read the new information aloud, “I don’t have the advantage of home field, but please don’t try to make me yield. There is nothing more I want than this, meet me in a place like our first kiss.’ That…is suddenly personal.”

“So that means this game is meant for a specific staff member,” Hotch added.

“Where did you find this?” Spencer leaned in, examining Emily’s clue for any other anomalies.

“My Shakespeare class are using the theatre to perform their favorite scenes from the plays we have covered so far. I found it in the front row first thing this morning.”

“The sequence is Office, Library, Cafeteria, then Theatre. But we can’t tell who it’s for after that,” Stephen’s deep voice surmised.

“Garcia?” Hotch had his brooding eyebrows on. “Is today a special date for you and Coach Morgan?”

“No, sir, our anniversary is in December and, he knows better than to do surprises during school hours.” Hotch smiled at her defense.

“Okay, so it’s not Emily and JJ, nor Derek and Penelope. Does this seem like something Grant would do?” Spencer looked to Hotch and the amused Dave who had found the conspirators before the turn of the hour.

“Interesting,” Tara added.

“Guys, I hate to break up the Scooby Gang, but Fifth Period is just about over.” Dave raised his hands, gently pushing the air to clear the hall. The faculty broke off in groups and pairs, speculation and gossip flowing freely.

Clear as a bell before she rounded the corner, Penelope squealed, “Ashley is going to be so mad she missed this!”

Gymnasium 2:16pm

Luke Alvez rounded the track in a measured pace, his last quarter mile slated for a cooldown before hitting the showers. He didn’t use his prep period for exercise often, but he had a lot of thoughts eating away at him and his best anecdote for a racing mind was an adrenaline tapped body. He relished in the barely Spring air, letting the cold hit his dark curls as he pulled off his hoodie. He nodded to Coach Morgan as the heavy outside door groaned closed behind him.

“Yo, Alvez, come here a sec,” the football coach called from the sidelines of an intense match of 3v3. Luke folded his damp sweatshirt over his forearm as he waited for Derek’s query. “Take this to Hotch? It’s probably a prank, but Zach Henkel found it during Running Club and I haven’t gotten a sec to drop it off yet.”

Luke’s eyes grew impossibly darker as he read the simple hint on the ordinary cardstock. “Uh, sure, no problem. I’ma go wash up first.”

“You better,” Derek grinned, earning a tongue in cheek smirk from the soccer player in return. When he got to the emptiness of the showers, Luke finally let the panic set in. This was a familiar game.

THE PLACE WHERE THE HEADMASTER GETS THINGS DONE, AMIDST PAPER AND PENCILS AND NOT MUCH FUN, AMONG DESKS AND DRAWERS AND TABLES AND CHAIRS, YOU WILL FIND YOUR NEXT CLUE THERE.

The card still taunted him as he strolled down the hallway, ducking around students during passing time. He was going to be late for his Latin class, but it was a Friday afternoon’s last class of the day; the kids wouldn’t even notice. He found Penelope talking to a picture frame, seated at Ashley’s desk.

“What’s up newbie?” Penelope asked waving a fuzzy pen in greeting, her face paled and eyes widened as he held up the clue. “Did you find another one?! Gimme, gimme, we need to finish this before the weekend, or I will not be able to sleep.”

“Uh, what are you talking about?”

“The clues? All of us have been searching the school since first hour. Keep up.” She snapped, wrenching the paper from his hand.

“Quite the run around, how come nobody said anything to me?” He was trying to be casual, luckily Penelope’s intuition was otherwise engaged.

“Ugh, it’s just a precursor! It doesn’t tell us WHO or WHEN or anything really.” She moaned in defeated.

“Look, I gotta get to class, but if you want a set of fresh eyes, I can take a look at the rest of them?” Luke smiled as Penelope slowly perked up.

“You HAVE to tell me the SECOND you figure it out, deal?” She threatened with a fiercely manicured index finger.

“Deal,” Luke chuckled, giving her his usual easy grin. “Hand ‘em over before I get marked tardy.”

She waved off his joke, “I’ll write you a pass, geez.”

Guidance Office, 3:47pm

Derek Morgan leaned his broad frame through Penelope’s door, peeking to see if she was still there. She was, fingers typing absently as she glanced over her shoulder at her second monitor, a grimace half way between annoyance and confusion met his low voice. “How’s my Baby Girl today?”

“Ugh, You’re not Luke!”

“No…. I’m not, is there something you want to tell me?” Derek asked with a faux serious face.

“Luke hadn’t seen all the clues, so I let him take them with him when he brought the last one.”

“So, it was a big game after all? I thought it was just a single prank, huh.” Derek sat on the edge of Penelope’s desk as she leaned back in her swirly chair in thought.

“It was a Scavenger Hunt, my dear sweet man, but you were too busy in your sweaty gym to notice. We, all of us, have been in a tizzy all day!”

“Right, well, can we go home now?”

“Not yet.”

“Penny Grace Garcia.”

“Soon! I swear!”

“It’s Friday!”

“Five more minutes?”

“Look, if Luke doesn’t show up with an answer in the next two, I’m driving home. You can walk.”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

“Hey guys,” Tara sauntered in, her tailored suit accentuating her long legs. “Any news?”

“No, Luke has all the clues, but I haven’t heard or seen anything else.” Penelope pouted, fluffing the feathers at the end of her pen.

“Luke left.”

“What?! When?!” Penelope stood up, Derek soon followed. “He can’t! I need answers. We had a deal.”

Derek and Tara shared a look, but they let her go, fuming down the hallway and toward the parking lot. “Why is this so important?” Derek groaned under his breath.

Tara warned, “Don’t get between her and a mysterious romantic quest.”

He guffawed, “Oh shit, never mind, of course let’s waste our weekend storming off in circles.”

“I can hear you!” Penelope called back, not bothering to slow down, rounding a corner and almost knocking Spencer on his bony bottom. “Oh, sorry, have you seen Mr. Alvez?”

“Uh, no, but Grant said he had a few more hours of work. Maybe Luke’s with him?” Spencer straightened his tie and looked to Derek and Tara. “What’s going on?”

“We think Luke may have figured out the next clue,” the history teacher explained as Penelope started marching once more.

“He has the clues, I don’t know if he knows shit!” Penelope grumbled, either way, Spencer joined the pursuit. Once the ragtag group reached the side exit, they spotted Luke’s form across the soccer pitch heading away from the school and the parking lot. “Where does he think he’s going?”

“It looks like he’s headed to the football field,” Derek shrugged.

“Anybody know where their first kiss was? Maybe this was for Luke all along?” Tara pointed out.

“I thought it was our house?” Derek asked Penelope as she slipped out of her heels.

“Who knows, but we better catch up if we want to find out!” She stepped into the damp grass and recoiled. Though her curiosity won out, Penelope cursed muddy stockings the whole way there.

Fifty Yard Line

He didn’t know how long he would have to wait for Luke to find his clues, either way the nervous energy wasn’t dissipating anytime soon. He paced, jogged and tossed the ball in the air, anything to keep him from checking his watch. He still checked his watch. This was his element, the fresh air and the chalk lined field should be a comfort to him, but his better judgement screamed caution. An ominous groan escaped the latch of the gate at the far end of the field. His breathing increased as Luke slowly made his way towards him. The moment had finally arrived. Luke was tense, constantly checking over his shoulder while Phil was just happy, he had agreed to see him.

“That can’t be good,” Kate said like a curse, eyeing her coworkers from the back of Hotch’s car. She had a box of hand-me-down clothes to give to Jack in her arms. Hotch’s furrowed brow told her he shared the sentiment. With a casual relocking of both of their trunks, they followed the small swarm of educators to the vacant football stadium.

Grant had been dodging questions and bad weather all day. The sun had only another two hours left, and he needed to get serious about the soccer pitch. He had plans that weekend and nothing was going to keep him at work longer than what was necessary. When he spotted the crowd of suspicious educators galivanting through the grounds, his possessiveness of the grass maintenance nearly gave him a coronary. He needed to make sure they weren’t going to be long or damaging, so he followed them.

“Why are you doing this?” Luke balked down at Phil, blindsided by the gesture that had his ex-lover kneeling before him and holding up a ring.

“Because I need you in my life, Luke. We’re better together,” Phil insisted, reaching for Luke’s left hand. “Say yes. Say yes and I can spend the rest of our lives making it up to you.”

“What is happening?!” Penelope’s voice echoed through the stands, forcing Luke’s eyes closed in shame.

“You should leave,” Luke spat at the ground and turned to try and make up for the confusion. As Luke spun his eyes locked onto the only pair that shouldn’t have seen the last few minutes. Grant’s usual gentle blue turned a cold and distant storm. “Grant, wait, let me expla—”

But he was gone before Luke or anyone else could stop him. The crowd dispersed quickly. Derek ended up dragging Penelope back from attacking Phil in the parking lot. Grant seemed to have vanished in a way only someone who knew the school’s oldest secrets could. Hotch looked at Luke with a rare moment of pity before wishing everyone a safe weekend.

Through stinging eyes, Luke found his way to his truck at the back of the parking lot. Stuck beneath his wiper blade was a now ominous white envelope. He snarled into the night as he ripped it from its perch, throwing it with a frustrated backhand. He climbed into the cab and let the menacing engine take over for his frustrations, leaving the litter to drown in a pothole with his hopes and intentions.

General

 @heyworld07 @thespaceprincess @skrrrrrrrrrrt @luckypop6 @dontshootmespence @veroinnumera @holding-on-to-francis @gabriellewritermua @mysticpansy @bloowulf  @braziliangirlonasharkcity @dionnaea @tenaciousaracdeexpert @fbissaderekmorgan @frietjmeloen @rt8815 @cynbx @nelbie @greytoneworld  @sassyspacepizza

@extremeobsessions101 @haendel-me-with-care @characterobsessed  @neongravest0nes

Prep School

@mentallydatingspencerreid @ultrarebelheart @lyrasilverroseelizabethamanti  @rikersgirl22 @pllfrommars @darknesstoglowing @adropintheocean1234567 @tleighstone12 @unitchiefwives @sam-carter-in-training @prettyboysjello @ddreammcatcher @thegirlinflames  @night–hawk @t25luver @onlyalittleteenwolfobsessed @literallyprentissstwin @usercorgis @natalie-fangirl @holding-on-to-francis @nikkipea @alisonxnguyen @nsanchez1992 @callmesandwichplease @theonlyonelives @emmiej @sherlokiwholmes @spencer-is-too-perfect  @spookygibson

[nuefiction]

Reborn/A song I wish u heard

“Reborn” is the fifth track from “Kids See Ghost” self titled album. The hip hop duo is made up of Kid Cudi & Kanye West. Two long time collaborators with a tumultuous and successfully creative relationship. This relationship that also birthed many memorable songs and albums that would define a generation, also potentially revolutionizing the sound of modern hip hop music. The two giant artist reunite to make a project that buries the hatchet and their demons. Their relationship and their singular journeys that lead them here is something I feel very instrumental to the tone of the project and their song “Reborn” is a beacon of the album that represents it all.

The road begins with the start of Scott Mescudi’s music career. In 2007 Mescudi moved from his hometown Cleveland, OH to New York City. With nothing more than $500 in his pocket, Scott was determined to get his rap career started. He moved in with a long lost uncle and began working at a BAPE store in the city. Legend has it that Mescudi & West would meet at the store accidentally when West set off a security alarm. Mescudi would assist with removing one of the security tags that was left on clothes. This was post Graduation Kanye West where at the time his star was shining the brightest. Nothing came of this exchange but it wouldn’t be the last time their paths would cross.

Scott unleashed A Kid Named Cudi on the world on July of 2008. The tape was acclaimed by the hip hop community. Cudi was praised for his unique rhymes and smooth singing voice that provided a flavor to his music that would lay the blueprint for many sounds to come in the next generation of hip hop. West would soon recruit the young artist to assist with hooks on Jay-Z’s The Blueprint 3 (2009) and later with the helm his upcoming album 808s & Heartbreak, one of West most polarizing and influential pieces of work to date. Cudi contributed to songwriting on many of the albums most memorable tracks such as “Welcome to Heartbreak”, “Heartless”, “RoboCop” & “Paranoid”. At the time 808s did not receive overwhelming acclaim as West past projects but the portrait West had painted was hard to break eye contact with. Kanye’s auto tuned, heartbroken lyrics colliding with 808 beats opened up another dimension of hip hop that would make genre more bulletproof and revolutionary than it was before. Ten years later it is looked at as a turning point in sound.

After a successful musical chemistry West signed Cudi to his label G.O.O.D. Music. After signing Kid Cudi started to create one of his debut if not his best album, Man on the Moon; The End of Day (2009) This album would also become a staple in the evolution of Hip Hop. MOTM came with an intergalactic, psychedelic- warped production that took you out of this world. Along with God like narration from at the time GOOD Music affiliate and Chicago rap legend, Common who guides Cudi and the listener through the album. The lyrical content covered included, depression, anxiety, loneliness and other introspective themes. Kanye would be there for production and writing further extending their creative relationship.

With the births of arguably two hip hop classics, the relationship changed as Cudi developed into his own artist and urban legend. Kanye became more of a musical icon that grew by the project. In the following year they continued to collaborate on hip hop staples such as Man on the Moon II: The Legend of Mr. Rager (2010) & My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy (2010). In these triumphs that started this successful relationship there would be growing pains to muddy the waters. In 2013 Kid Cudi request to depart from G.O.O.D. Music, he recalls it as nothing more than a business decision. At the time Kid Cudi was getting his own label off the ground ‘Wicked Awesome” and preferred to put his creative energy toward its inception. This was difficult for Cudi at first since Kanye has always been a big brother to him. He was afraid of damaging their relationship with his departure. Following him leaving Cudi stated has nothing but love for the label. That same year West’s mind bending album- Yeezus was unleashed that summer, on the track “Guilt Trip” there’s an un-credited vocals by Cudi, which gets praise from fans and critics alike. Unbeknownst to Cudi, he was unaware of this and had mixed feelings of the record. He felt good that he was thought of from his ex collaborator and friend but it disturbed him that Kanye did not reach out. Cudi soon felt the vocals were used to coaxed his fan base for the record instead of calling Cudi in to work on the record like how they used to. This wouldn't stunt their creative relationship entirely, Cudi would assist West in creating his Yeezus 2016 follow up- The Life of Pablo. Creating fan favorites such as “Father Stretch My Hands pt.1” and lending back vocals to the Chance the Rapper arranged track “Waves”. This reunion to the surface shows the two back at the creative relationship that we once knew them for, thus it would open up another rough road in their relationship.  

In late 2016 Cudi went on a Twitter rant seeming to aim at his competition in the hip hop landscape. Calling out self claimed “top five artist” who have writers crafting their hits. At this point in hip hop, Canadian rap superstar, Drake was faced with allegations of having a ghostwriter. This information was exposed by Philadelphia MC Meek Mill during a battle between the two, where a recording of rapper/writer Quentin Miller is referencing key tracks on Drake’s successful 2015 mix-tape If You’re Reading This, It’s Too Late. Cudi went as detailed in his rant where he named Kanye and Drake together claiming he was aiming at them or anyone like them, while giving props to the younger acts he has inspired. West was on tour when these tweets surfaced and decided to respond in classic Ye fashion; ranting while performing on his “Saint Pablo Tour”. West feeling disrespected; claiming to have ‘birthed’ Kid Cudi’s career and sound and being responsible for his influence over today's hip hop.

Though the rift seemed to be a volatile one the collaborators reunite once again on the same stage they started on. In November of that same year Cudi came on stage during West’s Sacramento stop of his tour to perform “Father Stretch My Hands pt.1 and other classics between the two. Following their latest reunion Kanye West had to end his tour prematurely due to his wife Kim Kardashian being robbed in Paris and having nervous breakdown to due exhaustion. West remained out of the public close to a year until the spring of 2018, where he teased five new projects to be released from GOOD Music, one of them being Kids See Ghost which he would label he and Kid Cudi’s collaborative group. The album bloomed in what is being called “The Wyoming Sessions”. West rented out a private ranch in Jackson Hole, Wyoming where he would produce the five albums he teased in the spring. This was a similar tactic West used to make past classic albums such as 808s in Heartbreak and My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy.

Kids See Ghost was released on June 8th, 2018. The albums unleashed a sound of psychedelic-rock style rap music. The album is produced entirely by West with contributions from Kid Cudi, Mike Dean, Justin Vernon, Andre 3000, Plain Pat and others. The lyrical themes throughout the album dealt with depression, isolation, anxiety, redemption and freedom. This type of subject matter was common for Cudi but uncommon from West whom lyrics in the past mostly covered braggadocios claims of his status in hip hop, effects of stardom, also his past relationships and his childhood with his parents. The album’s creative direction positioned the artist in places where each of their strengths help the others weakness. Kanye with his production and vision help give Cudi the space to navigate and flourish as the artist he truly is. Cudi is lyrically creating a safe haven for Ye to express his trials and tribulations that all came in tow in the spring and summer of 2018. Cudi being a master of this realm musically emulates a creative embrace to help guide Kanye through the storm to come out the other side and alive along with cutting edge product for the fans consumption.

The song “Reborn” idealizes that the best. It’s produced by Kid Cudi, Plain Pat & Dot da Genius creating a warm and comforting production accompanied by Cudi’s distinctive and signature humming. If there was a song that felt like it was embracing you close this one would be a shoe in. Cudi opens the song “I’m so- I’m so reborn. I’m moving forward, keep moving forward, keep moving forward.” A mantra that is so simple but so compelling in the environment that ‘Kids See Ghost’ created. Between the two members both have gone through plenty since their last falling out to move forward from. In 2016 after the release of his sixth studio album “Passion, Pain & Demon Slayin” Cudi placed himself into rehab after dealing with severe depression and suicidal urges. In the same year West had to cut his Saint Pablo tour short due to exhaustion, extreme paranoia and depression still reeling from his mother's sudden death in 2007. Following those struggles in 2018 Kanye went on many manic rants that sprung some discouraging quotes such as “Slavery for 400 years?! That almost sounds like a choice!”  In addition showing his support of the controversial 45th president, and sporting a MAGA hat to ensure his support. And with that support came much backlash from the public and fans alike. ‘Reborn’ feels like an emotional baptism, where Cudi and West lay all the cards on the table and come head to head with every demon that haunts them. And by the end of the song they create a sensation of levitation and a relief of freedom from being stripped from what has held them back to feel free to move forward. “Ain’t no stress on me, lord. I’m moving forward, keep moving forward, keep moving forward.” In this song came the best verse Ye laid down on all five albums he released that summer. He exposes most of the elephants in the room and gives answers to most of the trending tribulations he went through.

“Very rarely do you catch me out

Y'all done especially invited guests, me out

Y'all been tellin' jokes that's gon' stress me out

Soon as I walk in, I'm like "Let's be out"

I was off the chain, I was often drained

I was off the meds, I was called insane

What a awesome thing, engulfed in shame

I want all the rain, I want all the pain

I want all the smoke, I want all the blame

Cardio audio, let me jog your brain

Caught in the Audy Home, we was all detained

All of you Mario, it's all a game”

This albums inspires nuances of healing and growth. Both of the members of “Kids See Ghost” have been through their share of trauma, heartache, loss and immense pressure in the respective careers and have made classic hip hop music as an escape. This album becomes the perfect path to redemption and peace for them and anyone experiencing anything similar. I believe art and creation from one's soul can be a remedy for another. Creations can be the cure to help one not feel alone and knowing that there is a light at the end of the tunnel of suffering. This song did that for me personally in one of the hardest times of my life.

The spring of 2018 was a very anxious time for me. Every other person I either knew of or loved closely, I lost due to acts of god and sadly by their own hand. One of those lost ones was my younger sister; Jasmine Alyssa. I remember I was waiting on for a connecting flight to Georgia for her funeral. If there was any trace of hope or innocents in my body before that spring it was all gone by then. “Kids See Ghost” dropped that morning and I gave the album a listen to numb all the sorrow i was drowning in. I managed to do so with the first four songs until “reborn” started to play in my headphones. As the song played through I started bawling uncontrollably. It forced me to come in touch with every emotion I pushed away since the lost of my sister. I was crying not only because I lost her but because she wasn’t alive to hear this message. I knew she was suffering with a lot, some very similar to the artist. Though I know that a simple song can’t solve everything that’s wrong but in my own personal experience I know how powerful music can be. Art can be the teacher we all didn’t have but the lesson are always available to us if we’re lucky enough to stumble upon them.

I won’t lie to you or whomever this concerns. Everything this song inspires takes time and a long look inward. As I write this i’m not completely put together, i’m still broken in my best areas. But whenever I am close to the edge and see nothing else in front of me, I take this song and many songs like this to push myself forward to the person I want to be. Take the first step to the where I want to be, shoot my first of many shots at the dream I want to realize. If i’m lucky to be talking to anyone like my sister or Kids See Ghost, find what sparks your soul and use that as your fuel to push you along the road of redemption. Use that shine to remedy your pain and be the conduit to others who are hurting.

Be reborn & keep moving forward because we can’t do this without you

Until nXt time

/n(y)o͞o🦇XXI

[vegalocity]

Here’s a gift to @thestarfan18 that’s not really a gift bc i’m also posting it for Selfish reasons.

Some of my best fics and ideas are made from plot bunnies that are more along the lines of ‘intrusive thoughts but with themes’ so this has been playing out in my head for the past few days and I thought ‘eh, might as well write it’ so it would leave me alone.

So happy Unbirthday Valentina! May your beard grow ever longer and your story grow ever more complex! (also sorry if the plot implications are super dumb, I have no idea if James even HAS a master plan beyond ‘1:kill halley 2:take throne 3:??? 4:profit)

The ground was cracked beneath Philharmonic Butterfly. His shoes were in near tatters, his chest and arms littered with cuts and bruises. His left eye was starting to swell, his cloud blue hair was singed at the tips. The cut on the back of his right hand—his bow hand if he couldn't hold a bow anymore how could he continue his lessons?—was deep enough he could see the sickly yellow-white of bone peaking out if he cared enough to look. And frankly the white hot pain that almost made him want to lop his whole hand off didn't make him want to look at all.

The flames that he had summoned without thought—inevitably stopping the eldritch entities his brother and great-aunt had summoned because nobody had known he could do it. Even him—had died down, the rocks that had been cracked both by his flames and Halley's magic had been charred to smoldering coals.

His hand was almost ripped open entirely, but his legs felt relatively okay, so he shakily got to his feet, ripping half the left sleeve off his shirt in the process for an impromptu bandage. His hand felt like it had the time he'd tried to fire lightning from the wand—well, the beautiful violin that was the wand when he held it—and it had bounced back on him. He used his teeth to tear the offending sleeve in half again, this time lengthwise. He hastily began to bind his hand, a little more strenuous than he had hoped granted he wasn't left-handed. But he was able to make sure the tendons were in the right places and wrapped his hand to ensure no further blood would make its way out, nor bone breaking. Phil considered himself rather enduring at that. A lesser man would have passed out under such pain.

And he only dropped to his knees to throw up from the pain after he was done so he considered that a success!

But that was the worst of his injuries, and now that he could actually gather himself enough to take in the rest of the world, he staggered back to his feet again to try and see out of the crater he'd fallen in.

If he'd seen correctly before everything went to hell, Great-Aunt Etheria had been swallowed with the portal, If he was in less pain he'd be a little more sympathetic to the idea of a family member being devoured by monstrosities not meant to be seen by mortal eyes; but he was in a lot of pain so he spat to the ground at the thought—a trace of blood in the spit from his bitten tongue—and thought bitterly to himself that the old hag deserved what she got.

Scanning around he was finally able to spot his sister. Her peach colored hair frizzy at the ends from the overload of magic that she'd let out with him to close the gateway. He couldn't see much more of her from his spot, other than the tip of one of her horns might have been cracked. Her wings had slid back to their smaller size no doubt, hidden by her hair, and the rest of her he couldn't quite make out from his spot.

Climbing from a crater with a hand that was maybe one cut away from massive muscular damage, heavy bruising up and down his body, and slowly loosing all sight in his left eye... well it was a little taxing. He nearly threw up from pain again when a block of cobblestone fell from it's tenuous spot and rammed heavily against his right hand on its way down. But all the same he didn't stop and wait to be helped out.

Halley was hurt more than he was, no one was coming for him if he waited at the bottom of this damned crater. And more importantly really, His sister was hurt and she needed him. Phil grit his teeth and finally—finally—he forced his left forearm to the top of the crater, pulling his upper body up with him.

He remembered how Halley went down, he'd just fallen into the crater the both of them had made when they’d closed the gateway, he'd been able to see the gateway closing almost perfectly. The hit to his head made him too dizzy to stand, let alone fight, but he watched their Great-Aunt be ensnared by something that looked like one of the aliens of Uncle Marco's Earth Movies. One of the alien creatures wasn't going back in without a fight and started shooting out its weird black appendages, trying to grab one of them. Phil had been just far enough away to avoid getting snapped up as well, but his brother had been less than lucky. James had gone full Butterfly, but his sword had been shaken from his hands so he had been relying on his magic alone.

And if what Phil and Halley had proven before, no single magic user was enough to make a match against these things. But then again, when had James ever thought himself as anything but better than the both of them at everything?

Halley had come to his rescue, she'd helped free him.

And when the creature spewed out some foul looking liquid, Halley—for some ungodly reason—pushed James out of the way, taking the hit to her side. Her scream was so loud the creature cringing inward from the noise had been enough to shut the portal entirely. Halley fell. He knew she wasn't dead, she couldn't be dead. But he needed to be there for her all the same.

His feet caught onto a stone that gave him enough momentum to push himself the rest of the way out of the crater (he really needed to do more pushups, his upper body strength was pathetic compared to his siblings) and began to shamble his way to his sister.

Halley was crumpled on the ground, she hadn't moved since she fell, and his gut dropped, but also for the fact that James hadn't left the two of them for dead.

His brother was hunched over his Sister and the light tingle on his cheeks as his marks turned to a pair of sharps was completely eclipsed by the hot rage that began to boil in his chest. He wasn't sure if he could run, but he could at least try.

“Get away from her!”

Well, it was more galloping, his left leg was a little stiffer than he'd hoped it would be. So he took a moment to stoop down and pick up a rock. James looked up at him and Phil took aim. His right hand throbbed as he gripped the stone harder, the pain spiked as he flung it forward, releasing the rock. But despite the pain his aim was true. The rock soared through the air and some how, for some reason, James' reflexes didn't kick in to catch or block it. He flinched away as the rock grazed his cheek, a small bead of blood cutting into his relatively unharmed flesh.

Phil was able to close the gap in that time thankfully, and gave a hard push to his older brother to get him away and crouch infront of Halley.

The left side of her face glowed with a sickly yellow magic, spreading like poison through the veins across her face. Her left cheek flower had turned a sickly greenish yellow and while she was breathing, it was a strained, shallow thing. Her chest rattling every so often in pain.

He shifted Halley a bit, wriggling his arm under her shoulders to pull her up a bit. Her head lolled back, mouth opening a bit at the weight shift but otherwise unchanged.

“Halley!” she didn't respond to him, he knew she probably wouldn't until he got her to their mother. Mom would fix this. He knew mom would fix this.

“Hold on Halley, You'll be okay.” He promised her quietly, he saw some movement out of the corner of his eye.

He glanced up, expecting to see Halley and himself alone in the wreckage, James fleeing the scene with the Wand in tow, But somehow, he wasn't.

James was actually getting closer to the two of them, the Wand—turned into the sword form he favored—still clutched in his hand from when he no doubt stole it from Halley's prone form, but he didn't look the least like he was about to leave. Or even that he was about to shove Phil away to finish the job.

No...he was looking at Halley as though she'd been replaced with a someone he didn't actively despise, dark brows raised high and face slack in shock.

“Is she.. dying?” he finally said, voice just barely over a whisper. “I couldn't... I didn't know what to check...” Phil clenched his jaw and held out his free hand.

“She'll be fine. Give me the wand, I need to get her home.” James' other hand went up to the grip of the sword and Phil looked him dead in the eye then. He felt a stringing in the corners of his eyes, and he hoped beyond all hope just a spark of Dad's rage face shone through onto him.

“James.” he stated calmly, but firmly. “Call me paranoid, but granted you just opened a gateway to hungry elder abominations, I feel like I can't trust you with the Family Magic Wand at the moment.” he made a grabby motion with his fingers and finally James relented, placing the sword in Phil's waiting hand. With a small shower of blue sparks it became the ornate violin that marked it as his.

He looked down at the violin, then at Halley. He needed two hands to play it, and his bow hand was injured. But Halley sure as heck couldn't prop herself up under her own power. He pinched his lips into a fine line and with a flourish the violin condensed into a small conductor's baton, the only hint at its magical properties being the family crystal, a deep blue gem affixed to the pommel. He slid the baton into his belt loop and then used his now free hand to prop Halley up from under her knees.

His muscles screamed in protest as he began to lift, the bruises up his torso throbbed and the cuts along his arms and chest threatened to open again, but no pain was worse than the one in his hand. Halley's head lolled and the infected side of her body pressed against him, but the weight and the grip sent sparks of agony up his whole arm. He'd probably have some kind of nerve damage in that hand after all this, wouldn't he?

James made a half-aborted motion towards them, as if he was about to try and help Phil carry their sister. He snorted to himself at the thought. Halley hung limply in his arms and just taking the first few steps his arms trembled and threatened to give in.

James stayed where he stood. Eyes on Halley and incomprehensible expression on his face. No doubt he was wondering how easy it would be to knock him out and kill Halley while he still had the chance.

Well Phil wasn't about to let that happen.

He shifted Halley in his arms, she looked so fragile, her skin starting to pale, the large bruise on the side of her face that wasn't infected with... whatever this was... was purple and bordering on a welt. His heart dropped at her stillness, his vision blurred for a second before clearing up.

“You know...” He found himself saying “All I ever wanted was for you two to stop fighting. I just wanted us to be happy. I never wanted to take sides in your stupid fights because I hated them in the first place.” he gripped Halley a little tighter as he began to walk. He couldn't hear the rubble disturbing behind him, James wasn't following them.“But the truth is she's always been too good to even compare to you.”

Some how, there was some motion beneath him at that. Halley groaned lightly and began to crack her eyes open. Well, not all of her eyes. Her right and center eyes looked no more than a little clouded from concussion, but her left eye, the one closest to the green infection, remained closed.

“Phil...?” She croaked out. “What's goin'....?”

“You're alright Halley.” He responded. “We're going home, we won.” She tilted her head in response, as though trying to look around him.

“Is... James..” she paused to take a rattling breath. “Is he okay?”

Phil grit his teeth. “He's just fine. We're all just fine.”

“Oh... okay.” Halley smiled weakly. “That's good.”

His cheek marks didn't change back, even as he smiled and kissed his sister's forehead, just above her center eye. 

He was furious

And he planned to stay that way.

James didn't understand. He couldn't understand. He'd done everything right! He'd made his alliances, they'd set up their plan, they'd EXECUTED their plan, and his stupid sister had been right there for eldritch chowtime.

Phil had come too, but he could be avoided easily, after all James had no qualms with his brother beyond Phil being a little too spineless at times.

But the stupid little demon had been able to stop the portal. And killed their Great-Aunt in the process! Forget calling him Heirslayer, Halley was a Kinslayer! Wasn't that enough to get her off the throne?

He hadn't needed her help. He might not have had the wand on him, but he was still the most powerful of the three of them, he could have gotten the tendril monster to let him go without her. He didn't need her help, and he told her so repeatedly when she kept insisting on scratching and blasting at the thing holding on to him.

But then...

Then she said the thing he didn't understand.

“You may not value my life, but I still value yours!”

He thought she was happy to be heir, that she loved that she'd snatched the throne right out from under him. Every argument that had to him always just sounded like the little demon being childish and wanting to rub her victory in his face... he thought she was as excited about becoming queen as he was determined to not let a freak on the throne.

She hadn't even hesitated to push him out of the way when the creature spat out that disgusting liquid.

She lay crumpled beneath him and he could have easily put his hands around her neck and squeezed until she stopped that raspy attempt at breathing. It could have been over, he could have won before Philharmonic got in the way like an absolute tool.

So why didn't he? He'd just been leaning over her indecisively for what must have been minutes. And then he let Phil's stupid little rock hit him. The small little spike of pain that pricked his cheek had barely even processed in comparison to the sheer fury on his little brother's face. He'd never seen Phil so angry.

He looked a lot like dad when he was angry.

“You may not value my life, but I still value yours!”

Those words were... more difficult to parse out than he expected. It went against everything he knew about Halley... or maybe thought he knew.

Maybe he didn't know anything about her at all.

Phil walked off, Halley, probably dying a little bit, waking up only briefly before passing back out, James took a seat in the rubble and rested his chin on folded arms.

He needed to think.

[worddonor]

Purpose, part 1.

My search for purpose began with my search for truth.

I've always been asking why for as long as I can remember. Being pre-occupied with those around me has been a chink in my armour, one of many indeed, but one that has caused me to dig deep into finding a reason for my existence as I've always felt ill-at-ease on this planet (as if there's another planet I'd be better suited to be on, lol) that and years of inner turmoil, has led me back to the only place that could provide me with what I believe are the answers that align with the principles of the universe.

The owners manual for my life produced by the manufacturer of me.

The new revelations began slowly revealing themselves in earnest after having miraculously made it through varsity and attaining my diploma (taking an extra year to finish). I knew I had given as much as I could, but deep down wasn't completely sure I would make it even on the second go around - I had ticked all the boxes and showed up despite wanting to throw in the towel many times on projects (which is more than I could say for the previous year in which I had failed the core module). I was offered a room in a spacious apartment really close to campus with two other roommates attending classes at other campuses close by which I nervously took (I had been driving through to campus from home about 60-odd km's one way [around 39 miles] for the first 3 years).

In that time I had my Bible with me, received as a gift two years prior, which I read occasionally. What I did that I still remember now was giving thanks everyday in the morning when I woke up. It was the first time living on my own away from my family - I missed them terribly. When you're at the point of not knowing where to turn you tend to cry out to whatever's out there, if anything and for me that was God (the previous year I had been wondering if what I was raised to believe was complete b-s, reading alternative material and questioning life).

Always questioning.

What I believe made all the difference were the prayers I said every morning waking up there, the prayers of gratitude. I would wake up with knots in my belly, but after eventually wrestling my body out of bed, making myself some oats and coffee and while watching the morning breakfast show on the blurry box TV, I'd give thanks to the Lord for all I was grateful for. I truly believe it made the biggest difference, I made it through by the skin of my teeth in the core module that year (literally a pass on the dot) and did well with the other subjects.

After that my faith was bolstered, even if ever so slightly. The following year I took off having made the decision at the end of the previous year to donate a kidney to my older sister (she fell ill when I was in second year and spent the next three years on various forms of dialysis [there was a time we weren't sure she'd make it as a result of bleeding on the brain with the strokes she suffered that possibly caused the kidney failure]). A battery of tests were done to ensure I was healthy and met the criteria. When the operation was carried out I had just turned 25 the previous month, the minimum age recommended at that time.

The operation was a success, the organ was accepted which was another incredible faith booster though even after that immense blessing I found myself questioning who I was aside from an auxiliary being. I fantasized on the darker days about what it would've been like had I given up the ghost on the operating table and what a grand exit that would've been had I left then. I know, pretty gloomy.

To counter that: on an incredibly upbeat side note, my sister is doing so well six years on and the little organ is too - she is back to her bubbly self and her recovery: a true miracle from where she was and a testament to excellent doctors (of course), but even more so: the wonders of 'ridiculous' faith by her and all those praying for her. How could it not be the creator's hand?

Towards the end of that year after my recovery period the job hunt began that lead me to my first job the following year. The doubting surfaced again and I wondered if anyone would ever hire me after a couple of months of searching (self-doubt bru, avoid like the plague), I initially tried for an internship outside of my field of study (in something I researched briefly in high school that I wanted to try then), but wasn't accepted after the second interview round. I always seemed to get through when my writing was doing the convincing, but as soon as I was face-to-face: that's usually when the wheels fell off. I made it through the initial screening, got given a test project which they were satisfied with (which I believe was the main selling point), I made it to the interview proper (I left a tad early on the day [distance to site coincidentally 60-odd km's one way from home], followed the directions given to me, but stopped on the side of the road not far from my destination thinking I was lost [doubting again] when all I had to do was continue on the path I was on which I did and arrived on time) despite feeling like I had fluffed that too (and secretly wondering if I was the only one that pitched for an interview if they were offering ME the job), was offered the job so I took it. I was even offered more than I asked for.

Before the initial screening I prayed like a mad man and got to that venue on time, no issues and the lady was really friendly. While doing the project, I battled inner demons, but sent the project through with a few more prayers for good measure and got to the interview stage. Before the interview I said a few more prayers and even though my voice might've let me down - my work spoke for me and the Lord I'm sure worked His magic too.

My faith bolstered again as I, honest to Jesus, was literally doubting if anyone would hire me for any job after interviewing me.

Can you see a pattern forming? Lol.

Over the years I've been searching my soul pretty deeply (as the earlier posts and poetry in this blog can attest) while on this job and have discovered the things about it I enjoy and the things I don't. The lightbulb moments relating to my search for purpose started going off when I accidentally stumbled upon the teachings of a certain preacher and teacher by the name of Dr Myles Munroe. My father showed me a video clip of an interview conducted with him after it appeared on the news that he had passed away along with his wife in a freak plane crash, this was in November 2014. I researched him further and he revealed scripture in a new light to me in a way I had never heard before through his teachings, suddenly here I knew deep down were the answers to truth and purpose I had been yearning for and praying about for ages before I had listened to them. Revealing the analogies of an acorn and an oak tree relating to the Lord having created you with everything you'd ever need in your life to flourish already contained within you. And about the most valuable place on earth being the graveyard: the place where all the unfulfilled dreams and incompleted projects lie. To think all this wisdom came from a man I had never known about before hearing first of his death.

So strange, but in that the clues to what legacy is truly about - what will you leave behind when you die?

I digress.

The Lord's gentle coaxing and the events that followed thereafter over time led to me getting baptised on the 20th of March 2016.

2015 was a tumultuous year, with two people leaving in my department in the first half of the year, though saved by the arrival of what I believe to have been an undercover angel in the second half.

I must admit after coming back from an epic holiday at the top end of 2016, my interest in drawing closer to Jesus was further spurred on by my sister asking if I wanted to join her in becoming an official member of our church by taking weekly classes which we then completed.

This led me to make that official commitment that would kill all the doubt in my heart and mind I held for years prior about whether I was or wasn't truly a saved follower of Christ. I had always been so afraid before to do it, of making that public declaration, I wanted to, but kept delaying and used to beat myself up when I didn't act. The night before I decided and the following morning I felt a peace in my heart so I stuck to my decision through the service and asked my mother if she'd be willing to join me: it was only her and a few others also getting baptised present that day. She was in tears after. It's also a date I remember easily as it is an old varsity friend's birthday (she's a believer too, though I've lost contact with her and we haven't spoken since maybe 2012 - we were close for the time we were studying together - hope she's good wherever she is...).

That was a good year and got me bold enough to begin planning an overseas trip to see my cousin in 2017 in Vegas which I did (woohoo!). I even explored my writing more in 2016 and attended a creative writing course over a number of weeks offered at our church which got the writing bug going in earnest in me thereafter.

2017 wasn't without its hills and valleys with more deep conversations on lift club trips and more goodbyes as seasons ended and new ones began, some new faces descended on the scene. The year ended off on a high and my faith was built up even more as my prayers for each step of my planning for my trip took shape and I was blessed with smooth sailing there and back after numerous prayers thrown up, naturally.

The lingering questions and doubts were always there and still are. I never let my faith go despite its smallness and my church attendance became something I found hard to let slide and I became a regular after taking that big step two years back.

This year began with a few heavy knocks in quick succession though and these changes hit the hardest as the preceding months were some of the best I had ever enjoyed on the job since the boys club months of early 2014 (lol) after the first few lonely months of being the first person in the new department years ago. The best and most productive times were when there was a team. This seemingly long winter period since the mass exodus (it's a story, it could do with a touch of drama man) has brought with it some intense introspection and greater prayer and even fasting which I had never attempted before over the period of one month (initiated about 5 months back). When the awesome people left, I wondered what was left for me where I was - I agonised and still do question where to next for me. This time has brought me even closer to Jesus than ever before - I have found myself yearning so much I have even begun listening to only worship music and just a certain radio station and only listening to YouTube sermons (OK and some car vids - forgive me, those are still my secret passion). I've started to lean so heavily on the Lord I believe it's stretched my faith to the greatest degree it's ever been stretched as we haven't been able to attract new talent to the office until I got some news about a new person and some new ways of approaching our situation this last Friday.

All this leads me to some books I purchased a week ago today: first - Dr Caroline Leaf's "Think, Learn, Succeed" and another book I've had on my online store wishlist for a long time that my sister wanted to buy for me so I ended up getting it as well: Rick Warren's "The Purpose Driven Life" which is the new expanded edition.

These books bring me to part 2 of this story...

[dirrtymercy]

RITA SKEETER is A NEUTRAL in the war, even though HER official job is as A REPORTER FOR WITCH WEEKLY & THE DAILY PROPHET. the TWENTY ONE year old HALFBLOOD is known to be SILVER TONGUED and CREATIVE but also VICIOUS and DECEPTIVE. some might label them as THE SIREN. fc: emeraude toubia  

I also have a pinterest board for Rita, which you can find here!

ANTHEMS.

I DON’T CARE - ARIANA GRANDE // SNAKE SONG - ISOBEL CAMPBELL // FOREVER DRUNK - MISS LI // FAR FROM ANY ROAD - THE HANDSOME FAMILY // COOL FOR THE SUMMER - DEMI LOVATO // BUBBLEGUM BITCH - MARINA & THE DIAMONDS // IF U SEEK AMY - BRITNEY SPEARS // NO TEARS LEFT TO CRY - ARIANA GRANDE.

BACKGROUND / FAMILY.

Rita is the youngest of four daughters, and she grew up in a highly competitive household, with a strong focus on success. She was under constant pressure from herself, her sisters and her parents.

Which have led to all of her sisters becoming incredibly successful. All have flourishing careers ( the oldest is a Wizengamot member, the second oldest runs a successful company, and the third oldest is a book publisher ). Since Rita is the youngest, she feels that she has big shoes to fill --- but she also wants to take the Skeeter name for herself, and make it mean something.

The Skeeters fought a lot while growing up. Drama was a daily occurrence ( something often instigated by Rita ). There was absolutely no privacy either, and everyone always knew everything about everyone. But at least they all care deeply about each other .... and Rita’s sisters are her ride or dies. They push each other to their breaking points, but they also drive each other to be better, stronger. 

Their home was deeply influenced by religion, since her (muggle born) father is a priest within the Catholic Church. This also ensured that the Skeeters faced some backlash from certain wizards, who considered it shameful that her father would choose to work in the muggle church.

Rita is not very religious herself, but does believe in a higher power. 

She started ballet and gymnastics at the age of six, and she still does it as a hobby. When she was younger, she wanted to become a famous ballerina... before her focus shifted towards investigative journalism. Her affinity for those sports have made her graceful, and she moves softly, quietly. She also has a bad habit of sneaking up on people.

Has always been highly creative in general tbh. Rita also loves art, and paints whenever she has some downtime.

HOGWARTS YEARS.

Rita is a Slytherin alumni, and she thrived in the house. She’s ambitious, cut throat, shrewd and two faced. Rita does whatever is best for her, and puts herself first. Always.

During her time at the school, Rita was known as a party girl who just wanted to have a good time. She always attended the best parties, where she acted drunker than she was ( with the intention of always remaining sharper than her targets ), and made people tell her things that they normally wouldn’t share. For Rita, secrets is a currency ( and she’s not above blackmail ).

Went to the same year as the Marauders --- her birthday is on New Year’s eve.

At Hogwarts, Rita wrote for the school paper under two different names. Tamer ( and more serious ) stories were published under her real name, but she also used a pseudonym for the juicier stories ( in true xoxo gossip girl style ). Who the fuck is Bridget Higgins?

She was fairly popular, and moved among different social circles, shedding her personality as a snake sheds its skin, to fit in with the different crowds.

AFTER HOGWARTS.

Rita, known for her hustle, got a job lined up at Witch Weekly before she graduated from Hogwarts. She also interned at the Daily Prophet during the summers. At Witch Weekly, Rita worked her way up the ladder fast (sharp tongues will imply that she slept her way up to the top), and at the age of eighteen, she was already writing gossip columns and stories on wizard celebrities. As time went on, she started gaining more freedom with what she could write, and today, Rita writes whatever she feels like writing. Kind of. Everything doesn’t get published.

At the age of twenty, Rita also started working for the Daily Prophet. She puts a more serious tone on her pieces published there. Though she has a keen ear for gossip, investigative journalism and writing exposes is what she’s really interested in. And she is ambitious enough to do both.

Rita lives in a shoebox sized apartment in London, which she shares with her dog. They don’t spend a lot of time there, since Rita spends most of her time at work or out investigating / interviewing people.

AS A PERSON.

Likes to pretend that she cares about ‘getting the truth’. Which she does, to some extent. But mostly, what she cares about is the STORY --- if the truth has to be bent to make the story better, that’s not a problem.

Cares about one thing, and one thing only, tbh. HER CAREER.

Has a definite mean streak, but can also be very charming. She’ll say anything to get people to tell her things, and has over the years become very skilled at wrapping people around her little finger. So she’s kinda slimy. And fake. Probably best not to trust her.

Currently, Rita is a neutral in the war, because that’s what serves her best --- remaining neutral keeps her out of harms way, for the most part. It also allows her to talk to people on both sides ( always pretending to be aligned with the person she’s talking to ), which ultimately serves the story.

Though her words are usually sugary sweet, she still has a sharp tongue, and will bite back. Though she’s also not above biting her tongue and folding, if that is more beneficiary for her in the long run. Rita will swallow her pride whenever necessary.

Lives for attention --- and can literally create drama out of thin air. It’s a hobby and a talent. 

Once the war ends, Rita will align herself with the winning side and somehow figure out how to profit from it. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Doesn’t seem that ambitious to other people, but she is. While she presents herself as someone who is easy going and ‘just there for a good time’, she wants to go places. She is currently working on her goal to become an acclaimed journalist, and she’ll gladly throw anyone who gets in her way under the bus without a second thought. To her credit, she works her ass off, at least.

NEUTRAL EVIL THX.

Rita is always working an angle.

I mean, she decided to become an illegal animagus on the off chance that it would further her career or benefit her in some other way.

So, sidenote, she can turn herself into a royal blue beetle. 

Also does not care about ethics in the slightest when it comes to advancing, and is often involved in backdoor politics and shady affairs.

Though Rita lies a lot, she’s not a compulsive liar. When she does lie, it’s almost always rooted in truth -- she just puts a crazy spin on it. She also only lies if it benefits her or the story, otherwise she doesn’t really care enough to make something up.

She’s very observant, and though some/a lot of people are suspicious of her and her intentions ( and thus probably watch their words around her ), she usually figures out bits and pieces of what’s going on anyways, from reading their body language. Or by just playing dirty by transforming into a beetle and listening in on their conversations. Both work.

Definitively not brave, but she hides her fear. Death Eaters lowkey intimidate her ( probably because she is mortified by Voldemort ), but she is stubborn enough to ignore that, and will challenge any Death Eater if it means that she gets what she wants ( she’s crying on the inside though while doing it ).

Can usually be found with a glass of white wine in her hand, but she doesn’t drink a lot. It’s a front, to make people more relaxed around her.

Rita is just.... incredibly stubborn and determined? Will go to the ends of the world to get what she wants. Usually plays the long game too.

Definitively a villain, but likes to pretend that she isn’t!!!! She doesn’t! Know!

STYLE ( FASHION / APPEARANCE ).

Rita has a soft spot for the colors of her former house, and usually wears black and green clothing. 

Her sense of style is feminine, and she can usually be found wearing dresses and skirts, as well as button up shirts ( usually white ). She always wear high heels. 

Never goes outside without lipstick. Usually it’s red, but she has an affinity for soft mauves and pinks too. Depends on what vibe she’s going for.

Her nails are long, sharp and filed to perfection. She wears them a bold shade of red. Most of the time.

She cares about her appearance a lot, and wants to look perfect 110% of the time? It’s really important to her that she presents herself to the world like she sees herself ( aka as ‘that bitch’ ).

Her hair is usually worn in soft curls, falling off her shoulders effortlessly ( but of course, it’s very controlled, like everything that she does ). She’ll wear it in a slick pony tail or a soft braid when she wants to seem more innocent.

FAVORITE CHARACTER TROPES.

THE DARK CHICK - good at reading emotions, resolving fights and weaponizing her strengths --- all the while keeping an eye on what she considers to be the bigger picture.

FEMME FATALE - ‘first she turns you on, then she turns on you.’

INTREPID REPORTER - a troublemaker sort of journalist.

THEN LET ME BE EVIL - any sense of good reporting and morals gets broken down by being treated like crap by presumptuous forces of good for too long.

CONSUMMATE LIAR - a liar so good you never want to play poker with them because you’d go home without your underwear and short next week’s paycheck. 

BITCH IN SHEEP’S CLOTHING - wears a thousand masks to hide her true colors.

THE POWER OF ACTING - a character who acts her way through life.

NO FACE UNDER THE MASK - does the real rita skeeter even exist? who is she? can she remember her true personality? probably not.

THE EVIL PRINCE - a character that knows they’re meant for greatness, but there are a lot of other... less great characters in their way. if only these characters could be “persuaded” to move, then nothing would stand in their way to the throne. ;)

CHRONIC BACKSTABBING DISORDER - someone who constantly and successfully betrays their allegiances. switches sides as frequently as she switches clothes. what is loyalty?

AMBIGUOUSLY EVIL - it’s never quite made clear what side she is truly on? sike, she’s playing for both teams !!!

HEEL / FACE REVOLVING DOOR - morality is grey, and this character switches sides so often that in the long run, they end up... just not having one.

THE CORRUPTER - the metaphorical devil on your shoulder.

THE CON ARTIST - selling lies so outrageous they can’t possibly be true, but still getting away with it.

CHARACTER INFLUENCES.

KELLY KAPOOR ( the office )- the narcissism, the many layers, the gossip, the jealousy, the drama, the lies, ‘i don’t talk trash, i talk smack. they’re totally different’.

CONNOR WALSH ( htgawm ) - wow i can’t believe rita skeeter is connor walsh?? either way. so sly, bit of a slut, utterly shameless, lies a lot, doesn’t care too much about other people, very confident, bit over emotional at times. gets whatever the fuck they set their mind on. the ends justify the means, always.

CAROLINE FORBES ( the vampire diaries )- bit shallow. lots of self control. kinda vain. also cries a lot but takes no shit.

MARGAERY TYRELL ( game of thrones ) - the cleverness, the manipulation, the scheming.

CORDELIA CHASE ( btvs ) - the arrogance, the vapidness, the cruelty.

HERA ( the goddess )- the vengeance, the viciousness, the jealousy.

DEBBIE EAGAN ( glow ) - lowkey thinks the world revolves around her. bit manipulative. really ambitious. kinda cut throat. ready to throw anyone under the bus to get places.

ALLISON ARGENT ( teen wolf ) - so independent, charming and strong willed. also the perfect hair. and the search for power and control.

JESSICA HAMBY ( true blood ) - the strict religious upbringing, the rebellion, the occasional softness.

ALISON DILAURENTIS ( pretty little liars ) - the bitchiness, the cruelty, the constantly shifting personas, the lies.

CHANEL OBERLIN ( scream queens ) - really ruthless, can be quite mean, bit narcissistic.

JO WILSON ( greys anatomy ) - the determination, the fear of going backwards, the strong will, the commitment issues.

LIRA ( to kill a kingdom ) - the siren!!!! singing (aka writing) people to their undoings!!!! with little to no remorse!!! hell yeah

LAUREL CASTILLO ( htgawm ) - a snake that is good at hiding under the radar, kind of shady, highly manipulative, bounces back and forth between allegiances.

JACKIE BURKHART ( thats 70s show ) - the STYLE!!!!!!!! the narcissism! the manipulation! the greed! they’re almost the same person!