#and it leaves more room for imagination of how their character might look in anthropomorphic style

[dopepoisonivyoncrack]

Imagine a high school au for plants, which kind would take which role,like the nerd, bully, etc Bonus for explaining why

This is a very offering prompt but also kind of difficult because there are many ways to go about assigning a species to each stereotypical role in a high school setting, even if I use some general traits of the species for it. What I chose is one way to go about it, maybe it can be considered a generation. Other generations could be assigned based on different traits.

We’ll start in the Principal’s Office. Meet the Head of the prestigious high school of plants - Prof. Dr. Welwitschia mirabilis. A massive plant, bearing only 2-3 long leaves for all its life, which spans across the millennia. Some of the oldest members of the species are known to be 3000 years old. They come from the desert, a very harsh environment. This extremely resilient plant, that lived long enough to see it all, surely has what it takes to run this institution. It is also an imposing presence, a must for a Principal, as the words of the botanist that shares the name can best convey: "could do nothing but kneel down […] and gaze at it, half in fear lest a touch should prove it a figment of the imagination."

This high school reveals a less known side of plants, and that is their knowledge and passion for mathematics, and STEM disciplines in general. While most plants have their basic mathematical skills for phyllotaxy (arrangement of leaves on stem, flower symmetry, etc.), some take it to a more advanced level. There is even a Math club, members including: Helianthus annuus (aka The Sunflower) and Aloe polyphylla, that are mastering the Fibonacci, Dionaea muscipula (aka Venus flytrap) which is great with arithmetic (they can literally count), and Arabidopsis thaliana that studies calculus. I guess you can consider them a kind of nerd, but they are highly respected and rather cool than socially awkward, they are the geeks maybe. Sunflower and Venus are hot and wicked, Arabidopsis is popular and Aloe can be quite intimidating, so you won’t find anyone daring to bully them. Since Sunflower can be quite territorial and has its allelopathy skills, I’d say it's in their best interest to not mess with her haha, they are also the poster-plant for sassy, the sassiest plant. Aloe is fat, has a pretty face behind big square glasses, I’d say its nerdy-cute but their personality is serious and they don’t deal well with changes so they’re one of those persons that must have a steady schedule and stick to everyday habits.

Orchids are said to be the most intelligent plants in the world, but these don’t qualify as nerds either, quite the opposite as they are geniuses at tricking others to do the work for them, to help them with everything. Pretty, charismatic, sly and wicked, their success is based on manipulation and knowing how to play their cards. Even if one may find it frustrating, orchids don’t necessarily break any rules so not much can be done against them (actually I think that this is the most frustrating part haha). Best chances to become entrepreneurs and build billion dollar companies, or celebrities. (the rich, popular boys/girls/they them/all pronouns tbh that come to school in expensive cars, might come with a bicycle and make sure to point out how environmentally-conscious they are to gain popularity points). (Plants are the most queer actually, it's a queer-normativity world, even if they have their dioecious (equivalent of binary gender) or heterosexual plants too, in some group. Many are bisexual btw. Our ideal human world in this sense would be more like the plant world.) - mentioning this here because Orchids have complex private lives, to the point tabloids and media are obsessed.

Roses are not far away either. They are rich and pretty, always having Nobility First World Problems. The essential preppy queen of the high school, must be queen of the Prom etc etc. Their social circle is select, including Lavandula (aka Lavender), Nepeta (catmint), Dianthus (tall growing pinks). I am not kidding when I say I read that by their family tradition, the best companions for roses are those that hide their legs… cough old fashioned prudes. They even have servants, like please (called living mulches). They have good grades, must keep above average on all grounds. Needy princess personality much though. (This is the cultivated rose btw, their wild relatives are a different story). This is not to say they are bad persons or anything, they are well educated, knowledgeable, and have a pleasant presence, they like fine things and such. People love them and try to cater to all their needs for a reason, and out of their own volition.

If Roses like fine arts, are versed in poetry, classic literature, classic music and such, Boquila trifoliata is a master of disguise…so much its hard to tell their real self. They have excellent vision (rumor has it that they have eyes/ocelli). They are not dramatic enough for theatrical arts, but they make great actors....or spies, or ninja lmao. They can blend in perfectly yet that's exactly what makes them unique.

You know the anime pairs with the kind giant character always carrying on their shoulders the small character that looks cute but has a dark personality? yeah, we have that in plants high school au. Meet Viscum album (aka Mistletoe), the small, cute, ever-green shrub, usually seen carried around on the shoulders of gentle big guy - Populus. Some call their relationship abusive and toxic, and there are a lot of myths and legends regarding Viscum’s family. Its true that Viscum is semi-parasitic and has toxic berries but they are also born without a protein essential for a functional respiratory complex so they must rely on the other to survive. They take water and nutrients from the other but have leaves of their own and do not hurt their host like others. (This generation’s mistletoe is seen on Populus, but there is a selection of big trees on which mistletoe grow including apple tree, linden, hawthorn, Tilia, Abies… a dinner with the Viscum family would be funny, seeing each small Viscum family member on the shoulders of their big partner).

Picking the right plant for the jock role was a bit tricky but I’ll go with Pisum (aka Pea). Yeah, sports don’t seem like a domain for plants, even though all move at their own speed, often hardly perceptible to humans. There are plants that move fast, like Venus when capturing their prey or Mimosa pudica (from Pea family as well) that is renown for its fast movements (also called touch-me-not, actionplant, shameplant, sleepyplant, sensitiveplant….yeah, can u can see why they are not the jock character despite their speed?). ANYWAY, Pisum sativum is a climbing plant characterized by adaptability, flexibility, goal-directed, reminding of how animals would act. In dense plantings they can give each other mutual support so they play well in teams. Another quite-obviously moving plant is Maranta (aka Prayer-Plant), they are more into Yoga though, I think?? don’t let the prayer nickname fool you, there is nothing religious about them, this bisexual is also known for a… chuckles… explosive style movement (a sex move regarding pollination that happens extremely fast). If anything, the nickname comes from the yoga pose they usually perform everyday.

Speaking of Mimosa pudica, this would be the most bullied plant like please, please, please let this baby in peace. Everyone touches them just to see their movement, even though it's very energy-draining for them. They are used in many experiments for movement and memory. They are hypersensitive to touch and shy. They can live in poor environments and don’t compete with other plants for resources, they just wanna be left in peace. Their compound mimosine has antiproliferative and apoptotic effects meaning they could be good in treating cancer, and the extracts from roots neutralizes monocled cobra venom. They are also very smart, and soft and pretty and fragile. They are the best boy (gender neutral) and most baby, must protect!!!

If you or anyone else is curious about a specific role that I didn’t mention feel free to ask and I can find a good plant for the role <3

[yolo1650]

Surprise Date Pt. 3 (wip)

A/N: Inspired by a whole bunch of sacred romantic prompts by @screnwriter I had a lot of fun writing this! But I can imagine my execution is mediocre at best (especially with trying to write in Redd's pov) XD 

Also, if this helps, you can imagine the anthropomorphism akin to something like from Bojack Horseman. If you’re looking for some context, click here. I really wrote this to practice writing, nothing plot relevant here is permanent. 

Word Count: 1805

Warnings/Tags: Anthropomorphic characters, cross species relationship, drinking off screen, mentions of alcohol, jazzy times, make up after a fight, but i’m not exactly sure what they fought about, slow dancing, fluff, heart to heart, kissing, implied sex at the end, amateur writing, so it might get repetitive at times, i’m just so glad this is done, my oc still doesn’t have a name yet, she’s just referred to as she the whole time :’)

————-

As the level of wine in their glasses winded down, so did their surprisingly pleasant date night. In between their shared laughter and smiles, Redd could barely remember whatever fuss they had two nights before. Key word: barely. He still remembered how the sound of her yelling grated against his, and his tail bristled slightly at the thought of it.  

 Just then the CD player finished. With a tight smile, she excused herself to go and add a new one. The smooth voice of a woman's jazz ballad flowed out of the speakers, nothing at all like the soft chimes of the synth that was on before. Redd looked over to her outstretched hand.  

"Dance with me?" 

The dumb look of shock on his face probably wasn’t subtle at all, otherwise she wouldn't have shown off those shining pearly whites of her's. Rubbing the back of his neck, he chuckled. "No, no, I'm sorry darlin'. But I'm no dancer." 

But her hand remained outstretched in front of him. "I'll be the judge of that." Her tone was blunt, but her eyes however held a small plea. She then cocked her head over to the open space in front of the speakers. "Come on, we won't go too fast, I promise."

Tentatively, he placed his own leathered palm in her soft one, allowing her to guide him to the center of the living room. As she guided his right hand to her waist, he could feel his hackles rise at the nerves. He swallowed.  

"Don't say I didn't warn you now. Who knows, we might both end up on the ground 'cause of me." He hoped his voice didn't come out as hoarse because of how dry it was. She only smiled back, eyes warm with reassurance.  

"Then we'll both have something to laugh about when we look back at this moment." She placed a hand on his shoulder and slowly started moving. "Just follow my lead. I'm sure a smart fox like you can figure out a simple slow dance."

So, they danced, or rather, she slowly danced but had to pause at every step so that Redd's feet could step in time with her. He kept his head down, partly to keep watch of her feet and partly out of embarrassment. It wasn't often when he was forced in a position to admit an honest fault of his, but he'll take this case to be a delightful exception.  

"Are you familiar with Ella Fitzgerald?" Her question was let out in a single warm breath that pushed against the whiskers on the side of his muzzle. His nose involuntarily twitched at the newfound intimacy. He looked up only to see her gaze was elsewhere, supposedly lost in the swooping lows of the melody.  

"Ah, no, not really." He gently squeezed her hand as she picked up the pace. She squeezed back. "But I, uh, I don't mind. She sounds very talented."

"That she was, that she was," she drawled, her voice low. Nothing at all like how she sounded two days ago: sharp and resonant, and she had each syllable spoken with just the right amount of annunciation, perfect for scolding an employee for his unprofessionalism.  

It didn't take long before their bodies started moving together at the gentle pace of the song. His own tail couldn't help but absent-mindedly swing along to the smooth piano accompaniment. She even let him lead the dance for a few moments. Not bad you sly fox, Redd thought to himself, not bad at all. When she took over once more he looked to smile at her before saying, "This, this is kinda nice." But she only briefly returned that same half smile he'd seen all day.

Redd didn't need to be a detective to figure out what was bothering her. But, if their argument has taught him anything, it's that she wasn't really the talking type. In fact, if today has taught him anything, it was that she preferred to show how she felt, rather than say it. He squeezed her hand once more to assure her as she did for him, and her worried-filled eyes met with his attentive ones.  

She let out a sigh. "I'm sorry," she started, "about the things I said last time."

"I know." Out of the corner of his eye he could see her small frown. "The museum, fancy dinner, and now this? You'd have to admit it's all one hell of an apology."

"I still thought I should say it.”

“Apology accepted." He smiled. But it quickly dropped when she didn’t return it. He then opened his mouth. “I-

“I still have more to say, so if you could please just..." Her voice trailed off, not that she needed to finish it in the first place. The sight of her knit eyebrows alone was enough to shut his mouth up. He's never seen her so uncomfortable.  

She took another breath before continuing. "I was being a stupid, privileged ass, and you didn't deserve that. You're too good for-" She stopped herself, trying to find the right words. "You, you're just." She sighed and briefly glanced at him only to look away once again. “You’re extraordinary."

"I'm extraordinary?" The comment stopped him in his tracks, but he didn't even notice until she stumbled into him, the sweet, floral smell of her hair wash stronger than ever. Her arms grabbed onto his shoulders and he steadied her with his hands on her waist. He let out an embarrassed chuckle against her ear. "Sorry about that. Now remind me, who's the one making more figures here?"

"This isn't about that," she replied, their faces were so close she only needed to whisper. "I'm only able to do what I do because of my mom and she always knows best. But you-" Her piercing eyes met his own. "You didn't have any of that and you still made your way here because you wanted to be. You have this drive, this determination-and I see it in your eyes-you just go for it and take what you want, no matter what.”  

He leaned into her when she placed her forehead against his. “I've never seen that before so yeah, that's extraordinary."

He smirked. "Well, you are right about that."

She rolled her eyes. "You know I can easily take back all the nice things I said about you." The corners of her eyes crinkled as her mouth lifted to a beautiful smile. Redd's been waiting all night to see that one.  

"Alight, alright," he conceded, "bad timing I know, I'm sorry."  

She leaned in, pressing her whole body against him in a total embrace. Redd could tell that she'd said and done her piece, and was now melting into his touch. He could hear her quietly sing along to the music against his neck, another thing he'd never seen her do before. Their swaying has slowed tremendously since they started, but he decided that he actually liked it better this way.  

He cleared his throat and she pulled away to hear what he had to say. "I'm sorry 'bout gettin’ under your skin the other day. I should've known better than to pry like that." Seeing the earnest look in her eyes made him pause, and he found his jaw slacked trying to find his thoughts again.  

"I, uh, you're an amazing woman, you know that right?" She only responded with a small smile, a gentle request to continue. "You're a smart, beautiful, and busy woman who's got a lot on her plate. I'm sorry if I just ended up makin' your life harder and more stressful."

"Apology accepted," she said with a wide smile.

"And did I mention you've got a spine of steel? She shook her head and chuckled into his chest, now he was overdoing it. "I'm serious! Have you seen yourself at the office? There's nothing stopping you, whatever you want, you've got it. You're the whole package babe, life's just that easy for you."

Their slow dance has come to a crawling stop by now. As they held onto each other, the long, soaring melody from the trumpet flowed in between them, carrying away their troubles and leaving them together, hearts beating in time with each other. Redd didn't think he'd ever want to let go of her at all.  

"Nothing about this is easy right now," she mumbled into his neck.  

"I know." There was still so much he didn't tell her yet, and the longer he waited, the harder it became to even bring it up.  

His sensitive ears picked up the huffiness of a short laugh coming from her. "You certainly don't make it very easy. Here I am, twenty-one, thinking I already have everything together. I knew who I was, and I knew what my future held, but then -" She paused. What she said next came out slow, as if she was processing each word as it left her. "But then I met you, and for the first time, I just don't know anymore. I don't even-" Her hands balled up into fists against his back. "What if I-" He started rubbing slow circles against hers. "Maybe." Her shoulders relaxed. "Maybe I don’t want my future anymore because whenever I look at you-"

Their eyes met, and as they gazed deeply into each other, Redd couldn't help but feel an urge, a pull towards her. Did her eyes always look like a fox's? Bright with excitement and simmering with a deep burn of desire and certainty?

"-I see a whole different future, and I want it." Her eyes were already halfway closed at their close proximity, eagerly inviting him to close the gap. Right before he did, he heard her utter one four more words that made this wait all the more worth it. "I want you, Redd."

This kiss was the best one they had yet. It was slow and tender, and he indulged himself fully to the taste of her perfect lips. They were soft, and still had the lingering taste of the wine they shared moments before.  

When she reached up to hold his face against his own, his ears perked at the sound of a new vocalist, male this time, and although his gravelly voice sounded far away, the truth of the words he sang rang loud and true. Heaven, he was in heaven. He felt a slice of it with every gasp of breath they shared in between kisses, with every fleeting touch of her slender fingers on his body, with every soft moan of pleasure she let out underneath him. Heaven was tender kisses that were given like a promise. Heaven was when neither of them wanted to leave the gentle and firm embrace of the other, deep into the night.  

————-

Here’s the song that featured at the end

Let me know what you guys think, constructive criticism is especially welcome here :D

-(･ω･)v

[thebestworstidea]

Crash and Burn

(Falling Star)

(Implied Dukeceit, Implied intrulogical, Remus-typical dialogue and imagery.)

Thomas is feeling better, and ready to dive back into making videos. Something is a little off, however...

“What is up everybody?” Thomas said cheerfully into the camera. “I know it’s been a hot minute, but I had to go back down to like, the fourth video and take the time for me I needed, and that can take a while. But I’m feeling better now, energized and raring to go. So it’s time for some good old-fashioned brainstorming, and for that I’ll need my brain” he gestured towards the entryway, and Logan rose up with a resigned expression. 

“Good afternoon Thomas. Surely there has to be a more efficient way to do this?”

“This is more fun!” Thomas retorted. “And I’ll also need my-” he gestured towards the television and Logan surged forward a little bit

“Perhaps you shouldn’t-”

There was a laggardly pause, then a strain of music played- distinctly not an airy flourish. 

“No wait wait!” Thomas made a pushing down gesture, but it was too late. Remus had arrived with a wine glass full of something white and opaque, and what might have been fingers sticking out of it. He stuck one in his mouth and crunched. 

“I brought snacks!” he said cheerfully, toasting with the glass.

“Remus, what are you doing here?”

“You called for your creativity! And here I am.” 

“I called for Roman”

“Yep.” he scooped out some of whatever was in the cup with the orange stick, and licked it off. “You got me though.”

“What is that, puss and fingers?”

“Uh, no. It’s Pumpkin-spiced greek yogurt and baby carrots.”

“Somehow worse.” Thomas winced. “Wait, that’s a seasonal flavor, where did you find that?”

“Where do I find anything good to eat? The back of the fridge.” 

“It’s May.” 

“I grew the carrots.”

“Baby carrots aren’t actually young carrots, they're just tumbled pieces of larger carrots.” Logan protested. 

“Tell that to my nursery! They’re so cute in diapers.” 

“Remus what did you do to Roman?”

“What did I do to Roman?” he gave a stuttering laugh. “What did you do to Roman.” 

“Is he still upset about…” 

“Roman has been… less than communicative of late.” Logan put in. “You can still ‘brainstorm’ you said without him-”

“Take me off the bench!” Remus urged. “Or take me over it, both sound fun.” 

There was a pause as both Thomas and his Logic stared at Remus, who took a slurping sip of his snack, leaving yogurt in the edge of his mustache. 

“Where is he?” Thomas demanded. Remus straightened up a little bit and wiggled. 

“Ooh I love it when you get commanding, Tommy. He’s in the Imagination, playing petty tyrant.” 

“Is that bad?” Thomas asked Logan.

“Well, yes and no. Bad for you? No, you’re still able to access the things Roman brings to the table. You haven’t had any problems getting ridiculous crushes on semi-celebrities, acting, or thinking of ideas, this was just a formal brainstorming session, probably because you didn’t have a better idea for a video besides watching Roman and I ‘Go At It’.” Remus snorted with amusement. “Bad for Roman? Possibly.” 

“Uh, that’s not the way ‘go at it’ is normally used.” Thomas said, looking a little uncomfortable. 

“It is not used to indicate conflict?”

“It’s more often used to indicate fucking.” Remus corrected “Like ‘watching two dogs going at it’.”

“I assumed it meant fighting.” Logan pulled out a card and jotted something down on it. Remus took another sip of his yogurt, and stuck a carrot in his mouth like a cigar. 

“Say, did you know that rabbits don’t actually like carrots that much? They can get sick if they eat too many.” 

“What?”

“Yeah, it was Bugs Bunny making a reference to a popular movie star smoking a cigar.” Remus went a little starry eyed. “Bugs Bunny is a chaos god of an influencer. Instagram wants what he has.” 

“Well that’s a piece of my childhood destroyed.” Thomas sighed. 

“Much like that poor rabbit’s colon.” 

“He’s right, carrots are mainly fructose and fiber, though they do contain several nutrients. They’re far from the healthiest vegetable available.” 

“Doesn’t matter, still hate them.” Thomas pushed his hair back from his face. “Can we get back to my missing Roman?” 

“Have you been missing him?” Remus asked, eating the last of the carrots and tossing the wine glass over his shoulder, behind the TV. Thomas assumed it was imaginary, but he winced anyway. 

“I thought I was giving him space to calm down.” Thomas said in a small voice. 

Remus cackled. “He hasn’t come out of the imagination in weeks, he is in no way calmed down.” 

“Which does bring me back to the ‘possibly’ I mentioned earlier.” Logan put in. He paused and didn’t say any more.

“Are you trying to be ominous? Because you’re being kind of ominous.”

“That wasn’t my intent, Thomas, I simply wanted to be sure you wanted the information.” he cleared his throat. “You are aware of our ‘rooms’ at this point, where some of our traits are, shall we say, prevalent.”

“You’re soaking in it.” Offered Remus, picking bits of carrot out of his teeth. 

“Not inaccurate. This shall we say field of effect can have a negative effect on sides that don’t share the right- there isn’t really a word for it-  call it theoretical biology.” 

“What does this have to do with Roman?”

“Bear with me please, I’m getting to that.  It can have a negative effect on other sides, but a positive effect on the side to whom the ‘room’ belongs. It can increase stability, reinforce tasking, and give a feeling of wholeness.”

“Patton got over excited and effusive in his room though-” 

“That’s just Patton. Particularly Patton who is trying to avoid a subject.” 

“I keep telling him that talking about his last bowel movement works so much better to get people to change the subject, but apparently that’s a shitty idea.”  Remus put in. 

“At any rate, Roman’s room-”

“Our Room” 

“‘Creativity’s room- Enhances shall we say, flights of fancy, visualization, and to a certain degree, emotional responses.”

“And that’s the Imagination you guys have been talking about?”

“Nope!”

“The imagination is part of you the same way we are part of you, just not anthropomorphized.”

“Make me sound like a furry there, Logan.” Thomas raised an eyebrow. 

“Ugh.” Logan pinched the bridge of his nose, and continued. “Other parts of your brain are the subconscious, autonomous functions, and your memory archives, both short term and long term. Most parts of your mind interact. What we call the mindscape is  basically the place between these parts. We, that is your Sides, live in that area. While we each have our ‘rooms’ our corners of your mind, we also have a common area, which is more or less where you go when you want to talk to us, it isn’t very deep into the mindscape, a surface level daydream. You don’t even realize you’re not quite in the real world.” He looked at Thomas.  “Are you… following any of this?”

“Uhm. I’m going to nod, but I’m also going to admit I’m probably not going to retain much.” Thomas smiled weakly. 

“As per the usual.” Logan huffed. “Do you wish me to continue?” 

“I need you to get to the point.” 

“Roman isn’t spending time in his room or even the mindscape  to refocus. He’s spending all his time in the imagination, instead of just most of it. This isn’t interfering with his function, so much as how he interacts with it.”

“He’s throwing a hissy fit. But he doesn’t want to duck out, he just wants attention.” Fingers looped as if he was holding something Remus shook his hand up and down from the wrist.  “But because he’s pretty much barricaded himself in the imagination to play at being a villain, no one can get to him.” 

“I’ve been trying-” 

“Yeek!” Thomas jumped as Patton rose up. 

“Sorry sport.” Patton smiled weakly. He looked a little tired and stressed. “Like I said, I keep trying to talk to him, but I get lost, then I end up back outside the imagination again.” 

“Which at least mean’s Roman’s family-friendly rules are still mostly intact, despite his prolonged sojourn.” Logan commented. “Regardless of this delusion that he’s developed.”

“What delusion?” 

“Roman tends to think of things as pretty black and white.” Patton bit his lip “I have trouble with it too. I’ve been working on it. Gosh, I sure have a lot to work on. Uhm, so when he felt that he wasn’t your hero; if the person he thought of as the villain wasn’t a villain, he had to be.” Patton rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. “He had a little problem after we got Virgil back, but the whole thing was, you know, gradual. Roman could rephrase him as kind of… you know those dark brooding characters in movies that love dogs, and have a heart of gold? Like that.” 

“Besides,” Remus pointed out. “He’d decided that he didn’t like Virgie, but that he was his.  Him and DJ are alike in that they get super possessive. DJ was never his villain, just the villain. He’s my villain.” he added under his breath smugly. 

“What does that mean? I thought you two were like, friends. In cahoots.”

“‘friends’ “ Logan said distantly. 

“Look at it this way Thomas; What does Roman inspire you to do? Get out there and put yourself in front of a lot of people to perform. What makes that less likely? The fact those people are going to judge you with no context what-so-ever.” 

Thomas had to admit the thought made him shudder. 

“What do I inspire you to do?” 

“... swear? Masturbate? Eat things I find on the ground?” Thomas thought for a long moment “ … Jump out of a moving car?”

“That’s the one I was thinking of. And staging it for a vine doesn’t count, btw, it’s still on the to-do list.” Remus smoothed his mustache. “And what does DJ do? He comes up with excuses for the swearing. He’s self preservation. He stops you from destructive behavior. Well, except for the chips.”

“Do we have any?” Logan said without thinking, looking over his shoulder. “No, wait, focus. Thomas you’re going to need to have a healthy snack after we’re done here.”

“You should try the carrots and yogurt.” Remus urged, as Thomas and Patton made identical expressions of distaste. “Deodorant then?” 

“Roman!” Patton urged. “We need to get him out of the imagination before he forgets that he’s not a figment!”  he rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet. “I don’t want to stand next to Remus for the rest of our lives.” 

“Love you too, Daddy Dearest.” 

“I ... love … you I just don’t love the way you smell.” Patton said uncomfortably. “I’ve made up my mind that I was wrong and I can … care about you, even if you’re really scary.” 

“If you give yourself a hernia, I will poke it.” 

“Can that happen?” Thomas demanded of Logan. “Can Roman just… forget who he is?” 

“The short answer is yes. He can. He’s always come back to himself before, but he’s always been much more himself when he forgets before this, so- the data is inconclusive. For now, we can’t seem to reach him.” 

“Leaving me to answer the call as your imagination.” Remus leaned forward, as much into Thomas’s space as he could outside of daydream mode. “Use me.”

Thomas leaned away, laughing uncomfortably.

“Can I use you to come up with a way to get Roman back?” 

“If you’re going to be dull, yeah.” 

“Can we… can we go get him? Like we did with Virgil?” Thomas asked. 

“That would be incredibly dangerous. The Imagination is not like our rooms. It’s unpredictable, and easy to get lost in.”

“Patton just said he keeps ending up back outside it.”

“That’s Patton.” Logan gestured at him. “If you were with us, I don’t know what would happen. We could get separated, or hurt, and our natural abilities are tempered by the environment.”

“So what, I just wait around for him to work through whatever he’s doing, or forget us and abandon me?” Thomas looked genuinely upset at the prospect. 

“Don't worry,” Remus assured Thomas, with a huge grin. “I’ll always stick with you, until you safeword out.”

“Uh, disturbing; also we haven’t established a safe word.”

“Better start guessing then.” Remus winked. 

“He prefers ‘Roman’ And ‘Please’” Logan offered.

Thomas turned slowly and stared at Logan for a long moment. Logan blinked at him, wondering what brought that on. 

“Okay, moving on.” Thomas shook himself. “I understand the danger Logan, but I can’t… I can’t just wait around and hope this gets better on it’s own. Roman’s my … my friend, as well as everything else. If I hurt him, I need to try and fix it.” 

“I don’t think you do understand the danger, Thomas.” Logan bit his lips together and pressed the side of his knuckles to his mouth. 

“As much as I love being the bearer of bad news…” Janus descended  the staircase, stopping on the landing. “I’m afraid it’s gotten worse.” 

“What do you mean?” Thomas said nervously. “...  and where is Virgil? I feel like shit, he should be here, even if he’s still a little on edge from all the big reveals.” 

“That’s the bad news.” Janus sighed, looking slightly defeated. “He went after Roman. By himself.”

[lilithcross]

The Long Shadows of October

When I think of the”grindhouse” genre, it’s not necessarily for clarity, or PG-13ness; you look to grindhouse for sex and gore and all things that are too much. Violence and car chases, fast women and tough guys, generally a straightforward victor. Of late there’s been a resurgence of grindhouse attempting to bring back those bawdy, poorly written-and-shot movies, so when I came across Grindhouse Press at a local craft fair, I had to pick up a few copies of their wares. The Long Shadows of October by Kristopher Triana was a new one to me. He’s an author I’d never heard of, but the phrase “ultimate showdown of female-empowered sensuality” piqued my interest.

I’m constantly looking for female-led horror. As a writer and a woman myself, I’m often hand-cuffed by depictions of young women in the horror genre, frustrated by their lack of dimension, purpose, or realism. But the review snagged me and along I went, eager to crack the spine.

You can imagine my disappointment when we are immediately launched into the wet dreams of several horny high school boys. While I’m new to the specific grindhouse horror fiction world, I’m no newbie to the horror genre: you’re reading a tried-and-true shlock loving horror addict. But using the same horny teenage boy trope as an intro to our main story, hellbent on booze, drugs, and that ever elusive pussy, had my hackles raised at the get. I have to wonder, is this author re-living his youth or living vicariously through these characters?

In either case, we are introduced to our heroine, Kayla, as Joe’s latest conquest. She’s a cutter (for nearly no fleshed out reason) but is a sweet virgin with a crush on the slimy punk Joe. I’d mention his friend Danny and Danny’s girl Maxine, but for all the character treatment they receive, they might as well be an afterthought.

An old lady inexplicably asks two extremely unqualified teenage boys to watch her house while she vacations several states away. Perfect setup for a high-school sex romp for all our main characters. Enter Robbie, the young virgin hero that Joe’s snagged along for the ride, with the intention getting the town whore (also a high-schooler) to deflower the virgin.

Seems to be a simple pretense, but add a malevolent witch spirit living in the walls of the house, a slobbery hell-dog who turns out to be a big puppy, several inept police visits, unnecessary self-harm, and a whole pile of absent parents, you have a real mess of a plot. With forest wraiths (with and without faces), a glowing pool light that doesn’t come to fruition, throwaway sacrifices, and a tangentially mentioned sorceress mountain, I don’t even really know where to start with this.

For a book touting female-empowered sexuality, I’ve never seen the author’s treatment of virginal and non-virginal females as less empowering. The women in this book use their sexuality only as it benefits them or the men they’re near. Aside from the house-witch hell bent on stealing boy souls (though virgins are more valuable for some reason), not a single woman actually feels empowered or even pleasured by their sexual conduct. The town whore gets herself killed pursuit of cash for a car. I mean... what?

The stupid, nonsensical treatment of virginity in this book is so antiquated anyways. Way to reinforce that tired old trope, when it doesn’t matter to anyone. Kayla’s virginal purity is held over her admirers head as we sail closer towards denouement, but we find out the virginity has no connection to the story at all. At one point, Robbie’s virginity pleased the mountain. The anthropomorphized mountain, oft mentioned but ultimately useless, was at one point pleased with his virginity. That doesn’t give him more power, or ever end up coming to fruition anyways. But he is one, so don’t forget that!

Let’s talk about queer treatment here, too. It bears mentioning because the author apparently thought it was necessary. An excerpt from page 38: “At least Robbie showed an interest in girls (much to Joe’s relief) but he never had the nerve to approach any of them.” The parenthetical relief of Joe in regards to Robbie’s sexuality perked my ears up to the queer coding in the rest of the book. Joe decides to, on multiple occasions, throw slurs about Robbie being queer specifically because of his frigidity. (Pretty sure the kid’s sixteen. Huh?) But, after using “faggot” as an insult, Triana later decides Gladys (a villain) is pointlessly bisexual and Kayla, our hero, can kiss a girl because it draws the attention of the male gaze around her. To me, it’s an exploitative way to address queerness.

The lore the story is based upon folds in on itself over and over again, not only NOT playing by it’s own rules but also seemingly making up those rules as it goes along. Did Gladys cast the spell, or Hazel, or is it the mountain calling the shots? Some spirits can project themselves, some can’t, some can escape, but only if they were formerly virgins. It seems the author can’t keep the rules straight, either.

Our heroine must realize her “worth” as a woman only in relation to how sex is powerful and can get her things from boys. Her way of saving the town’s teens is to dress slutty, seduce them all, then hold her precious virginity over their heads to keep her interest. Her empowerment has nothing to do with taking her pleasure into her own hands or self-actualizing — merely getting the male (and apparently female) gaze. That’s not an empowering take on femininity — it’s an all too awful day when women know their worth to most men hinges on their ability to make the men feel good, not what they can do of their own accord or within their own power.

The character Maxine could really be another heroine, but she’s treated like garbage. She’s basically a lubed up pumpkin with a voice, either fucking Danny until she sees something (which also doesn’t matter), telling Kayla how much she needs to become a woman and lose her virginity, or being a throwaway character that no other character, not even her parents and especially not her boyfriend, make mention of again. Slutty Linda, the town whore, is discarded in much the same manner.

For all my criticism, I have to say, begrudgingly, that I was still entertained. It’s not often you find a book that so easily captures the shade of blue thrown on the walls of an indoor pool, or describes a rich mansion so easily. Triana did a great job filling my mind with the rooms of th mansion, the leaves rustling through the forest, and the vibe of the last raucous party in the book.

All in all, 2/5 for The Long Shadows of October. I’d recommend it to anyone who loves the true, old-school grindhouse vibe, and isn’t so politically correct they’d throw it down at the mention of faggots or teenage orgies.

[nancypullen]

So Far, So Good

I have no beef with November.  She showed up right on time and brought some lovely chilly weather with her.  She’s sprinkling her colorful magic all over the trees and generally being delightful.  Unfortunately she is also the gateway to holiday food and I’m like a junkie who’s been clean for a year but I’m ready to score a casserole.  I eat a very healthy balance for ten months and then *BOOM*  the Butterball turkeys show up at Kroger and all bets are off.  I wish I could buy willpower.  Sadly, I can’t even say that I fight temptation, oh no, I jump in with both feet and create the temptation.  On Saturday the mister and I were running errands...Lowe’s, Kroger, Tractor Supply for donkey corn to keep the deer in our yard during hunting season, the usual.  I told him that we needed to swing into the library parking lot because I had a couple of books on hold.  Were these volumes to entertain or expand my mind? No. They will only expand my thighs.

Come on.  You can’t tell me that that doesn’t look like fun!  Last week I baked cookies.  I hadn’t baked anything in forever because we don’t need it hanging around the house.  But I had an excuse.  I had swapped cat sitting duties with a neighbor (Willie’s other mom).  They were out of town for a few days in September and I dutifully went over and got the mail, fed her cats twice a day, scooped litter, let them out in the morning and back in for dinner, and gave them love.  In turn, when we went up to Maine she came over and scooped litter, fed our kitties wet food once a day, brought in the mail, etc.  She even took our garbage can to the curb and brought it back in.  They left town again just before we returned from our trip but had a relative house sitting.  They returned last week.   She’d given me a restaurant gift card as a thank you for watching their kitties, so I did the same but also used my gratitude as an excuse to make my favorite fall cookie - gingersnaps!  I figured I’d take a batch over with the gift card so they’d have dinner and dessert. Pulling that bottle of molasses out of the top cupboard felt like a homecoming. I uncovered the ol’ KitchenAid mixer and had one of the best afternoons I’d had in ages.  Playing music, baking cookies, and watching leaves flutter to the ground through the kitchen window - it just doesn’t get much better than that.  Of course I kept a baker’s dozen on a plate for us and they were gone in no time.  The floodgates are open. I did it.  I sabotaged myself.  And I loved every minute of it.  Please do not suggest that I could enjoy the same magical experience by whipping up a batch of bran muffins or tofu brownies.  That’s just crazy talk. Bustling around the kitchen and filling the house with delicious aromas - it’s such simple comfort.  My sister and I have had conversations recently about how, now more than ever, it’s important to keep sweetness and simplicity in our lives.  I actively seek out the whimsical side of life - enchanting art, silly poems, looking for clouds shaped like animals, all of it.  I’m drawn to fairy tales and their illustrations. I love a happy ending.  Remember when I mentioned that I’d picked up a watercolor by Maine artist Marvin Jacobs?  I didn’t choose a seascape or a harbor painting.  I picked this guy.

 It’s so important to keep sweetness in your life, otherwise the daily news will drag you under.  Be aware, be informed, work diligently for change, but leave room for lightness.   I’m saying all of this so that you’ll know why my heart cracked open and I cried when my sister sent a box full of joy straight to my mailbox.  Seems that she caught wind of a woman clearing out some treasures and she picked up a batch of Royal Albert Beatrix Potter figurines for a song!  She picked out three for me as a surprise and I can’t tell you how happy my heart is when I look at my kitchen window sill.

Jemima Puddleduck,  Mrs. Rabbit & Bunnies, and Old Mr. Brown.  Oh, my heart!  My sister told me that she knew I needed the Mrs. Bunny figure because she’s cuddling her two babies - like my two babies! 

Add to that the reminder that my Grandma Ethel called me Cuddlebunny, sewed bunny patches on my jeans during the summer that I chased her sheep and named all of her chickens, and I’m a puddle.  My sister and I love Beatrix Potter’s sweet (there’s that word again) stories and illustrations.  When the mister and I went to London I scoured the stalls on Portobello Road to find an old Beatrix Potter illustration to bring home and frame.  It hangs in the sweetest room in our house, the grandgirl’s room!

Can you imagine what it meant to me to open that box from my sister?  That was a box of love, my friends.  Now I need to add to my collection.  My sister is a fan of Hunca Munca, the busy little mouse.  She kept this figurine and said she identified with it.  I think she’s spot on.  I’ll have to look for more Hunca Munca for her.

I think we both agree that something about these little statues reminds us of time spent in Weiser.  Being at our grandparents little pink house was paradise.  My sister stayed at Grandma’s elbow, watching her sew and cook.  I stuck to her like glue outside learning about her chickens and flowers.  Her gardens were so lush.  Once when I was pretending to be outlaw Belle Starr, western rule-breaker and heartbreaker, I used one of her giant snowball bushes for my hideout.  It was so big and full that I could crawl under the lowest boughs and sit up inside.  It was beautiful and smelled good, just the sort of spot Belle would choose.  We were always so carefree in Weiser - my brother and I taught the sheep to play hide ‘n seek (really!).  If you’ve never seen a sheep hide behind a tree and peek out at you, you haven’t lived.  We named chickens after characters from Robin Hood.  My Grandpa Carl thought I was a hoot.  He spoiled me and I was his favorite.  Turns out that every one of his grandkids could say the same.  We were so safe and loved on their patch of Idaho.   I tried to put plenty of magic and whimsy into my kids’ childhoods.  They probably aren’t even aware that some of their silliest thoughts were planted there early.  I’ll bet when they see birds lined up on a wire and their first thought is “bird meeting” they don’t remember the dialogue I’d make up when we saw things like this -

Bird meeting!  #1 on the agenda is cat location...new orange tabby moved in on corner of Elm and Oak, so be aware.  Worm of the Month award goes to Maurice for the whopper he pulled out of a garden on May 5th. Way to go!  Congratulations to Stanley and Mary on hatching 4 eggs last Wednesday. That’s a lot of mouths to feed, so if anyone has extra bugs, slugs, or worms let them know. You get the idea.  They were little, Mom was just rambling at a red light, but I’ll bet that BIRD MEETING pops into their heads when they a feathered gathering.  Besides, when you anthropomorphize creatures I think kids are less likely to harm them and more likely to empathize. Whimsy with a purpose. Wow.  I apologize.  This blog post is all over the place and as usual I had no plan.  I just sit down at the laptop and empty my brain.  It’s therapy for me and a sleep aid for you. Win-win! On that note I will wrap this up and go dance around the kitchen with a broom.  I used panko when making last night’s eggplant dinner and based on the crunch I heard under my slippers this morning I didn’t sweep it all up.  Your assignment for today is to seek out sweetness.  When you find it, hold on to it.  Take it like a vitamin every day for a healthy soul.   Have a cookie too, can’t hurt might help. XOXO

[woohooligancomics]

Webcomic Whimsy: Dogstar!

Welcome to the Woohooligan Weekly Webcomic Whimsy! If you're a webcomic author and would like a review, you can see my announcement and review rules here.

Title: Dogstar

Author: Brandon V. Williams

Site: ComicFury • Tapas (Brandon recommends this site.)

Genres: Comedy, Superheroes, Action, Adventure, SciFi, Anthropomorphic, DuckTales Justice League

Rating: PG (?)

Updates: Every other Saturday (for now -- previous schedule was weekly?)

My Starting Point (requested by author): Page 0

Synopsis (from Tapas): A mild mannered pilot/magician's life changes dramatically when he crosses paths with the world's most famous crime fighter. This sets him on a journey of many adventures, in which he grows into something far beyond his imagination.

For a sci-fi comic with a title like Dogstar, the opening seems a bit small scale. Here the five villains meet to discuss taking over... the galaxy? The world? The pacific northwest seafood restaurant market? Nope... one town called Beacon City.

After reading a bit further, it turns out that impression from the title was off-base and the story as a whole isn't a space opera, it's really a superhero story done in the style of DuckTales.

The jokes on the first page do a good job of setting the tone, with the pirate's hook-fingers, talk of brain stealing, and the mysterious evil overlord's mysterious silhouette cleavage.

The lettering on this first page needs work. The text isn't large enough to read comfortably and doesn't flow within the word balloons, leaving that incongruous feeling when a round balloon meets text with a straight left edge. It's like putting a sexy dress on the Iron Giant. Lettering on the latest pages shows marked improvement.

Writing does a good job of establishing the tone as not being Warner Brothers like I expected and instead being more Fritz the Cat. I doubt there will be displayed nudity or uncensored swearing, but dick jokes are definitely implied in what's obviously a champagne room.

Page two also commits some lettering sins that weren't on the first page. Dialogue balloons covering character art with plenty of empty "white space" left untouched is the big one. Panels 3-5 should have been close-up shots.

Ha! So the heroes' solution for a slow response from an agent is electroshock. That sort of thing is usually reserved for villains like Darth Vader's force choke. I guess if he's really insubbordinate he gets the hose.

Bullock Towers looks surprised! |8

Is it just me or is "Junk Jaws" a more intimidating name? Metal Mouth is literally how we used to insult kids in high-school if they had braces on their teeth. Spyke's trying to insult the guy, but he just makes him seem cooler. "Time's up, Ball Breaker! ... Actually, my name is Testicle Trasher, but now that you mention it I think yours is better, I'm gonna go with that..."

Wait... there are robots and cyborgs like Metal Mouth and he and his goons are still using tommy guns? "We could have had M-16s, but we're going for a prohibition era gangster look, you know, it's vintage!" I guess these villains are hipsters.

Nice visuals on that first panel... are the cop cars a photograph with a posterise filter?

Spyke McGruff apparently has the Judge Dredd gun... although glue-mode is new.

Panel 3 should have been close-up.

The extra space before the exclamation point drives me nuts... the font is too small, so every time it looks like an I in the middle of the sentence. "What a moron I he's using..."

Plus I sprang extra for the wax... but not the undercarriage, that's a rip-off.

He splits after one hit? Where'd all the confidence from the new jaw go? He never even tried to bite Spyke.

Just like a hipster... they can cloak a blimp, but they're still using tommy guns.

Oh, finally on page 11, the actual hero of the story! :P Oh, you thought it was Spyke? Psyche! Remember the synopsis said he's a mild mannered pilot, not a bombastic "secret" agent.

I guess you're just not extreme enough man... that's what real adrenaline junkies do, scope out the only two giant vertical poles in a hundred acres of open field just to perform a stunt that could get us killed. Barell rolls are for pussies!

Artistically, I feel like the presentation of the poles could have been better. I don't think anyone's going to be confused by the art here, but I think a shot from behind the characters' heads on approach, followed by a side-shot of the plane passing between the poles, (preferably with an exhaust trail), would have been a little clearer and more dramatic.

Is that other thing that's coming a beer? I don't always drive my business into the ground, but when I do, I prefer a Dos Equis hang-over.

You know what kids really love? Nearly dying in an airplane trick! ;D

What the hell was that? Pointy teeth and glowing red eyes?... It looks like some kind of Shit-Spider-Demon... It looks evil enough, maybe you should ask it for some help with the magic tricks.

The door was open, but property damage is how I get everything I need... I'm a hero!

That's SECRET Agent Spyke! You've never heard of me... psst... don't blow my cover while I demonstrate my SUPER-misogyny shutting up this broad witha face-full of glue... mmm, yes, "glue"...

Dialogue balloons in panel 2 are in reverse order... Daniel's dialogue needs to be at the top to read first, before Spyke's reply.

The best pilot but man he's the worst at everything else -- business, social skills, knowing when he's likely to be shot at.

What?! That last page looked like a direct hit... Gotta work on that perspective.

Pretty sure that's supposed to be light filtering in the corridor from the hatch, but it sure looks like the kind of glowing purple ooze that gives people superpowers... or mutates turtles.

Page 19 and here's that turning point where Daniel becomes the hero of the story... I have to say, of the comics I've reviewed so far, this is one of the few that's well paced. 20-24 pages is the length of a typical printed comic issue, and he's right on time to make Daniel the hero as the cliff-hanger for the end of the first issue. Nice work!

The name of the mad scientist who's obsessed with collecting brains is "Nobrainer". That's like if you invented the Richie Rich character, and named him "Deadbroke Deadbeat". :P

Okay, but can we talk about tha name? Because I'm pretty font of "axis"... you know, as a tribute. Why not? I mean... it couldn't be any worse than Confederate Monuments. :P

Yeah, man, like... you gotta be chill for High Leader... High Leader is chill, so just, y'know, get your bud on and chillax... Woah! Dude my hands are HUUUGE! Who's got the snacks?

Dialogue in the 5th panel is in the wrong order. Yes, left-to-right, however, top-down supercedes left-to-right. Think of the panel like it's a page of a book. So, put your thumbs over the art, you just have text on the panel wherever it is. Which do you read first? As a rule, people will read the first line at the top first, even if it's shifted over to the right, rather than starting on say line 4 or 5. So Dr Nobrainer and Captain Blackjack should swap Triforces.

The fair agent's condition is good.

Great!

No, good.

Wait, his condition is bad?

No, good.

What's the fair agent's condition?

Good, sir.

Yes, what is it?

What's what?

The condition.

I don't know...

NEAR MINT!

...

The words "Successful" and "Initiated" shouldn't be capitalized.

We control the vertical. We control the horizontal... so just chillax while commander mysterious-boobs pumps some of the good shit in the air for you, we're talking primo chronic, man...

Psst... High Leader... I think you might be a little too high, you forgot to issue any actual demands for people to comply with... like... bring me the mayor, hand over the key to the city, or call 555-2-surrender?

I think Daniel just discovered his battle cry... like the thing's "It's clobberin' time!"... Daniel rushes into the fight, "I CAN BEND THEM ALL!" Mostly it confuses the enemy and gets them off-guard.

Yeah, what were you thinking? Catching this guy is no job for a squad of cyborg-super-ninjas!

This is a job for a midget senior citizen!

You'd be amazed what drinking Ensure does for your reflexes.

Of course he doesn't have a choice... what's he gonna do? Punch out some old grandpa? That's not what heroes do... heroes cause PROPERTY damage... didn't we cover this already?

Best way to get a magician to tell you his secrets? Brutally murder him... by sawing him in half. They have to respect the classics.

Not sure why the robot suit looks like MODOK... He was building an evil Voltron and could only afford the head?

I guess the pink cockpit dome is supposed to make him look like MODOK's brain.

White motion lines in panel 5 would have been better contrast, easier to see.

I can't believe he used up all his brain-hostages... anything that's precious to the villain is leverage.

Oooh... Dogstar is like Skywalker... so... I'm guessing no space-opera elements like I expected from the title...

Doesn't Double-R still think Double-M stole a super-W? Doesn't destroying the blimp without securing the weapon leave it open to salvage by "the wrong hands"?

Caaaapers... <drool>

Doooouble entendres... <drool>

The juxtaposition of the angry MODOK face with Daniel's shit-eating grin in the first panel! Well done, Brandon!

Actually I'm fairly certain that dirigibles don't just careen into the ground when an engine goes out, because the gas in the envelope provides lift while engines are purely for maneuvering... even if an aerostat does require forward motion to stay up, the descent after an engine failure is likely to be a fairly sedate affair, not nearly as dangerous as an airplane crash (which has an over 95% survival rate).

But, y'know... Hollywood.

Plane should be in the lower-right corner of panel 5 (leave Daniel where he is), and in panel 6 the perspective is nice, but there should be ground below the plane, and the clouds should be perpendicular to the perspective, not parallel to it. And from that angle, there should be little to no gray on them, because you're seeing the water vapor from above, where the sun is hitting it.

I think it's fair that Bullock Towers looks surprised again. :P

Nice shot of the crash -- good job on the smoke and flames.

I think the plane in that last panel should be angled up and to the right -- or at least rolled so the wings angle the other direction. The position of the plane makes the wings line-up with the carriage under the blimp and creates a visual tangent. This one is called a "stolen edge" or "parallel". It makes the plane visually blend into the blimp, which is obviously undesirable for clarity unless you have a very specific reason to want something to blend in a particular shot.

I saw the job offer coming, although Spyke being a vindictive dick about someone else saving his life and completing the mission was a little unexpected... it doesn't seem entirely out of character, but I tend to expect government agents to be team players (Fox Mulder notwithstanding). It's not a bad twist, given that a lot of the first chapter was fairly predictable... and I think it's a good wrap for this first chapter overall, including the job offer -- tropes aren't always bad.

Overall I liked Dogstar. Decent art improves over time (though the six panel layout seems pretty rigid and I think you should experiment with some alternative layouts -- an occasional wide shot, etc). I think if you enjoyed DuckTales or DarkWing Duck, you should definitely give Dogstar a look! :D

If you are a webcomic author and are interested in a review from me, you can check out my announcement and my review-request rules here.

If you enjoyed this and want to help me make more reviews, you can contribute on our Patreon or if you're short on funds you can also help by checking out and sharing my own comedy and laughtivist webcomic, Woohooligan!

Thank you for sharing yourself with us! Sam

[lezliefaithwade]

Hitchhikers and Horror Movies

I was living in New York when one Sunday afternoon in late August a boyfriend suggested we go and see the newly remastered, Texas Chainsaw Massacre at a movie theatre on 42nd Street. It had recently been heralded as one of the most influential horror movies of all time, and as he was in the process of writing his own horror screenplay, it seemed only right to see what all the fuss was about.

It was a very hot day as we slipped into the darkened theatre. It smelled like wet pavement, stale popcorn and forgotten dreams. The floor was sticky from neglect. The whole interior reeked of resignation as though any minute the wrecking ball would tear through the ceiling and replace a bygone era with a GAP or a McDonalds.  There were probably no more than 20 of us oddballs sitting in the damp, musky building. I wondered what kind of person spends a Sunday afternoon watching slasher films? My boyfriend was a nice Jewish USC graduate currently studying playwrighting at Juilliard. He was the kind of guy who laughed easily and rarely lost his temper. I felt safe and at ease with him. A quick glance at the other patrons painted a somewhat different picture. It was obvious that I was the only female in an audience of men sitting alone waiting ominously for a slasher film to begin. I shifted uneasily in my seat.

“Did I mention I don’t really like horror movies?” I whispered to Bernie. “I scare easily.”

“No worries,” he said, “Just close your eyes over the gory bits.”

For anyone who has not seen The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, suffice it to say that the entire film is gory. It’s pretty implicit by the title words “chainsaw massacre”.

It’s been noted that the experience of watching a horror movie with someone from the opposite sex can become a catalyst for romantic bonding. Was that what Bernie had in mind that afternoon?

The lights dimmed, the movie began and within minutes I was on the floor with my head in the seat of the chair, mindless of whatever gross concoction I was kneeling upon. All I can tell you about plot is that some kids pick up a hitchhiker who cuts his hand with a switchblade. That was all I saw.

“I have to leave,” I said to Bernie. And being the great guy that he was, he escorted me out of the theatre and back into the real world. I breathed a sigh of relief, and spent the better part of the next week doing everything I could to forget what I had seen.

Horror movies and slasher films have always appealed to a broad audience. Consumers expect to be scared, disturbed, creeped out, disgusted, terrified. This is just the undesirable price one has to pay in anticipation of some other reward, such as the ultimate triumph over evil or the smug satisfaction of feeling safe while being afraid. Slasher films make strong commentaries on societal expectations. In other words, young women in particular are usually targeted by male antagonists with puritanical opinions on sexuality. That is, when any kind of motivation can even be found. The set-up goes something like this:

1. Some past event sets (the killer) upon a homicidal trajectory.

2. The killer targets a group of hedonistic youth.

3. Youths interact recreationally in an insular quotidian location.

4. The killer tracks the youths.

5. The antagonist kills some of the youths.

6. The remaining character(s) challenge(s) the killer.

7. The immediate threat posed by the killer is eliminated.

Bernie’s movie as I recall was titled Summer Stalk, or Hammer Slammer (something like that) and he had a passing relationship with the director Abel Ferrara who I recall meeting briefly and being unimpressed by at a party in New York. Bernie was a good writer, and it seemed entirely possible that he might actually sell this screenplay, so when school was finished we moved to Los Angeles.  Hollywood was a place so foreign to me and so at odds with my sensibilities that you may as well have dropped me onto the moon without a spacesuit and ordered me to survive. Even to this day my memories of L.A. are a compilation of avocado sandwiches, shark steaks, workout rooms, convertibles and endless conversations around film. I went from being a productive, enterprising intellectual young woman, to what can only be described as a “bimbo”. Glasses were replaced with contact lenses, hair was coiffed, clothes were fitted and shoes had a heel. Gone was the architecture, the history, the parks, the subway, convenient neighbourhoods with great second-hand book stores. Instead it had all been replaced by freeways, concrete, Stepford wives, alfalfa sprouts and sales pitches. I thought of going home, but I loved my boyfriend and wanted to be supportive. So, I sat on the sidelines in tightfitting Lycra and cheered him on.

On weekends, Bernie and I would drive to his father’s house in La Costa, Ca.  where I could swim, bike, catch a movie, or just go for a walk. The house was a welcome refuge from the hustle and bustle of tinsel town. It was large, (large by my standards) with great, comfortable furnishings and a spectacular view of the valley. Bernie’s family were wealthy. My family was not. This disparity in our lifestyles was, to my knowledge, the only thing we ever fought about. Things were easier for him than they were for me, and while I was certainly benefiting from orbiting in his world, I could never quite forget where I had come from and how difficult it was for me to obtain even the smallest of opportunities. As a brief example: at school in New York, before I met Bernie, I would resort to heating up tomato juice for dinner. Bernie’s family were the sort of people who own the tomato juice company.

So, it was on one dark and stormy night enroute to La Costa that a particular argument erupted over privilege.

“You have no idea what the real world lives like,” I shouted, nearly in tears. “I’m always one step from poverty and the only thing that separates me from the homeless man on the street is you.”

“So,” he shouted back, “Get a job!”

He knew this was impossible as I was an illegal alien.

By now the storm had become positively Spielberg like. Low hanging dark clouds, lightning, thunder and us in a small car wending our way to our destination. Windshield wipers on high we stewed for several minutes both of us in our own worlds thinking up clever rebuttals for the next wave of attack when I saw a hitchhiker on the side of the road. It’s important to note at this point in my story that I had NEVER picked up a hitchhiker in my life, nor did I advocate such a thing. But the weather, and the bedraggled look of the man somehow destroyed all my reason. Bernie saw him too.

“Should we give him a ride?” he asked, probably to show that he was still a generous and compassionate person in spite of his wealth.

“It’s pouring out,” I said, “I think we should.”

Bernie pulled over and the man ran to the car. Even before he climbed into the back seat we realized our lack of good sense, but once we were stopped it just seemed like bad manners to drive away.  

“Where you going?” Bernie asked turning to get a good look at our passenger.

“Where you heading?” he responded with a slight drawl.

“La Costa.” Bernie replied

“You can drop me off anywhere near the cut off.” The stranger said as he settled back in his seat.

From the mirror over my visor I had a really good look at the man who identified himself as Hank. He was lean and dirty with a long unkempt beard and equally unkempt hair.  His features were sharp and angular. Hank carried a large knapsack and frankly smelled a little. Had this been a Disney animation, he would have been drawn to represent an anthropomorphic rat.

“Where are you from?” I asked trying to be polite.

“Texas,” he replied.

It wasn’t my imagination. I could see Bernie’s knuckles turn white as he gripped the steering wheel. Neither of us needed to say a thing. We were now the protagonists in a horror movie. It was that simple.  An unmarried couple headed for a week end of debauchery in a car with a stranger while a storm raged outside. We ticked off several of the essential criteria in the Horror movie genre and without saying a thing, we both immediately regretted our act of charity. Every moment in that car was leaden. As we sped our way through the dark I was counting the minutes and the miles thinking to myself, “We’re still alive. We’re still alive. We’re still alive.” I wondered what would happen if I insisted we make an exit to use a restroom? I imagined running for help while Bernie fought off an attack or perhaps I’d be able to fight off our assailant with a crowbar in the trunk. Hank was silent. Then, out of the blue he began to tell us about the corpse recently discovered at LAX. “They found it in pieces,” he volunteered, “The head, the arms, the torso in different places around the airport.”

Hank didn’t look like a guy who read the newspapers or listened to the news. He looked like someone who knew things first hand. “The hands were in a sink at the washroom.”

How does one respond to information like this? “Oh, how interesting,” seems inappropriate when what you really want to do is slam on the brakes and say, “Get the fuck out of this car.”

While writing his screenplay, Bernie had once mentioned to me that monsters like their victims to be afraid.  So, I muttered a half-hearted “Really?” hoping my nonplussed attitude would dampen his interest in killing us.  At this point Bernie was fixed, zombie like on getting us as quickly to the drop off point as possible. I glanced at the speedometer. We were over the speed limit on wet roads. Nothing about this adventure felt like it was going to end well. I could feel Hank staring at the back of my head. I slid down in my seat and wondered if a knife could penetrate the upholstery. The closer we got to the cut-off point, the more nervous I became. I reasoned that an assailant wouldn’t attack us while driving and risk being killed in a car accident. No. An assailant would kill us the moment we pulled over to let him out. He’d slash our throats, dump the bodies and take the car.

“What do you do for a living?” Hank asked

“I’m a writer,” Bernie said

“Oh yeah? What do you write?

“Horror movies.”

Hank seemed interested, “You don’t say?”

To be fair, it’s possible Hank wasn’t the least bit interested. He may have been as bored as toast and just eager to get out of the car. He may have interpreted our tension as residual anger from a lover’s spat, or thought we were good Samaritans with dull lives and little to say.

All I know is that when we saw the sign for the turn off, I blurted out, “I have to pee.” At least if Hank was going to kill us, it would be under bright neon lights and in clear view of a gas station attendant and several patrons.

Bernie pulled into the Mobil station and exclaimed a little too eagerly, “Here you go. End of the road.”

Hank opened his door, grabbed his belongings and piled out of the car. From the overhead lights I could see for the first time that he looked old. Here was a man for whom things did not come easily and I suddenly afforded myself a bit of pity.

“Thanks for the lift.” He said shaking Bernie’s hand.

“No problem.” He replied as we climbed back inside and locked the doors.  I realized that I hadn’t used the bathroom and was a little ashamed of myself.

As the car sped out of the station and back onto dark roads we exhaled a collective sigh of relief and laughed. “What were we thinking?” I asked “Oh my God. What was all that about a body at LAX?”

By the time we reached the house, I had convinced myself that I had over-reacted.

“Isn’t that how all horror movies work?” Bernie said “The protagonists are always being attacked the moment they let down their guard.” I admit, he had a point. How many times had I commented on how stupid the victims in horror movies behaved? I mean, what kind of idiot would pick up a hitchhiker on a dark and stormy night knowing full well the kind of risk they were taking?

We unlocked the front door of the house, and before locking it again, were sure to search the dark for bogeymen. There was no way Hank could have followed us, but still…

“Let’s get on dry clothes and watch a movie,” Bernie suggested, turning on as many lights as we could find.

“Sounds like a great idea,” I said, “Something funny, please.”

As we settled down with hot chocolate, safe and sound to watch Mel Brooks, I briefly thought about Hank out there in the dark making his way towards Mexico. I wondered what was in his knapsack and then let the thought slip from my mind as the storm continued to rage on outside.

[game84cube]

My Opinions on the Sonic Movie Trailer

Okay, I guess I better say something about this movie before I lose my credibility in the Sonic community. I saw the trailer at school and everyone was talking about how weird it was on campus. I loved it at first sight, since I thought Sonic was gonna look WAY worse. Anyway, let's go over the pros and cons.

Pros:

- The speed. They knew what they were doing with Sonic and his speed effects. I mean it makes sense, what with the people from Fast and Furious.

- That Spin Dash! Sonic's iconic move was displayed amazingly in that trailer and his strength was on full display. Also when he just plopped into his little hideout in the forest and he was that fuzzball, it looked great!

- Jim Carrey as Dr. Robotnik. I get what they're doing. This is an origin story. Robotnik is gonna deteriorate into the classic crazy villain we all know him as. That ending shot proved it. But yeah. He was clearly not fat enough, but he isn't quite...egged out yet. Sort of a Kintobor thing before Robotnik/Eggman. My dad has issues with it, but I think it's fine. Plus he's got good material as well. Sassy and smart. That's how I like my Eggs.

- The acting. Marsala is giving it his all, and he sure has experience in this. I imagine he's gonna be a good focal point of the movie since title characters in these movies are NEVER the focus but are there to say that it is indeed a titled character's movie. I think Tim will be fine. A little snarky to play off of Sonic as well. Honestly I loved that bit with the "That's not your child in that bag?" This was also a good reminder that Sonic is a teenager. Good move. I forget who's playing Ann, but she seems fine. No comment yet. And then we have the Hedgehog himself. Ben Schwartz, I tip my blue spiky hat to you! You know just how to make Sonic sound like...well... SONIC! That cockiness is perfect. The voice is natural, and I want MORE! I'm sure they got some good lines for him (and some bad ones but that's inevitable sadly)

- The animation in general. Say what you will about the design, but in motion, everything looks awesome! It flows, it doesn't look cheap, and the mech designs look incredible. The effects are well integrated and seem like they're unintrusive on reality. I like it. And really, Sonic looks good in some shots, especially doing what he does best. I'm so happy they got Sonic looking cool when on the move. If they failed at that, the whole thing would be a complete failure.

-The Easter Eggs and nods! Listen to the voice of the Commander of the military again. Now imagine that voice saying something like... "Sonic Adventure 2, Hero Side Story: Farewell Sonic, Forever." Tell me that isnt the same guy! That's an amazing Easter Egg. Also I hear one of the guys in the meeting voiced Grounder in Adventures of Sonic the Hedgehog. Also cool! The pike of shoes in Sonic's hideout was a neat touch. He was looking for some good new shoes. Something tells me those Nikes ain't gonna last through the movie since they ain't frictionless. I also noticed something really cute they pulled off. When Sonic did that Fitbit joke? Looking at his wrist condescendingly? Sound familiar? Almost idle? Sonic 2 idle animation perhaps? All that's missing is him tapping his t- WAIT! Yep, that's another thing I think when I think Sonic. The classic impatient toe tap. They got his attitude DOWN and I love it! And! They remember something I'm so happy about! HE'S 90'S AS FUCK!!! Sonic listened to Gangsta's Paradise on a cassette tape! That song is from the 90's! They got it! Sonic is not a modern boi. He is so lost in the last decades and that's why I love him. That old fashioned nature? That's what makes him more timeless to me.

- Check that hair. They got his hair right. Good. That's it. Sonic is also very defined by the classic shape of his hair.

- The Ring. Okay, hear me out. Yes, we're more familiar with Rings being used as a shield to prevent Sonic from dying from a hit. Um, did y'all forget the Giant Ring at the end of the level in Sonic 1? Or the Flicky's Ring in 3D Blast/Flickies Island? It's just a portable version of that. I like the spin on it, okay? I'm sure it also protects Sonic like in the SatAM cartoon. Im just glad Rings are in the movie at all.

Cons:

- Elephant in the room, Sonic's overall design philosophy. I feel like there were two butting heads at the studio trying to decide how realistic to make Sonic look. They apparently compromised at "Make him anthropomorphic and give him human facial features including human teeth." Yeah, the teeth and eyes are my issue, and some coloring issues as well (I get that hedgehogs usually have white bellies, but Sonic has always had a tan belly, since he doesnt walk on all fours. Plus he needs to be a darker shade of blue.) The features all too human just kind of take away from what was meant to be more real. If they gave him sharper canine teeth, that would be an improvement, because that would be more animalistic. Also, I like how some people design Movie Sonic with a white tuft of fur between his eyes to make that classic illusion that his eyes are connected like the old days. (Actually looking back, I think Sonic's eyes were connected on accident before but they stuck with the design. Sort of an artist's idea of eye design in the old days. If he was to be created today, his eyes might be separated) I also need something to really come out of Sonic with his face. EXPRESSIONS AND PERSONALITY! You know, that thing Sonic was known for aside from his speed? That face is not very expressive and it leaves the emotions behind the delivery of the lines feeling flat. Perhaps a more defined brow for that redo, thanks. Otherwise, I have no complaints. The lack of gloves is odd, but again, this is most likely an origin story, so he doesnt have the gloves YET. I am glad that he has proper paws with the pads on his palms instead of creepy human hands. Also claws that he probably cuts/files/chews off himself so they're more like fingernails. Solid enough I guess. And the furriness of it all as well as the dropping quills? Eh, it makes sense. Plus it almost makes the rest of his body seem cuddly. I'm just not down with the rest of it.

-The music choice. Okay, I never heard Gangsta's Paradise in my life. From what I hear it makes no sense to have it have anything to do with Sonic. Now, maybe it was the only cassette he could find, since that boombox looks secondhand and so is the tape, obviously. However, if I were to choose a song for the trailer? I have one option. All I Want by Offspring! Think about it. The dates line up. It's a fast paced rock song. It's rebellious and against the system, like Sonic is in the movie apparently (yeah I didnt get that whole "delinquent" bullshit from the trailer, did you? He just seems like Sonic to me in terms of his actions,) and it was used in a SEGA game! It's from Crazy Taxi! Come on, that's PERFECT!

- the Flash lightning. Seriously? Is that the only thing Hollywood can think of when it comes to showing someone is fast? Come on, get your heads out of your asses. It's so easy. Modern Sonic has been more compared to the element of WIND! Tornadoes, Mach Cones, Sonic Wind, all that stuff. Sonic never really messed with electricity, so bleh.

- This isn't a pro or a con, but I really wanna know this. Will we see the Tornado? Don't forget that the Tornado is Sonic's plane. He just has Tails fly it when he wants to ride the wings. I feel like they could have had Sonic use the Tornado in a cool air battle scene but get shot down (because the Tornado kinda sucks since it always gets shot down, but it's iconic to me) since Sonic isn't exactly "a hell of a pilot" and THEN finds the Warp Ring inside. I dunno, thought it'd be cool. Look, Tim just met a 3 foot, blue, talking hedgehog that runs really fast and eats chili dogs. (please remember the chili dogs) Hedgehogs on planes wouldn't be that farfetched that day, would it?

- Some writing just felt off, but some can be explained. Let's start with everyone's FAVORITE scene...to wreck. The infamous "Uhhh...meow?" Here's my take. Yes, stupid, but what if he had no idea what to do? What if Sonic was just in his head going "What sounds do hedgehogs make? What sounds do hedgehogs make? Quick, say something, stupid!" And when he said it, probably something in his head was screaming "Dont say something stupid, stupid!" Also, I just didn't laugh at the "Smells like body spray and an old ham sandwich" line. I was like, Sonic, shut up. The joke was sold. Don't ruin it.

- Why is it the law where every live action movie with a CGI talking animal (that they didn't know about before you bring up Detective Pikachu, Christopher Robin, or even Peter Rabbit) must have the main character and the CGI character scream at each other? Sonic wouldn't freak out (unless he was more afraid of the gun and was kind of unsure how to react. Also great job dodging the tranq dart, oh Fastest Thing Alive)more than likely he'd be trying to talk his way out of this or just run away with a face like 😐😳 "I'm SO busted!" Just saying there was a better way to do that aside from the cliche.

- Robotnik, why did you try to taste the quill? You dont know where he's been. Yeah, yeah, I get it. Cool and Lickable. Lol. Pretty sure typos shouldn't be legitimized.

- Quicksilver? Not in my series he ain't. Oh... wait. Yeah. The whole stopping time thing. Eh, it's been done. Cool all the same, but again, done before. I appreciate Sonic's spin on it though, playing around like a teenager would. I dig it.

-Save your planet? Like...as in you're just an alien? I dunno, plus how do you know you have to save the planet? I'm chalking THAT up to "this is a trailer and probably wont appear in the final movie the same way."

- Did they REALLY have to make him say "Gotta go fast"? Again, probably just for the trailer, but really?

In conclusion, I have no hope for the movie. Can't be disappointed if you dont expect anything. Sort of my take on his design at first. I thought he was gonna look like COMPLETE garbage, but some shots look great, like when he was explaining that he had to save the planet? The lighting and such looked good for his face when the camera was on him. And again, the movie looks much better in motion. Yeah, I still have issues, but that's because I love Sonic. I love the characters and I want the best for the series. I care about the games that have been with me since my near infancy. They have fan service but it feels like you gotta be a crazy fan like myself to get the references, so it's lackluster because of it.

Sonic deserves a great movie! I just hope they impress me with something HUGE!

[worryinglyinnocent]

Fic: Be Our Guest

@woodelf68, thank you for your help with this and enjoy the fic!

Summary: Belle parks up beside Gold and Bae at the drive-in movie theatre. When Bae invites her to share his popcorn, Belle and Gold end up paying a lot less attention to the film...

Written for the Monthly Rumbelling prompt: "Movie Night"

Rated: G

=====

Be Our Guest

To call Storybrooke's drive-in movie theatre an actual drive-in movie theatre would be a bit of a stretch of the imagination to even the most forgiving of minds, but since it was the nearest thing that its citizens had to a cinema without travelling miles to the next large town with a theatre, they accepted it with good grace. The venture had been Leroy's idea; thinking that hospital janitorial duties was not the most lucrative of career paths, he'd sought to supplement his income and the makeshift drive-in was as good a way as any. Sourcing a huge white sheet and fixing it to the side of one of the abandoned buildings on the docks and setting up a projector on the roof of his truck, he was pretty much set. Whilst the legality of the operation was always slightly under question, no-one paid all that much attention to it since both the mayor and the sheriff were regulars in the little parking lot.

One car that had never yet been seen at the drive-in, however, was the impressive black Cadillac that usually sat outside Mr Gold's shop, and when it pulled into the theatre one Friday evening, ready for a double showing, it certainly caused more than a few raised eyebrows among the other patrons. Inside the car, Mr Gold himself was beginning to think that this had been an absolutely terrible idea.

"Bae, you know, we can just watch the movie at home," he said. "We've got the DVD. Are you sure that you wouldn't be more comfortable on the sofa?"

His son, sitting in the passenger seat and practically vibrating with excitement, shook his head with vigour.

"You promised," Bae said solemnly. Gold sighed, and tried to ignore all the strange looks that they were getting. He had indeed promised his son that for his birthday, they would go to the drive-in theatre and see the film. It was a rare double feature, showing the Disney cartoon version of Robin Hood for the kids first, then the live action Flynn/De Havilland classic for the adults afterwards. Bae was going through a Disney phase and loved all things to do with both anthropomorphic animals and Robin Hood, so it had seemed like the perfect birthday treat at the time. They pulled up in a prime viewing spot in front of the screen, and  Bae immediately took off his seatbelt and resettled himself on the cushions that he was sitting on to boost his height, tugging his Spiderman dressing gown in close around him and settling in to watch the film. Even if Gold didn't stay for the second part of the showing, they'd still be getting home after Bae's bedtime, so he was already in his pyjamas for when they got home. Gold knew his son well enough to know that he'd either be too sleepy or too excited to do anything productive like putting his pyjamas on or washing his face once they got home.

There were not many other cars in the place; Gold assumed that most of the other viewers would arrive later for the second film. Those that were there all had young children and were more preoccupied with making sure that they didn't get bored during the waiting period before the film began to show, but all the same, Gold couldn't help noticing that no-one was parking near them and the adults were all viewing the Cadillac with some degree of suspicion. He sighed; it was a circumstance that he was used to, and Bae was still too young and far too excited about being out past bedtime to notice that they were somewhat alone in their section of the drive-in.

Gold's thoughts were completely turned on their head when a small car pulled up right beside them. Glancing sideways, he saw Belle French sitting in the driver's seat. She met his eyes and smiled, waving to him. Gold, perplexed, remembered to wave back. She mouthed something to him but there was no way he could understand her through two layers of car windows, and it took him a little while to twig that he should probably open his window and speak to her.

"It's Miss Belle!" Bae waved frantically from the passenger seat and unceremoniously scrambled across onto his father's lap to wave excitedly at the librarian, quite possibly his favourite person in the town after his father (and sometimes before his father, especially when bathtime was involved). Over in her own car, Belle giggled and wound her window down, finally prompting Gold to do likewise.

"Hey Bae!" she said. "Hey Mr Gold. Fancy seeing you here.”

“It’s my birthday,” Bae said excitedly. “That’s why we’re here.”

“Many happy returns, Bae. Are you looking forward to the film?"

"Yep! Robin Hood's my favourite!"

Belle nodded. "He's mine too. What about you, Mr Gold?"

"I, erm..."

He wasn't really quite sure why he was so perplexed by Belle's presence beside them, although the fact that Belle was now clambering over her own gear shift to settle in the passenger seat of her car so that she could speak to them easier was definitely not helping his abstraction given the length of her skirt.

"Papa's favourite is the Jungle Book," Bae supplied helpfully. "He always sighs like Bagheera does."

Gold gave one such sigh now, grateful that it was masked by Belle's laughter.

“Well, I think Bagheera suits you, Mr Gold,” she said. “Refined and majestic, and always dressed in black, just like a panther.”

Gold just blinked, not entirely able to believe what he had just heard, but the look in Belle’s eyes told him that her words were entirely genuine and not in jest. She was smiling softly, her eyes never leaving his face, and he racked his brains, trying frantically to think of something to say in response. Being complimented by beautiful young librarians adored by his son was not something that happened to him every day, no matter how much he might want it to. Unfortunately, all that he managed to say was a rather strangled sounding ‘uff’. Thankfully, it was at that moment that the film began and Bae squirmed back into the passenger seat in order to get the best view and a more comfortable seat than being squashed in behind the steering wheel.

“Enjoy the film, you two,” Belle said, but then no more words were exchanged between the two cars.

Gold was grateful that for all his excited hyperactivity before the film had begun, Bae was always rapt whenever his favourite characters were on the screen, and seeing them displayed in huge relief on the side of a building was even better. Despite having seen the film several times before, he still watched in wide-eyed wonder and shushed his father ferociously when he pushed his seat back in order to stretch out his bad leg. Gold, for his part, couldn’t concentrate on the film, and the fact that he’d seen it enough times to know the entire script backwards had nothing to do with it. He couldn’t help glancing over at Belle every few minutes, watching her rather than the movie. Although he never caught her at it, he strongly suspected that she was doing the same, catching the little movements of her head out of the corner of his eye, but by the time he looked in her direction, she was seemingly engrossed in the film once more.

Halfway through the showing, there was a short intermission, allowing the drive-in’s patrons to purchase popcorn, soda and candy from the little stall that Leroy had set up at the back of the carpark - and for some of the younger viewers to use the portapotties Leroy had had the foresight to install.

Bae opened the passenger door and rushed off towards the concession stand; Gold had promised his son that he could have some popcorn as part of the birthday treat and Gold rolled his eyes, grabbing his cane from the back seat and getting out of the vehicle. Beside him, Belle was getting out of her own car.

“You can’t fault his enthusiasm for the whole experience,” she said.

“Indeed not. I was hoping that I could keep him in the car since he’s wearing his pyjamas.”

Belle just laughed as they made their way over to the concession stand. A couple of other people who were watching the film were paying, and Bae was looking up at the different sized popcorn containers.

“Well, it’s good to know that Storybrooke’s drive-in prices can compete with the large cinema chains,” Gold muttered as he looked at the price lists. Leroy shot him a glare, but the presence of Bae’s wide and innocent eyes prevented the proprietor from saying exactly what he thought of Gold.

“You know, it’s much better value to buy a large tub than two small ones,” Belle pointed out. Bae turned and looked from Belle to his father and back again.

“Miss Belle and me could share!” he said. Gold quirked an eyebrow. Whilst Belle was right and it was much better value to buy one large popcorn, he thought that Bae might have been a little bit presumptuous in his suggestion.

“I think that’s an excellent idea, Bae,” Belle said. “I’d be honoured to share your birthday popcorn.”

“It might get a bit difficult passing the box between the cars all the time,” Gold pointed out. Bae just rolled his eyes.

“Miss Belle could come and sit in our car,” he said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “She can have my seat.”

“And where would you sit?” Gold asked.

“On you,” Bae replied with a five year old’s perfect logic. “You moved your seat so there’s room now.”

Gold looked to Belle to help him out, but she was smiling that soft little smile, a cheeky little glint in her eye.

“I’d love to join you, if you’ll have me,” she said.

Gold just nodded dumbly, not quite able to believe that someone so lovely as Belle wanted to spend time with him and Bae.

“Be our guest,” he said, and proceeded to purchase a large box of popcorn and shepherd his son back towards the Cadillac. Belle produced a few bills from her purse to cover her half of the popcorn, but he shook his head. “My treat. It’s Bae’s birthday, after all.”

“Thank you, Mr Gold.” Before he could protest, she had darted in and pecked a kiss of gratitude to his cheek before taking a piece of popcorn.

They got settled comfortably in the Cadillac, the popcorn balanced between the front seats, and the film restarted. With Belle sitting right next to him, in the same car, with no barrier of metal and glass between them, Gold took in even less of the second half of the showing. She was so close that he could smell her sweet floral perfume; he could reach across and touch the creamy skin of her arm. He shook his head crossly and forced himself to focus on the screen as Robin Hood and his merry band rescued the prisoners from the castle.

Belle’s fingers brushed against his in the popcorn container and he pulled away quickly, as if he’d been stung, and he looked over at her. She was looking at him, and then down at their hands, almost touching. A shy little blush spread over her cheeks and she looked away quickly, but she did not move her hand, her fingertips still resting lightly on the popped kernels, as if she was about to pluck one up and eat it, but never making any motion. Was she perhaps inviting another touch? Very tentatively, Gold reached out with his index finger and brushed it against her pinkie. She didn’t flinch, but Gold could see the corner of her mouth turn up in a little smile. He didn’t watch any of the rest of the movie. He was mesmerised by the woman sitting beside him. She’d been a part of his life in passing for so long, ever since she came to the town and began paying rent to him, ever since she’d instilled Bae’s love of stories and adventures into him. He knew that she was beautiful, and he knew that she was kind, and he knew that she had parked up right beside him in the half-empty drive-in with no compunctions whatsoever, so he also knew that she was brave, and bold… and a lot of other things that he wasn’t. But Gold knew, fundamentally, that whatever else she was or wasn’t, she was right here in his car with him and Bae, and he was touching her, and she wasn’t flinching away, and she looked a lot like there could perhaps be something simmering between the surface.

The end of the movie came too soon, and it took a little while for Gold to realise that the screen had gone blank and that Bae was watching him with a look far too sage and knowing for a boy of his age. Reluctantly, he removed his hand from Belle’s with a little sigh.

“Were you going to stay for the second movie?” Belle asked. “It’s not too kid-unfriendly, after all, and there’s still some popcorn left.”

Gold looked around. A few cars were leaving the theatre, and a few others were arriving.

“Were you going to stay?” he asked Belle.

“I was.” She smiled. “I can understand if you don’t want to keep Bae out too much past his bedtime, though.”

“I’m not tired!” Bae said quickly, before giving a rather loud yawn. “I can stay out late. It’s my birthday!”

Gold chuckled. It was a special occasion, after all, and Bae could always sleep in the car.

“All right,” he said. “But just this once, because it’s your birthday.”

“You’re the best!” Bae hugged his father and the three of them settled down to watch the second movie.

Although there was plenty of swashbuckling and Errol Flynn in green tights, the classic live action film did not hold Bae’s attention like the cartoon had, and he soon began to yawn and fidget in Gold’s lap, eventually climbing through into the back of the car. Gold twisted in his seat, pulling the blanket he kept in the back of the car over Bae as he began to nod off fully, and Belle also turned to help tuck the birthday boy in where the angle was too awkward for Gold.

“Thank you,” he whispered as they returned their attention to the screen and the popcorn.

“It’s my pleasure. Bae’s a wonderful little boy and I love spending time with him.” Belle paused, and the shy little blush crept over her cheeks again. “And his father.”

Gold blinked a couple of times and finally realised that she must mean him. And also that she was probably waiting for a response to her statement.

“I love spending time with you, too,” he said eventually.

Belle smiled. “Maybe we could make movie night a regular thing?”

“I’d like that,” Gold said.

“Me too.”

Their fingers were touching in the popcorn container again, and Belle took the plunge, lifting his hand out of the salty kernels and interlacing her fingers with his before leaning in a little tentatively. Gold did likewise and eventually, their lips met, and both of them forgot the movie on the screen in front of them in favour of discovering each other instead. Belle’s lips tasted of salt, and Gold smiled against her mouth when she broke away.

Movie night was definitely going to happen again.

[recentanimenews]

Anime NYC 2018, Day Two

Yesterday was light to nonexistent. The same for tomorrow. But today? We had ALL THE THINGS! Starting off with the joint Kodansha and Vertical panel, which was in a nice big panel room and there was no line. A good start!

Ben Applegate was there from Kodansha and Tomo Tran from Vertical. They talked about all the giveaways they had at the booth, with Summer Wars stickers, After the Rain music download cards, Devils’ Line stuff, Pop Team Epic “shitty merchandise” (nicely done), and some of the Monogatari art exhibit being available to look at. Vertical then announced a new artbook from VOFAN, the artist for the Monogatari Series novels. This is actually a collection of his non-commercial art, so it should be far more intriguing than just another collection of stuff you’ve seen before in a larger size. It’s coming in Fall 2019.

Kodansha ran through some of their titles currently being released, including the Sailor Moon Eternal Edition, and mentioned the Sailor Moon musical is coming to NYC and DC. They then got on to new titles, though one is a collected edition: Princess Jellyfish is getting a Complete Box Set! Given at one point they weren’t sure they’d even finish the series, this is terrific news. Tales of Berseria is a three-volume series from Ichijinsha’s Comic REX, and is a fantasy title based off of a video game – I think it has an anime as well.

Fate/Grand Order gets its first manga adaptation license with the mortalis stella series, a 2-volume manga that is also Ichijinsha, from their Comic Zero Sum. I believe this stars Mash. Lastly, Kodansha is doing a new Cardcaptor Sakura edition with all the bells and whistles – hardcover, some new covers, new translation – the whole nine yards. I was a bit surprised by this, given it wasn’t too long ago that Dark Horse had re-released the series, but I’ve heard this will be worth the repurchase.

There were also two new digital announcements, coming out the first and second week of December, respectively. Red Riding Hood’s Wolf Apprentice (Akazukin no Ookami Deshi) is a Betsushonen title with Little Red Riding Hood as a beast hunter, and it’s supposed to be amusing. And on a more ridiculous note, we have Crocodile Baron, a Weekly Morning title that is three volumes long. Kodansha emphasized that the synopsis was irrelevant because there was a crocodile in a top hat on the cover. They’re not wrong.

After this there was Q&A, but I had to leave right away to get to the debut panel for Denpa Books, run by Ed Chavez (ex-Vertical) and Jacob Gray (ex-Fakku). They had special guests at the panel, though they quickly had to leave, so weren’t the focus – Range Murata, character designer for Last Exile and others, whose futurelog artbook is out next month and has ALL the bells and whistles – seriously, I could not believe how tricked out this artbook is. Hiroyuki Asada is known here for Tegami Bachi, but is putting out a more experimental title via Denpa, PEZ.

Most of the titles talked about have been mentioned before in some way or another. I was most interested in Invitation from a Crab and Maiden Railways, both of which seem to come from Hakusensha’s Rakuen Le Paradis, as well as Dining with the Emiya Family, for Fate/Stay Night fans who know what the most important thing in the Fate franchise is – FOOD.

The new titles included Super Dimensional Love Gun, a Shintaro Kago title that Fakku had previously released, but this is a nicer edition. It contains the usual Shintaro Kago warnings – if you aren’t a fan of his, you’ll likely be grossed out. Heavenly Delusion (Tengoku Daimakyou) is a brand new seinen series running in Kodansha’s Afternoon, and Denpa managed to license it before the first volume was even out in Japan. They’re super excited for it – it’s post-apocalyptic slice of life, a popular genre lately. The creator may be better known for SoreMachi. The last Denpa title was Pleasure and Corruption (Tsumi to Kai), from Square Enix’s Young Gangan. Honestly, it feels more like a Fakku title than a Denpa title, but it’s being sold to those who liked the sort of dark sexuality of Flowers of Evil. Expect BDSM themes.

After eating lunch, I had a choice: I could go to Viz, or go to Vertical’s Katanagatari panel. I chose the latter (sorry, Viz, I always seem to miss you at these events). Vertical’s panel had the translator, Sam Bett, who walked through some of the things they’re doing with the title – the footnotes, which are half gag and half serious, as well as the hardcover omnibus editions. Given its author, you can imagine how much sword wordplay and how many sword puns there are. Most of the audience has already seen the anime, but Sam was quick to note that even given the novels are short (each is approximately 100 pages in English, meaning the omnibus is 300), there is a lot the anime had to adapt or leave out.

Even leaving aside that it was Nisioisin, translating it could be difficult – these are not “light” novels, and there’s lots of obscure or archaic Japanese terms that need adapting. He also explained why he used “mutant blades” rather than “deviant blades” – he felt the latter made them sound more evil than they really should be seen. It takes him longer to do Nisio’s translation than other titles, but not a LOT longer – about 20% longer, on average. He said even a Japanese reader might find themselves reaching for a dictionary to look up words with this one.

Despite not being at the Viz panel, I will be looking at their announcements anyway, at least the manga ones. My Hero Academia SMASH! is a 5-volume comedy series that ran in Shonen Jump +, and is, as you might have guessed, a wacky 4-koma take on the popular series. This license was obvious, but I am quite pleased nevertheless. Komi Can’t Communicate (Komi-san wa Komyushou Desu) was a very popular license announcement, being a Shonen Sunday title with a lot of buzz. Komi is the cool, aloof beauty according to the school, but in reality, she’s just bad at communication.

Beastars is a Weekly Shonen Champion title (nice to see Akita Shoten stuff out over here in a (mostly) post-Tokyopop world), and it’s an award winning manga about anthropomorphic high school students. It’s 11+ volumes, and looks dark but cool. Lastly, Haikasoru has a new sci-fi novel announcement with Automatic Eve, that seems to be a steampunk title.

I was lurking waiting for Yen Press, so I checked out the GKids panel. They’re a group that puts out a lot of the “anime movie” series we’ve seen recently, the most recent varieties being Mirai and Fireworks: Shall We See It from the Side or the Bottom?. They’re also now in charge of the Ghibli line, with nice handsome DVD/Blu-Ray releases of those titles. They are clearly cery excited about getting these releases into theaters, and the trailers for the movies looked exciting and fun – I particularly liked the Miyazaki documentary.

My last panel of the day was Yen Press, but they also announced the most titles – easily. The panel room filled up rapidly, being near standing room only 15 minutes before, but I think everyone who wanted to get in was able to. Announcing for Yen were Kurt Haessler and Tania Biswas, as well as Carl, Ivan, and Anna, who sadly remained last name-less. Unlike all the other panels I went to, Yen knew it had a pile to announce, so did not do a run-through of any recent releases – through they did have some poster giveaways, including Psycome, much to my surprise.

We began with the novel of Wolf Children: Ame and Yuki. Yen had previously released the manga, but they now have the novel adaptation of this popular movie. (Anna spoiled a death when describing the plot, which Kurt mercilessly mocked her for.) Whenever Our Eyes Meet is a yuri anthology a la Eclair, but this time the protagonists are all adult women, for those who are tired of the usual high school girls. Speaking of yuri, we also have Killing Me!, a one-volume title from Comic Cune about two high school girls who are a vampire and a vampire hunter. It looks very much like a “yuri for guys” series.

Also one volume is Little Miss P (Seiri-chan), an Enterbrain series about an anthropomorphic period. As in menstruation period. The audience was taken aback, but Yen clearly really enjoyed talking about this one, and think it will be great fun. Last Round Arthurs: Scum Arthur and Heretic Merlin is a brand new fantasy title – brand new in Japan too, so there’s not much info about it. The author did Akashic Records of Bastard Magical Instructor, the artist does Index. It seems to be about an Arthurian tournament, and is two volumes to date.

On a darker note, they have both the novel and the manga for Torture Princess (Isekai Goumon Hime), whose artist has also done Black Bullet. It’s a Media Factory title and is apparently quite violent, about a man who is reincarnated in an artificial body and the demon hunter who wants his help. The German subtitle is Fremd Torturchen, and the manga runs on Kadokawa’s Comic Walker site. We also get an Enterbrain light novel called The Dirty Way to Destroy the Goddess’ Hero (Megami no Yuusha wo Taosu Gesu na Houhou). No, not that kind of dirty. The demon lord just wants to eat tasty food, but heroes keep trying to kill them. So… they summon their own hero.

Back to manga with The Monster and the Beast (Bakemono to Kedamono), a BL title from Asuka Ciel, about a nice monster and a nasty older man, and their budding relationship. Yuri Life is another yuri title, this one taken from Pixiv artist Kurikurihime, and also features two women in their late twenties, not late teens. It’s very sliec-of-yuri life. For fans of Beasts of Abigaile, we have a title from the same creator. Kaiju Girl Caramelizer (Otome Monster Caramelize) runs in my old nemesis, Comic Alive (pauses to shake fist at sky), but looks good anyway, and is about a girl who has an affliction that when she gets upset, her body parts “monsterize”.

More light novels with Bottom-Tier Character Tomozaki (Jaku Chara Tomozaki-kun), a Shogakukan title (in other words, expect print-only for this one) about a loser gamer guy who thinks the world is awful, and a winning gamer girl who shows him the “cheats” to help him succeed at life. It gets points for not being a fantasy title, I’ll say that. The artist is also pretty fly. (I’m so sorry.) Back to manga for God Shining Moonlight Howling Moon (Mahou Shoujo Flaming Star), by the creators of Trinity Seven and High School of the Dead. Given that combo, you know there will be breasts a plenty. It also runs in Bessatsu Dragon Age, which sort of clinches that, and is about a Magical Girl called upon to save the Earth… but is she one of the good guys?

The last one is another light novel, The Hero Is Overpowered But Overly Cautious (Kono Yuusha ga Ore Tueee Kuse ni Shinchou Sugiru), a fairly recent Kadokawa series. A fantasy world is in desperate straits. They need a hero. They get a really strong one… but he’s far too wary, never wanting to attack unless he knows he can win. What makes this interesting is that the book is from the POV of the goddess who summoned him, and she has to find a way to make him do what needs to be done. It’s five volumes in Japan. After that came Q&A, but honestly, let’s just move along now.

And with that, I wrapped up my second and busiest day of Anime NYC. Again, I was pretty happy. The staff was nice and knowledgeable, the crowds were large but reasonable, and I got to see everything I wanted. Tomorrow I have no panels I want to see, so will take in Artist’s Alley, and may also scope out the AMV contest.

By: Sean Gaffney

[dianamjackson]

Architectures of meaning (2016)

In the thick of a summer night, as I sat lamenting my lack of motivation for the study of hydraulic systems in plants, a message comes from the deep: "Sorry for my late response, I tried to kill myself but was stopped by the police." It was one of those rare times in life when the coal face of death rushes to meet you at full speed, and every cell in your body becomes armed. Dying for ideals. For ideas. For immaterial thoughts and principles. Fancy it! Extinguishing one's total self for mere chimerical fantasies; mere fleeting breezes. I was in Chris Cordner's class the day he talked about taking one's life into one's own hands: the lesser part (your thoughts, convictions, volition) ought not make decisions on behalf of the greater (your entire being; your ecologically embedded organism). Your imaginings, your principles, your values -- however crystalline and clear to you -- cannot make a decision about your existence. Why? Because a pawn does not make decisions for the king. Consciousness is only the tip of the great iceberg of being. Existence precedes essence, said Sartre, which means that you exist -- and inexplicably so -- before you have crafted a reason to do so. The problem is that we do indeed seem to live for our ideals. As seen in Eric Maisel, it is the absence of meaning that drives people to depression (at least those for whom meaning is important and worthy of investigation). We live for our ideals: for truth, justice, beauty, inspiration, love. Few things compare to when I'm drawing and playing music, at peace: the experience is a fleeting, cherished coherence. When incomprehensible injustices occur, especially to those closest to us, it seems that meaning is taken away, denigrated, insulted. God's mask is pulled away to reveal a remorseless, expressionless face. But a la Frankl, in these situations, I try to recall that, yes, in this same universe I did once sit in my room and draw listening to music. That also happened. It seems to me that a tightrope must be walked between the lack of obvious meaning and the meaning we've agreed to make, whether individually or as groups. But made meaning seems a bit thin; too contingent somehow. "I live for my art" or "I live for my children" or "I live for this social justice cause" or "I live to advance science" or "I live for my lover." Once a Christian told me that the heathen error is to make Gods of things other than God. At the time I immediately rejected this because art was my god at the time, and I didn't like his denominational, anthropomorphic, book-bound religiosity. There is nothing wrong with devoting oneself to a particular cause; the problem comes when life is devoid of meaning without that cause. If you paint, you need to think of where meaning will come from if you go blind. If you play piano, you need to think of what you will do if you go deaf. If you do not, the loss of meaning might be too great to bear. As per Maisel, don't put all your 'meaning eggs' in the same basket, and visit also the places where the unthinkable things hold. Dip your toe into that dark water, then come back, refreshed and even more full of gratitude for the things you do still have. Organising thoughts into architectures of meaning, if they are inflexible, are death traps. As soon as you come to a point where you think you know how things are, or how they will be, you are priming yourself for disappointment, pain and grief. I try to dispense with architectures; try live on an unknowable flux that is punctuated by fleeting droplets of coherence. This is exactly as in Buddhism, where the yin-yang represents chaos and harmony, and in each there is a droplet of the other. We walk a tightrope between chaos and order, constantly. It is hard to entertain the possibility that the one you choose to marry may betray you one day. But in choosing to get married, you are choosing to create an architecture of logic and meaning into which that other person may or may not fit. I am wary of caging people in this way, because it seems at odds with reality, which is in constant flux. If I love someone, I want to love them, not the architecture I've built for them. (As to how this is achieved in practice is another matter!) My friend built a rigid architecture of trust and love but set it on unsteady ground -- and both were betrayed. Of course, there are degrees of moral strength and character, which I may explore in another entry. The lack of obvious meaning is open and can be freeing. The study of biology has significantly assuaged my inclination to melancholy. Some plants have bacteria in their roots that fix nitrogen. This is an adaptation to living in nitrogen-poor soils, as is often the case in Australia. The plants had a problem, and they, over millennia, came up with a solution. (Of course, many plants died of malnutrition in this long process: the casualties that make evolution possible are not spoken of often enough). If I go to one of these plants and look at their roots, I will see the bacteria busily converting atmospheric nitrogen to a form the plants can use. Do they stop to consider questions of meaning? Do they off themselves because their lover betrayed them? Do they care how they look without clothes? As far as we know, they do not. They just fix nitrogen. Because we are far more complex than bacteria, we do many more things besides convert atmospheric gases to compounds we can use metabolically. We do so many things simultaneously that is it quite incomprehensible. My body is doing everything it can to keep me alive, and the control centre, thinking about logic and ideals, is going to sabotage the whole ship? I am inclined to think that the body which came into existence without my consent or choice can only leave in the same way. I was thrown into the world unconsulted, and so I will be thrown out. I am left to the ebb and the flow, the rhythm of the tides. Chaos can be exciting, and generative. It is suspenseful and interesting; a boon to the curious, and to those who see and expect complexity everywhere. I like to dwell in a place of unknowing; graze on the lower slopes of my own ignorance. Or as Bill Hicks said, "It's just a ride." Sit tight in the side car and ride. Breathe in deep the petrichor on summer evenings, and lay under trees showering komorebi. Think on those you love, or used to know. Knead bread and touch stones. Seek to self-actualise, however ploddingly. When you are sick, experience fully that sickness. Keep fixing nitrogen, come yin or come yang... © Diana Szabo 2016.

[canvaswolfdoll]

CanvasWatches: Haibane-Renmei

Should I start doing the (Re)Watches thing again, or is that a superfluous detail? On one hand, it provides information that it’s a review not based on my very first impressions, but on the other, is it really necessary?

Anyways, I rewatched Haibane-Renmei. I like it? It’s… it’s a nice little thing. Arty, imaginative, and dark without being outright pretentious about it. Class act. You should go watch it.

Seriously, it’s the type of show that… well, it doesn’t live or die by being unspoiled, but it’d be difficult to discuss without both participants having the context of seeing it. It’s one of those shows that’s more about aesthetic and tone than actual story.

It’s on Funimation at least, and I’m not even being sponsored to carefully, yet firmly shove you in it’s general direction! I just really like dubs and want to support them.[1] Also, it’s on Youtube, legally.

Go watch it. I’ll wait for you. After the page break.

So, one of the lessons one should study from the show is world building by suggestion instead of explicit dialogue. The show is a rare example of pretty much the entire cast knowing very little about what’s up with the fantastical elements, and those who might know something aren’t talking.

Heck, the guys likely to know something use a sign language just to avoid people requesting exposition. The jerks.

As a consequence of this, based on the piece by itself, I can’t conclusively tell you what The Deal with everything is, merely speculate based on imagery and random details.

I mean, the Haibane have a lot of Angel Imagery about them, and they’re… hatched? Born knowing how to walk and talk, and though they have no memory, and yet, based on Rakka’s experience, they feel as if they should remember something, but come up blank.

So I think it’s probably a purgatory thing, much like Angel Beats! wherein the residents have emotional baggage holding them back.

Except the Haibane don’t remember what traumas they might have, so it might be a more inner peace sort of thing?

I could also be totally off base, which is also exciting.

It’s that very aspect that makes this an important lesson: Haibane-Renmei works with being vague about its world because that’s what the story calls for. Other narratives, where you can’t take the fantastical elements with casualness, require exposition.

Basically, Haibane-Renmei is a benchmark for one end of the exposition scale. Stare at it, and hopefully I can find it’s partner at the other end.[2]

There are things about the world you can deduce and interpret, and admittedly ascribe. Ultimately, it doesn’t matter too much, as the actual central narrative is first about Rakka learning about the world she’s suddenly born into, then Reki overcoming her internal struggles with the help of Rakka.

Which is probably a metaphor about depression.

Look, I’ve always held the philosophy of ‘It’s nothing without a good surface story’ and despise when media tries to push vaguely defined symbolism and “Hidden Meaning” as the focus. If I can’t understand it on a first viewing, you have failed.

Haibane-Renmei does that correctly. On the first viewing, I had lingering curiosities, but I was mostly invested in exploring the world and solving what Reki’s big problem is.

And, now that I know those things, I am willing and able to enjoy a second viewing where I can analyze whatever bizarre elements are in the borders, because the creator put in the work of making a strong focal story that isn’t desperate to discard Unworthy Viewers.

Someone I’m particularly drawn to is The Communicator, who is sort of community leader for the Haibane, and thus the person probably most informed by what is going on, but at the same time is of the ‘vague lessons’ school that The Sphinx satirized.

He’s what the professor of a story analysis class I accidentally[4] took might call ‘The System Character’: a character that represents a system the protagonist is (supposedly) fighting against.[5]

The Communicator’s actually a very compassionate but reserved man, who clearly cares for his charges while trying to remain emotionally distant from these beings who, by their very nature, are destined to leave. He is the chief executor of the laws and customs that govern the Haibane, but will allow them to be broken or stretched whenever they’d be hindering. For example, he’s notably lax about Haibane speaking within the temple, which is supposedly forbidden, and eventually gives Rakka a job maintaining the structure Haibane must never touch.

And I think that’s because, over the last five years, The Communicator has realized that being overly restrictive may have doomed Reki, and built a divide that makes him incapable of helping her.

So, now, he needs to use Rakka to save the artist’s soul, but mindfully so as not to accidentally condemn Rakka. It’s subtle, but The Communicator keeps a close tab on at least Old Home and its going-ons, and when the more naive Rakka begins going through the same struggles as Reki is suffering, The Communicator identifies how Reki’s found a kindred spirit, and now can teach and help this New Feather, then aim her to help the Haibane he fears he’s going to lose.

It’s also implied that he, too, has failed to take flight, and wishes the pain of this failure on no one.

Then again, this might be things I’m just ascribing. But it doesn’t matter, because that’s not the point of the show. Its point is to bring the viewer into a new world and tell a pleasant story within it.

I’ve always had an odd fascination with Death Mythology stories. From Anthropomorphic Personifications to what comes after, if you make Death a character or show me what comes next (even just portionally) you’ll have my attention.[7] And it shouldn’t be surprising, since death’s such a scary thing that looms over everyone, with some many unknowable questions, that of course humanity would try to answer these questions.

And Purgatories are bizarrely compelling because the implied existence of a transition world, where you go from an impermanent life to an equally impermanent realm. Heck, Dante’s own depiction portrayed it as climbing a mountain as you overcome your sins before finally being granted access to Paradise.[8] To go through the trial of life, only to find yourself before yet another trial is fascinating.

And the town of Haibane Renmei, Glie, is fascinating as far as Purgatories go, since not only can you die there conventionally, but there’s assumably mortal humans residing there, working jobs, living life, having babies, but also all forbidden from exiting the walls that surround the town, which explicitly has an outside world that is travelled by nomads known as Togas (who might be failed Haibane).

It’s also stated, explicitly, that Haibane that fail to take their day of flight will lose their halo and wings, and will grow old and die.

What does it mean to die in the afterlife? Where do you go? And what are the townspeople? Are they also deceased, but following a different path to salvation? Or are they mortals, and Glie is somewhere in the real world, like Baum’s Oz?

These are the sorts of Death World-building questions that excite me, and don’t have answers or are particularly addressed, and I’m not dissatisfied about that. Partly because, again, there’s a focal narrative, and partially because I appreciate having world elements just because that’s how the creator wants it to be, without any meaning behind it.

It’s okay to just have blue curtains.

Still, this is an Anime about Death and Depression, even if no one says so on screen.

We witness two characters pass on and go beyond the wall, and depression wreck our protagonists.

Kuu’s Day of Flight is viewed by most as good and right, and they move on. Rakka, of course, wasn’t properly informed about it, so was taken by surprise and fell into depression.

But the actions Kuu takes leading up to it…

So, I’m not a medical practitioner, and I’m not sure if I suffer (or have suffered) depression, so I’m basing this next bit of analysis on the word of mouth information that gets passed around. However…

Kuu’s shown to be upbeat as she goes about, tying up loose ends, granting vague good-byes to others in her life, and gives away her possessions (highlighted by Kuu giving her favorite coat to Rakka). While the upbeat personality didn’t come suddenly, this is still frightfully similar to suicide warning signs you’re supposed to keep an eye out for. This is the healthy “Death” of the series.

I’m sure the similarities were accidental, but it’s still intriguing.

In contrast, there’s Reki’s depression and suicide attempt.

The lead up shows her being more isolating, moving out of what was once her room and into her studio, where she desperately paints, trying to remember her cocoon dream, and no one but Rakka takes much notice, as only Rakka and Nemu know about Reki being sin-bound, and Rakka’s the only one to go through it personally.[9]

The sequence and final episode is emotional. Even as Reki prepares to be crushed by her train, she doesn’t really want to leave, and she even identifies what she needs to do to get out of it (ask for help), but still finds herself unable. Even when Rakka arrives to try and help, presenting Reki with her true name, Reki still rejects it (probably not helped by the fact that the Communicator’s first story amounts to ‘Well, your lot is to end in pain. Shrug Ascii.’) and Reki says things she knows will hurt Rakka, things that Reki tells her are true, that Reki never cared for Rakka, she just needed someone for one last attempt at being normal.

And so, Rakka leaves, and finds Reki’s diary to confirm that, no, Reki’s not actually that self-serving, and the depressed artist does still care.

So, Rakka returns, but it’s nearing too late, and Rakka is unable to help until, finally, moments before the end, Reki finally asks for help.

And gets it. So that’s nice.

However, Reki still leaves that same night, narrated by the Communicator’s revised story, as Reki’s True Name has changed to what she’d been using the whole time.

Because Reki, by putting on a mask and going through the motions for selfish reasons, was still doing good for others and living life. She kept trying, and eventually she ceased being her true self and was absorbed into her mask, which was also happened to be a healthier person.

Really, the one change I’d make is to delay Reki’s day of flight by at least a couple days, let the girl finally enjoy sunlight unhampered, and go around making amends for the wrongs she did and the wongs she received.

Have her meet with the Communicator first, both of them seeking repentance from the other, then have the Communicator tell his revised story over images of Reki returning to Abandoned Factory and making amends, playing with young feathers at Old Home, spending some time with Nemu, then a few scenes of her closing loose ends like Kuu before taking her day of flight.

I just didn’t like Reki surviving her suicide attempt, only to die that night anyways. I know life’s like that, but I think we could allow a little more fantasy in our town inhabited by angels.

I wish I could transition through my flippant ‘well, I could be wrong, art’s mysterious’ but I hate that mentality. I try to be open to being wrong and corrected, but I don’t like being indifferent, and I’m always annoyed by artists that embrace Death of the Author. It’s your work, your art, your creation. It has a part of you in it, that’s how art is created. You have authority over your story, don’t shrug that off. Embrace it.

Which… I think Haibane-Renmei doesn’t do that. Obviously, there’s a translation barrier, and I’m going off of TV Tropes, but when ABe (sic) says he’s keeping explanations vague to allow viewer interpretation, it feels less flippant than… cuss it, I’m naming names… less like Adventure Zone (Balance Arc) and Runewriters,[10] which have more concrete worlds and tones more towards telling a complete story, yet the creators have gone on record saying any peripheral material they produce or say has the same weight as any fan theory made by the audience.[11]

Haibane-Renmei, as a story and a piece of art, thrives off those vagueties. Rakka’s not sure exactly what’s going on, because her fellows are also working off an incomplete picture, because no one’s given a complete portrait. As such, the viewers are also kept unsure, because that’s what our viewpoint character is always feeling.

It’s set in a town literally closed off from the rest of the world, whatever that world is, because no one is allowed past those walls.

ABe gets to be vague because revealing concrete details would make this particular art weaker.

The work earned it.

I… really should do an essay on Death of the Author, and its use by modern critics and artists. Because I so hate it.

Well… that was my Rewatch of Haibane-Renmei, and harsh criticism of two Literary Criticism theories.

I really love this series. It’s an anime I think everyone should see, for it’s message and artistry.

I’d be happy to hear your thoughts or questions, because I like going off on weird tangents. Maybe, while you’re here, consider checking out my other works, and if you like what I’m doing, I’ve got a Patreon. Local businesses won’t accept the pages out of my notebooks as payment, after all.

Kataal kataal.

[1] Then again, Funimation, if you’d like to… the My Hero Academica Review got, like, three notes! Eh? [2] Needs to be exposition heavy, but still narratively satisfying.[3] [3] I hope it’s not Tolkien. I hate Tolkien. [4] I thought I was signing up for a storytelling class. But, no, it was an ego stroking class on the teacher’s personal analysis method, that was ultimately horribly reductionist. The useful stuff can be found on TV Tropes (better executed) and the rest was chaft. Lady literally thought she could graph comedy, and was too proud to play Pac-Man. [5] The fact that Rakka happily works within the system, and Reki’s problems spawn from rebelling is a good example why the professor of Footnote 4 is wrong.[6] [6] I have a lot of lingering resentment, and must now try not to spend this review tearing apart an unknown literary theory. [7] Though you still have to keep it. Watched an amount of Soul Eater while I was home sick from school, but I feel no draw to return to it. [8] I strongly recommend Overly Sarcastic Productions video on Purgatorio for those interested in finding out about The Divine Comedy’s Empire without actually reading it. [9] Also, they take medicine to hide the signs, though the black wings still remain. [10] Sorry, Shazzbaa. We cool? [11] Any further thoughts probably deserve an essay onto itself.

[firstjustgoin]

An extreme act

7. Start with an act of extreme love or extreme hatred (or both).

Naome had never wanted him to die, not really. Yet here she sat in the kitchen of their shared home –– the walls a shade of pale yellow she abhorred, surrounded by casseroles and pies that only he would have found edible. At least the people were gone now. She hated how they doted upon her, wore their faces and bodies slack like an affectation of sadness. They arrived in a sea of black –– her favorite color, never his –– and she knew then that the wave of their protracted pain would wear away at her for months, even years to come, like a boulder against the ocean.

“Can I get you anything?” A mutual friend of theirs from college asked, his eyes darting from one tupperware to the next, his fingers desperate to be needed for something, anything at all. She said nothing. She did not feel the need to alleviate any of his “living” guilt. He quickly skulked away, perhaps thinking about how much more graceful under grief Leo would have been.

An aunt, the black bow upon her hat as audacious as her conversation topics, approached her next. “Oh you poor darling, sweetheart. I cannot imagine how you must feel right now.” If Naome was still writing, this moment would have felt ripe for character development. How helpless acquaintances feel in the face of another’s grief! We are prepared for so much by good socialization, but rarely this. So we frantically arrange plates of charcuterie and cheeses, dust bookshelves, offer up inoffensive condolences with the hope of being remembered as one of the good grievers. She would not give any of these people the satisfaction of succeeding at this. If she could be a horrible widow, and an even worse wife, they could all feel like fuck-ups at funerals.

Now that the troops had retreated, leaving behind only whispers of upcoming lasagna drops offs and walk-around-the-block dates, Naome could spend the requisite hours appreciating the full scope of the dark humor of her current situation. She loved dark humor: a quality that Leo professed to love about her, but never fully understood. She cackled during horror movies and stayed up late reading websites about the goriest serial killings. Her favorite joke was about a man trying to find a book about committing suicide at the library and the librarian telling him to fuck off since he would never return it. 

There were many qualities about Naome that Leo claimed to love. But each one of them mystified her. Leo brought home fresh-cut daffodils for her every Wednesday of their first year of marriage because he said that they brightened the room just like Naome brightened his life. What a load of bullshit. Leo kissed her hand before he fell asleep and texted her the mornings after they had sex to thank her.

He wasn’t perfect, no, and she wasn’t the kind of person to romanticize things from her past but even Naome couldn’t find anything to laugh about now. For Naome had a secret –– one that pulsed inside her gut, buzzed through her fingers, seethed in her skull. Nearly every moment they had spent together of the last six years of marriage and four years of dating prior –– every Sunday night they cuddled on their shared couch watching political docu-dramas, every time they had sex (usually no more than once a week) and he whispered you like that? You like that, baby, every night when she came home from work full of righteous anger about yet another injustice –– Naome had wished her dear husband would just die, that perhaps it would make things a whole lot easier than having to break his heart and get divorced.

And now Leo, her dear husband, was dead. So far, it had not been easier.

*** (some things should probably go here) ***

Day eight of widowhood arrived with a hailstorm. Ice fell from the sky in the thick, chaotic clumps. Naome had started to get her appetite back and was working her way through Leo’s Aunt Caroline’s chocolate chess pie, when the doorbell rang. The sound echoed through the entryway, muffled slightly by the piles of clothes and towels littering every flat surface in the house.

Strange, Naome thought as she consulted the calendar hanging on the fridge, there’s no one scheduled for this morning. A group of neighbors had banded together to force themselves into her self-imposed solitude. Becky, or a woman by a similarly grating name, had organized the junta.

On Mondays, Next-Door-Widow would bring by three tupperwares of homemade soups, of various flavors and styles. Nothing spicy, Next-Door-Widow promised, because she remembered when she lost her husband, her stomach somersaulted for months and couldn’t keep down the spice.

On Thursdays, Mr. and Mrs. 241 Hamstead Drive and their corgi would pop by and ask if she would like to take a walk with them after dinner. “No pressure,” 241 Hamstead quipped, when they knocked on her door last Thursday, “but you’d be amazed at what a little movement can do for your body in moments like these.” Amazed, indeed. Naome planned on answering the door in a leg brace next Thursday.

Friday was Becky’s day and she took her responsibilities as head of the Let’s-make-sure-Naome-doesn’t-kill-herself committee very seriously. Last Friday, although Naome turned off all of the lights and hid with a bottle of Merlot in her closet until Becky stopped ringing the door, she found a frosted three-layer cake on her front porch when she ventured outside. She thought of many evil things she could do with that cake, including writing Fuck off on it in pink icing and returning it to Becky’s house, but honestly wasn’t even sure which of the cream-colored split levels she lived in.

But today was Sunday and there was no agenda for anyone to come by on Sundays; Naome’s cold grief was too extensive to let it infect the Lord’s Day for anyone on the neighborhood coalition. She strongly considered not answering the door, but the lights were on in the hallway and she didn’t feel like having to explain herself later on when confronted.

When she opened the door, a girl, probably not older than fifteen, stood before her with the knees torn out of her jeans and a sweatshirt that screamed NOT TODAY in neon green lettering.

Naome first considered asking her where she had gotten that sweatshirt, but instead just cocked her head to the side, narrowed her eyes (puffy from lack of sleep, not crying) and said, “Yes?” Barely a question, something that might have scared off Next-Door-Widow but not a punk teenager like this. One-word sentences are the quotidian language of a punk teenager.

“Hey. Um, I’m Jackie. I, uh, go to school at Franklin? I was in your, in Leo, I mean Mr. Cheever’s class. I was in the room when he…” The periphery of Naome’s eyes went fuzzy so it looked like the girl was hovering in mid-air before her. As the adult, she knew that she was responsible for rescuing Jackie from this traumatizing sentence, but she could only wait, needing the confirmation that that was indeed where Jackie was headed. “So, yeah, I was in the room when your husband had the, well, when he died. I was there.”

Naome was always fascinated by Leo’s teaching career. He was such a bleeding heart (a turn of phrase perhaps made less appropriate by his recent heart attack). That thought almost brought a smile to her face. What a weak, bleeding heart. Leo began teaching less than two years ago, in a pre-midlife crisis of conscience. He had always been a lover of history –– how trends and movements transformed and changed shape over centuries, that whispers of a world war or bloody coup could be traced back to a moment from the long past, like an anthropomorphic butterfly effect. But loving history and teaching history to tenth graders are two very different skillsets. She didn’t understand someone’s compulsion to do good being so strong that you would choose to leave a cushy data analysis job to shut down spitball attacks while imparting teenagers with the facts of the Red Scare.

Standing on the threshold of her home with fifteen-year-old Jackie quivering in front of her, Naome knew that she should act maternally. But she was frozen in place, examining the person who last saw her husband as a living, breathing, human being with functioning organs and pink skin. She did not invite her in or offer her a cup of tea or ask how she was feeling. She was not Becky; her job was not to ensure that everyone around her felt emotionally comforted. How dare this girl come here seeking support for witnessing her husband’s death?

“Mrs. Cheever?” Jackie’s voice, suddenly more forceful and clear than before, cut through Naome’s hot rage. “Mrs. Cheever, I’m sorry to come here like this. I know this is weird, or whatever, for me to be here. But I just wanted you to know that I know. I know you wanted Mr. Cheever to die.”