#and the right center photo! i have no explanation for including that one beyond it feeling like graytham to me

[seoulmatez]

𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓎𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓂 : gray x alhaitham

some find beauty in sumeru's landscape — its sprawling rainforests, its unique fauna. others find beauty in its emerging art scene — performances put on at the zubayr theater. alhaitham finds beauty in one person alone, his gray.

for @dilucs ♡

[beauregardlionett]

between the flashes

AO3 Link

Beau was always restless.

In elementary school, her teachers gave her one of those rubber wiggle cushions to sit on, just to keep her in her seat. Her parents let her partake in multiple after-school sports because it meant she would come home already worn out. They wouldn’t have to deal with her energy, and it looked good on college applications later down the line. She had a borderline obscene collection of fidget toys to her name and too many hobbies that she picked up and abandoned when they bored her.

Her friend Caleb from college often commented that he thought her natural state of existence was pure movement.

So how she ended up working part time as a model was beyond Beau. The journey from point A to B became muddled, but it likely began with Beau picking it up as a hobby and then forgetting to put it down again.

Granted, modeling was not a static thing. It involved constantly changing poses, making minute adjustments according to direction or impulse, and sometimes even changing or manipulating outfits. Sitting for hair and makeup was a torturous experience, so Beau had of course learned how to do it on her own. At least it kept her hands in motion.

Whenever she got to do dynamic shoots, Beau remembered why she stuck with modeling this long. They included everything she loved about the gig. Sometimes she got to travel, most of them were outside, and they often involved skills she had picked up from all of those sports she used to partake in.

“Beau,” Yasha called from behind the camera, sounding fondly exasperated. “I know you want to get outside, but you have to hold still for this photo.”

Yasha was an up-and-coming photographer that The Rexxentrum Times had described as “a photographer with a stunningly robust portfolio capturing everything from the playful mundane to the shockingly vulnerable”. She was also, more importantly, Beau’s girlfriend.

To most everyone’s surprise, it was Yasha who had approached Beau first, asking with her trademark quiet hesitance if Beau would model for a shoot. At the time Yasha asked, she was fresh out of college and Beau was two years in and changing her major. She had volunteered to model for an art class that Yasha had been in before her graduation. Apparently she’d made an impression.

The impulsive part of Beau told Yasha yes simply because she found Yasha attractive. The intelligent part of Beau bolstered the continuation of their business partnership after seeing the products of that first shoot.

Falling in love between the flashes had been an inevitable and welcome consequence.

“But babe,” Beau whined, adjusting her pose per Yasha’s patient direction. “I need to run around.”

“We’re almost done, Beau,” Yasha chuckled as she adjusted the light off to the side. “Then I’ll set you loose in a field in an outfit you can get as dirty as you’d like.”

“Fuck yes!” Beau cheered, settling into the nuances of her pose when Yasha stepped back behind the camera. A few snaps and quiet instructions later, Yasha straightened up, clicking through the photos on her display and smiling. It was that tiny, secret and pleased little spread of Yasha’s lips accompanied by an uptick at the corner of her mouth. Beau learned it was an unconscious reaction to her own work when she analyzed the satisfying, finer details.

Eager to see the raw photos, Beau bounded over and draped herself over Yasha’s back, arms flopping over her shoulders.

The concept for Yasha’s latest round of photos centered on flowers - their meaning, depiction, stereotypes and misconceptions. There was some implication among the stills about the flowers being the person, but art had always been beyond Beau. She could appreciate it, sure; all that deeper meaning stuff she would rather listen to Yasha wax poetic about than figure it out herself.

But this photo, this last pose, Beau needed no explanation. Despite being the one in the photo, she hardly recognized herself, feeling breathless.

Beau was in dark red cigarette pants and a deep crimson top. The sleeveless illusion neckline that fastened with a high collar around Beau’s neck offset the fitted sweetheart bodice. There were fake rubies in her ears, her features accentuated by the red eyeshadow on her lids, and the deepest red matte lipstick Beau owned. Yasha had her barefoot and sprawled sideways on an antique chaise lounge, leaning against the raised end with her cheek against her arm. Her hair hung loose, barely styled more than brushing out the waves and crimps from having her hair up in a bun most of the day. It hung over the arm of the lounge, long and dark.

In one hand, dangling toward the floor, Beau held a fistful of red rose petals, more scattered over the floor and the chaise. Between her teeth, she bit down on the blunt stem of a red rose in bloom, making it seem as if the flower was growing from her tongue.

Yasha had told her to go for something like desire with her expression. Everything about the setup of this photo seemed to expect some derivative of sexual interpretation. But Yasha wanted to take that capitalistic view point and have Beau model love - unadulterated affection.

The pose and staging were not what took Beau’s breath away, not the make-up or the flowers, the clothes or the composure. It was her own godsdamned eyes.

She looked right at the camera, but her focus seemed fixated past the lense. The skin around the corners of her eyes was smooth, her brow relaxed. There was a light in her irises, deep and yet affectionate. It softened the rough edges of how Beau presented herself as a model, as a person, and transformed her into love.

Without a doubt, she was looking at Yasha.

“This is beautiful, Beau,” Yasha said, sounding awed. “You look perfect.”

“All thanks to you,” Beau replied, both genuine and attempting to duck praise she still struggled to accept.

Yasha, ever attuned to each of Beau’s fluctuating frequencies, beamed at her. They leaned in together to observe the display, shoulder to shoulder.

“I assume you’re ready to go run in a field now, right?” Yasha was clearly trying to sound cheeky. Her tone, however, was a little too breathy, eyes far too distracted by Beau’s dark red lips to succeed.

“Absolutely,” Beau murmured. It was hard to miss how close their noses were to brushing.

Yasha hummed in response, leaning a little further toward Beau.

Suddenly, this all seemed like a lot.

Beau loved Yasha - in a whole and all-encompassing way. But it wasn’t something she just said every day. It was a gentle, ever present simmer of a thing. Love lived in her chest and made itself known in minuscule ways. She felt it like a tingle in her fingertips when she and Yasha traded coffee creamer and jam jars as they made breakfast. Love shaped her smile in a million different degrees whenever Yasha did something extremely...Yasha. It released her most honest form of laughter late at night when it was just the two of them and a bottle of wine.

Love appeared as wildflowers picked on a whim - not intentional roses. It lingered like Yasha’s favorite band t-shirt from high school Beau now had as part of her own wardrobe - not slimming pants and sexy shirts.

And while their first kiss had been the product of a dramatic build-up of emotion and pining, this was not them now. She trusted Yasha, but this unexpected snapshot of vulnerability destabilized Beau and found her unprepared for the aftershocks.

Beau was impulsive when overwhelmed.

Yasha leaned in for a kiss, lips parted just so, eyes closed, a breath away. Beau puckered her lips and blew a quick burst of air right against Yasha’s mouth.

Yasha pulled back sharply, blinking in surprise as she stared down at Beau. Unable to help it, Beau laughed at the expression on Yasha’s face, who was quick to recover, more than used to Beau’s antics. Grinning, she made a grab for Beau, who danced out of Yasha’s reach, laughing louder as she squealed and darted around the studio.

Beau moved fast, but Yasha was right on her heels and had strength and impressive reach working for her. It didn’t take long for her to catch Beau by the waist, twirling her around in a back hug. She used their position to her advantage, peppering quick, tickling kisses over Beau’s shoulders and neck. Beau squirmed and giggled, trying to either wriggle to freedom or twist around in Yasha’s arms so that she could fight back with kisses of her own. Eventually, breathless, Beau gave up and let Yasha hold her, both drunk off of laughter as Yasha put her down.

Twisting around once her feet met the floor, Beau looked up at Yasha, cheeks aching with her grin. There was nothing but absolute adoration shaping Yasha’s expression as she brushed Beau’s hair back from her face. Something vulnerable gave a mild twist beneath Beau’s ribs, but she didn’t pull away or stop smiling.

She trusted Yasha. Now that Beau had her balance, her feet stable beneath her, it became easier to face everything.

Yasha leaned in and kissed Beau’s brow with gentle attention. Beau clung to Yasha’s wrist where she cradled Beau’s cheek.

“Thank you,” Beau whispered - for what, even she didn’t know. But Yasha seemed to understand.

“Now,” Yasha said, pulling back with a grin. “Ready to go outside?”

“Hell yeah!” Beau cheered, darting off to gather her next outfit and make-up wipes.

She might not always have the wherewithal to put her emotions into words, but she had Yasha. That was more than enough.

[calpops]

falling facade | c.h.

part two: falling freedom

part one: falling flowers

5k words

Copyright 2020 calpops. All rights reserved. This original work is not allowed to be reposted by anyone else on any platform in any format (translations included). 

<< >>

The previous night was an alcohol induced blur; stiff muscles and a throbbing headache woke Calum. The curtains were pulled shut but a gap in the fabric let a strip of sunlight filter through and shoot extra flares of pain through his head. He stumbled out of bed; the sheets scratchy and unlike the Egyptian cotton that adorned his mattress at home. He took a moment to collect himself, to note the state he was in. Wearing only an undershirt and boxers. Something typical of any night. If the world would just stop spinning for a moment he knew he could figure this out. His clothes laid on the floor just past the foot of the bed and pieces of last night came back to him. A discarded suit jacket laid in a heap and songs that led down the aisle and accompanied first dances filtered through his hazy thoughts. The wedding.

He reached down, felt the dampness of the fabric and furrowed his brows. It only made him more confused for a moment; until flashes of dim light and secretive whispers led him back to a pool. He turned, seeing the red silk dress just inches from his clothes. His heart hammered, too scared to put that piece of the puzzle together. He tried not to think about it, to push it away but a lingering feeling of something unsettling forced him to turn back to the bed. To find another within the sheets. His heart leapt, throat closing in with a wildfire of heat threatening to suffocate him.

It all came back from just one look at his best friend’s sister bundled under the covers. Michael’s sister shifted, a slight groan freezing Calum in his newfound trepidation. Locking in memories he knew he could never tell. Hoped that she would keep as secrets as well. When Arden rolled to her other side and seemingly fell back into sleep Calum let out a breath he wasn’t aware he had been holding and drowned in the memories of just hours ago. Drowning in moments of fingertips lingering and lips brushing against each other, in the sway of their bodies as they danced and fallen flowers they had walked away from.

Calum broke from the reverie of the memories flooding him, only long enough to notice the yellow stain contrasting against red silk and fall back on his heels, stumbling to the chair in the corner and dipping his head in his hands. His heart pounded as he tried to ground himself into the moment and confusing reality  in the hotel room, Arden was still under the covers and Calum still sat motionless in the chair pushed into the corner. The room was quiet save for the even breathing of Arden and Calum’s heart beating so hard he could hear it in his ears. He was flushed and warm, cheeks burning as the rest of the night started piecing together. The yellow stain on her dress, the secret between them and the chlorinated scent that lingered on damp clothes.

He rubbed at his temples, willing the hangover headache to just go away. He couldn’t remember how much they drank but he knew they’d blown past the proposed two drinks at the open bar and meandered their way out of the wedding and to a filthy pub. Arden sighed in her sleep and Calum shot his head up to look at her. Her hair was splashed across the pillow and the red lip stain was faded. Calum’s fingers touched his lips; remembering the taste of sugar and then chlorine. He started making sense of it; pulling back the moment of spilling some horrible and greasy “food” on her dress and drunken giggles deciding it didn’t matter. Stumbling their way back to the hotel and huge eyes casted at the door to the pool. Running in as quietly as possible and jumping in with clothes still on—thinking maybe that would get rid of the stain. Calum could almost feel the breath ripped from his lungs as he plunged under, could hear her laughter echoing around the empty room and the sobering shh that followed it so they wouldn’t get caught.

He pinned his eyes on her, still quiet under the sheets. Her arm came out from under the covers, hands clutching the comforter and a glint on her finger stalling Calum’s heart beat and air supply. Her eyes fluttered open for a moment and her lips pouted.

“Arden, what did we do last night?” Calum managed to ask barely above a whisper. Surprisingly Arden heard and her eyes opened again.

“Went to a wedding,” she said—nothing about the situation alarming to her. Not the headache he was sure she must have, not his presence in what he now knew to be her hotel room. “Drank too much.”

In a broken attempt at an explanation of his confusion Calum swallowed a lump in his throat and forced words out. “Look at your hand.”

Arden, with tired eyes and languid movements brought her hand to her face to inspect. Her arm dropped.

“We also robbed an old lady for her ugly jewelry, apparently.”

It took two seconds for the joke to die and reality to set in. Arden sprang up, the sheets falling and pooling around her hips until they both realized she was only in a bra. She quickly covered herself and stared at the ring on her finger. She shook her head frantically as if trying to convince herself.

“We didn’t, no way,” she let out in a disbelieving whisper.

Calum got up and stumbled to his phone, holding onto a thin hope that there may be photographic evidence or a lack thereof to quell the fears rising in him. It was dead and the case was cracked. He threw it to the floor in disappointment and jumped when the hotel phone rang. He turned to look at Arden who glared at the phone and timidly reached over to answer it.

She couldn’t even get out a hello before Calum heard Michael’s muffled voice yelling on the other side. Arden flinched, dropped her head and the corded phone to the bed; still able to hear Michael’s spiel. Calum picked up key words. What and stupid and even strung an entire sentence together; management isn’t happy. Calum’s heart sank as Arden wrapped the sheet around herself and climbed out of bed to wobble over to her own phone laid face down on the entertainment center. Michael was still reeling on the phone and Calum took it upon himself to move to it and try to calm the storm.

“Michael, hey, Michael!” Calum snapped, finally getting his best friend to shut up. “What did we do?”

A moment of pause ensued before a disbelieving huff and shriek came from Michael. “You don’t even know?”

Arden’s phone seemed to have some life left as she went to Calum’s side and showed him the screen. Instagram was loading, the photo still gray but the caption attached to a post he made sent shockwaves through him.

She said yes. Followed by the date, a bouquet of flowers and a ring.

In the blink of an eye the photo appeared and Calum’s guess and fears were correct. They were close together, Calum kissing Arden’s cheek as she held her left hand up with the gaudy diamond on her ring finger. He couldn’t make out where they were, the lighting was too dim and the photo too grainy. But the fact they were in formal wear and somehow a flower had ended up tucked behind her ear left the photo and caption feeling pretty convincing. And through the panic a tinge of relief cut through. If it was just this photo then maybe they really didn’t do what fears ultimately plagued them.

“Is that it?” Calum whispered, not wanting Michael who was still frantic to hear, Arden understood the implications behind the question and forced a shrug but went to her own camera roll and came up empty.

Arden grabbed the phone from Calum after discarding hers on the bed. One hand still held the sheet tight around her and the other brought the receiver to her ear. “Michael, we’re going to have to call you back.”

“No! You need to get back now. Management wants to see you both.”

Calum heard that sentence loud and clear and felt his knees go weak. “We’ll leave soon. Just. Hold them off for a while,” he suggested and Arden hung up the phone before Michael could say another word. She even went so far as to unplug the cord and sink onto the bed, hands gripping the sheet covering her with a tight hold, pulling it tighter.

Calum’s head was still throbbing, his stomach churning and heart racing much too fast for his liking. Arden had gone peaked, face drained and eyes dull. Her phone was on silent but Michael’s call lit up the screen. She ignored it and turned the phone completely off. Calum bit back laughter, finding it an inappropriate reaction.

“There’s no way we got married,” she voiced their fear aloud and in the moment all Calum could picture was a bouquet that would have landed in Arden’s hands. It was coincidental, it had to be. Calum had never been one to believe in the far fetched and something as silly as an old wedding tradition being a warning or signal—a prophecy—was beyond far fetched in his mind.

“No,” he agreed. “We’d have some kind of proof.”

And in that moment a thought struck him hard and fast. He leaped away from her, just two strides taking him to his suit pants where he last knew his wallet to be. He was desperate in looking for a receipt to the ring and the possibility of a marriage license or a commercialized certificate from a shifty chapel being within the faux leather. He found what could be a receipt but it was water stained and the letters and numbers bled. He convinced himself it was for the ring; the five digit number at the bottom was smudged but it still managed to wrangle the breath out of Calum. It must be for the ring. But there was nothing to accompany it. The lack of papers eased his mind and worries. He voiced his findings to Arden who had slowly made her way over to her bag; still wrapped in the sheet.

“Maybe we thought it would be funny,” she murmured. “It’s got to be a joke.”

“I don’t think management is finding it all that funny,” Calum said and let anxiety of having to meet with them eat away at him.

The last thing he wanted was for Arden to be pulled into the chaos and bullshit of management. But Michael said they wanted to see them both. Surely it was for damage control. They were probably drafting posts of explanation as he and Arden sat in their stupor of confusion and hangover haze. Maybe they’d chalk it up to a joke. Maybe Calum would have to apologize. Maybe they’d let it die off. All those maybes didn’t feel too likely but Calum didn’t voice that thought. Instead he watched as Arden finally left her bag and shuffled to the bathroom with clothes in hand. It prompted him to remember his own things were in his room across the hall. Made him realize he’d spent the night in here.

A storm of new questions were aroused by that but he shut them down. He could only focus on one life altering dilemma at a time. He forced himself off the floor with his things in hand and shuffled out of the hotel door—telling Arden he’d be back and they’d need to leave as soon as possible past the closed bathroom door on his way out. He changed and packed his things with forced movements and was met with the sight of Arden ready to go in the hallway. Dark circles highlighted a night without rest and fidgeting hands told of her nerves. Calum sighed. He wanted to take her hand like he had done at the wedding but stopped himself; suddenly scared to initiate anything that could be perceived as more than platonic. A night with uncertainties followed his every motion and burned his throat with every word.

“Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” she answered and bit her lip. “How much trouble do you think we’re in?”

Calum shook his head and put a hand on her back as he led them down the hall. He couldn’t begin to fathom what sort of storm would be waiting for them. All he knew was that it would be big and possibly dangerous.

“Plenty.”

***

The management office was stuffy; the air was stale and the lights were too bright for the lingering ache in Calum’s head. Michael met them there, not wanting his little sister to face the wrath of management alone. But Calum could tell from the stoic gaze and lack of conversation that Michael would hang him out to dry if it meant defending Arden. No matter how much they bickered and fought and no matter how distant they got from each other, they’re family and family was everything to Michael. Calum understood that. Knew he’d do the same for his sister Mali if the roles were reversed. And suddenly he felt nauseated; the paper cup of water sitting on the oak table in front of him doing little to ease the overwhelming feeling. They hadn’t gotten married—the record showed and proved that—but there were intimate moments that transpired before and after the false engagement announcement that Michael wouldn’t approve of. The team was quiet, staring at Calum and Arden as if they were children needing to own up to their actions, clear their souls of guilt and bear the weight of consequences.

Michael cleared his throat and miraculously spoke up first. “They were drunk. It was just a joke. No one can be taking it that seriously. We don’t need to do anything too drastic.”

The head of management didn’t say a word, just directed their attention to a laptop screen filled with tabloids and tweets and headlines all about the engagement. They were still trending on twitter. And for the first time since morning Calum saw the photo again. It wasn’t the ring on her finger or the caption that stole his attention this time. It was the numbers. The likes were in the millions when his usual posts barely cracked five hundred thousand. Tens of thousands of comments littered the photo. Apparently, plenty of  people were taking it seriously.

“How do we fix it?” Calum choked out, way too overwhelmed to even pretend to have suggestions.

“We use it to our advantage,” the head of management declared and Calum could feel outrage building in his chest. He didn’t want to be used, he didn’t want whatever it was he may or may not have with Arden to be a pawn, he didn’t want Arden to have to play their game. “Make it a stunt. Get good press for about a year and then you can separate.”

While almost everything inside of Calum was screaming no there was a tiny inkling begging him to take the deal. A year wouldn’t be so bad. They could control the narrative and he could keep Arden’s name safe. Without an amicable agreement management could trash her reputation. Spin her into a heartless monster. They had control of his name and socials, they could wreak havoc on her and pretend it was done by his hands. Calum found himself nodding and then looked to Arden who was shaking her head in tiny bursts.

“No. No, I don’t want to be a stunt,” she finally spat out. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Calum could sense the frenzy in her voice; she was verging on hysteria. He reached a hand out under the table where eyes couldn’t see and gave her knee a reassuring squeeze. She turned to look at him, eyes pleading for guidance and another way out.

“I think this is the best we can do,” Calum told her, trying to garner her trust. He’d explain it to her later, when the suits weren’t circling them like predators ready to strike on vulnerable prey.

“Unfortunately, I think he’s right,” Michael pitched in and Calum knew he must have had the same thoughts of Arden being under scrutiny, fire, and slander should she refuse. Even if they didn’t use her name directly. Everyone would know anything vague would point back to her. She was still shaking her head.

“Come on, Arden. I never ask you for anything,” Calum said and brought her back to the yard where all of this accidentally started. She let out a small and sarcastic laugh.

“Alright,” she conceded and blew out a breath. “I’ll do it.”

The head of management gave a grin that was supposed to be friendly but was more unsettling than anything. He pushed papers towards them and Calum collected that they were contracts. A stunt was never just a verbal agreement. That was too risky and uncertain. They wanted it to be legally binding.

“A contract?” Arden squeaked, thumbing through the several pages they had worked up during the hours it took to get back to California. “You didn’t say I’d have to sign anything.”

Arden was looking at Calum then, for answers and for direction. He bit his lip and took up an offered pen, settling the ballpoint to a signature line.

“Shouldn’t you at least read it over first?” Michael jumped in, trying to be a voice of reason and advocate for both sides.

Calum considered that and started scanning; all the words blurring together in legal jargon he couldn’t quite comprehend. He caught the timeline; a year with publicity stunts and posts to sell it. The rest was a blur that left him looking at Arden and Michael who was reading over her shoulder.

Arden looked up suddenly, towards the team. “Why does the split have to be my fault?”

Calum hadn’t caught that within the fine details. He knew the answer to her question; in the eyes of management she was dispensable. Calum’s reputation rained on the band’s livelihood. Arden was the fallout. An easy target. He felt the fight to protect her surging through him, ready to stand up for her and demand a change. But she surprised him by continuing her train of thought with venom in her voice.

“It shouldn’t be my fault. It shouldn’t be Calum’s fault either. It can be mutual. And respectful.”

“People will point fingers if it’s a mutual decision. We’re just looking out for the best interests of the band. Surely, you understand reputations would be hurt. You wouldn’t jeopardize your brother's career, would you?”  

Manipulation. Business would be nothing without it. Arden crossed her arms over her chest, eyes flickering with fury and desperation; clearly not okay with the tactic employed to try to make her bend to their will. She shot Calum a look that begged him to follow her lead.

“The only reputation I can ruin is this company’s. One little tweet detailing the matter of these contracts ought to be enough. The only thing I have is the truth. I can use it, if I want. I haven’t signed any NDA contracts. I’m not a client. My brother’s career would explode with support if the fans knew the truth,” she said, voice contrite and eyes fixed on the man in charge. Her gaze was stony as she slid the papers away from her. “Fix the damn contract.”

Everyone fell silent, mouths hanging open in shock and Calum caught the stifled laughter from Michael. The head of management took her words for what they were worth and pulled the papers back; requesting a redraft. It took a couple of hours for everyone to come to an agreement and for legally binding signatures to be inked. It was night by the time they left the office; fresh air finally finding way to their lungs. There was an unspoken communication to take a moment to decompress after the stressful affair. Arden sat on a bench positioned on the curb, looking worse for wear with her head in her hands. Michael stood by and Calum chose to sit next to her.

“Well, at least they gave us an easy way out,” Calum mumbled; the alternatives spinning through his mind and darkening his thoughts, hurting his heart.

“What about this is easy?” Arden asked, suddenly sitting up to face Calum, eyes wild and in search of answers.

“Trust me, Arden. Management could’ve conceived something worse,” Michael defended but didn’t offer the alternatives. It seemed neither Calum or Michael wanted to be the ones to voice them aloud, not when Arden was already so worked up and the management building sat directly behind them.

They kept their voices low as people passed. The later hour left little foot traffic but the random pedestrian happening to pass by didn’t need to hear their conversation. In fact, Calum was sure that might even get them in more trouble. Sharing this new secret would surely be a breach of contract. He hadn’t read every line of the new draft but he knew how management functioned. For all intents and purposes, Calum would keep it between only those who needed to know.

“You guys need new representation,” Arden mumbled and went back to her position of looking down with her head in her hands and elbows balanced on her knees.

“At least you held your own standing up to them. I’ve never done that. It was incredible,” Calum offered in all honesty.

“I felt like I was gonna puke the whole time,” Arden said, the words muffled with her head down and hands squishing her cheeks. “Still do.”

“Still hungover?” Michael attempted to make a joke but Calum shook his head.

He knew what Arden meant. That same nervous feeling had assaulted him in the office. He’d swallowed it down and tried to even his breathing. It’d come and gone quickly but the situation had fried his nerves completely. He felt numb, fingers tingling with apprehension now that it was just him, Arden and Michael. He knew the gist of it but there were still secrets kept and those moments came back to Calum, guilt eating at him in a fresh wave.

“Nerves,” Calum answered; for Arden and for himself.

Arden nodded and even though Calum knew he probably shouldn’t, not with Michael and secrets made of moments just like it right there, he put his hand gently on her back, hoping it might be comforting. Michael didn’t flinch at the contact but Arden finally looked up. A bit of color was coming back to her face and her breathing began to even out. He felt her press into his touch, accepting the comfort and giving him a grateful glance. Her eyes were bleary with exhaustion and a tired sigh escaped her.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, directing the comment at Calum and then turning to Michael. “I’m sorry.”

Calum’s heart sank, caught in that free fall from the night before, but this time it felt like hitting jagged rocks was imminent. It was less like floating through the air and more like dropping. Arden was crestfallen, completely torn apart and convinced it was her fault. Calum shook his head, trying to shake away her apology as he felt it wasn’t owed. It took two to tango. And it surely took two to get drunk enough to fake an entire engagement for the world to see. If it wasn’t happening to him; Calum might have found it amusing. And maybe once time put some distance between it he’d tell the story fondly.

“It’s not your fault,” Calum said, rubbing small circles on her back without thinking about it. It went unnoticed or at least unmentioned by Michael. “You don’t have to apologize.”

“It is. I asked you to go to the stupid wedding with me. I got us drinks. I don’t remember anything about the ring but I woke up wearing it. It’s my fault.”

Michael stood as a silent mediator for them. Offering sympathetic shakes of his head and confused expressions as their discussion unfolded.

“I agreed to go. I found the pub. I bought the ring and made the post, Arden, if it’s anyone’s fault it’s mine,” Calum argued.

Arden’s eyes widened as if a revelation had surprised her.

“You bought the ring,” she said but her tone wasn’t accusatory; it was shocked and followed by a wave of guilt. “How much did it cost? Calum, we should return it.”

He waved her off, wanting to settle the panic and guilt consuming her. “Don’t worry about it. You need it for the stunt, no returning it now.”

Michael, jarring both Calum and Arden as he broke his silence pitched in, “He’s right. It’s not like you could replace it with anything else, fans would catch it in a second.”

“Management probably wouldn’t like it much either,” Calum added and rolled his eyes. Management was the last thing he wanted to cater to after all they had done but the contracts were signed and it was time to play the part.

Calum watched as Arden fiddled with it, twisted it around and around her finger, looking at it with disdain. Calum wondered where this situation would fall on Arden’s scale: okay or not so okay. From the pained expression written on her face and the shake of her leg Calum’s bets were leaning toward the side of not so okay. It was in that moment he became determined to shift the perspective and experience. If they had to go through this, they were going to make it as okay as possible. They were going to control the narrative; Arden had fought for that right after all.

Calum’s hand hadn’t stopped rubbing Arden’s back but the silence they fell into startled him into realizing and stopping. He let out a sigh and she shifted away, a blush capturing her cheeks as she bit her lip and stared at Calum as if trying to figure him out. Michael stared at both of them, for less contemplative reasons and more dumbfounded ones.

“You look exhausted. We should probably get you home,” Calum suggested.

All of his things were still in Michael’s car, all of Arden’s things were too. They didn’t stop on the way, they got to the office as quickly as possible. Michael took an Uber and met them there. Now it was time to leave and Calum could only hope Michael would be kind enough to drop him off at home and that the awkwardness lingering between them all might start to melt on the way.

“Yeah. I’ll go get the car,” Michael offered and Calum tossed him his key fob he had forgotten to give back until that very moment. Michael stalked off and Calum took the chance to have a conversation with Arden alone.

“Thank you,” he began with. “For agreeing to do this with me.”

For a moment Calum contemplated words of explanation. Whether it was the time or place to let her know the reasons he thought it was best. But the words it would take to say it all felt too heavy. He didn’t want her to know it was for her sake more than anything. That she was dispensable in the eyes of business and the only way around ruthless rumors and a ruined reputation was into a contract. That felt like information for another time, or, information that if she didn’t know it wouldn’t hurt her. He decided to reword it; shift the way the blame might feel like it was falling, clearly she felt the weight of it already.

“For me,” he said. “You’re really saving my ass here.”

Arden’s eyes narrowed and if she had any doubts of his thanks she didn’t voice them. She just nodded, a bit dejected and lost. Calum’s hand found hers and she let their fingers entwine though she arched an eyebrow in question at his antics.

“Better get used to it now,” he said while trying to keep his voice light and secrets below the surface. “Gonna be stuck with me for a year.”

“There’s worse ways to spend a year,” she said, a shadow of a smirk crossing her lips. “I guess.”

“Just think; if Ashton hadn’t been busy, you might actually be married to him right now. Till death do you part.”

Arden’s laugh was uncontrolled and free, infectious and a sound Calum craved to hear again the instant it stopped. She drew blank as a reality of being married to Ashton swept past her eyes. Calum was grinning when she pretended to shudder and vehemently shook her head no.

“He is chaotic and convincing enough for that to be a reality. I guess a year is nothing compared to that.”

The car pulled up and even though Michael was able to see them Calum didn’t let go of Arden’s hand. The doors opened and he helped her into her seat, gave her a small wink before taking up a place in the back. The ride to Calum’s place was quiet and offered everyone a chance to think over the events of the past two days and how two days felt like lifetimes. Michael pulled to the side of the road by Calum’s house and it only took Calum a moment to collect his few things and bid them both goodbye. He took one last long look at Arden before the door closed, gave her a comforting smile and told her he’d see her tomorrow. He knew he wanted to see her again whether they were contractually obligated to or not. Whether it was falling freedom now shackled to signatures or something much more.

<< >>

If you’d like to be added to my tag list just let me know! 

Tagged: @rosecolouredash​ @irwinkitten​ @golden-hood @who-do-you-love-5sos​ @caswinchester2000​ @wildflowergrae​ @cuddlemecalx @malumsmermaid​ @babylon-corgis​ @outerspaceisbetterthannothing​ @mariellelovescupcakes​ @xhaileyreneex​ @goth5sos​ @gosh-im-short​ @feliznavidaddycal​ @loveroflrh​ @findingliam-o​ @flowerthug​ @g-l-pierce​ @talkfastromance4​ @cashtonasfuck​ @sc0ttish-wildfl0wer​ @wastedheartcth​ @calumscalm​ @notinthesameguey​ @akafeliznavidaddy​ @myloverboyash​ @treatallwithkindness​ @haikucal​ @wiildflower-xxx​ @calum-uncrowned @egyptiangoldhood​ @drarryetcetera​ @another-lonely-heart​ @megz1985​ @idk-harry​ @dinosaursandsocks​ @wildflower-cth​ @idontneedanyone​ @everyscarisahealingplace​ @myfavfanficsever​ @stormrider505​ @karajaynetoday​ @333-xx​ @calumshpod​ @mantlereid​ @hemmingslftv​

[retphienix]

Alright, this is gonna be tough because I desperately want to say so much for the game's sake and my own, but it's just so much.

At least the playthrough as a whole exists to show a lot of those things, and there's no shame in some of the impacts the game had for myself going unsaid :)

LONG POST INCOMING, NO 'READ MORE' BECAUSE IT'S RELEVANT TO THE POST AND NOT AN AFTER-THOUGHT

CLICK 'J' ON YOUR KEYBOARD TO SKIP. (Sorry mobile users)

8:48 - Do you have any idea how good a step forward it felt to smash the repressing bulb?

9:50 - So I'll get ahead of myself because this fight shows a lot of the visuals that play into this: Something being the manifestation of guilt for Mari is so incredibly visualized.

Between the base 'Something' being extremely close to the shadow she cast and including the one visible eye that bore down on Sunny and Basil after the hanging, to the stairs incorporating into the design.

The seaweed and spider are more general anxieties though they do circle back to Mari since she saved Sunny, but those two forms don't feel as directly related as the stairs (heights) and base 'Something' forms and what they represent for his repressed guilt.

Could be wrong ;) Tell me what you saw in the forms of 'Something' if you'd like to expand on them :)

12:39 - Just to prove the point before you get to fully see the truth- Something morphs into the figure of Mari hanging. It doesn't fully demonstrate the "eye" aspect yet, but still I just wanted to say kudos on the way 'Something' is shown visually. Formless for a reason, and that form becomes more defined as you understand what it is, exceptional damn thing.

15:43 - Basil's part in all of this makes me so damn sad. Plenty to say later (obviously), but he harbors so much guilt, wants forgiveness so much, and is so (not shown yet) desperate to believe in Sunny's innocence while knowing but not comprehending the truth. The fact he harbors his own 'Something' due to the guilt of all this is heartbreaking, these kids endured a hell no one should. Losing someone so important to you and harboring the guilt and fault of it when nothing of the sort was intended. A childish fight with raised emotions got out of hand and all this came of it.

Hell.

16:30 - I absolutely adore how the photo album is used for this reveal.

Absolutely incredible execution that's specific to this story and its characters and makes piecing (literally) this together tense and grim.

22:27 - I NEVER SPOKE TO OR INTERACTED WITH THE THING IN THE CENTER OF THIS ROOM AND I'M A NORMAL AMOUNT OF UPSET ABOUT THAT >:( lol

29:41 - Okay.

So this reveal as a whole is so unbelievably well paced and incredibly hard hitting.

All game long there's a weight of having lost Mari. Repeatedly it's told that she killed herself and no one can understand why and everyone (MYSELF THE PLAYER INCLUDED) is looking for meaning in little moments, seeking out hints that maybe she was suffering or depressed or this or that.

And while that has gone on FOR THE ENTIRE GAME there has also been this uneasy weight surrounding Sunny/Omori. Visions of Mari twisted and deformed into phantoms of horror.

For the most part I assumed it was just him coping with having lost his sister and maybe a dialogue on how when she was alive he was in her shadow (in his mind) and now that she's gone he remains there?

That was the best I could figure, more or less. But it continued to seem more and more malicious in design and MUCH more 'heavy' in how it's presented as a shadow behind Omori/Sunny throughout his adventure and life.

The weight and 'overshadowed' looks of the scenes felt more and more foreboding and less like a simpler "I'm living in her shadow" story, but I couldn't figure out what it was.

Then these pictures come out and piece things together.

The final result:

Sunny and Mari fighting. (Context appears to be his growing disdain towards playing. It's stated he loved playing, but it's also shown that he begins to dislike how much Mari is dragged away for classes and the like up to and including playing. So my read was that Sunny was upset that their fleeting time together was dedicated to the recital and broke his violin in an emotional blur and the fight occurred.

Alternatively it was accidentally broken and both of their emotions were running high as it happened)

Mari falling to her death.

Sunny and Basil carrying her upstairs and tending to her.

Sunny breaking down as it sinks in.

The visions having Basil say "It's going to be okay" by the bedside. (I perceive that as a memory of what Basil was saying as he tried to manage his emotions during the event)

Sunny and Basil carrying her back downstairs and to the backyard.

The makeshift noose.

And finally the sight that burned itself into Sunny's eyes of her hanging after it was all said and done.

Just holy shit to it all in how it's revealed and handled.

Stories have twists all the time, and I ain't gonna make some bold claim like "Most unpredictable!" "Best twist!" "What a twist!" or whatever, though that'd be funny.

I just want to say this twist worked BEFORE the reveal as a foreboding sense of unease and curiosity- it lent itself to intentionally vague and easily misconstrued explanations, basically- instead of it outright misleading you beyond the characters that believe the lie repeating the lie, it allowed you to mislead yourself.

It did the twist the right way! And well! YOU trick YOURSELF! The people repeating the lie are being lied to or have motivation to repeat the lie! The GAME isn't lying (as so many twists handle it) the game is giving the world reason to mislead and allowing you to be mislead!

Now am I yelling affirmations for the way things SHOULD ALWAYS BE! YES! BUT THAT'S BECAUSE IT'S NOT AS NORMAL AS IT SHOULD BE! lol

31:40 - All the "You will really miss them"s hurt :(

33:25 - Right out the gate, a spoiler for what isn't here:

I looked up the alternate endings of the neutral route and my heart hurts to know Sunny doesn't stick around and Basil dies :(

34:00 - BASIL BEING OVERWHELMED WITH DENIAL AND GUILT AS HE ATTEMPTS TO MENTALLY PROTECT HIS VIEW OF WHO HIS FRIEND IS BY INVENTING A SECOND PARTY THAT DID THIS IS SO FUCKING REAL AND AMAZINGLY DONE.

And it explains the name behind the 'Something'.

'Something' behind you did it. There's 'Something' behind you, isn't there.

'Something' all around us, that potentially being the truth comin' in.

When 'Something' ruined my photos, Basil repressing protecting Sunny by destroying the proof.

Just expertly done.

'Something' being repression of the memory and impending guilt. Dannnng.

36:26 - It's 24 hours after I beat the game as I type all this so here's a gag.

Here's the part where Basil beats some sense into his friend, because after this Sunny gets knocked out and wakes up 200% improved and ready to save Basil from his own guilt by releasing them both from the secret.

So basically Kel dragged us out of bed, then a couple days later Basil beats us up, and that's how Sunny gets better :^) Game Over.

38:46 - This fight made me feel utterly terrible, a highlight being the energy bar saying "Everything is going to be okay".

or at 40:17 - when Basil pokes out Sunny's eye and the screen does this? That's an underutilized but always awesome visual.

41:12 - I THOUGHT I WAS DEAD AT THIS POINT :)

Because just before entering Basil's home on this night you see his Grandma's ghost here. So seeing Sunny here told me "WELL. YOU FUCKED UP!"

42:25 - Like I said, beat some sense into Sunny.

Here's the mental side of things where Basil's beatin' told Sunny to go remember the good times and confront his inner self and I'm being partially facetious because there's plenty to say about what's coming up.

43:15 - Goosebumps every time due to the sincerity and hope of this.

43:40 - Hug for anyone needing that.

51:11 - I could cry again and I just might before this post is done being put together.

This accident was never meant to be.

55:09 - Timestamp is arbitrary, I won't go over every flashback but I do want to say what a beautiful way to use these photos. To relive the memories? To find the strength to overcome and all that? After all these years of suppressing memories? DANNNG I love this game.

1:04:09 - I stepped in poop.

1:04:15 - Barefooted.

1:04:22 - I embraced my failure.

1:12:00 - The violin.

1:13:00 - "The anxious feeling-" "They believed in you" "No matter what you didn't want to disappoint them" I'm filled with love and gonna cry about it.

1:14:00 - So an important theme in the game, as if it has just one, is Sunny suppressing emotions and demonizing himself.

Obviously the ending shows him breaking free from both but I think it's important as hell to look at how he builds up to being able to.

After all the dark moments show him as a bloodied monster, demonstrate a perceived lack of remorse for what he's done (as in he sees himself so poorly that he says "I must not have felt bad about it, I'm a monster", not that he actually doesn't feel bad about it, that he thinks he shouldn't because he's bad), have him stab dream Basil to protect his repression of the memory, the build up to breaking free from that is him remembering the good in him through the lens of his friends.

Both in the real world and in revisiting the memories within the photos.

He hears about the good in himself that he has pretended isn't there and finds the power to overcome this deadened shell he's made.

He learns how to forgive himself by finally remembering he's worthy of forgiveness and is more than his mistake, that even the person he grievously harmed would want him to forgive himself and would understand the mistake didn't define him.

1:15:15 - Just because you did something bad doesn't make you bad, to put it more eloquently than my rambles. He had to learn that.

1:19:20 - I've done this fight 4 times.

You may be wondering why 4 times, it ain't like I replayed the game a ton or anything.

The short of it is:

1) For the good ending :)

2) To see what happens if you go "up" in the hospital- it's a dead end- I assumed it'd be a bad ending. So I got the good ending again :)

3) For the bad ending.

4) FOR THE GOOD ENDING TO WIPE THE HORRIBLE FEELING IN THE PIT OF MY STOMACH AWAY FROM THE BAD ENDING :)

In doing so I did get one layer deeper on the BG of Omori in the fight, here it is:

And I learned on the fourth run that the fight is simpler than I gave it credit lol, Cherish refills your juice, so there is no reason to use Encore. You can get to the end (and deeper more easily) by just using the triple attack and Cherish and Calm down when necessary.

1:29:00 - A summary of the fight is that it's extremely impactful emotionally, but very obviously isn't a "Fun fight". It's great mechanically and story wise for what it's trying to do :)

I'll just say it here: I'm surprised there wasn't an end-game "Omori" fight, you know, in dream world? Because combat is SO good in this. I am lead to believe that the Omori route where you never go outside in the real world has more bosses and zones and would fill what I just implied I wanted- but you're also railroaded into the Neutral endings which are both sad :(

And honestly? That makes sense and I applaud the decision :) Embracing the fantasy world for more 'fights' isn't exactly the path to recovery. Also and I know someone will be bothered I say this because *I'm* bothered I'm saying this- it makes sense since a big predecessor did the same thing lol.

Undertale Genocide has new bosses and a harder end game challenge (Sans) while being the worse ending, while the good ending has a flashy and story/emotionally impactful final fight that isn't as challenging because challenge isn't the point of the morals being explored.

I just bring it up because it's interesting, has a parallel, and after fighting Omori 4 times I really REALLY wanted to do an end-game fight in Dream World.

1:30:00 - forgive me as I cry again. goosebumps and more.

OH NO~!

DRAT!

So I use a cheap video editor and I use the free format of it which limits to 720p and I didn't think twice of it.

I recorded at max, but downgraded after editing.

At 720p you can't see the detail that made me break down crying!

At 1:31:55 Sunny's eyes go wider as he sees Mari as they finally get to experience the duet in this dream state (White Egret Orchid, this is real and happening, I'm taking this to my grave :'( ) he sees her smile and that smile made me break down, but in the 720 it's blurry :(

That's on me, I could have posted the scene raw in HQ but I didn't know it'd compress just enough to be invisible :(

still. that duet scene can make me cry on command. just because of that alone, but also the entire thing.

1:33:42 - Sunny breaks from his shell and feels his emotions again.

1:37:07 - I wish every game would end with a mirror to see yourself.

The 'Despite everything, it's still you' vibe just cements all the growth and experiences that have happened as so much more real when that happens. Bonus points because mirrors in Omori are a time bomb where you can be reminded of the guilt following you- and this one is safe. This one is pure and clean. You did it.

1:37:50 - As I said earlier, going up does nothing. Dead end.

1:39:00 - I have to tell you something.

Simple ending. And yet slams me like two trucks. I'm so proud.

1:41:00 - Post credits scene.

This is so heartwarming and their smiles are the purest thing in the entire world.

1:42:50 - BAD ENDING RECORDING.

All I'll say on that is the bad ending made me feel terrible inside. Give up, live in your bubble, and subconsciously end it all so you never have to confront reality again.

My gut felt heavy to be honest.

And the fact that THAT is when Bo En Time is played is INCREDIBLE.

Having the sky shift like that gave goosebumps and cemented my dread.

Just seeing it now has me feeling very poorly.

Okay. Video done.

Now for general thoughts.

First off this White Space cycle has been going on for YEARS with Sunny only getting worse as he suppresses things more and more and the reason he found the strength to overcome is because of his friends and I'm gonna yell about it.

THE REASON SUNNY IS BREAKING FREE CAN BE DIRECTLY POINTED AT KEL THINKING "FUCK IT, I'M ABOUT TO LOSE A FRIEND, AND I DON'T WANT TO"

And I just think that is sweet as hell. The strength was inside himself, but the problem itself caused Sunny to demonize and not trust himself- he needed someone to break him free and help convince him that he's not irredeemable. And boom.

The way this game handles Denial and even gives it physical form with the 'Something's that both Sunny and Basil harbor is just awesome.

I touched on it but combat in Omori is very, very good.

I've said it here and there as I played and I feel like going at length in the finale post is pointless because this isn't a review but to put it concisely.

Types changing mid-combat, the character archetypes being so well defined, the follow up system, combat in Omori is some top notch turn based RPG stuff.

Like up there with the greats, the timeless masterpieces. This is GOOD fighting. So it was surprising the good ending didn't emphasize it- I explained why that makes sense, but even still! It'd probably be lesser for it (as explained previously) but it's interesting they practiced that restraint for the message they wanted to send.

Repeatin' that Mari's smile in the recital made me cry. Burned in my brain.

I'm still surprised I got the post credits scene because I DID water the plants a lot but when the game showed me them all dead I assumed that was the fail condition.

I genuinely do want to try the Omori route some time down the road. I hope I get around to it.

I am slightly dissuaded just because the Omori route only gets the neutral endings which are not Good To Be Blunt :(

But I want to see what dream content there is and I hear there are other bosses!

Other small bits from my notes:

Replacing denial (the black bulb) with hope (the white bulb) was good as heck.

The imagery of the 'Something' is so top notch- using the shadow of her body combined with the piercing gaze of her single eye- MY GOD.

The fragility of life being so present- between memories of near death experiences, to the way in which Mari dies, to the ease at which either Basil or Sunny can end the game. It's tense and heart-wrenching.

The way the 'Something' behind Sunny almost always shadows over him like an ever present weight.

Tearful, hopeful, pure, kids enduring a guilt metric tons heavier than their bodies could ever handle and finally, finally moving beyond it.

I said more in a personal post, and I'll reblog that.

Honestly, just timestamping through the video took it out of me and got the point across.

Omori is a wonderful game.

It's definitely a favorite for me, high up there on my list.

Between the themes, the gameplay, the humor, the ending.

This is a good one.

And now I get to end having experienced all the care and love in this title, that's such a sweet thing.

Now I know this finale post is a mess, illegible even. I have gotten sloppier as I've begun embracing just 'experiencing and rambling' and perhaps my formatting with change yet again until I find something more easily shared.

Despite that. I want to thank any who popped in on this playthrough.

This was a good one, a highlight of the blog for sure- and I'm always happy when I see some people enjoying the absolute mess I toss online when I do one of these :P

So thank you for your time, and thank you to any ridiculous enough to read my nonsense here.

Have a good one :)

And just as expected I feel I've said nothing and barely touched the surface as the post-game-head of mine does a poor job lol. Even still :P

[syntheticpoetry]

The Ghosts That We Knew

See my original post on the origins of this story here!

Summary: Blaine Anderson is no stranger to hospitals and has been volunteering on the pediatric unit of Lima General Hospital for years when Kurt Hummel comes along.  After Blaine is attacked at his school's Sadie Hawkins Dance, he has his best friend Kurt to help him deal with the aftermath. And when Kurt becomes the target of the McKinley football team's bullying campaign, he can count on Blaine to have his back.

AU where Blaine transfers to McKinley instead of Dalton. Set during season 1.A story of two best friends finding courage to face their bullies and discovering love along the way.

Author’s Note: Blaine has a reason he has been in an out of the hospital since childhood that will be revealed, but if you are overly cautious of the level of angst surrounding it I can assure you it's nothing heartbreaking/super serious. It's actually quite common.  I cannot thank @esperantoauthor​ enough for beta reading this for me and really helping me whip it into shape!

AO3 Link || FFN Link

Chapter 1: Of Viral Videos and Disney Princes

The last time that Kurt Hummel remembers being in a hospital, he told his mother that he loved her for the last time.  

That was six years ago.  

As he walks through the lobby, towards the directory by the elevators, he keeps his gaze fixed forward, careful not to spare a glance at the waiting area to his right.  He spent so many months in that waiting room.  Entire seasons, multiple holidays spent watching people receive good news and bad news, with his father stoic and silent beside him as his mother underwent procedure after procedure.  Until it was their turn to be the family that received bad news.  The doctor sounded sincere as he said a lot of big words Kurt could not quite understand at the time, but he understood the look on his father’s face.  He took to studying the ugly designs on the carpet to distract from the tight clench in his father’s jaw, the way he kept himself so still and barely blinked through the entire explanation— Kurt knew, even at eight years old, what it was like to use up all of your willpower to hold yourself together for the sake of someone else.  To this day, he cannot look at paisley print without thinking back to that awful day.

Kurt scans the directory before punching the up button to call the elevator and folds his arms across his chest, tapping his foot as he awaits its arrival.  When he first heard about the volunteer program on the pediatric unit he was naturally hesitant to return to the place that held some of his worst memories.  He had been on the fence about it all summer, torn between the desire to give back to the hospital staff that had gone above and beyond in their attempts to cure his mother’s cancer and wanting to put as much distance as possible between himself and the place where they finally had to say goodbye to each other.

Until he saw that YouTube video.  

A curly-haired boy with big doe eyes and an unwavering grin, guitar in hand, leading a Disney themed sing-along with a group of elementary school age kids.  The warmth that spread through Kurt’s chest was almost overwhelming as he watched the boy march around the room performing Hakuna Matata with the parade of children trailing behind, mimicking him raucously and off-key.  It was the first time Kurt had really smiled in a long time.

So he had decided to look into the program.  Mostly because witnessing the boundless energy of pure joy from each child singing along in that video elicited memories of countless nights of living room performances with his own father, both of them puffy-eyed and exhausted but still managing to find the stamina to sing at the top of their lungs, using the furniture as stage props.  They were two lost souls attempting to cling to each other through tidal waves of insurmountable grief, and those nights together— well, those nights wereeverything to Kurt.  He had never felt closer to his father than when they were both breathless and laughing their way through the most eclectic collection of songs imaginable, hugging each other tightly at the end of each performance.  

And if Kurt happened to run into the boy from the video along the way, well, that would certainly just be an added bonus. Kurt did have eyes after all.  And there was no denying the boy’s natural charm or the air of confidence with which he carried himself.  

Truth be told, entering yet another school year with no friends was beginning to take its toll on Kurt and the possibility of finding camaraderie with a cute boy who seemingly shared similar interests was certainly enticing.

Ding!

The doors slide open before him revealing an empty elevator.  Kurt steps in and presses the button for the fourth floor.  He thinks about that video and jumping on armchairs and couches in his living room with his father for the entire ride up.

***

He has to be buzzed in to enter the unit, which he thinks is strange.  But the woman who greets him, a young nurse with bright green eyes and deep auburn hair pulled back into a messy ponytail, explains it is the protocol for all pediatric units in order to prevent children from wandering away or being kidnapped.  There are security bracelets around each patient’s ankle that trigger an alarm if they are taken past a bright yellow line painted on the floor.

“Who would kidnap sick kids from a hospital?” Kurt asks, looking absolutely horrified.

“You would be surprised at how common it is.  Parents fighting over custody, usually.”

He nods and guesses that makes sense, but the thought is still deeply unsettling.

The hallways are empty as she leads him to a room behind the nurse’s station.  The unit is certainly much different from the one his mother had been on.  The walls are covered in murals of different cartoon characters and scenes from popular storybooks.  While the nurse punches in a code, Kurt studies a painting of Rapunzel in a high stone tower, golden plaited hair strung over the edge of the window for a handsome prince at the bottom. The door buzzes and she holds it open for him.  “I’ll let my supervisor know you’re here.”

Kurt thanks her and takes a seat at one of the tables to wait.  On the far wall he spots a bulletin board covered in an overabundance of overlapping photos, hand-drawn pictures and a variety of cards both homemade and store-bought.  He casts a quick glance towards the door before crossing the room to investigate.  He cannot help but smile as he scans over the collection of memories, reminiscing back to his own pile of hand drawn cards for the staff on the oncology unit.  

Then something catches his eye.  

It’s the curly haired boy from the video.  He’s standing, guitar in hand with the strap over his shoulder, in the center of a group photo, surrounded by children of varying ages and the unit staff.  His outfit is different from the one in the video though.  He’s wearing baggy sweatpants and a printed T-shirt, only the edges of the otherwise obscured design visible from behind the guitar over his torso.  In the video he had certainly seemed more, well, put together, to say the least.  He had worn light grey slacks and a navy polo shirt accented with a white bow tie, which Kurt could not help but notice because he could count on one hand the amount of teenage boys he had ever seen wearing bow ties in the state of Ohio, himself included.  

Kurt wonders how often he comes by to visit and volunteer.  Maybe there is a chance they will be able to meet after all.

The faint beeping of the key code and jiggling of the door handle to his left draws his attention and he turns in time to see an older woman with ashy blonde hair and huge round glasses that take up half of her face walk in.  Her scrub top is printed with different Winnie the Pooh characters.  She smiles and approaches him, extending her hand.  “Hi, you must be Kurt.  I’m Jeannie; we spoke on the phone last week.”

“Oh! Yes,” Kurt shakes her hand.  “Nice to meet you.”

“Shall we?” She gestures to a table and Kurt takes a seat opposite her.  “So we just have to get some paperwork in order and then we can take a little tour around the unit so you can meet the kids.”

“Okay.”

“This is your first time volunteering, right?” She opens a Manila folder and begins rifling through a large stack of papers.

“Yes.”

“What drew you to it?”

Kurt steals a glance towards the bulletin board, lips curling up into a half-smile.  “I heard about it through my school a few months back, but honestly? I spent a lot of time visiting my mom in this hospital when I was a kid and when me and my dad would get home he would always try to cheer me up.  We put on a lot of concerts for my stuffed animals in our living room.  And I mean… like a lot .”  

Her eyes are soft as she listens, a piece of paper held loosely between both hands just inches off of the table, almost forgotten, and gives him an empathetic smile.

“I saw that video of the Disney sing-along online and I just really wanted to be a part of it, helping kids, especially with music, because it’s really helped me through some tough times.”

“Well,” She straightens up and slides the paper across the table towards him, “I think the kids will really love having you around.  Do you play any instruments?”

“Never missed a piano lesson,” Kurt says, grinning.  “But mostly, I love to sing.”

The paperwork consists of a lot of signatures.  Kurt is not to discuss any of the patients or their health conditions with others in order to maintain privacy regulations, not to post anything to social media without permission, and just a lot of general information about the hospital’s protocols such as what to do in the event of emergency scenarios (of which there are many ).  By the end of it, Kurt has a pretty sizable stack of papers to take home with him and a dull cramp in his wrist.  

“I know it seems like a lot of information, but nothing you have to memorise.  You’ll always be with other staff members who will guide you through every step of the way.”

Kurt releases a nervous laugh, “Okay, good.  I can save my highlighters for school work then.”

***

Jeannie leads the way to the playroom which, she explains, is a safe space for all the children on the unit that remains open every day until 7 p.m.  No medications or treatments are allowed to be administered to a child in the playroom, they must be brought out first.  There are about ten kids inside, ranging from toddlers to older teens, all of whom have seemingly gravitated towards splitting into their own little cliques based on ages.  As soon as they enter the room two of the younger kids, a boy and girl no older than three or four, look up from a mountain of blocks and start crying.  Kurt casts an alarmed glance at Jeannie.

“It’s okay, you can keep playing.” Jeannie kneels down and stacks a loose block onto their small tower.  “Everyone, this is Kurt, he’s going to be coming by to help out and spend some time with all of you.” She stands up and backs away from the two toddlers with the blocks to stand beside Kurt again.  

“It’s the uniform,” she says quietly to him.  “Some get scared when they see us come into a room cause it usually means it’s time for medicine or treatments.”

“Hi, Kurt!” A small girl with bronze skin, a round face, and long thick black hair comes over and takes his hand.  “I’m Melanie! You wanna come draw with me?”

She does not wait for an answer before she starts tugging on his hand and walking back towards a small rectangular table covered with construction paper and crayons.  She climbs into one of two plastic blue chairs which are far too tiny for Kurt to fit in, so he sits on the floor beside the table, crossing his legs.  Melanie slides a piece of yellow construction paper towards him and pushes a pile of crayons into the middle for them to share.

“Did you draw all of these?” Kurt picks up a red crayon and starts sketching.

“Yes! My daddy brought my big brother to visit and we draw together,” she says, shading in what looks like a sunflower with a purple crayon.

“They’re very beautiful; I like that one a lot.” Kurt taps the one she is currently working on.  “I’ve never seen a purple sunflower before.”

“I’m gonna invent them one day,” she says matter-of-factly.  Kurt smiles and returns to his sketch of a new outfit design that has been floating around his mind for the past week.  

“Woah!”

Kurt begins to lift his head up to locate where the voice has come from when he spots movement beside his left elbow.  To say the boy is small would be an understatement.  He is tiny .  A pale, skinny little thing dressed in Batman pajamas that look two sizes too big on him.  He has wide, bright blue eyes and is wearing a charcoal grey beanie.  Clutched between his toothpick arms is a stuffed rabbit with drooping ears the size of its entire body.  

“Hello,” Kurt says as the boy leans forward to peer at his drawing.

“You can draw,” the boy says, clutching his rabbit closer.  

“Would you like to draw with us?”

“Can’t draw,” he says.

“Oh, I bet that’s not true,” Kurt says and holds out the crayon to him.  “Everyone can draw.”

The boy looks at the crayon then up to Kurt and shakes his head shyly before raising the bunny up to his chin, hugging it tightly.

“What’s your name?” Kurt asks.

“Jason,” he says quietly.

“Well, would you like to watch me and Melanie draw?”

“I’m really good.” Melanie looks up at him.  “You can sit next to me, I’ll show you.”

Kurt spends the next hour drawing with Melanie while Jason continues to peek curiously between them.  The other kids begin to trickle out of the room, some led by nurses, some by visiting family members.  Pretty soon, only the three of them are left until Jason’s mother comes in to collect him.  Before he leaves, Kurt holds out a piece of paper to him.

“Something tells me you like Batman,” Kurt says as Jason’s eyes widen at the image of a child-sized Batman with bright blue eyes.  “How about next time you can draw me?”

“Okay.” Jason grins, slipping the picture between his stuffed bunny and his chest to hold it there safely.  “But you’re gonna look like a potato.  I really can’t draw.”

It is the most Kurt has heard him speak all afternoon.  Something about the way he talks contradicts the way he looks. Kurt wonders how old he actually is; the boy looks smaller than most five year olds he’s seen but definitely talks like an older child.  Kurt makes a mental note to find out next time.  “Deal.  I can’t wait to see it.”

Jason’s mom gives Kurt a parting smile before she shepherds her son away.  Soon after, Melanie’s nurse comes to collect her as well, leaving only Kurt and Jeannie in the empty playroom.

“That went well,” she says.  “You’re a natural with them.”

Kurt beams back at her, a sense of pride swelling in his chest.  

After his dad comes to pick him up, Kurt spends the entire car ride home filling him in on the events of the day, excluding Jason and Melanie’s names.  He goes to bed that night with his mind already buzzing with activities for the next visit.

***

Kurt starts volunteering two days a week after school and over the course of the next month, he becomes very familiar with some of the regular kids on the unit.  Jason, he discovers, is actually nine years old, has leukemia and is in his final round of chemotherapy by the first week in October.  Melanie has sickle cell anemia and had been hospitalized for something called ‘sickle cell crisis’— she had gone home two weeks after they first met, but Kurt learns that she usually returns frequently for the same problem.  There’s a teenage boy not much older than Kurt is, but taller and skinnier with jet black hair and sad eyes, named Julian who has cystic fibrosis— he usually keeps to himself, oftentimes choosing to sit in the back corner of the playroom and silently watch everyone else.  

The rest have been a whirlwind of faces and names with a variety of issues such as pneumonia, appendicitis, broken bones and asthma attacks.  There have also been quite a few cases of children who have come in with injuries as a result of abuse at home, more so than Kurt would have imagined actually occurred.  He finds trying to interact and engage with those kids to be the most heartbreaking.

Some of the kids are not as keen to warm up to him as others, keeping to themselves or staying with their families while Kurt leads sing-alongs, painting lessons, hosts movie nights, and reads aloud during story time.  He has developed a steady routine in the five weeks since he began volunteering.  So on the Tuesday during the second week of October he waves hello to the security personnel by the front entrance like he usually does.  He rides up the same elevator and is buzzed into the unit by Rosie, the first nurse he met with the auburn hair.  And with his usual wide smile in place, he strolls into the playroom with a new four-pack of Disney themed puzzles under his arm.  

But when he walks in, the kids are already sitting in a circle, staring up at a boy with loosely gelled curls coiffed into a fluffy side part, bright hazel eyes, and a sapphire acoustic guitar perched on his lap. Kurt is caught completely off guard as he realises, Oh god, it’s him! It’s the guy from the video!

He looks shorter in person than Kurt assumed.  In both the photo on the bulletin board and the video his hair was ungelled and wild.  Kurt vividly remembers his dark curls bouncing as he bopped his head along to the music while impersonating Timon and Pumba for the younger kids.  He’s dressed in another carefully selected outfit though— bright red pants, a black polo and a white bow tie with black polka dots on it.  

“Kurt!” A few of them yell excitedly.    

“Ah, so you’re the famous Kurt I’ve been hearing so much about,” The boy with the guitar says, that same unwavering grin already in place.  “Nice to finally meet you, I’m Blaine.”

[lady-divine-writes]

Portrait of the Artist as a Son (Rated NC17)

Summary: After visiting the home where Sebastian's mother will spend the rest of her life, Kurt has some trouble sleeping ... in part because he wakes up to find his boyfriend gone.

Part of the Deliver Me verse

Read on AO3.

Kurt couldn’t sleep.

He had fallen asleep fine, his head resting on Sebastian’s chest, listening to the even ‘thump-thump’ of his boyfriend’s heartbeat. They’d gone to bed naked – a habit ever since he started sleeping in Sebastian’s arms. Sebastian claimed he didn’t sleep well without making love to Kurt first, and Kurt had no intention of complaining. Even on the rare nights when they fought, they still ended up tangled in each other’s arms.

It was the best way in the world to end an argument.

Sebastian’s body was like a furnace - a constant source of heat against Kurt’s skin. And Kurt loved it. He loved his boyfriend’s heat. Kurt imagined it started in Sebastian’s heart and traveled via his blood throughout his whole body.

For some reason, though, the bed felt cold, the Egyptian cotton sheets like ice against his skin. Not to mention an odd, muffled rustling had started to invade Kurt’s dreams.

A rustling that sounded like someone rifling through drawers and paperwork …

… and it was coming from the living room.

He really didn’t feel like opening his eyes to find out what it was. The sound put his body on lock down – paralyzed him with fear. He wanted Sebastian, and to know that everything was okay. But since no one seemed to be offering that information (for a second time during their visit), it was up to Kurt to do the sleuthing, find out what was up.

He pried open his eyes.

He’d been lying flat on his stomach on his side of the bed. The other side, the side he was staring at, was empty. The blankets had been tucked around his body but it didn’t help. Without Sebastian, everything seemed stark, bare.

Kurt scanned the lonely room, lying in the silence, listening for any sound.

After several minutes, he heard one.

Another rustle.

Kurt’s muscles tightened so quickly, his neck ached and his head throbbed.

He didn’t want to call into the darkness for Sebastian, afraid of disturbing the source of the noise in case it wasn’t him – a ridiculous notion since the Smythe house, as far as Kurt could tell, was a fortress locked behind a metal fence. Who in the world beside Sebastian would be there?

Possibly Sebastian’s father, back with a weapon and looking for revenge? If anyone knew the ins and outs of the Smythe estate, including secret entrances and passageways, it would be him, right? Even with the security Richard had hired, he’d know if a loophole existed that would get him inside.

And he’d have reason to come back, reason to hunt down Sebastian specifically.

From the side of his eye, Kurt noticed the French doors that led to the living room open a crack. He sat up slowly, rolling tense muscles in an attempt to convince them to move, careful not to shift the bed too much lest the frame creak.

They’d discovered earlier that night that the old frame could be awfully loud. Kurt blushed remembering the close calls they had when they swore the legs would snap, the memory of what prompted the strain …

… exactly what Sebastian had done with his mouth and where.

Kurt took a moment to slip on Sebastian’s favorite green satin pants and a black t-shirt, adding a thick, white robe to guard against the cold. He looked around him for a weapon, just in case. The only thing he could find close by that fit the bill was Sebastian’s empty brandy bottle.

Kurt picked it up.

Even empty, it was heavy.

It could still knock out a filthy, homophobic motherfucker like Cornelius Smythe.

But what if he had a gun? Or what if it wasn’t him? What if he’d hired some large, muscular goon to do his dirty work for him?

Kurt’s hands gripping the bottle for dear life began to sweat, so much so that he was afraid he’d lose hold of it, drop it on his foot.

Give himself away.

He swallowed hard, squared his shoulders, clenched his jaw.

He’d already faced down one asshole with a gun. He’d do it again.

Especially to save Sebastian.

Kurt tip-toed over to the double doors, one foot in front of the other.

Louder rustling stopped him in his tracks.

He gulped hard and waited … for another rustle, for an explanation, but for Sebastian most of all.

He got neither, so he decided to continue forward.

Step after step he crept up to the doors. He put a flat palm to the wood, pushed one open a crack, and peeked out.

A man sat on the sofa, only his silhouette visible, hunched over double as if in pain. Kurt stared at him a long while until he lifted his head and showed his face.

Relieved, Kurt put the bottle down.

With the aid of the full moon streaming blue light through the windows, he could see the silhouette belonged to Sebastian. He had pulled the coffee table up to him, sandwiching his knees against the cushions. He leaned forward again, scrutinizing a spread of photographs. Off to the side, lying open, sat an album, pages so full they challenged the binding.

Both the photos and the album filled Kurt with melancholy. But when he looked at Sebastian, chin in his hands, eyes sad and staring, Kurt’s heart sank. Tracks from dried tears lined Sebastian’s cheeks, his eyes red-rimmed, lips swollen from where he bit back sobs.

Kurt knew what was going through Sebastian’s mind while he looked at those photographs.

They’d gotten the news that his mother’s mental faculties were deteriorating quickly – quicker than anyone had anticipated considering her exceptional physical health. Her doctors didn’t know how long it would be until she forgot her children entirely.

Sebastian absorbing that information, the blank expression on his face as he did his best to listen, then leaving abruptly, going outside for air, had been heartbreaking.

But Sebastian sitting in the dark, alone, crying, shattered Kurt’s heart.

He contemplated going back to bed, giving Sebastian his privacy, but something pulled Kurt into the room, to the sofa, to sit by Sebastian’s side. Without turning his head or saying a word, Sebastian took Kurt’s hand and placed it on his knee, tracing over his knuckles with his fingertips.

“I’m sorry if I woke you,” he said, voice breaking.

“You didn’t.” Kurt smiled, but Sebastian didn’t see, his eyes glued to the pictures on the table. Kurt turned his attention to the pictures, too - photos Sebastian had taken of Kurt’s house, of Kurt, of the two of them together. There were pictures from Sebastian’s room as well of Sebastian and Richard, Richard and his family, Sebastian with his mom. Kurt peeked past Sebastian’s body to the book open at his side. It wasn’t an album, but a scrapbook, one Sebastian was in the process of making. Sebastian had been mounting photos onto black pages and writing captions underneath in gold.

Sentiments of love, some paragraphs long.

Kurt couldn’t help the sound that escaped his throat, but that tiny noise triggered something in Sebastian’s brain, something that had been trapped all night as he flipped through photo after photo of the woman he loved … the woman he was losing. He broke down, tears streaming down his cheeks before he could stop them, shoulders crumbling, body bowing beyond his ability to control. Kurt wrapped his arms around him, cuddling him close, desperate to find a way to soothe him.

Kurt knew what it was like to lose a mother. He thought that might help him here, but he felt lost. Navigating his own grief had been difficult.

Navigating someone else’s was impossible.

He didn’t tell Sebastian it would be all right, because Kurt knew it wouldn’t. Not completely.

He didn’t try to quiet Sebastian’s tears. Kurt knew he needed to let them out.

He opened the edges of his robe and surrounded Sebastian with his warmth, let Sebastian crush his body against him, shaking with sobs, until he felt he would break apart. There they sat, wrapped around one another, until the stress of the day bled away – from Sebastian into Kurt, and from Kurt into the universe.

The sky had begun to lighten when Sebastian finally calmed down. Kurt took his face in his hands and kissed him gently, let Sebastian lay him back on the sofa and climb over him, kissing him back.

“How much more do you have to finish?” Kurt whispered when Sebastian’s lips left his mouth and started traveling down his neck.

“A---a few,” Sebastian admitted. “But I’m having a problem finding a caption for one.”

“Show me?” Kurt requested.

Sebastian righted them both and handed Kurt the book, open so he could see all the pictures, all the stories, all the ‘I love yous’ written between the lines. The picture without a caption was of Sebastian. It was the picture Kurt had taken when he gave Sebastian the camera. The photo was mounted in the center of the page with nothing written underneath.

“Ah.” Kurt sighed at the handsome face smiling back at him. “Portrait of the artist.”

“Yeah,” Sebastian said. “That’s about it, though.”

“What do you mean?” Kurt asked, careful fingers hovering above, tracing around the mouth and eyes. All this time together and one look, just this slight smile, could take Kurt’s breath away.

“What else am I?” Sebastian huffed. “Everything I am, everything I’ve done, I accomplished because of money. I don’t really have anything that’s my own. I’m the product of privilege. That’s all. Maybe my dad was right. Maybe I am worthless.”

Kurt glared at Sebastian, eyes wide. “You know, if I didn’t love you so much, I would slap you. In fact, I just might.”

Sebastian’s eyes lit up, their playful spark returning. Kurt rolled his.

“Here.” Kurt reached past Sebastian for the gold Sharpie he’d been writing with. “I don’t ever want to hear you tell me that you’re worthless,” Kurt muttered as he wrote, “because both you and I know that isn’t true. I won’t hear it …” Sebastian tried to peek, but Kurt wouldn’t let him. Not long after, Kurt handed the book back. “You’re worth everything to me.”

Sebastian looked at the words written neatly beneath the photo, read them to himself.

Sebastian Smythe

Photographer

Adventurer

Harvard student

Defender of the innocent

Willing to risk his life for those he loves

Loyal partner

Beloved son

Sebastian looked at Kurt with wet eyes and smiled.

Kurt winked. “In no particular order.”

[battle-of-alberta]

Chapter 4: Day Job - Easter Eggs

Hello again and welcome, if you read and enjoyed Chapter 4 of Battle of Alberta but wanted a closer look at some of the stuff I referenced or incorporated, links to more information, or just an explanation of my thought processes, you’re in the right place. Feel free to reply to this post or shoot me a message with any questions you have about this chapter I could add. 

Page 1

Hello Calgary is a song that was stuck in my head for weeks after I decided to use it as Calvin’s alarm! I linked to the version I had stuck in my head (which is also the version used for the intro to the Alberta Advantage Podcast), but there’s tons of other versions. It’s not only Calgary’s song, it was actually written for hundreds of American cities, but Calgary seemed to take a particular shine to the song that really stuck. 

Howdy is one of the two Olympic mascots for the 1988 Calgary Winter Olympics. Calgary was the first city to use two mascots for the Olympics; Howdy and Hidy welcomed people to the city with good old fashioned Western hospitality... I read a piece from 2007 quoting councilors on the decision to remove them from the city’s welcome signs saying something to the effect of “it’s time Calgary outgrew them!” which is pretty sad... obviously Calvin hates to let go of things.

Page 2

Calvin’s apartment is based on the Keynote Penthouse in downtown Calgary, which is just as ridiculous as i draw it. In fact, it’s MORE ridiculous in the photos.

His socks aren’t real but based on the Calgary flag, which literally has a cowboy hat on it. Because.

Page 3

Bankers Hall on the left side of the first panel is part of two twin towers in downtown Calgary designed to resemble cowboy hats on top. I wish I were making this up.

The Calgary Tower was built in the 70s to be the tallest building in the city by Husk- er, uh, “Malamute” Energy. It was surpassed at almost breakneck speeds by the rest of the skyline. And it shoots fire sometimes because of course it does.

Page 4

I would NEVER put real people in the background of my comics, especially not caricatures of infamous prime ministers. Don’t @ me.

The firm handshake thing is dedicated to an ad for a certain business school in calgary that i saw all over the airport one time when I was there that I can’t recall at the moment. 

On that note: the western overlay on his business talk is also real. A few months ago in a class I took, a guest speaker mentioned that a “gentleman’s handshake” was still an acceptable form of contract in Calgary, shivered, and said “no thank you”. I was laughing so hard internally I also choked internally.

Page 7

The Lethbridge viaduct which is symbolic of the city is confusingly also named the High Level Bridge, which as an Edmontonian annoys me, but I begrudgingly admit that Lethbridge’s was first.

Page 8

Lethbridge recently surpassed Red Deer as the third biggest city by population, which is still tiny at about 1/8th-1/10th the size of Edmonton or Calgary. They say “no hard feelings” since they often switch back and forth in this role, although since recent cuts to post secondary on top of a pandemic it is unlikely that RDC will be a fully fledged university anytime soon.

Ed’s weird socialist agenda faces only minor setbacks. He’s allowed to elect people too, you know.

Page 9

For the love of god LEAVE YOUR CLIPPINGS ON THE LAWN!

I just assume Lilith enjoys ikebana for reasons

Page 10

okay ngl Amazing Race Canada 2019 (Season 7) was the best season and I’m not just saying that because I’m biased towards my team. They did ikebana in the Edmonton episode and my heart... 

Astounding Trek is what they refer to it as in Kim’s Convenience (S03E11)

Seriously my team is the best team do NOT @ me. 

Page 11

I believe the beer in panel one is from Coulee Brew Co. This is more for local colour than for endorsement, I don’t drink so you’ll have to tell me if it’s any good.

For non-Canadians or for Canadians who missed my subtle dragging, I am referencing Prime Minister Justin Trudeau (who said the quote) and outgoing Conservative Party Leader Andrew Scheer (who recently got into a scandal about pretending to be an insurance broker when he was not qualified).

This comic took place before the federal election of October 2019, where Justin Trudeau scraped by with a sobering minority government. Many people across the country are frustrated with Trudeau for different (and evolving) reasons, but he is particularly hated in western Canada and especially Alberta for qualities including his perceived weakness and his poor efforts to ‘compromise’ on such projects as the Keystone XL pipeline. 

Personally, I don’t agree with many reasons that people in Alberta hate him, but I still have a lot of reasons to hate him anyway. He’s not the woke bae you think he is, and he is a coward. However, thats not the point of this comic.

Page 12

The cartoon Calvin is watching is an episode of Dudley Do-Right. I made the horrible mistake of re-watching the live action version after drawing this. It was Bad with no redeeming qualities beyond Brendan Fraser’s face.

The 60s were a hip and happening time in Canada on a national level: apart from the threat of nuclear war, we were busy beavers celebrating the country’s centennial and the world expo in Montreal. Provincial leaders started meeting with each other for the first time, bilingualism and multiculturalism were making headlines, and the Socreds (Social Credit Party) were in the middle of their almost dynastic reign in Alberta.

Page 13

Fort McMurray is connected to the rest of the world either by air or by a highway which is so prone to danger and bottle necking that it is nicknamed the Highway of Death. Edmonton is the most major destination at the end of this highway, and thus Mac is quite used to crashing at Ed’s place when things go south (which seems to be an awful lot.) He’s happy for access to cheap beer.

Page 14

This is Patches’ first appearance in the main storyline. He is a rescue slash emotional support dog and a malamute/husky/??? mix. Mac pretends he’s a guard dog but he really only guards Mac’s brain.

Mac picks up a lot of east coast slang, ‘darts’ for cigarettes being one example. 

The take-out packages are the kids boxes from Oodle Noodle... many fond memories of getting take out with my friends from there ;u;

Page 17

The nostalgia panel is full of Edmonton memorabilia including: A Klondike Days flag, a photo of young Wayne Gretzky, old and proposed city flags, a flag for the CFL team (which I deliberately drew backwards), a redesigned Oilers logo from the mid aughts, and of course the Alberta flag in the center. Many of these items have colonial/racist baggage associated with them.

Page 22

Panel one is a delicious shot of some green onion cakes, the unofficial civic food of Edmonton. 

Vulcan Ale is indeed a real thing you can buy with your money - it’s an American beer from Montana but available in western Canada. See also the Federation of Beer based in Alberta... we are a province of Trekkies (although if you ask Ed, he actually prefers Star Wars)

Page 23

Pizza 73 is just whatever the worst generic pizza chain in your area is but for Alberta (Eastern Canadians, think Pizza Pizza).

That’s all for now folks!

[michelles-garden-of-evil]

Episode 24 Review: Top 5 Reasons Why the Holly Portrait Subplot Doesn’t Work

Welcome back to Maljardin, where the melodramatic master Jean Paul Desmond is God and the Devil is a snarky talking portrait.

Speaking of portraits, today we will be looking at the subplot about Tim’s portrait of “Erica” (or, rather, of Holly) and the main things that are wrong with it. This subplot is, in my opinion, the worst in the Maljardin arc and I’ve been holding off on writing a detailed explanation of why I feel that way until my review of this episode, which mostly centers around the damned Holly portrait.

The portrait, circa Episode 18. There aren’t any good shots of it from Episode 24, so I had to settle for this one.

To recap: After the death of Erica Desmond, her husband Jean Paul hired Tim Stanton, a young artist in debt to the mob, to paint a portrait of her. Erica being both dead and encased in a cryonics capsule which both Jean Paul and THE DEVIL JACQUES ELOI DES MONDES refuse to open, Tim must instead use young heiress Holly Marshall as his model until Erica comes back to life as Jacques promised that she would.

Sound like a reasonable plan? No? I didn’t think so, either, and now I shall explain why. Here are the top five reasons why I think this subplot is stupid:

#5: Holly neither looks like Erica, nor knows what Erica looked like.

This screencap is actually from Episode 13, but I’m including it because it’s relevant.

I sometimes wonder if this criticism is unfair, because the only viewers up to this point in the show’s broadcast history who would have seen Erica were the viewers of Episodes 1, 2 (where Tim shows Alison his sketch of her), and 4. In the first scene of Episode 4, the Cryonics Society froze her corpse in the cryonics capsule, meaning that anyone who started watching after that scene would not have seen her face before Tim got his assignment from Jean Paul. Even so, neither Erica resembled Holly, which makes it absurd for her to sit for it. Why not have Alison pose instead when she’s not working? After all, they are sisters and they share a strong family resemblance according to the original pilot script. Holly barely resembles either Erica beyond being pretty.

Tim’s sketch of Erica from Episode 2, with a screencap of Alison from Episode 17 for comparison. With its upturned nose and full lips, the sketch is clearly intended to resemble Dawn Greenhalgh (Alison) and not Sylvia Feigel (Holly).

Because Holly hardly looks a thing like her, Tim complains in Episode 13 that he “can’t use her for anything but position and play of light.” In spite of this, later episodes including Episode 24 show that he has painted a sort of semi-abstraction of Holly’s face, with features about halfway between those of Holly and those of Erica. This means that he’s only making more work for himself for when Jacques brings Erica back to life--if he brings her back to life--because he will need to paint over the semi-abstraction with Erica’s face. In short, he’s wasting his time.

Besides, it’s unclear why Holly doesn’t know what Erica looked like if Erica was a very famous actress and she and her husband were stalked by the paparazzi until they escaped to Maljardin (as previous episodes have indicated). Surely she would have seen a photo of Erica in the newspaper at some point, or her face on the poster for one of her plays, or something. I realize that’s not the same as seeing someone in real life, but it’s just odd that she doesn’t know.

  #4: Tim doesn’t have even a photo of Erica with him and so has to rely mostly on memory.

He even says so in Episode 13: “I have to depend on my memory of your wife and that sketch I made of her at the café,” he tells Jean Paul (or, rather, Jacques while he is possessing him). As we saw in that episode, opening the cryonics capsule and posing Erica’s thawed-out corpse for Tim is too devilish even for Jacques, so the starving artist is left with a dilemma. Jean Paul, being a fancy rich guy of noble descent, naturally assumes that any criticisms of his assignment is just a case of beggars trying to be choosers and ignores them; in his mind, he did him a favor by paying his debts and taking him to his island, so Tim should obey his every whim without question. But the truth is that Jean Paul has no understanding of how artists work, nor why Tim needs the real Erica to complete the painting, and he may not even understand the creative process behind painting a portrait.

This could make for interesting social commentary if the writers had had Tim take a good hard look at the situation and realize that Jean Paul is not just imprisoning him on the island but flat-out exploiting him. They could have made his subplot about class conflict, the establishment’s lack of empathy towards creative types, or both. However, they choose not to use the subplot for such commentary, instead going in a much more conventional direction.

#3: The Holly portrait is mostly used to drive a clichéd romantic subplot.

Two people meet and hate each other at first sight--or at least pretend to--although they are clearly attracted to each other. They argue, bicker, treat each other indifferently at best and abuse each other at worst, until one day they realize that they have fallen in love. When was the first time you read or saw this story? Do you even remember the first time? Most likely you don’t, because the exact same plot has been used and reused so many times since Shakespeare’s Much Ado about Nothing premiered that Western media is saturated with it. It’s not a bad plot in and of itself, but it’s been overused so much that you can usually see it coming from a mile away. When Tim and Holly first bickered over her being too young to order booze, I predicted that they were setting up a romance between them. There are many signs: Tim confesses to Vangie that he feels sorry for Holly, Elizabeth suspects that he’s hitting on her, and, while she claims to dislike them both, Holly seems slightly less irritated by Tim than by her former captor, Matt Dawson. Ian Martin was clearly setting up a romance between the heiress and the artist, who are gradually bickering less and less: a telling sign that they are getting closer to falling in love.

As creepy as it is and as much as I don’t want them to get together, I actually find the Matt/Holly subplot more interesting to watch than Tim/Holly. Danny Horn of Dark Shadows Every Day may have written about how “groovy priest attracted to the beautiful young girl that he wants to take care of” is an old soap cliché, but I’ve seen it done far less often, which I suspect has something to do with all the church scandals in the past twenty years. The Belligerent Sexual Tension plot, on the other hand, is still very popular, so it feels less fresh to me than Matt and Holly’s subplot. (That doesn’t mean that I don’t still think he should leave her alone. Personally, I ship Reverend Dawson with his right hand and I think they ought to stay together.)

#2: The use of the Holly portrait on the show doesn’t connect to the show’s use of portraits for symbolism.

This one is really nitpicky and based mostly on my personal interpretation, but bear with me. Although far more complex than the Dark Shadows ripoff that many critics reduce it to, Strange Paradise nevertheless relied on many of the same tropes and themes, including the way its writers used portraits. On Dark Shadows, the writers often used a trope that Cousin Barnabas of the Collinsport Historical Society blog calls the “Portrait as Id,” meaning the use of paintings to symbolize and illustrate the truth about whatever character they represented. We see this in Strange Paradise as well with the portrait of Jacques, who tells Jean Paul that he is “the man you are, the man you might have been,” implying that the ostensibly good Jean Paul is not so different from his evil ancestor. Later on after Robert Costello becomes producer and the show becomes more like Dark Shadows, we’ll meet another character whose portrait does not turn out as intended because of the evil in said character’s heart, which also connects to this idea of portraits reflecting hidden reality. Although the conjure doll also resembles and represents Jacques, he does not generally use it to communicate with Jean Paul the way he does with the portrait. This makes sense, given that the doll and silver pin ended his life, while the portrait was painted at some point while he was alive.

In contrast to the portraits mentioned above, Holly’s portrait does not convey any additional information about either her or Erica. Because it represents the late Mrs. Desmond in name only, the Holly portrait says nothing about Erica’s id, her personality, or the state of her soul. It doesn’t even say very much about Holly. Instead, it’s mostly just used as an excuse to force Holly and Tim to interact with each other and bicker until they can finally admit that they’re in love.

#1: It goes (almost) nowhere.

And when it does finally go somewhere, it’s only relevant for a few episodes before it’s forgotten about. Holly’s participation in the portrait sittings soon becomes completely irrelevant, much like so many of the show’s early subplots which Late Maljardin’s headwriter Cornelius Crane chose to ignore. I suspect that the Holly portrait would have eventually became more significant in the main plot had Martin not been fired around Week 9. We may never know how it would have become so, nor how significant it would have become in his original outline. Who knows? Perhaps Martin would have crafted a shocking plot twist involving Holly that justified its existence. Perhaps he would have connected the portrait and its eventual fate somehow to the nightmare she had about Tarasca, having it reveal some terrifying truth about Maljardin’s past. At the very least, he might have used it to cement the romance between Tim and Holly. But instead the subplot ends with little payoff.

Tim on his subplot.

Still, despite the focus on the Holly portrait, this episode isn’t entirely a waste. Raxl saves it with her pleas to the Serpent and her attempt to contact the Conjure Woman, in all her scenery-chewing, melodramatic glory. There’s also a scene where Holly pressures her to read the two Tarot cards--the King of Swords (whom Matt identifies as Jean Paul) and the Queen of Cups (whom he interprets as Holly)--that she dropped on the floor earlier in the scene “just for kicks,” and she refuses, shouting “No!” repeatedly. If you love Raxl like I do, you’ll enjoy her scenes. They’re not Best of Raxl material, but they’re fun.

So long until my next review, which will cover Episode 25, followed by Week 5′s long overdue Bad Subtitle Special. I know that this is a change of pace from my usual recap-style reviews, but I really wanted to go into more detail about why I don’t like Tim’s subplot. I hope you enjoyed this post and I’ll see you again soon.

Coming up next: Elizabeth continues her attempted seduction of Jean Paul as we explore inter-generational conflict on Maljardin.

{ <- Previous: Episode 23   ||   Next: Episode 25 -> }

[unklarity]

Critical Role: Fjord

“It is in our nature to adapt.”

Click “keep reading” for more pictures of my Fjord magic box and for an explanation of the contents!

So, this box was pretty challenging for my brain, content-wise, because I knew that I loved Fjord but couldn’t figure out WHAT I loved about him. It was difficult to name his qualities, because I feel like he’s a bit different than everyone else, both in lore and in the way we learn about him throughout the game. So instead of trying to make a list of what made him who he is, I decided to go a different way and mirror some of the questions he asks himself and others. I’m pretty sure I just made things harder for myself in the end, but I also think it was an interesting way to tackle a box that I’ve never tried before and I’m pretty happy with the outcome.

This box does contain spoilers, because as fast as I was trying to pin down something concrete about Fjord, he was changing - or maybe just showing more of who he really is - and things were happening TO his character that were forcing him to change and adapt as well. The most recent “spoilers” which aren’t super concrete but will be referenced here would be episode 76, as that’s when I finished the actual contents of the box. I promise I will keep things vague in my explanation, but you’ve been warned. :)

The box for Fjord is a vintage box with an awesome pirate ship on the lid. The second I saw it, I knew I needed to have it, and it was actually what inspired the box in the first place. Right after I got it, I immediately got the yellow eye and set it into the top lid to represent Uk’otoa watching Fjord in his dreams and the Cloven crystals. It is super creepy, because the eye totally looks like it follows you when you move the box around!

Stones:

To start out, I started accumulating stones, as I tend to do when potion contents seem intimidating and confusing. As a focus stone, I included a Kambaba Jasper sphere, which helps with dissolving overwhelming negative emotions and healing from trauma - plus it’s varied shades of green, which I thought would fit nicely.

The two crystal towers in the box are smoky citrine and pyrite. Smoky citrine helps to ground and to calm fear and uncertainty. Pyrite, on the other hand, is a Protector Stone, representing self worth, personal power, strength, willpower and focus. It helps overcome feelings of inadequacy and live your life to its full potential.

The tumbled stones included in the box are:

bloodstone for courage and freedom from captivity;

labradorite for help banishing fears/insecurities while enhancing faith and reliance in oneself;

moss agate for a new start and gaining confidence in oneself;

fluorite for seeking knowledge, changing negative behavior, revealing truth, and emotional balance;

black tourmaline for help when feeling trapped;

aquamarine for courage, freedom, and communication, and is used by sailors as a talisman of good luck;

vesuvianite (a type of greet garnet) for soothing emotional turmoil, help making peace with and adapting to new situations, and support through major transition and upheaval;

obsidian for protection;  

dumortierite for help taking control of one’s own life

Finally, there’s a round, flat star ruby in the black sachet, meant for overcoming adversity, opening up and expressing true feelings, and some tiny red coral pebbles for confidence and courage.

Potions:

I felt like I anguished over the potions for ages, but really it took a few weeks of trial and error to get my thoughts to flow in a way that made sense. I started with 7 bottles and came up with 7 questions as loose themes for each one. This was a bit tricky, and I think I ended up making things more difficult for myself, but I’m happy with the results, so I’m going to pretend it was intentional genius all along.

After I finished the bottles, I did give them each a more succinct one-word theme, but I’m going to share both the questions and themes in an effort to show my process a bit. The first three potions are in the first photo above, in order from left to right, and the remaining four are in the next photo, also in order.

1. What is this pact I am in and what does it mean? (PACT) This potion is centered around Fjord’s pact with Uk’otoa, which is his most important conflict that’s both internal and external. He is initially confused about the pact and wants to learn more about it, and this curiosity quickly seems to turn to fear and uncertainty when he realizes just what he’s in for. There’s skullcap for making a binding oath or pact, bay leaf for prophetic dreams, lavender and coffee for disappointment, bitterness and regret; Anise and rosemary for preventing nightmares/disturbing dreams, aid in clear thinking, and help with memory, as Fjord doesn’t ever remember actually making a pact, he just washed up on the shore with the falchion next to him. There’s also vervain for protection at sea and protection from drowning, and thorns for feeling trapped and fearing one’s circumstances. Lastly, dogwood here represents regret over a specific decision or a situation that was beyond your control, and black represents a curse, or a boon that’s been warped into something negative. -Sealed with an anchor stamp and gold wax.

2. What is magic worth to me/Where does my worth come from? (DESIRE) This potion focuses on Fjord’s desire to learn about magic and understand his abilities. He seems to be searching for something he can’t name, and through learning magic he gains confidence in who he is and starts to accept himself (albeit conditionally). On the flipside, once he has this magic and this knowledge and it gets taken away, he has the realization that his magic and strength is intrinsically tied to his self-worth and isn’t sure how to deal with the possibility that it might not be permanent. This one contains fluorite and garnet pebbles, representing the search for knowledge and gaining strength. In addition, there’s cedar for confidence, strength and gaining knowledge; mugwort for building confidence; rosemary for difficulty with self-acceptance; jasmine for beginning a new life with new ideas/a new outlook, and hibiscus for finding passion, drive and insight. There’s also labradorite and violet for glamour magic and changing who you are both physically and mentally - for example, both gaining physical strength, filing down his tusks, and adopting Vandran’s accent. -Sealed with rosemary stamp and gold wax.

3. What am I willing to do for power? (POWER) This one deals with Fjord’s struggle of not wanting to be a burden or be cast out vs his impulsiveness and tendency to take risks. I had a lot of questions going into this one such as: How willing is he to deceive people/keep them in the dark? WHO is he willing to deceive? What are the means, what is the end? What was the goal in working with Avantika: just knowledge, or power? Cad’s quote of “Sleep well with your bad decisions.” really influenced this one in a big way. Fjord tends to make decisions and think about what they mean later, and ask questions of his friends without being willing to answer any about himself in return. On the surface it seems as though Fjord is trying to play both sides, getting what he wants by deceiving Avantika, and thinking he can fool his Patron as well, although as we know, that doesn’t turn out quite as well as he plans. For this one, we’ve got deer tongue for power; licorice root for persuasive powers/charisma and having advantage over others; lavender for distrust/disappointing others and yourself; hydrangea for pushing people away, and yellow rose for lies and suspicion. -Sealed with tiny ship stamp and gold wax.

4. How do I define myself? (SELF) This potion was super interesting and led to a lot of different questions. How does Fjord define himself? By his magic? By his past, or the people in his past (like Vandran)? How does he think of himself? As a leader, as an outcast, as part of the mighty nein? Who is he? Orphan, sailor boy, half orc, warlock, charming, intimidating? His tendency to act as teacher/mentor/protector/leader/ really stood out when compared to the lack of that figure in his own life. At times, he seems like he wants to fade in the background, but when no one else will, he steps up and becomes the voice of the group. For this one, I added cinquefoil for eloquence and acting as a leader; goldenrod for magic; cypress leaves for processing grief, anger and loss; pyrite for becoming a protector; poppy for trying to leave the past behind, and calendula for honoring the people we have lost, which I thought really fit with how Fjord adopts Vandran’s accent. I think Fjord defines himself internally by his past and is trying to scratch out one by one the things that remind him of his pre-Vandran life that he views as worthless, or as something he needs to erase in order to be worth something. He’s emulating a man that he respected, and trying to choose how he defines himself instead of having that decision be made for him as it was in his younger years. -Sealed with ship stamp and gold wax.

5. What am worth I without magic? (DOUBT)  This potion focuses on Fjord’s uncertainty, loneliness, insecurity, self-doubt, and fear of being helpless/fear of failure. Because he’s given his new powers so much importance, it paints a really stark contrast when we start to see his really deep reserves of insecurity and self-doubt. His fear of being helpless again is a big motivator for most of his (poorly thought-out) decisions. He tries to stay self sufficient, and we start to see that fear of being abandoned by the Mighty Nein if he isn’t useful to them, likened to his previous abandonment by his family and by Vandren, the only other positive figure in his life. In this potion is black ink and purple goldenrod for trauma and imprisonment/being helpless/blaming oneself; heather for solitude and protection against violence; lemon balm for help with insecurity, calming, and self worth; yarrow for overcoming fear and self doubt, and dogwood for keeping things (his dreams, accent, past, etc) close to the chest. -Sealed with ship stamp and gold wax.

6. Where do I belong/where am I going? (CHOICES) For me, this potion was about Fjord gaining the agency to make his own choices instead of having those choices made for him. He didn’t choose the pact with Uk’otoa, and didn’t choose how he grew up, but slowly, he starts realizing the power he has to make decisions and change his own life, both alone and with the help of others. He has a ton of choices to make: Release Uk’otoa or not? Break the pact or not? Become a follower of the Wildmother or not? This potion is one of my favorites and is packed full of ingredients! There’s barberry for atonement, magic/sorcery, and for freeing oneself from the power/control/influence of another; mint for help getting the push needed to change one’s life, peaceful sleep, protection while sleeping, communication, and drawing good spirits; rue for freedom and breaking oaths, and for help seeing and understanding one’s mistakes; agrimony for overcoming fear, reversing pacts and spells and warding off evil entities. Like the first potion, there’s also skullcap in this one for making a binding oath/pact, but this time it represents both Fjord’s blood oath with Caleb and his newfound connection with Wildmother. It also represents the relief of disharmony. Lastly, there’s pink rosebuds for divine love, pink carnation for a mother’s love (the Wildmother), and peony for protection, breaking hexes/curses/bindings, and help dealing with feelings of shame, which Fjord definitely struggled with when his powers were taken away from him. -Sealed with symbol of the Wildmother and gold wax.

7. Can I reach my goals alone? Do I want to? (GROWTH) In my other CR2 boxes so far I’ve included a reference to the rest of the Mighty Nein, and for Fjord I wanted to keep it going. In this potion, there is one clove for each member of the M9, including Molly. Cloves represent camaraderie, and becoming better through the influence of those around you. There’s also thyme for attracting loyalty and the good opinion of others, providing strength/courage, and warding off grief/nightmares; zinnia to remember friends that are no longer with us; sage for renewal, and for grief/loss and being able to learn from them (grief for Vandren, Molly, himself, and for other losses the group has sustained). Lastly, there’s magnolia for loyalty, calming anxiety, peace and overcoming destructive/unnecessary behaviors. -Sealed with tiny ship stamp and gold wax.

Since the top inside lid was so simple with just the eye, I wanted to have a little fun with the bottom of the box and make it a bit more complicated. I got a silver sword and  broke it, then carved out a space in the bottom so the sword would fit, using clay to fill in gaps so the sword was set flush into the bottom surface and it was still flat enough for everything to balance on it. Then, I covered it in resin, giving the bottom a “wet” look, which turned out even better than I expected and ended up looking super cool. To finish it all off, I added a piece of fishing net on the bottom as both a way to protect the resin and to give an interesting effect.

Lastly, I added a brass-topped tooth on a red cord in the little black sachet to represent the red rope on Fjord’s armor and his tusks, which have served as a metaphor throughout the campaign for his journey to self-acceptance, and carved a quote on the very bottom of the outside of the box. It says “It is in our nature to adapt.” I don’t want to spoil how and when it’s said, but I thought it fit really well.

This box was a wild ride, and I felt like I couldn’t see the end until I’d reached it. I’m glad I stuck it out and kept going because I love how it turned out! Thanks for reading this ridiculously long write up, friends, and until next time! 

[famous-aces]

Sun Ra

Who: Le Sony'r Ra (born Herman Poole Blount)

What: Musician and Composer

Where: American (active largely in US)

When: May 22, 1914 - May 30, 1993

(Image Description: a black and white photo of Sun Ra from 1979. He is standing in front of a brick wall that has words spray painted on it, partially blocked by his body. Legible is the word "Sunshine" in huge letters, the "I" dotted with a character or starburst. It is written in such big letters the last few have to be reduced to keep them from running over onto the door. Also legible are the letters "L, A" but the rest of that word is behind Ra. Ra himself is a stern looking, dark-skinned black man, shown here from the chest up. He has a longish face, a smallish mouth and eyes, a broad nose, and a cleft chin. He has a very serious expression.  He is wearing a wool cap, dark on top with a paler ring at the hem. On top of the hat is a huge 3D sun, about the size of his face. Poking out of the sun are a bunch of shiny wires ending on either small stars or pingpong ball sized planets. On his body Ra wears a cape and below that a robe. The robe is made of two distinct materials, mostly something wrinkled or rough, but in the center over his chest is smooth black fabric with white polka dots on which a sun and the planet Saturn have been painted. End ID.) 

He said he was born on Saturn. He wore bright robes and elaborate hats. He was a creature of Ancient Egypt and the unknown future. He never wanted to sleep and never drank. He said his biography was a mystery.  He was very fond of mysteries. 

Sun Ra was also a jazz pianist, composer, and the leader of the Sun Ra Arkestra, a free-jazz big-band. He is also one of the fathers of Afrofuturism, but given the themes he embraced, the outfit, and the Saturn thing you may have guessed that. 

Ra became well known for his musical innovation and uniqueness of instrumentation as well as the drama that characterized his music and persona both on and off the stage. He was active in the jazz scene for roughly forty years from the late 1940s to the early 1990s and he always seemed to be at least a decade ahead in his trends.

Ra was always creating pieces that defied the common and brought together his many complexities of style.  In the 1950s, when he first became a band leader, he began incorporating electric piano (his instrument of choice), tympani, and flute, instruments then unheard of in jazz bands. He later would be among the first, if not the first, to introduce the synthesizer. In the 1960s he began incorporating improvisation into his compositions and became well known for his strange solos. And in the 1980s he integrated earlier works into his performances.

His flair for the dramatic was at its highest on stage where combining Ancient Egyptian and sci-fi themes in sets, dance, and costumes. His performances were huge and eclectic and energetic. As much a spectacle for the eyes as the ears. 

His best loved albums include SuperSonic Jazz (1957), Cosmic Tones for Mental Therapy (1963), The Magic City (1966), Atlantis (1969), Astro Black (1972), Space is the Place (1973), Lanquidity (1978), Disco 3000 (1978), Sleeping Beauty (1979), Nuclear War (1982), and The Sun Ra Arkestra Meets Salah Ragab in Egypt (1983). There are best of albums like Sun Ra: Singles 1952-1991 (2016) and In the Orbit of Ra (2014). I don't know anything about jazz (free or otherwise) but I did like listening to his stuff, it is very cool and weird.

His personality was as exciting and strange as his music. He had an "equation" rather than a philosophy. Whatever he called it, his thinking was a very New Age, UFO Religion mindset although he was getting into these themes in the 1950s, well before those were popular. His personal equation combined many different sources with his own thoughts to find the path that, one biographer states, "leads beyond the stars." He drew heavily on Ancient Egyptian mythology and mysticism, channeling, black nationalism, Rosicrucianism, Kabbalah, Zen Buddhism, with a very heavy lean into Gnosticism. He frowned on most organized religions but was a highly spiritual being.  He was very much pro-civil rights but became disillusioned with the movement. Perhaps the most important things to him were outer space and music. He was always looking both to the distant past and far future.

His theories and equations were his own and explanations never gave a full picture. He took the role of eccentric teacher and apparently played the part well. He had many followers, especially among musicians. Overall, it seems, he embraced the strange and unknown and wore his identity with pride. He was queer and contentedly so.

He would not have been out of place today. Maybe he was from Saturn, but he could have easily been from the future.

(Image Description: the album art for Atlantis. It is all in yellows and purples.  It says "An Intergalactic Space Travel in Sound" on the top of the cover. Below that and on the left it says "Sun Ra and his Astro Infinity Arkestra". To the right it says "Atlantis". Below that is shows an amorphous blob of eyeballs and flame.  End ID) 

Probable Orientation: Aroace 

He is another one that aphobes say cannot be ace because they like him too much. They like and respect him so he cannot be sexually abnormal. They can accept him as queer, but aroace is too far. There are many who now accept him to be asexual, but many others who hold fast to their aphobia. Those people constantly claim that he was a sexual entity of some kind despite Ra's own profession to being "nonsexual.".

His queerness was noted before his persona was formed. In 1943 after having a nervous breakdown his doctor accused him of being "psychopathic" and "sexually perverted" because of his being queer. The same doctor also professed Ra (then Blount) was "a well-educated colored intellectual," evidence that his "psychopathy" and "perversion" were rooted in queerness, not something actually wrong with his mental health.

Over the years he had close confidants among his Arkestra musicians and other musical professionals. These were some of the people he was closest to in the world and all of these relationships were platonic, seemingly none I would classify as queerplatonic.  All of these confidants noted there was never any romantic or sexual partners they knew of in his life but some have asserted either he was too busy, he just never talked about it/told them (unlikely because he was willing to discuss just about anything which will be highlighted in the quotes), or this was part of his self-denial (he never did drugs or drank and liked to Go Without). Some people in his life assumed Ra as gay (and allo). He was more interested in music than relationships and role as teacher rather than as sexual/romantic partner.

But most of his time was spent with music.  His music involved a lot of talk of love but it was always a larger concept than romantic love. Brotherhood, universal acceptance, things like that.

But this should not be debate. Again, he basically said he was asexual in that he literally said he was "nonsexual.". 

(Image Description: a color photo of Sun Ra in his costume from Space is the Place. He stands tall with his head tipped up, again serious faced. He has his arms crossed over his chest like a mummy. He is wearing red robes with yellow sleeves that go to the floor. He wears bracelets, rings, and gold shoulder pads. On his head he wears a huge tall headdress. It looks very similar to a pharaoh's crown. Part looks like the lower part of an Egyptian headdress, like the thing the Sphinx wears, and it is striped shiny gold and black.  Sitting high on his forehead is a gold and jeweled crown piece and on top of that going probably two feet or so above his head is a gold pronged structure with a gold orb in the middle of the prongs. End ID) 

“I don’t believe that something like that [asexuality] exists. Everybody has his or her sexual orientation, be it secret or open ... I don’t think I ever talked about his sex life, but I am pretty sure that he knew Fernando [Vargas, a sound engineer] and I were a gay couple. It made no difference for him, so he was not like a religious fundamentalist who would object to work with people like us, you know. He was just the kind of a guy, if Fernando was drinking wine, he wouldn’t have wine. I heard that none of the guys was ever using drugs. At least they didn’t do it in the studio, but we did have them sleeping overnight. He seemed to be with a pretty clean group.”

-Warren Allen Smith, studio owner and friend of Sun Ra's. (Despite not believing in it Smith basically points out that Ra could have been asexual. He never talked about his sex life, spent the night in a platonic group, Smith also mentioned in the same interview that Vargas and Ra would spend long nights alone just talking about music, that seemed to be what Ra wanted to do. To talk and philosophize.  It seems his sexlessness was not about being straight edge.)

"[Vargas was] a good gossip [who would] tell stories about the pope’s testicles." 

-Warren Allen Smith (he also describes Vargas as being "outgoing" and "unreservedly gay". The point here is that these men were close friends of Ra's.  And Ra was perfectly into this kind of discussion. Indeed he told Vargas and Smith about his own testicles, one of which was undescended. He was not afraid to be completely open about himself and his body.  He did not shy away from sex or sexuality, he just wasn't interested in it. It would be out of character for him to avoid talk about his sex life or bring around a romantic partner.)

"Sun Ra abolished sleep from his 'so-called life,' just as he had come to do without the distractions of drugs, alcohol, tobacco, women [sex]."

-John Szwed (Ra biographer in his book Space Is the Place: The Lives and Times of Sun Ra) 

"I have heard from Damon Choice and others that Sun Ra used to turn to his Arkestra and declare: Leaders will ask you to give up your lives for them, I ask only if you’ll give up your Death for me? Nothing that is essentially incorporated into human being – not sex, not Death, not religion, or money – nothing that we are or have been is beyond evaporation as our ontology catches up with our time." 

-Thomas Stanley (biographer in his book The Execution of Sun Ra) (In other words Ra saw sex as inessential to human nature)

"A gimmick."

-Sun Ra on sexual intercourse

“I have never been able to think of sex as a part of my life though I have tried to but just wasn’t interested.”

-Sun Ra (Nuff said)

(Image Description: a photo of Sun Ra at his keyboard. He is wearing a beaded headdress and shiny rainbow robes. He has his eyes shut, he looks calm, and he has his keyboard at a strange angle as he plays.  End ID) 

[tightropenuzlocke]

Chapter Five: Light Your Candle To My Raging Fire    

Aisling was back the next day with almost as much punch and panache as the day they met—almost because she didn’t have quite the same spring in her step, because she stopped to admire the mosaics that gave the the Jardin de Tuiles its name, because she looked wistfully after the wild Vivillon that held nothing for her the day before. But judging by the way Serena’s eyebrows loomed low on her forehead, didn’t notice these subtleties. Instead she was confounded and bemused by Aisling’s liveliness, and Xoana could practically see the remorse of last night evaporate like dew in the warm morning sun. Then any remaining sympathy vanished in a flash of red as Aisling sent out a queen Combee—apparently caught yesterday in the same gardens they were currently passing through.

The new catch wasn’t quite as rare as a shiny, but still warranted the explanation Serena demanded. Aisling offered only the predictable “I got lucky” with what might have been the slightest undertone of irony. Serena steamed but not her tongue. “So Finley,” Aisling called to her latest acquisition, “got any friends here you want to join your hive?” The Combee swiveled to attention, and her wings stopped beating for a second in shock as Bree repeated the question. Aisling laughed. “You’ll be evolving soon now that you’re with us. We can find you a mating partner if you’d rather lay your own, but I wanted to make sure we didn’t leave anyone behind if you wanted a sorority hive. We won’t be back this way for a long time.” Finley was visibly flustered considering all of this, but eventually she just shook her head. “It might be a bit much for her to think about right now,” said Serena. She couldn’t well resist all this bug-type talk no matter how jealous she might be. “Queen Combee never form the bond with their parent hive. She might not understand until she evolves.” “Well, You’ve got some time to think about it,” Aisling told her pokemon. “Just keep it in mind, yeah?” Finley nodded and went back to visiting flowers as they drew ever closer to their destination. The heights were already looming above them and the distant hum of traffic carried on the breeze. Aisling underwent yet another transformation as they all passed through the shadow and stone of Illumis’s south gate. By the time Xoana’s eyes had adjusted, light had broken over her again, and a grin parted her lips, threatening to split her face wide open. There was glee and hunger in her eyes. She’d never been to the city before. “Welcome to Illumis!” Xoana hopped into Aisling’s view to frame the vista with fluttering hands. A chuckle! “Wowee!” Somehow it wasn’t even that corny coming from her. Maybe it was just the genuine radiance of her expression that made it so charming. This light played wonderfully on her freckled skin and the cloud of natural she had wrestled into a gold hair tie. It was even better than the Gym photo somehow—so much so that it took Xoana a moment to notice Aisling was staring right back at her. “Wait until you see the center!” said Tierney. “I’m gonna see it all!” Aisling declared, releasing Xoana from her hold. But they had to report to the lab first and withdrew their pokemon to take up less space in the city streets. Serena was impatient and always a little ahead as they threaded their way west, but stopped short of hurrying them since there was plenty of time. Aisling, meanwhile, lingered at the back, pausing now and again to take it all in, but never asked them to stop for anything. Her nose lifted as they passed a cafe and she saluted a passing Gogoat shuttle, who blinked at her in return. She almost bumped into Tracie when they stopped she was so distracted, but recovered smoothly. “This is a lab?” The disbelief was justifiable. Sycamore Labs was situated in one of the only remaining distinguished hôtel particulier that once lined Boulevard Méridionale. The Professor had inherited it from his aunt through an unbroken line of nobles older than the house itself—because money couldn’t buy a building like this, not anymore. “One of the original interiors is in the Musée des Arts Décoratifs.” “Now that I believe,” said Aisling. “What a façade! That cartouche above the door is positively emblematic of Kalosienne Renaissance classicism.” Xoana’s stomach did a little flip and she swallowed dryly. Was Aisling a secret architecture nerd, or had she looked that up because Xoana had mentioned being somewhat versed in the subject exactly once? Then Aisling winked at her—winked—and Xoana’s brain short circuited. She shouldn’t be allowed to do that! It was simply unconscionable! Before Xoana could properly address the legality of the situation, Aisling had bounded up to the door. The entrance hall had been carefully maintained and restored and still boasted the incredible style of its heyday complete with parquet flooring, a coffered ceiling, mixed sculptural and painted decoration, and caryatids on either side of a far more recent but nonetheless antique elevator on the far end. Xoana knew that one of the doors must lead to the only original parlor—the grander sister of the one she had seen herself—which had been kept as a venue for the lab’s small fundraisers. She sorely wished she had time to look for it. Xoana felt there must be at least two perfectly serviceable stairwells in a building this august, but they were waved into the elevator by the woman who had met them at the door. Strictly speaking there wasn’t space enough for five, but that didn’t stop the woman from sliding in after them and pressing Xoana right up against Aisling’s chest so that she had enough elbow room to work the lever. Xoana smiled apologetically up at Aisling’s exceedingly proximate face and glimpsed what may have been the beginnings of a blush coming to her cheeks before the elevator halted and they piled back out. Prof. Sycamore’s office was on the top floor in what was once a grand bedroom, and it still retained an oddly intimate vibe post-conversion. Tall windows overlooked the lawn and gardens below and warm, late-morning light flooded the room, starkly highlighting the man sitting behind a grand sycamore desk—the distinctive ray fleck was unmistakable. Xoana stifled a giggle. The professor rose languidly from his plush office chair. “You must be the new interns for the trainer magnet program. At last we meet!” He went down the line shaking each of their hands in turn. “Such a pleasure! Are you all getting along with your starters?” He nodded at their chorus of assent. “Wonderful! My report says you all earned your first badge already, is that correct?” “Yes, Professeur!” “Please, call me Sycamore.” He waited for at least one of them to amend themselves before continuing. “That’s excellent, just fantastic! This evaluation should be nothing for you then. What say we get on with it?” Aisling’s enthusiasm buoyed up the more nervous murmurs of agreement and Sycamore led them down a flight of stairs and out into the garden, chattering all the way. The lawn beyond the flowerbeds was bordered by roses and topiary. Ancient sycamores stood at each corner and there was a sizable fountain at the middle back where some young Froakie and Squirtle played. There were a good number of pokemon sprawled out in the sun, including a hulking metallic species Xoana didn’t know the name of. The burnished silver and gold was too bright for Xoana to focus on, but Aisling stared with wide eyes. “A shiny Metagross,” Tracie murmured. “Bessemer!” Sycamore called to it. “Would you clear a little space for us?” It couldn’t be his pokemon. Xoana would have heard about it. The Metagross rose, gave them a nod, and then floated under one of the trees. Xoana gasped as a Garchomp stepped out from the shade to make room. Serena had talked about it enough for Xoana to know who she was. She was Sycamore’s starter and a pioneer of mega evolution. Xoana had watched some of her exhibition matches as a child. She surveyed them all with cold yellow eyes, then growled so low it shook the ground. Several Bulbasaur, Squirtle and Charmander came running, gathering by Sycamore to await the call to battle. The Bulbasaurs were pale with dense markings and bright bulbs, the Squitles had pointed shells and strong jaws, and the Charmanders glowed with intense color and sported a row of dots down each side. Even Xoana could tell they were no run-of-the-mill variants. “Send out your teams,” Sycamore commanded. Froabble, Bree, and Félicité greeted Sycamore’s Garchomp and she nodded to them while the others looked up at her in awe. Xoana found both her legs embraced by furry bodies. One by Tessa, who was standing in front to protect her despite being terrified. The other was Emer, who could almost reach around now and peeked out curiously. “Each of you will battle a balanced trio and can use up to three pokemon of your own. I may be a little rusty, but don’t let your guard down.” Sycamore winked, but it was far less affecting than the one Aisling had given her earlier. “Who wants to go first?” Aisling was quicker on the draw. Serena pretended to be gracious. One of the Bulbasaurs trundled forward and wiggled in readiness. To the surprise of all, Aisling sent in the Combee she’d had on her team less than twenty-four hours. Finley kept her distance and dodged the Bulbasaur’s reaching vines as best she could until her Gusts wore him down. Next was a Charmander, lean and sharp-eyed. Aisling switched for Emer—the only sensible counter at her disposal. The Charmander surveyed Aisling and her team and gave a derisive snort that blew steam from her nostrils. Her claws flashed the moment the attack order was given and Emer squeaked in surprise at her ferocity. The Marill was forced to bounce, roll, and bide her time until the Charmander became frustrated enough to use Ember. A well-timed Water Gun doused it and left the Charmander spluttering long enough to get in a double Tail Whip across her face. The Charmander knocked her away with a lunge, but another sustained Water Gun blast brought her down. A blithe Squirtle stepped up to replace her and Bree cracked her knuckles. The turtle’s Withdraw and ridged shell gave the Chespin some trouble, but she shrugged off the Tackles with her woody plates, and once she got a firm grip, it was over. The Squirtle held out for a while, but the combination of nausea from being slung around and repeated violent meetings with the ground were eventually too much for him. Bree flexed like Aisling had shown her and evolved on the spot. The burst of light and wind jolted Xoana back to herself and even drew the attention of the Metagross from across the lawn. Sycamore smiled to himself while Serena tried not to look pissed. Xoana and the others offered their congratulations to cover for her. Meanwhile, the Quilladin marveled over her her new bulk, armor, and needles. “Nice battling, Bree! You look awesome!” Her ears perked at Aisling’s words of praise and she chittered back at a lower register. They performed their now signature fist bump and Aisling made a big show of how much the Quilladin’s hardened knuckles hurt. Bree gasped but it turned into a giggle as she realized the joke. Serena went next of course and Félicité dispatched her Bulbasaur in a single fiery blaze. Justine had disguised herself as a Marill right out of her ball to intimidate the Charmander. The trick let her get close enough to land two good hits without getting singed, and Sycamore was thoroughly surprised and appreciative when the jig was up. Serena was pleased, but Justine looked to Félicité for approval and received no reaction at all. She tried her best against the Squirtle, getting up once more than she should have so that Félicité wouldn’t have to face her weakness all to no avail. The Fennekin brushed past her fallen teammate and wore the Squirtle the rest of the way down with her superior agility. Xoana didn’t mean to go last, but Tierney was jittery with nerves by the time Serena was through. Valériane, Laoch, and Aiden made fairly short work of it, but by then Spark was getting very bored and Tracie had her battle before the Pikachu fell asleep. Bulbasaur was a rough start typing-wise but Tracie and Spark had long since solved that puzzle: paralyze, weaken, spam Quick Attack. Charmander went down faster and Squirtle only took one sustained shock before keeling over. “Ready, Mme Bellamy?” Xoana jolted back to herself and sent in Tessa. Once again she needed some prompting, but the Bulbasaur they were up against was quite obliging in that department and did a quick warm-up with his vines while Tessa sized him up. He was focused and confident when they got to it though, keeping Tessa at bay with his vines until she grabbed on and reeled him in. Even then he held his own, claws shredding turf down to the last inch. But Tessa hit hard and tenaciously once committed and he surrendered when she somehow hoisted him by the bulb after a thorough pummeling. Tessa eagerly tapped out when Froabble croaked his willingness to take over. “Thanks, Froabble,” Xoana whispered to him as he hopped forward. “Use Bubble!” “Ember!” For an instant, Xoana thought it would be over right then—after all, that was how Emer had beaten her Charmander—but while Bubble had superior concussive force when it landed, there wasn’t enough actual water to power through the flames. Instead the move burst into a thick cloud of steam that the Charmander came barreling through, claws raised and ready to Scratch. “B-Bubble!” Xoana stammered. “But get behind first!” Despite her stumbling, Froabble was quick on the uptake and dodged the scratch, zig-zagging until the Charmander unbalanced himself and stumbled long enough for Froabble to get behind. The bursting bubbles sent the Charmander spiraling and he shook his head in momentary disorientation. Froabble sucked in another breath and shot out an even denser cloud of bubbles as the Charmander scrambled back to his feet. He swiped furiously, popping a few on his claws, but he couldn’t stop others from bursting on his face, and he toppled once more. Froabble returned to position, ready to face the final pokemon, but Xoana didn’t like his chances against Squirtle’s high defences and sent Tessa back in. The Teddiursa was ready this time, but her claws bounced off the Squirtle’s carapace. Tackle did almost as little since he seemed happy enough to bounce around in his shell. Grappling it proved to difficult and when Tessa paused for breath, the Squirtle slapped her across the jaw with Tail Whip. He wet the ground beneath her and tackled her with his shell. She slipped and went down in a great groaning huff. Tessa was too tired from her first battle. Xoana had no choice but to overturn her doubts with the surety Froabble displayed as he leapt back in. Speed was everything now. It was all they had since the Squirtle could take a hit that would lay Froabble out and deal almost as good. She focused on every movement, trying to stay with him as he hopped, flipped and sprinted. The Squirtle’s shell was more hazard than target, so Xoana gambled for the legs. They were short, low, and difficult to hit, but Froabble enjoyed the challenge. Despite his frankly incredible agility, the proximity necessitated by this strategy earned him two consecutive Tail Whips. The telltale shimmer of his magic defense being ripped away set Xoana’s heart hammering in her chest, and it near skipped a beat when the Squirtle dove at him, but he slid smoothly underneath across the slick grass and landed a solid kick to his intended target. For a moment, Xoana thought they might win—the Squirtle was becoming unsteady on his feet—but it was not to be. A full body Tackle with that brutal shell knocked Froabble flat on his back. She heard the wind forcibly eject from his lungs with each consecutive impact as he skidded to a stop in front of her. But she also saw what the relieved Squirtle did not: Froabble dig a hand into the grass. And she couldn’t give up on him, not after the promise she’d never even voiced. “Froabble, use Lick!” His tongue shot out and wrapped the Squirtle’s head. The pokemon was too distressed by the lavender flames to rally and Froabble used his prone but anchored position to yank the Squirtle forward. “Pound!” Froabble released his hold, flipped, and kicked the stumbling Squirtle with both legs. The force sent the Squirtle right over Sycamore’s head. Everyone’s gaze followed the arc and came to rest on his spinning shell—all but Froabble, who regathered his legs into his customary squat. “You alright, Froabble?” He nodded. “Thanks for the boost. That was a good kick.” “That was an awesome kick!” She almost laughed and gathered him up in her lap to check his chest. “You all did very well!” Sycamore congratulated them. “I’m pleased and excited to keep working with all of you. Mme Quinn, you expressed an interest in the Mega Evolution program and that battle showed me exactly what I want to see in a prospective candidate. Therefore, I’m going to move you over right away, which means you can choose one of the pokemon specially bred for the program!” “Thank you, Sycamore!” said Aisling, voice a mix of excitement and triumph. “Not at all! It is I who am grateful!” The professor waved airily, but his lips twitched, and he continued with less ease. “Now, I was rather hoping you might consider taking the Charmander you battled. She’s a prodigy but may take… confidence to handle.” “She’s just the one I wanted.” “Excellent!” Sycamore’s relief was palpable and that was concerning, but Aisling grinned from ear to ear as she shook his hand. Xoana glanced at Serena, but she was too eaten up by jealousy to notice anything amiss. He jaw was taught and Xoana could almost hear her teeth grind. As for the Charmander, she looked between the professor and her new trainer in disbelief before appealing to Sycamore’s Garchomp. The huge pokemon’s lip peeled back, revealing her saw-like teeth and she growled low. The Charmander snorted steam and sulked over to Aisling’s side, ignoring Bree’s offered paw. She certainly seemed like a handful. “And Mme Pascal, you wanted to be in the mega evolution program as well, correct?” “Yes, Professeur.” “And so you shall be!” Thank the gods. “Choose any that you want.” Xoana wasn’t surprised when she picked a Squirtle. He reached up to shake his trainer’s hand and waved at his new teammates. “Mme Bellamy.” She looked up at the professor. “You did not express interest in the mega evolution program on your application, but I would love for you to participate.” Xoana gaped at him. “I think you’d make an excellent fit.” “I—b-but we barely won that battle!” “But you did win, when by all rights you should have lost.” Now that was a backhanded compliment if she ever heard— “Your Froakie was finished, but you gave him the energy needed to continue and execute one of the best critical hits I’ve seen in a long time. That demonstrates a remarkably strong connection for a trainer so green and impressive inner power.” Viola had something similar but— “He’s right,” Froabble croaked. She looked down into his eyes. “That’s why I thanked you.” “You… really think I can?” “Of course!” Sycamore answered her warmly, though she hadn’t meant to ask him. Froabble gave her a quick nod. “Alright then—I mean, thank you! It’s such an honour! I’m very excited to—I accept—” “Very good!” Sycamore interrupted before she could spew any more nonsense. “Select your new companion.” Xoana considered carefully, but it wasn’t a difficult choice. Bulbasaur were the cutest and the one she had battled seemed mellow enough to get along with. He shuffled over when she pointed and used a vine to greet her and his new teammates. “Mme Chastain, I notice you have no additional pokemon yet, which is understandable given the nature of your research, but I believe I have a solution for you. And Mme Fitzroy, I can’t tell you how delighted I was by your idea for a project! Very thoughtful and creative! One of my graduate students may have some interesting information to impart with regards to your chosen topic.” “What did I tell you?” Aisling asked softly while Sycamore’s attention was elsewhere. She tried to smirk but it fell apart when Xoana beamed back at her. “Congratulations, Marquise.” She offered her hand and pulled Xoana in for a shoulder bump. Something like a giggle escaped Xoana and she clasped Aisling’s arm for a moment to steady herself after. Serena was right there waiting and Xoana turned expecting a handshake and was swept up in a hug instead. “That was awesome, Xo. I’m so glad,” Serena said in her ear. Moments like this had become rare—Serena had never been the touchy-feely sort and they no longer had quite the same casual intimacy as a year ago. Xoana hadn’t even realized how empty she’d been until the embrace filled her to the brim. And Serena wasn’t tense in her hold, instead squeezing with genuine fondness. She held on tightly. Maybe she couldn’t have everything, but she could have this. ... Maybe there was something there. Xoana seemed the type to hug with her entire being, but the quiet gasp and clinging fingers said more. The tension between them might be more than that of longtime friends drifting apart. Perhaps something felt but not yet spoken. “Ah, there you are!” Aisling turned to see who Sycamore was greeting and found a young man in a nice linen suit walking out of the lab towards them. His hair was silver at the root fading into light blue and tied in a neat bun at the back, leaving a few loose curls to frame his face. “Bonjour!” He greeted them with a wave and brilliant smile. “Bes told me you had some new mega evo candidates.” Aisling couldn’t place his accent other than that it was foreign. “Yes indeed! This is one of the senior program members, Steven Stone. He researches the mega stones and keystones themselves and what properties allow them to unlock a pokemon’s true potential! He and his partner Bessemer recently achieved mega evolution!” So this was the guy with the shiny Metagross. Aisling offered her hand. Steven greeted each of them with warm interest and impeccable manners. Wherever he was from, his family had money. Aisling wondered about his age. To be working here, he must have his license at the very least, but four or five years older seemed too many. “Steven’s father owns a fossil revival facility, so he may be able to connect you with the proper resources, Mme Chastain.” “I’d be delighted,” he declared. “Always happy to help out a fellow fossil enthusiast!” Tracie could only nod and Spark bounded into her arms to press up against her chest. Steven patted his Metagross’s leg to give her space and they gave him an appreciative rumble in return before they all headed back inside for the tour. Science wasn’t Aisling’s aim and she let herself fall to the back by Steven while Tracie pressed forward to listen to Sycamore’s explanations as they entered each lab room in turn. “So where are you from?” Aisling asked. “Rustboro City, Hoenn.” That explained the accent. “Forgive me for saying anything rude or strange. I’m still learning the language.” “Oh, but you speak so well!” That made him laugh. “I know I butcher my vowels! But you are very kind, thank you.” “Don’t listen to the central Kalos folk! They tell us provincials we don’t speak the language right either.” They entered a new room and she let their conversation lull for a moment while Sycamore turned to them. This place was quite an interesting mix of old and new, art and science. The humming machinery was sleek and chrome with holographic touch screens while the walls were covered in ornate wallpaper and bordered by fanciful moldings. “How did you meet your partner?” Aisling asked when she was at liberty to. “My father acquired Bessemer for me when I was a child,” Steven answered quietly. “I have always been—” he paused, grasping for the right word, “a gigantic nerd of rocks and metal-type pokemon.” He held up his hand to show the titanium cuff and assorted rings that adorned it. He also had a single earring set with a rainbow stone. Aisling could hang with this guy. Their banter carried them through the rest of the tour. The current earring was ammolite, but he also had bismuth and opal ones he wore regularly. His hair had gone silver as a teen, and he had finally scraped together the confidence to stop dyeing it blue, resulting in the dual tone while he waited for it to grow out. He was twenty-two and had all ten badges in his home region. He was raised by his father like she had been raised by her mother. He returned her interest and took her playful jabs with good humor, further cementing her decision to befriend him. “I like to look good,” he said of his tailoring. “And that’s not a very suitable comment from someone sporting a jacket as interesting as yours. Why Lord Jirachi?” “Diádh is my patron,” she answered honestly, momentarily disarmed by the pun and teasing. Xoana looked back at the mention of the luck god. She had never asked about the design, but perhaps she was curious. Aisling left her with that one tidbit of information and steered the conversation away. When they arrived back in Sycamore’s office, a pair of scientists were waiting for them. The man was tall with a mop of golden curls, while the woman was quite short but looked as though she could and would snap the man clean in half over her knee. She slid off the desk and tossed her dark cascade of hair like she was reenacting a shampoo commercial. “This is Sina. She’s researching the energy released by mega evolution.” She lacked the definition and sculpting of a bodybuilder, and her exceptionally firm handshake suggested strength training as the source of her physique. “Dexio is looking into the enhanced bond between trainer and pokemon while the mega form is active.” Everyone here was a regulation hottie. Dexio was by far the least attractive of all the lab employees she’d seen, but he was still a twink adonis if one was into that sort of thing. And other than Steven and Sycamore himself, he was the only man. Aisling was beginning to suspect some bias in the hiring process. A knock came at the door and Steven opened it to let another man in. Forget Dexio, this asshole was towering. He would have had to duck through a standard door frame. His outfit was too fashionable not to be custom and must have therefore cost a fortune. Though to be fair, there couldn’t be many places that stocked his size. He also sported an elaborate and immaculate mane of red hair, as if he needed to strike a more imposing figure. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything, Arsène,” he said, though he obviously was. “Not at all Thierry!” Sycamore said warmly, weaving through them all to be closer. “But you’ll be pleased to hear the Mega Evolution program has three new trainers.” The giant looked them over and Aisling evaluated him right back. He stank of privilege—or maybe that was perfume. “May I introduce Thierry Lysandre, esteemed entrepreneur and philanthropist.” The looks on her friends faces showed that they knew who he was and were awed simply to be in his presence. The name seemed vaguely familiar to Aisling, but stirred none of the same emotions. But he was clearly very wealthy, close to Sycamore, and perhaps directly involved in the program, so she decided to behave. Sycamore introduced them all, and once the pleasantries were dispensed with, Lysandre launched into a speech so tiresome it almost made Aisling break her good behavior right them. They were “the future” and “had the power to change the world”. It was like being at her lycée graduation all over again. So of course she didn’t listen to much of what he said, just kept her mouth shut and nodded when it seemed appropriate. Steven shifted to obscure himself from Lysandre and looked very much as though he was tuning it out as well. Xoana’s smile had turned hollow. Sina and Dexio were either good at faking it or at least somewhat invested. Tracie and Tierney were getting bored. Serena, on the other hand, hung on every word and Sycamore displayed a frankly embarrassing level of adoration. He knew they weren’t alone, right? At last Dexio offered to take Lysandre to see whatever he was actually there for and they left, allowing the rest to talk about their projects and fill out the forms that needed doing. Aisling tried to talk to Steven while Serena all but interrogated Sycamore, but he was already engaged with Tracie and she let them be. Sina saw to the rest of them, switching back and forth from Tierney to Aisling and Xoana. Besides the timeline, there wasn’t a ton to absorb, so Aisling continued to watch the others out of the corner of her eye. Evidently Steven had divined that Tracie didn’t like eye contact and repositioned himself shoulder to shoulder facing her screen to take the pressure off. Luckily Sycamore was charmed by Serena’s intensity and gladly answered all her questions. Aisling had to admit she could be engaging, even if she was a stuck-up asshole. She noted Xoana ogling Sina’s impressive bod with amusement and Tierney coloring every time the scientist focused on her with mild surprise and satisfaction. She kept finding ways to obscure her face and could barely string a sentence together. It occurred to Aisling that Tierney might be sensitive about her appearance. She was quite heavyset and vitiligo was rare and stark against skin as dark as hers. Something to keep in mind going forward. “If that’s all taken care of, perhaps it’s time to—” “Arrange for your accommodations while you are in the city,” Sina finished for him. Sycamore gave an embarrassed half-chuckle. “Exactly so.” “Well,” Xoana began. “We were hoping to stay at the Hotel—” “That won’t be necessary.” Everyone looked at Tracie, which made her look down. “Everyone can stay at my house.” “Tracie, are you sure?” Tierney asked in a careful tone. “My parents are out of town, but they extended an invitation to you all and there is plenty of space.” A beat of silence followed. “Excellent! Well, if that’s settled you are free to go.” They delivered their various farewells and meandered out into the hall. Steven gave Tracie his number, which Aisling was tempted to ask for as well, and Sina gave hers to a blushing Tierney. After that, she took off while Steven remained in Sycamore’s office. “Aisling,” Serena said tentatively. Aisling ignored her. “My Queen?” she tried, though it pained her. “Yes?” “I was hoping you might agree to accompany me to the Café Soleil for some coffee and pastries? On me?” If Aisling didn’t know better it rather sounded as though Serena was asking her out. Too bad she didn’t care. “Naw, I’ve got an appointment. Y’all go on without me. I’ll catch up later. Just text me your address okay, Baronne?” Serena’s barely concealed rage was almost worth Xoana’s disappointment. She grabbed Serena’s arm and pulled her away before she could blow. Aisling waved. She leaned back against the wall by the door and pulled out her holocaster to look at a map. “A somewhat rude and invasive personal question, if I may?” Steven’s voice floated out of the crack in the door. “Of course!” Sycamore said warmly. “You know they’re my favorite.” “Have you slept with all of your friends?” So she wasn’t the only one who had noticed. Maybe she would ask Tracie for Steven’s number. Sycamore laughed. “Hoenn must be so uptight! Loosen up, mon ami. You are in Illumis, City of Love!” “I’m fairly certain Illumis is the City of Light,” Steven muttered. “Nonsense. Only tourists say that.” ... “Where the hell is she?” Serena asked for the third time that evening. “I thought you said it was a hair appointment. It’s been hours! What could possibly be taking so long?” “A lot of things!” Xoana didn’t mean to sound so huffy, but she wasn’t in the mood to address Serena’s ignorance politely. She didn’t have time to explain hair texture to her. She was too busy worrying if Aisling would notice, how they would all handle the subject if it came up, how Aisling would react. Tracie hadn’t said anything—Tierney was doing a good job of distracting her with video games—but Xoana had to think she was just a little nervous under there. Then again, they had the house to themselves, so maybe she was getting all worked up for nothing. The bell rang downstairs and they all poured out of Tracie’s room. Joffrey, the Chastain family’s Gothitelle had already answered the door and Aisling stood in the grand vestibule, hair transformed from barely contained cloud to a cascade of ropey strands pinned neatly back. Locks looked good on her—right even. But where the hell had she gone that they finished in just one sitting? Their eyes met across the double staircase and Aisling’s face took a moment to go from gaping but understandable awe to that too-big grin of hers. “I really cocked up the nicknames, Baronne. You’re clearly the Queen of this group.” Tracie shifted her hands behind her back so Aisling wouldn’t see her wring them. “Why didn’t you tell me you were filthy rich? Like damn! Look at this fucking house!” She was laughing now. Tierney chuckled too. “You should see the estate!” Xoana and Serena gave her reproachful looks, but she ignored them. “Of course you have an estate. No one could have this kind of house in the middle of the capital without having a country estate. It’s only natural!” Aisling laughed again. “This is awesome!” she declared, throwing up her arms, not the least bit caring that Joffrey was still standing there. “Ya gotta show me around your pad!” That shattered the tension and Tracie started down the stairs. Then the doors opened. There was no bell this time and Joffrey jumped to assist Tracie’s parents as they entered. They piled their coats into his arms which he ran to the closet before hefting their suitcases with psychokinesis and floating upstairs. Everyone remained frozen where they were as he passed. “Théo darling!” her mother called and all four of them winced. How was it the woman never noticed? “What on earth are you wearing? Did you girls dress him up again?” “We went shopping!” Xoana said with all the excitement she could muster, nearly jumping down the steps between them to be by Tracie’s side. “We haven’t been in the city in so long!” Tierney nodded vigorously to back her up. She already had a hand on Tracie’s shoulder. “Well, that’s what you get for having only female friends,” said Tracie’s father. “So sweet of you to always indulge them,” her mother added. “Oh, but you haven’t even introduced us to your new friend!” She turned to Aisling. “You’re in Prof. Sycamore’s program too, correct?” “Yes!” Aisling stepped up and offered her hand. “Aisling Quinn. Wonderful to meet you.” They both seemed pleased by her politeness and firm handshake. “I thought you were supposed to be in Flusselles until the end of the month?” Tracie ventured. “Yes, well, Antoine called because there’s some big issue with the supplier so your father had to come back to town to sort it out. We’ll just have to take the trip next week or whenever this blows over.” Silence again. “We had a long journey and I need to recover for a bit. You all have fun. We’ll see you at dinner!” They all stayed where they were while Tracie’s parents climbed the other side of the staircase to their wing of the house. Tracie turned back and Aisling waited at the foot of the stairs until Xoana beckoned her to come with. Aisling spoke to Tracie as they went down the hall. “Can I ask you something?” Fuck. Tracie nodded. “Do your parents know you’re a girl?” Oh… That was good. Tracie shook her head. “Do you want me to correct them?” Tracie shook her head again. “Okay.” There was a palpable sigh of relief from the group. “Can I still call you Baronne around them?” Tracie smiled just a little. “Yes.” Aisling let out a rather loud expletive as they entered Tracie’s room. She kicked off her boots and dove onto the king-sized four-poster, rolling back and forth before settling on her side with one knee crooked and her head propped up by her elbow. “Is this where we’re sleeping?” Then she had the gall to wiggle her eyebrows. “You’ll have Timothée’s room,” Tracie answered, going to her night table for the remote. Aisling’s exaggerated disappointment was cut short when the enormous screen descended from the ceiling so that Tracie and Tierney could continue their game. “Awesome! What are we playing?” “Super Pokken Ultimate.” “Nice! I’ve only ever played Royale.” Aisling sent out her team to hang with the rest of the pokemon while they got set up to play. Xoana and Serena sat up on the bed, and the other three sunk into bean bag chairs. Spark retrieved her extra small controller and arranged her own mini bean bag beside Tracie’s. Aisling was crap at Pokken. “I can’t believe I’m getting beaten by a Pikachu!” She cried after yet another sound defeat. Spark leaned around Tracie and chattered. “Is she shit-talking me?” Tracie didn’t answer but her face must have given it away. Aisling laughed. “You’re going down, rodent!” Spark then proceeded to utterly thrash her for the next few rounds. Aisling yelled and laughed and fought her hardest all to no avail. When she got KOed early for the fourth time in a row, she put down her controller and rocked out of her seat. “Fuck this noise. I’m gonna play some real Pokken!” Spark’s cheeks sparked. “Come here, Bree!” The Quilladin came over and Aisling tackled her. Bree was confused at first but caught on quick and giggled and snorted as she and Aisling rolled around on the floor trying to pin each other. The ruckus was too much to play over and they all turned to spectate. Aisling threw her jacket to Xoana as sweat began to bead across her brow and Xoana clutched it tightly despite herself. Aisling held out surprisingly well as the two alternated between competitive and silly. Spark cheered shamelessly for Bree and even Serena had to stifle a laugh. It was almost enough to forget about the dinner looming ahead. ... They reconvened in Tracie’s room after they were all clean and changed into their pajamas. Tracie’s parents had taken the nickname thing in stride. Her mother even found it cute. Sharing a meal with them was so much easier when Xoana and her friends could counter every instance of “Théo” with something she’d chosen, assure her that she was a girl even if her parents didn’t realize it. Xoana wished she’d thought of it a long time ago. The pokemon had been served their evening meal separately but were now allowed out to nap or play at their own choosing. Xoana had filled up the tub in Tracie’s bathroom and Froabble was in there now along with Serena’s new Squirtle. Sprout was getting along like he’d always been there. The only one who didn’t seem the least bit interested in socializing was Aisling’s Charmander. Once it was made clear to her there were no battles allowed in the house, she installed herself in the windowsill and sharpened her claws with her teeth. “Hey, Tracie, do you have DDR?” Aisling asked. “Yes.” “Tierney!” She jumped. “I challenge you to a dance off!” It took her a few moments, but she smiled. “You’re on!” They cleared the floor and rolled the bean bags to the other side of the room. Aisling might have expected mercy when Tierney selected a lower difficulty, but Xoana and the others knew that meant she was about to show off. At the higher difficulties there wasn’t any room for flourish. At a low rank one could dance and that was exactly what Tierney did. She was good in recitals but always best when she was freestyling her own thing—at least in Xoana’s opinion. All that mildness melted away as she hopped and spun and swung her hips. Aisling cheered and lycan-whistled even as she tried desperately to keep up. Xoana was surprised when she managed a halfway respectable score. “Best two out of three!” she yelled like she had a better chance than a Durant against a Heatmor. Usually Xoana was happy to watch, but something moved her and she hopped off the bed into the game. Aisling grinned and Valériane shuffled over as well now that it was no longer a one-on-one. They moved down so the Hawlucha could be next to her trainer and played on medium. Valériane got a few laughs flapping her wings, wagging her tail, and flaring her crest in her own version of dance moves. It goaded all of them to let loose a little more, which meant Xoana and Aisling sacrificed their scores to bop while Tierney continued to mercilessly flex on them. It wasn’t long before Aisling demanded hard mode and Xoana bowed out to make room for Serena. She was no dancer, but precision, tenacity and practice made her pretty good at DDR. Good enough to beat Aisling’s score anyway, which was all that mattered. That victory was enough to dispel the last of her irritation and ease that last bit of tension between them all. Tracie jumped into a round, as did Loach and Bree after Valériane explained it to them. The Riolu did well enough all things considered, but even the easiest setting was too much for Bree. She laughed along anyway and Aisling helped her through. Emer, Aiden, and Justine couldn’t play but bounced around in solidarity. The rounds flew by one after another and their limbs grew heavy while their minds became more and more awake. When the rest of them were finished, Tierney and Valériane did one last duel on expert. What the Hawlucha lacked in grace, she more than made up for in speed and rhythm and she came out on top to cheers and applause. By then it was late, but they were all far from sleep, so Tracie put on one of her favorite movies and they all sat on the bed to watch. Xoana barely noticed when Aisling lay her head in her lap—that is until she reached out to braid the hair and found it wasn’t Serena’s. Suddenly the contact sent a violent tingle up her spine. But was it really all that different? Despite all Xoana’s fretting and the little power struggles, Aisling had slid near seamlessly into their midst. It was like she’d been there since the beginning. It was like it had always been but maybe just a little bit better because she brought something to the group that they lacked—filled a hole they didn’t even know was there. Aisling rolled to look up at Xoana and threw a cheeky grin at the blush that was no doubt suffusing her face. But this time it wasn’t overwhelming. It just felt good. Really, really good. “So, I know the plan was to stay here for a while, but should we really still be doing that?” It took Xoana a moment to realize Aisling was addressing the room and not just her. “Don’t get me wrong, this is great but…” Things had changed. “None of the other gyms are close,” said Tracie. “And none of us are going to be ready for our second badge soon,” Aisling gently insisted. “I don’t wanna make you stay with your parents that long.” The warm fluttering in Xoana's gut returned in force. “It doesn’t matter what order we go in,” Tierney assured, lifting her head from the pillow snuggled under her. “Let’s just pick a direction.” “How about west?” Aisling suggested, stretching luxuriantly. She settled even further into Xoana’s lap and rested her legs across Tierney’s back. “We could hit the beach before summer’s over.” Now that was an idea. “We could do Relifac-le-Haut Gym next. That’s right on the water,” said Serena. Xoana would have to call Clément—he was expecting them—but she couldn’t say she was sorry to push that particular Gym battle down further down the line. In fact, she began to feel something heavy lift off her shoulders, that last bit of weight she hadn’t remembered she was carrying after everything else. “It’s settled then! We’ll leave in the morning!”

[citizenscreen]

‘Tis the season to spread cheer and I’m doing my part by recommending classic movies, paying them forward in hopes that these memorable distractions take people’s minds off negative goings on. I’m asking that you join me, recommend your favorites and #PayClassicsForward on your blogs, by noting your recommendations in the comments or sharing across social media.

Let’s give the gift of movies.

Here’s the challenge…pick movie recommendations to the “12 Days of Christmas” theme as I’ve done below. Keep in mind that movie choices should be those you think would appeal to non-classics fans. Let’s grow our community and #PayClassicsForward

Have fun!

On the first day of Christmas, etc. etc…

One hat

The “one” listing is always a difficult one due to the fact that classics lend themselves to plenty of choices. That said, I came up with a category that encompasses important decades and several genre of film – the fedora. By following the history of the fedora in film you’ll be made privy to the best gangsters, greatest funny men, and most memorable lovers of Hollywood’s golden age. So here it is, a signature fedora:

Note that in researching my favorite fedora portrait I learned that trilbys are often mistaken for fedoras. Since experts seem to be confused between the two types of classic men’s hats that leaves little hope for me. I can’t say for sure whether Bogart is wearing a trilby in the above image, but he may well be. Descriptions of this type of hat explain the rims are shorter than your average fedoras. Either way, it’s a cool, suave look and Bogie rocks it.

From GQ: What’s the difference between a fedora and a trilby?

Answer: Traditionally a fedora has a wide brim and in the UK a wide ribbon band and bow. A trilby has a narrow brim and narrow ribbon, although there are some American trilbies that still have the wide ribbon.

  Two Fairbanks

Things were not simple between Douglas Fairbanks and Douglas Fairbanks, Jr. as it is for many families, but the son wore his father’s name proudly. I chose this father and son combination because if you watch their films you’ll get a healthy helping of everything from silent adventure to pre-code delicacies through some terrific television work. These are careers worth following.

  Three Trios

There are quite a few choices for memorable trios in film including Cattle rustlers Robert Hightower (John Wayne), Pedro “Pete” Rocafuerte (Pedro Armendáriz), and William Kearney (Harry Carey, Jr.) in John Ford’s 3 Godfathers. That one is definitely difficult to pass up. That said, I think the following trios are likely to be looked at less by casual fans and they all deserve attention. These are my choices of trios in movies:

They are such a joy to behold. I remember them fondly from my days as a child watching them on TV. It seemed then that they appeared in a million movies, but that wasn’t the case. Still, these siblings are a joy in films like Buck Pirates with Abbott and Costello and their film debut in Albert S. Rogell’s Argentine Nights (1940). The Andrews Sisters made 17 films, more than any other singing group and all are a terrific way to be introduced to the movies. If that record does not impress you, then maybe this one will: LaVerne, Maxene, and Patty garnered 113 charted Billboard hits with 46 of those reaching the top 10. That’s more than Elvis Presley or The Beatles.

  I have nothing against Disney. In fact, I enjoy their classic animated films immensely. Due to that I’m less than enthusiastic about their constant remakes, which – in my opinion – disrespects those wonderful, older film accomplishments. Today I pay tribute to one of them by way of a trio of glorious characters made in the memorable Disney vein we’ve all come to know and love, that combination of warmth and delightful comedy that permeate those wonderful films. These characters are Princess Aurora’s three good fairy godmothers Flora, Fauna and Merryweather in Disney’s 1959 classic Sleeping Beauty. They alone pay tribute to an enchanting legacy.

“Each of us the child may bless, with a single gift no more, no less.”

  The final mention here goes to three Russian envoys who have arrived in Paris to sell a fortune in jewelry, imperial jewelry, the money of which is to go to the Russian government, which is in need of cash. The three, Iranoff, Buljanoff and Kopalski (played hilariously by Sig Ruman, Felix Bressart and Alexander Granach, respectively) who are supposed to be doing work for the Russian government, immediately get caught up in the excesses of capitalism and fail to sell the jewelry.  Moscow then sends a special envoy to Paris to investigate what’s going on with the trio and the jewelry. The envoy is the rigid and humorless, Comrade Yakushova – Ninotchka (Greta Garbo). The charming Melvyn Douglas plays Ninotchka’s love interest in Ernst Lubitsch’s delightful comedy, but it’s the three envoys in the hands of Ruman, Bressart and Granach that make this movie among the greats in the annals of comedy. I just want to get to know them better and so should you.

Ninotchka with Iranoff, Buljanoff, and Kopalski

  Four Skippy Performances

It’s no wonder this wire-haired terrier was the highest paid canine star of his day. Often referred to as “Asta,” thanks to his successful appearances in The Thin Man movies, his real name was Skippy – and we love him to tears. Although I’m choosing only four of his film performances, Skippy never made a bad movie and starred opposite some of Hollywood’s biggest names. If you keep an eye out for Skippy’s filmography on TCM, you will no doubt be introduced to an astounding talent as well as a terrific movie. It’s guaranteed. My Skippy suggestions are:

Skippy as Asta in The Thin Man movies opposite William Powell and Myrna Loy as Nick and Nora Charles. I can’t imagine you haven’t seen The Thin Man (1934), but may not have given any of the sequels a try. If that’s the case you will be delighted by Skippy in any one of his key performances:

in ANOTHER THIN MAN

in AFTER THE THIN MAN

  Skippy is wonderful as Mr. Smith in The Awful Truth. Worth a custody dispute between Warriner and Warriner played by Cary Grant and Irene Dunne, this time Skippy is required to add straight drama to his repertoire as he is required to choose between his two humans right off the bat. There’s also plenty for him to do on the comedy front, however, so this one is a must-see.

forced to choose between the Warriners in court

front and center in the awful truth

  Skippy as George in Howard Hawks’ Bringing Up Baby opposite Katharine Hepburn and Cary Grant. Another terrific outing for our favorite pooch as he is central to action thanks to his burying abilities.

Holding his own in Hawks’ beloved screwball

  This sequel to Norman Z. McLeod’s 1937 hit Topper lacks some of the charm of its predecessor, but the talents of Constance Bennett, Roland Young, Billie Burke, Alan Mowbry, and Skippy make it well worth your time. Here, Skippy matched Bennett’s ghostly wit by ghostly wit in a role that stretches his talents to matters beyond this world and he approaches it with signature enthusiasm.

so famous he made it into this spectacular publicity photo with Constance Bennett

  Five Lords-a-leaping

No explanation needed.

Cagney

Nicholas Brothers

Kelly

Astaire

Six Vivien Leigh GWTW Tests

Gone With the Wind is celebrating its 80th anniversary on December 15 and, as the biggest, most famous movie ever made, it deserves at least a mention here.

On that day in 1939, Atlanta’s Loew’s Grand Theater was buzzing with Hollywood’s biggest names. It was such an occasion for Atlanta that the film’s opening was a 3-day event as Governor Eurith Dickinson Rivers declared a three-day holiday. Other politicians asked that Georgians dress in period clothing. A lot had happened in Hollywood leading up to that premiere though including the famous search for the film’s leading lady, the protagonist of Margaret Mitchell’s 1936 blockbuster novel, Scarlett O’Hara. Every female star it seems auditioned for the part. Among them were Bette Davis, Jean Arthur, Tallulah Bankhead, Joan Bennett, Claudette Colbert, Frances Dee, and Paulette Goddard who, as stories go, was close to being chosen. As we all know, however, Scarlett went to the lovely, British Vivien Leigh who possessed an outstanding talent. Leigh made the part her own and, along with the film, became tantamount to Hollywood royalty. To honor Vivien Leigh and her memorable Scarlett O’Hara here are six make-up and wardrobe test stills:

  Seven Justices

Judge James K. Hardy in the Andy Hardy movie series

Judge Margaret Turner in The Bachelor and the Bobby-Soxer

Judge Taylor in To Kill a Mockingbird

Judge Weaver in Anatomy of a Murder

Judge Henry X. Harper in Miracle on 34th Street

Judge Dan Haywood in Judgment at Nuremberg

Judge Chamberlain Haller in My Cousin Vinny

Eight Serials

Follow the links to watch episodes of these dramatically exciting serials. It might take a few chapters for you to get hooked, but you’ll get hooked.

The Perils of Pauline (1914) starring Pearl White

The Vanishing Legion (1931) starring Harry Carey and Edwina Booth

The Green Hornet (1940) starring Gordon Jones

Zorro Rides Again (1937) starring John Carroll

The Master Mystery (1918) starring Harry Houdini

Flash Gordon (1936) starring Buster Crabbe

The Phantom Creeps (1939) starring Bela Lugosi

Holt of the Secret Service (1941) starring Jack Holt

  Nine Ladies Dancing

Ann Miller

Ruby Keeler

Eleanor Powell

Lena Horne

Betty Grable

Vera-Ellen

Cyd Charisse

Ginger Rogers

Dorothy Dandridge

  Ten Directors

Watch their movies… live, love, learn, and laugh.

Michael Curtiz

Akira Kurosawa

William Wyler

Fritz Lang

Ernst Lubitsch

John Ford

Alfred Hitchcock

Mervyn LeRoy

Ida Lupino

Lois Weber

  Eleven Movies about Millionaires

Since I recommended movies about hobos in a previous year, I thought the time came for millionaires. There are many wonderful movies about the super rich, particularly during the Great Depression when audiences loved seeing the plight of these people play out for laughs. That theme made for some of film history’s best screwball comedies. The super rich, however, have lent themselves for entertaining movie fare ever since the movies began and in every genre. Check out this terrific list from Forbes spotlighting millionaires in movies.

As for me, I have quite a few favorites with millionaire themes that appeal to most others as well. These include such popular titles as The Philadelphia Story, the shenanigans of the Charleses in The Thin Man movies, My Man Godfrey, The Lady Eve, How to Marry a Millionaire, and movies featuring recognizable names like Charles Foster Kane and Bruce Wayne. For this purpose, however, I recommend lesser known, but worthy millionaire movie stories I’ve watched through the years – some in terrible condition, a few greats, and some for plain ole fun. Here are the 11 rich and classic…

Phil Rosen’s Extravagance (1930)

John G. Adolfi’s The Millionaire (1931)

Clarence G. Badger’s Miss Brewster’s Millions (1926)

Frank Tuttle’s Love Among the Millionaires (1930)

Mitchell Leisen’s Easy Living (1937)

Anthony Asquith’s The Millionairess (1960)

Robert Moore’s Murder by Death (1976)

William Asher’s Bikini Beach (1964)

Walter Lang’s I’ll Give a Million (1938)

George Marshall’s A Millionaire for Christy (1951)

Roy Del Ruth’s Kid Millions (1934)

EXTRAVAGANCE (1930_

THE MILLIONAIRE (1931)

LOVE AMONG THE MILLIONAIRES (1930)

MISS BREWSTER’S MILLIONS (1926)

MURDER BY DEATH (1976)

I’LL GIVE A MILLION (1938)

A MILLIONAIRE FOR CHRISTY (1951)

THE MILLIONAIRESS (1960)

KID MILLIONS (1934)

BIKINI BEACH (1964)

EASY LIVING (1937)

    Twelve Feature Acting Debuts

Some of my favorite and/or most memorable film debuts…

Jamie Lee Curtis in Halloween – effective after all these years.

Orson Welles in Citizen Kane – although Welles’ performance is what I find hardest to like in Kane, I cannot deny its impact and status among characters in film.

Audrey Hepburn in Roman Holiday – appropriate introduction for royalty in film and in life. She charms you from the first moment.

Eva Marie Saint in On the Waterfront – exclamation point to begin a stellar movie career.

Barbra Streisand in Funny Girl – a tour de force and a phenomenon

Peter Lorre in M – brilliant, nightmarish, heartbreaking. Described by director Fritz Lang as “one of the best in film history.” I agree.

Julie Andrews in Mary Poppins – Her debut should have been as Eliza Doolittle in My Fair Lady, but we’ll take this and so did she. Not only did Andrews win the Best Actress Academy Award for her portrayal of the magical nanny, but she won the hearts of the world in the process.

Timothy Hutton in Ordinary People – ordinarily superb.

Angela Lansbury in Gaslight – small part, big impact. Undeniable screen presence.

Edward Norton in Primal Fear – convincing and chilling.

Greer Garson in Goodbye, Mr. Chips – She wanted a worthy role as her screen introduction. She got it. She killed it – as she did from that moment on.

Eddie Murphy in 48 Hours – I love this performance highlighting the scope of Murphy’s talent.

I gave this final topic a lot of thought as there are many worthy contenders. For instance, I’m sure many would choose James Dean’s turn in East of Eden, as big a legend-ensuring performance as there ever was, but it’s not a favorite of mine. Tatum O’Neill’s performance in Paper Moon is another one I considered as were Marlee Matlin’s in Children of a Lesser God and Lupita Nyong’o heartbreaking Patsey in 12 Years a Slave. Finally, I adore Robert Duvall’s debut appearance in To Kill a Mockingbird. And I could go on and on. We just have an embarrassment of riches.

♥

Phew! There you have this year’s movie recommendations. I hope you enjoyed the list and that – in the spirit of Christmas – you take this challenge and…

#PayClassicsForward

Visit previous year’s lists as shown:

2015

2016

2017

2018

The Challenge: #PayClassicsForward for Christmas ‘Tis the season to spread cheer and I’m doing my part by recommending classic movies, paying them forward in hopes that these memorable distractions take people’s minds off negative goings on.

[onestowatch]

The Future Is Bright: KERA’s Queer Journey and an Optimistic New Song [Q&A]

Photo Credit : Alexa Nikol 

Kera Armendariz is aggressively human. Watch them onstage, and you may feel the freedom that reaches beyond their extremities or giggle at the many expressions that flash across their face. Speaking one-on-one, you’ll notice their boundless charm.

It’s gloomy and wet in Los Angeles on the night I’m to meet the artist known as KERA. We tuck into the corner of a yoga studio-slash-juicery off Wilshire and, peering out the window, we can see that there is no traffic on the street. Yet, there is so much noise around us that Armendariz asks, more than once, if we should move. A DJ is spinning “thank u, next” in the cramped lobby to set the mood for a benefit show supporting the Los Angeles Women’s Network, an organization that helps women and girls in the local LGBT community. KERA is headlining.

Armendariz has been enjoying a small spotlight since releasing a song called “Bright Future Ahead,” featuring guest vocals by Devendra Banhart. While the song itself has existed for years, they always intended to have Banhart complete the duet. Their collaboration is logical; both their styles of folk overlap, and their harmonious energy is invigorating.

An early version still floats on YouTube, with its ample shakers and vocal overlays. It has been removed from everywhere else that Armendariz can control; they even show slight exasperation at the mention of the demo, though the expression fades quickly. They still appreciate its raw energy, and the initial release of the track came at a significant time: when DACA was in the crosshairs of the Trump administration.

As the child of a Puerto Rican mother and Mexican father, “I felt an urgency and responsibility to contribute in any way that I could,” they explain, adding, “and I was really excited about the song.” So it was assigned a release date. The proceeds benefited the United We Dream, an organization that continues to empower undocumented youth. The song was taken down from (most) services a few days later.

Before they had the vocabulary for it, Armendariz has always centered their art on identity. They related to the immigrant masses facing deportation due to their own biracial background for “Bright Future Ahead” the first time around. The new release will benefit Trans Lifeline, and the connection to KERA is likely obvious.

But even years ago, it would not have been so obvious to them. Old interviews quote them at various stages of gender fluidity, and the journey culminates in a simple, ancient word. “People like to put things in bubbles which is unfortunate. … Even saying ‘queer,’ it feels like I can identify with that more,” they tell me. “When I was 20 and coming out, I didn’t really hear ‘queer.’” The word used to mean unusual; one of the oldest phrases that employs the term is the incredibly British, ‘naught so queer as folk.’ Today, the oddity is embraced by the LGBT community and is even occasionally included on the acronym’s tail.

Though they no longer describe the music this way, Armendariz also once called their genre “bipolar folk.” The explanation holds water—writing songs would bring out extreme emotional highs and lows, and they were dealing with their own mental health issues—but the term no longer feels right for a few reasons. Chief among them, given that their audience is made up of individuals from many marginalized groups, is the desire not to offend.

Then, of course, there is their former moniker: Kera & the Lesbians. It was mostly a joke (most of the band was male), but they won over many fans regardless. The popularity of the project was due to the enrapturing style of Armendariz alone, who today can hold your attention with little fanfare at all.

Photo Credit: Michael Tyrone Delaney II 

Such a minimalist approach marks growth for the performer. What initially drew them to the stage was a sense of unimpeachable confidence, though they shudder at their past self. “I don’t like loud people that wanna always be seen. And once I realized I was doing that—ugh!” They now value vulnerability, especially onstage. “Those are some of the best shows because I can have a connection with people,” they tell me—something that has been difficult for them in the past.

Today, they are “drawn to the idea of giving other people the opportunity and the platform as well. So much has changed,” they remark, suggesting that both they and the world are different than just a few short years ago.

As they slowly drifted away from working with their collaborator for The Lesbians, a moniker change also felt right. Songwriting for the old project used to happen quickly, when the band might bang out an albums-worth of music in a week. Now, the process is less pressure and more personal, hence their current all-caps mononym. After some reflection, they explain why songwriting now is so special: “[There are] songs that I keep singing, and I don’t know why I keep singing them so I’ve been recording them, and something comes out when I record it. I really like that process more. It feels not necessarily effortless but it’s natural.”

The show on Wilshire would be the first of a few benefits at which KERA would perform in the coming weeks. And one particular song appeared on every setlist. It is their next planned single, one they are giddy to share with the world. “I cried when I was writing it,” they confide, “and for the first time I said what I’ve really wanted to say.”

With a revitalized appreciation for community, the track has a focus on interpersonal connection. “Even this [interview] is a connection,” they remind me. Despite Ariana Grande playing at top volume, I hear Armendariz loud and clear. Now it’s time for the world to listen.

[mathewingram]

Social networks accused of censoring Palestinian content

Note: This was originally published as the daily newsletter for the Columbia Journalism Review, where I am the chief digital writer

Violence between Israel and Palestine has been going on for decades, but the conflict has flared up in recent weeks, in part because of the forced eviction of Palestinians who live in Jerusalem on land claimed by Israel, and attacks on Muslims near the Al-Aqsa mosque toward the end of the holy month of Ramadan. But as Palestinians and their supporters have shared images and posts about the violence on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram, some have noticed their content suddenly disappearing, or their posts being flagged for breaches of the platforms’ terms of use when no such breach had occurred. In some cases, their accounts have been suspended, including the Twitter account of Palestinian-American writer Mariam Barghouti, who had been posting photos and videos of the violence in Jerusalem. Twitter later restored Barghouti’s account, and apologized for the suspension, saying it was done by mistake.

Some of those who have been covering such issues for years don’t think these kinds of things are a mistake — they believe social networks are deliberately censoring Palestinian content. In a recent panel discussion on Al Jazeera’s show The Stream, Marwa Fatafta of the human-rights advocacy group AccessNow said this is not a new problem, but it has recently gotten worse. “Activists and journalists and users of social media have been decrying this kind of censorship for years,” she said. “But I’ve been writing about this topic for a long time, and I have not seen anything of this scale. It’s so brazen and so incredible, it’s beyond censorship — it’s digital repression. They are actively suppressing the narrative of Palestinians or those who are documenting these war crimes.”

On Monday, AccessNow did a Twitter thread about censorship involving Palestinian content on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and TikTok. The group said it has received “hundreds of reports that social platforms are suppressing Palestinian protest hashtags, blocking livestreams, and removing posts and accounts.” Ameer Al-Khatahtbeh, who runs a magazine for millennials called Muslim, says he has documented 12,000 acts of censorship on Instagram alone in the past several weeks.

A group called 7amleh, the Arab Center for Social Media Development, just released a report called Hashtag Palestine, looking at such takedowns and account blockades related to the Israeli-Palestinian conflict in 2020. “This is not the first time that Palestinians’ voices have been silenced, and it is clear that it is not the last,” Mona Shtaya, an advisor to 7amleh, told Al Jazeera about the recent account suspensions and content removals. In 2020, 7amleh found that Facebook complied with 81 percent of Israel’s requests to take down content, and the group says much of that was related to Palestine. In addition to takedowns, Fatafta said AccessNow has heard many reports from groups and individuals that have been unable to use certain features, including “likes” and comments, or had their live-streams blocked or shut down in the middle of a broadcast.

The social-media companies have admitted to some takdowns and account blockages, including the one Mariam Barghouti experienced. Instagram apologized for the fact that many accounts couldn’t post content related to Palestine for a number of hours on May 6, and in some cases had their accounts flagged or blocked. The company said this was part of a broader technical problem that affected posts from a number of countries about a wide range of topics. “Many people thought we were removing their content because of what they posted or what hashtag they used, but this bug wasn’t related to the content itself,” Adam Mosseri, the head of Instagram, tweeted.

Some of those affected said they didn’t buy the explanation, however: Shtaya called it “neither logical nor convincing.” Instagram also blocked posts related to the Al-Aqsa mosque, and later apologized, saying the name of the mosque was mistakenly flagged by its moderation algorithms as terrorist content.

Facebook has also apologized for some of its takedowns in the past. In 2016, four editors at the Shehab News Agency and three executives from the Quds News Network, both news organizations that cover events in Palestine, had their personal accounts suddenly disabled, something Facebook said at the time was accidental. According to 7amleh and other groups, the Israeli government has a cyber unit that routinely makes takedown requests related to Palestinian content, and in some cases “coordinates groups of online trolls to report and share content that includes disinformation and hate speech directed towards Palestinians.” In an email to CJR on Tuesday, a Facebook spokesperson said: “Our thoughts are with everyone affected by the horrific ongoing violence. We know there have been several issues that have impacted people’s ability to share on our apps. We’re so sorry to everyone who felt they couldn’t bring attention to important events.”

Here’s more on social media and Palestine:

Arbitrary: AccessNow, 7amleh and a number of other human rights and advocacy groups recently wrote an open letter to Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and other social-media networks saying their “arbitrary and non-transparent decisions constitute a serious violation of Palestinians’ fundamental rights including their right to freedom of expression, and their right to freedom of association and assembly online, which both Facebook and Twitter have pledged to honor in accordance with the United Nations Guiding Principles on Business and Human Rights.” The groups asked for more transparency around moderation efforts.

Google: Sada Social Center, which monitors social media violations against Palestinian content, said in 2020 that Palestine was not identified as such on Google or Apple’s maps, but only as the West Bank and the Gaza Strip. The group also found that Google had begun to remove the names of Palestinian cities and roads from its maps while keeping Israeli roads. YouTube has also been guilty of removing content and/or blocking accounts that post content related to Palestine, according to 7amleh.

Anti-Semitism: Some Facebook users note that posts on social media criticizing Israel or defending Palestine are often flagged as anti-Semitism. The Intercept reported recently on what it called Facebook’s “secret internal rules for moderating use of the term Zionist,” which it says results in suppressing criticism of Israel. The rules appear to have been in place since 2019, which contradicts claims by the company that no decision had been made on whether to treat “Zionist” as a proxy for “Jew” when defining hate speech.

Takedown: Editorial staff at the video-game news site IGN published an open letter on Monday complaining about the removal of an IGN article and a related tweet that contained links to charities supporting Palestinian victims of violence. Both were posted May 15 in response to Israeli missile strikes on Gaza, but were taken down on May 16. IGN released a statement the next day that said the content was removed because it was “not in-line with our intent of trying to show support for all people impacted by tragic events,” and “mistakenly left the impression that we were politically aligned with one side.”

Other notable stories:

Reporters Without Borders announced Tuesday that it is launching the Journalism Trust Initiative, a set of resources designed to promote transparent and trustworthy journalism, funded by Craigslist founder Craig Newmark (who is a member of CJR’s Board of Overseers). Reporters Without Borders says the project will allow media outlets “to diagnose, optimize and promote the accuracy of their journalism, with the aim of building a healthier news ecosystem.” It is based on a list of criteria developed in collaboration with 130 media organizations and journalists.

A recent New York Times op-ed, titled “Stopping the Manipulation Machines,” criticized the use of so-called “dark patterns” — design tricks that push people to do things online by confusing or manipulating them. As an example, it talks about what some call Amazon’s “roach motel” account signup process, which makes it a lot harder to cancel an account than to sign up for one. But One Zero notes that the Times itself uses this same strategy, requiring subscribers to call on the phone in order to cancel, or sit through an online chat session with someone who tries to convince them not to quit.

Bill Grueskin, a Columbia Journalism School professor and regular contributor to CJR, writes about a defamation lawsuit launched by Project Veritas — a right-wing group that specializes in ambush videos — against the New York Times. Grueskin notes that after he asked for an interview with Veritas founder James O’Keefe, he was notified while working in his office at the Columbia campus that “a Project Veritas crew had made its way into the school, without advance notice and despite covid-related restrictions on visitors [and] they were walking the halls, looking for me.”

Journalist Keith Kloor described in a Twitter thread what he called a “massive journalism fail” in the reporting on UFOs from some well-established news organizations such as 60 Minutes. Kloor (and others) point out that such programs often rely on a handful of usual suspects to do interviews with, including Luis Elizondo, who is described as “a 20-year veteran of covert military intelligence operations.” But Kloor — who wrote about Elizondo for The Intercept — says there is no evidence that the man ever worked for or led a military UFO research unit, despite his claims to have done both of those things.

According to a newly unsealed court document reported on by New York magazine, the Department of Justice obtained a grand jury request to expose the author of a Twitter account that had mocked Republican congressman Devin Nunes, the head of the House Intelligence Committee. The magazine calls Nunes is an “enthusiastic litigant,” who believes that his critics in the media “should be shut down or forced to pay him lavish sums for their effrontery, and has filed, or threatened to file, a series of lawsuits against publications including Esquire, the Fresno Bee, and Twitter.”

In a development that will bring joy to text-loving journalists, Spotify said Tuesday it will start auto-transcribing podcasts in the coming weeks. The company said it will begin to offer the new feature on a number of its exclusive and original shows as part of a rollout of new accessibility elements for its app. Users can read the transcript with or without listening to the audio and can tap on any section of the text to jump to that point in the audio. Spotify said it plans to enable transcripts across all of its podcasts.

On Tuesday, staffers at Forbes magazine said they plan to form a union, which would cover about 105 employees in the editorial department, including reporters, editors, designers, photographers, videographers and social media editors. More than 80 percent of employees in those departments have signed union cards with the NewsGuild of New York, which also represents the unions of the New York Times, Time, and NBC News Digital. CNN reported that the staff of Forbes are looking for job security, pay equity and editorial independence.

Journalism students need to be better prepared for the reality of online abuse and harassment they might receive when they join the industry, according to a new study described by Press Gazette. Published in the Journal of the Association for Journalism Education, the study found that abuse has become “more commonplace, more vile and more serious” in ways that can impact young journalists and their emotional well-being. It says that discussing this reality early is vital in preparing students.

Social networks accused of censoring Palestinian content was originally published on mathewingram.com/work

[stone-man-warrior]

March 22, 2021: 3:38 pm:

=================================================

This is a photo of part of the fake stalking order that has been forced on me on 3-15-2021 by the county courts terror cell. When I say the “county courts terror cell” what I mean by that is the courthouse was attacked at some point in the past, about twenty-three years ago is my estimate. The court offices and personnel all were killed, or taken captive at that time. The staff, judges, bailiffs, county tax assessors office, county forestry, county comptroller, county clerk, and other county offices that reside within the Josephine County Courthouse were also all taken over at that time, and, the Grants Pass Police Department is HQ’d there, and the Josephine County Sheriff was also HQ’d at the courthouse, but the sheriff’s office has since moved to F Street behind the Walmart. All of those county offices have been under control and occupation of the Canadian terror army since that time. There are also Screen Actor Guild terror commanders there at the courthouse playing key roles as judges and bailiffs and stenographers.

The details laid out here are such that it has become a crime for me to be on my own property. The details spelled out there are such that if I am seen walking on my driveway, or, if I am seen at my mailbox to get my mail, then, the plaintiff of the stalking charge can and will call the sheriff to arrest me for doing those activities.

I am also told that I must have a mental evaluation, however, although the judge verbally said I must go to a place called “Options of Southern Oregon“, the stalking order does not specify any particular mental evaluation service provider, nor does the order specify a time frame for such mental evaluation to take place, or does the stalking order specify who is to pay for such an evaluation.

The circumstances are such that I must remain out of visible range of a new neighbor to the neighborhood who apparently moved to Jackpine in the month of February 2021 at some point, a neighbor that I have only seen on a TV screen in a courtroom. I don’t even know what the person looks like enough to know if that person is the one I am supposed to avoid. That, and the plaintiff introduced a female at the court hearing who was also presented on the TV screen, one that is not mentioned in the stalking petition and I don‘t know her name.

The name of the petitioning plaintiff is questionable, as I recognize that same name as someone who did some work at my home many years ago and subsequently robbed me of personal items.

For now, I am unable to do any walking, the leg poisoning injuries are extremely confining on their own, the pain associated with walking has prevented me from going very far on foot, and when I did make attempts to check my mail this past ten few weeks, there has been always someone there ready to try to run me over or shoot me with a cross-bow.

I remain optimistic that the wound will heal enough that I can walk again without agony, but my optimism is waning at best.

The order includes items number 1 - 6 are checked, and items 8 and 17 are checked, and those are the items which I am bound to and subject to. I am under the impression that once a stalking order becomes a final order such as this one is, there is no way to reverse the order, it is a lifetime order, one without possibility of appeal.

I chose to share this online because of the place called “Options of Southern Oregon“ was specified at the hearing but details on the order are vague about that. It’s vague by design.

There are two places in Josephine county that are county service providers that deal with mental illness, one is Options of Southern Oregon, and the other is called Crisis Resolution Center. I have been ordered to go to both places in the past, and what I learned there at both of those places, is that they are there for the purpose of eliminating people who cause problems for the courts, that is to say that persons who have knowledge of the level of corruption at the courthouse such that the knowledge is beyond corruption and is indeed knowledge that all of the county services and more have all been taken over by the Canadian terror army and the county facilities are manned with Screen Actor Guild actors who’s job is to create a false reality by making illusion that there never was a terror takeover at the county offices.

That is what Options is there for, among other things such as a profit center where county funds are laundered, channeled, used for advancing terrorism.

Crisis Resolution Center (C.R.C.) is more sinister than is Options of Southern Oregon, CRC is part of Asante but is also part of Josephine County Services. Crisis Resolution Center is associated to “Partner”, “Companion“, “Side Kick” production at a place called “The Pleasure Dome” and perhaps other such underground surgery centers where kidnapped US Citizens are subject to cruel and horrifying experimental surgeries such that many of the victims don‘t resemble human beings after the five year transformation procedures are completed. Once completed, the victims are called “Partners” and other names, are kept as pets by SAG members, and some are also used as specially trained disposable terror soldiers by the terror army, those victims who become terror soldiers are often the surgical experimental specimens that did not work as planned during the five year transformation period.

Many of the victims are US Military service men and service women taken as experimental surgical specimens. Oregon Health Science University where the Veteran‘s Administration Hospital is, is another place, below ground nine floors, where experimental surgeries are performed on kidnapped US citizens and military. Doenrbecker Children’s Hospital and Shriner’s Children’s Hospital is also on the same campus at OHSU, and I suspect those places are used for selecting experimental surgery specimens also.

I already survived Options of Southern Oregon at least once, the assassin who attacked me there wound up going over a second floor railing, and fell into the lobby below as I was being interviewed by a “Mental Evaluator”. There are never any official reports such as these, that’s because the local authorities who would normally make such official reports of someone who fell over a railing, are all part of the terror army. I have seen a large jet airplane crash at Medford airport and destroy the runway, but no official report was made public.

At Crisis Resolution Center, they are people who devise the medieval killing contraptions that I have already described in great detail on this account, I also survived CRC, was shot at inside while being interviewed for mental evaluation. These evaluations are all generated as a result of having knowledge of terror take over and reporting what I know in ways I am able to, the reports made are such that they include the people who send me to the evaluation, which in reality is a take-out center where people like me are killed regularly, until there are no more to kill. That is the condition of Josephine county ... there are no US Citizens left alive, I am the last one.

Please send help.

Please send US Military to Josephine County Oregon.

Please send medical services.

Bring your own hospital.

In media, and in person, the term: “Mental Illness” should first be translated as: “Someone who knows too much about the terror takeover of USA”.

When you read a news story on Twitter, or in a news paper, or hear a news story on TV or radio where the words: “Mental Illness” is part of the story, what you are hearing or reading is one terror commander operative telling other terror commander operatives about a situation where someone exposed knowledge of terror take over details. From those kinds of “Mental Illness” stories, plans are made to do “Damage Control” and elimination of the persons who know too much about terror take over details, and revealed that knowledge to others.

================================

5:48 pm:

The horrible poison Corona Attack COVID Rash:

(There is no corona virus, I was attacked by someone who stabbed me with a syringe filled with poisons, that was done to get me to go to the hospital, where I would be killed and replaced had I gone to the hospital. They do not treat US Citizens at the hospital for medical conditions any more, US Citizens are killed at hospitals while the Canadian terror army and their Screen Actor Guild commanders get the very best medical treatment there is at the same hospitals.

The photo above shows not much improvement from yesterday, however, it shows a great deal of improvement since the day before, the difference is that I discontinued using the Equate brand Anesthetic and Pain Relieving Ointment (Walmart generic neo-sporin), and things began to improve withing 24 hours.

The photo above shows that my foot continues to turn blue, and is painful.

Side view inside right shin is where the most poison is still beneath the skin. Those red areas I suspect are tissue that is saturated with some kind of poison, I suspect the poison was automotive battery acid injected into my shin while I was sleeping in my home.

The outside of the right leg, I am a Smurf.

This is the other leg. That rash only began to appear about ten days ago. There was absolutely nothing but good healthy clear skin there until recently. That rash does not look or feel like any of the symptoms I was having on the right leg before or after the attack with poisons. I have no explanation, nor do I have a guess about what is happening on the left shin.

====================================

6:07 pm:

This is what is happening in USA and other parts of the world:

news media networks under direction of Screen Actor Guild are advancing a global bullshit campaign about a mysterious virus that they called the Corona Virus.

The SAG Media all work for Britain government at I O Downing Street, and House of Lords. The Vatican plays a key role, by controlling the vast Christian population of the world, and the Christians are still doing “The Crusades” as they always have done for taking over entire continents, and changing the entire populations of global communities of indigenous peoples.

Over course of many decades, all of the hospitals and medical providers were taken by force. The terror army is in control at the hospitals and clinics.

The people who do the actual physical attack in USA, are from Canada, most came from Quebec. The Screen Actor Guild, in league with Britain, who owns all of Canada, was given the specially trained terror army to command with use of airwaves of broadcast media, to send marching orders coded withing mainstream news presentations to advance the Canadian terror army, that began in 1971 in Los Angeles California.

There are other means for the marching orders to reach the Canadian terror army, study this account to learn.

Over time, the medical professions and facilities were taken over by SAG and the terror army they command.

We are seeing now and over the past year why the hospitals and medical providers were all hijacked. The reason is to have the terror army create injury and perceived sickness in such a way that the citizens will seek medical help. Once the citizens are at the facility for medical treatment, they are killed and replaced with an imposter from Canada, one who will vote as they are instructed to vote.

There has already been so much killing and replacing of US Citizens that the SAG has managed to take over the US Government for rolling out the final stage of the global domination crusades, the Corona Virus, a systematic global depopulation and Christian Global Domination effort, that once is completed, will never again return to a time of free people on earth.

There will be “The Master Race”, Screen Actor Guild members and British leadership, and there will be slaves to serve their needs. Population numbers will be controlled, and there will be no people who are not either slaves or the SAG that is served by them.

All of those news stories about the “Vaccine” in reality are stories about the poison injections that work to get the masses to go to a hospital for treatment. I suspect that one of the so called Vaccines is really an injection of battery acid like happened to me.

If I go to the hospital, they will first do a lot of testing, a lot of procedures, and they will bill insurance, make a profit, and I will be killed ten different ways as the profits are made.

A imposter look-a-like will come out of the hospital as cast into playing my role in real life by Nancy Sinatra, President of SAG.

=================================

9:39 pm:

Local Conditions:

I don‘t have much to say about the usual things I might observe in the neighborhood on a short walk to the mail, because I am unable to physically walk that far as of yesterday. Before yesterday, I was willing to force myself to continue to walk despite the severity of the leg pain, however, the terror soldiers in the neighborhood prevented me from going farther than my driveway gate. Today I tried to take a walk to the mailbox about an hour ago and could not continue another step, had to turn around and come back to the house as the pain is changing to a different kind of pain. The pain is in my knee now, is not something I have ever felt before, is a completely new flavor of pain, comes with instability, wobbly step.

Today, throughout the day, some of the things that happened are:

I noticed one terror airforce airplane at about somewhere between 11:00 am. and 1:00 pm.

Last night I noticed that someone had torn the tarp that I have covering my truck and I went to reposition the tarp last night, but it was too torn, would not cover the leaky area, so I left it there on top of the cab, just sort of half-ass folded. I remember saying out loud “Tomorrow I will come out here and someone will have hung the tarp over the side mirror, I guarantee it” ... tonight I went outside and the tarp was hanging from the side mirror. The significance is that the tarp draped from the side mirror makes it appear as though there is someone standing there by the truck door wearing a hoodie, and that is why I mentioned it to no one last night. It’s that the local terrorists are somewhat predictable, they take oportunity like that to scare someone. The tarp looked a lot like someone there by the truck door, as I thought it would last night. Someone from Lithia Dodge Dealer on 7th Street in Grants Pass comes to try to steal my truck at least four times per year, and when they do, they use Three Boys Towing to bring a flat bed car carrier along with them for taking the truck, and when that happens, I can sometimes hear the conversation they have while snooping around the truck with the tarp over it, they always are anxious to see inside the truck, they want to take the tarp off of it, and sometimes the thief/terror soldiers of Lithia Dodge/Chrysler/Jeep/Plymouth argue about taking the tarp off of the truck while they are deciding if it’s a good time to steal the truck or not.

Last night, I knew the Monroe terror cell would report to Lithia Dodge or to Three Boys Towing that “The tarp is off of the truck at StoneMan’s House”. (that is the extent to how closely the terror army reps at Monroe’s watch and report conditions at my house for attacking me.

Today, at about noon, I heard someone outside close by my dining room window, it was the sound of a chainsaw running for only about one second, as if someone was on my porch, started up a chainsaw, revved it up to maximum, then shut off the chainsaw. When I looked outside, there was no one there that I could see out of the window. I chose not to open the front door at that time to look closer.

Later in the day, as I was taking the photos of my leg, someone at Strong’s terrpr cell started up a four-stroke offroad motorcycle and began to ride that around in circles at Strong’s, it was a red colored motorcycle, and the person only made two laps around as far as I could see, then the motorcycle was no longer visible or audible for the rest of the day. The motorcycle engine started as I took a photo of my leg, it was as if the photo button is what started the motorcycle. Yesterday, as I was taking the same kind of photos, a gun shot was fired at the instant I clicked the photo button, as if the photo button is the thing that made the gun shot sound happen at Strong’s terror cell. The terror bastards can see, live, in real time, everything that I am pointing the camera at, so, I suspect they were watching the software they use for that, and maybe have a “Midi” sort of arrangement that activates sounds over there, when I push buttons on my phone. I have suspected that for a long time, as those kinds of coincidental sounds happen often when I push buttons on my phone. It works like an alarm system... if I push a button, that means I am going to make a phone call, and the terror bastards absolutely will not allow me to make any phone calls. Such an arrangement that makes an alarm go off when I push a button on my phone is exactly the kind of thing that could be how the bastards know when I use the phone to make a call, and that is how they would know when to make arrangements to re-route the call to a specified call center where other people than the ones I want to speak with are already practiced and prepared to say their lines and do an act for fooling the US national security personnel who are also monitoring my calls. The security people continue to trust the local authorities, so, they insist on being fooled all of the time, and simply demand that they will continue to forever be fooled by the local authorities that they continue to trust.

An incoming call came to my phone today at a 11:47 am. from 541-406-3004, I did not answer, I don’t know who it was, I do know it was a terror cell doing some kind of terror scenario, as only terror cells can reach my phone, and I can only reach terror occupied phone numbers if I try to make a call. There was no message from the incoming call, and it’s possible that other people with Stingray surveillance or Kingfish units answered the call and spoke to someone who called my phone number, which I suspect is the case for most of the incoming phone calls that come to my phone.

I didn‘t go outside or open the front door today except for taking some pictures on the front porch and trying to take a walk a little while ago. It was quiet for the most part, if not for that red motorcycle, that airplane, my phone ring, that chainsaw on my front porch, and some geese, I would not have heard any sounds today at all.

There are a lot of lights on at Chartrand’s Unit B, where the US national security are often lured to go when the come to investigate the things I am trying to get help for, but the national security keep trusting the local authorities, and they are the ones who send the nsa to the wrong places, intentionally and for the kill, by court order.