#but even attempts at realism take shots in the dark

[phidjit]

t-shirt that says "ASK ME ABOUT FLAWED DEPICTIONS OF NUCLEAR POWER PLANTS IN MOVIES AND TELEVISION"

[wrimbles]

Perception

I have something kinda stuck in my head from last night, I felt it worth taking some time to explore a bit. It had to do with a scene at the end of PENTA's Twitch stream last night. In this scene, Deputy Randy Wrangler has arrested another character (I didn't catch their name) for being an accomplice to some pretty sketchy criminal activity - what PENTA was calling a "car swap", which is a tedious criminal tactic which was overused as a meta for many years on NoPixel.

I don't really feel like it's my place to speculate on where the energy was coming from, and I prefer to assume that it's the character speaking, especially since PENTA specializes in playing antagonistic characters - but this specific part of the interaction was what stuck with me. I could only capture 60 seconds for a clip, so please feel free to watch the VoD for more context, this clip grabs as much relevant context as I could fit in the time restriction.

What I want to comment on specifically is how the suspect character was, from my perception as an artist and art enthusiast, genuinely sharing their interest and passion... and in a very approachable way. They seemed to choose a genre of art that was contemporary and popular - polka trash. Which, admittedly, has an unfortunately unapproachable name. Even with my art experience, I have to say the name was new to me... but the second I looked it up, I recognized it. The character was very right to have been using tattoos as a gateway into that conversation, to bridge the culture gap. Here's an example of polka trash art:

As you can see, a pretty clear meld of abstract and representational art, in a way that makes sense - it clearly has a distinctly different personality and feel than it would if it were just the portrait or the abstract elements alone.

Yet... this attempt to connect from the prisoner was met instantly with suspicion. First, the deputy tests him by challenging him to name several different types of art. Then, just moments later, uses the information provided (four referenced "types" of art - cubism, realism, "abstract" and polka trash) against the prisoner, accusing him of being "borderline insufferable", saying he looks down his nose at people because they don't know a few "key phrases".

I've encountered this interaction several times in real life. Where one party is genuinely trying to share a passion, something they have dedicated years of their life to, and the other party enters the interaction with suspicion, tests the initiator, and then uses the test afterward as some form of ad hoc "evidence" to prove their suspected malicious motive. Not unlike, say... accusing an eccentric woman of being a "witch", asking her a bunch of biased test questions to gather more "evidence" to confirm your preexisting suspicions, then condemning her exclusively on your fabricated evidence. No motive, no physical evidence - just suspicion and execution - which in the legal world might fall under... malicious prosecution? I'm not experienced in law, so that's sort of a shot in the dark.

The irony of that situation is... though you could definitely argue that the initiator's actions could be perceived as condescending or malicious through a certain lens, the response is certainly suspicious and hostile. There is zero question there. The only debate there is - is it "self-defense", or is it unwarranted aggression?

I've been mulling this over all morning, specifically the mechanics of how that could even be misperceived by the deputy. What is happening in his head? What is he seeing/thinking that is resulting in this interpretation? Is he hearing a tone that I don't hear? Is he referencing a negative memory from his own past?

It feels like... what the deputy is perceiving is an air of inauthenticity, akin to sarcasm, where the art enthusiast would be speaking about art in a similar way to how... well... how lawyers, judges and police officers use "legalese" to refer to common everyday situations in ways that are very specific... but can be confusing and feel demeaning to the layman, even to legal veterans in some cases. This is to the point where the difference between "reasonable suspicion (RS)" and "probable cause (PC)" is a constant dead-horse beaten in the PD, despite being taught in academy since day one. Is the suspicion in this case sourcing from... the police officer being so used to linguistic gymnastics being used to try to confused them and undermine them that when they hear new unfamiliar jargon... they just immediately assume that's what's happening?

Or maybe it's a matter of... cliché, of stereotypes and tropes. Maybe it's the trope of a snooty art critic who uses lots of big words to say "nothing" and aggressively, pompously dismisses the perspectives of laymen based on their lack of education. What does a veteran's personal opinion on an art piece - or art as a whole - have anything to do with the opinions of others? I don't believe an education in art terminology gives you any more weight in deciding whether an art piece is "good" or "bad" to you, because art is entirely subjective - art education simply gives you more context and more detailed language in order to make that personal "good" or "bad" judgement. All art critics can truly do is say, within the bounds of their experience and language, what they have observed and how they feel about an art piece.

The same goes for music. You don't need to know music theory or be an expert in banjo fabrication to make a judgement on whether you like a song, but that education may further enhance the complexity of your judgement, and assist you in communicating why and how the piece makes you feel the way that you do. For example, a song from a horror movie that is intentionally made dissonant and unsettling would be overwhelmingly successful if you were so uncomfortable that you had to stop listening to the song out of discomfort. Some would say they "hated" the music, because it made them have a reaction they didn't want, and they would attribute that "bad" feeling to the music itself being "bad", despite it expertly accomplishing everything it set out to do.

I firmly believe that there is an extremely common false equivalence between "I don't like how this makes me feel" or "I don't understand this and at this point I'm afraid to ask" and "this is bad", and that frequently is a result of not merely a lack of education, but a present refusal to try to learn more.

As a parallel here, let me share a personal story. The only time I've ever personally encountered a "snooty art critic". It was my senior art show, we had a guest artist come in for a critique which was going to be a big part of our final grade. We were directed to choose one piece to have judged by this guest judge, a local artist, and a panel of professors. I chose a piece that I made independently of my classes, it didn't fit in any of my prompted coursework and was immensely personal to me, indisputably the single piece I was most proud of. This piece was an acrylic painting of a woman wrapped in unravelling black ribbons, levitating in the middle of a landscape and being drawn by her heart up towards the full moon. It's a recurring image that appeared to me in dreams over and over. This was hand-painted on the first guitar I ever owned. That means, in order to execute this art piece, I had to risk permanently "ruining" my first guitar, which was a cherished possession of mine that I got when I was 12. What I got from this critique was worse than harsh criticism, worse than insults, worse than cryptic jargon that didn't actually say anything... I was told this "was not art" because it was painted on a practical object, and because of that, they refused to critique it as art.

In the story above, the guest artist was certainly using their identity as an "art expert" in a way that read very clearly as "I know art better than you, I am the expert here, and I am telling you that your art is not art." They didn't need to use jargon for that. To put it in food critic terms, they didn't grade or even taste my food because they deemed it "not fit to be food" at first glance. That's a step beyond a misunderstanding, that's blind judgement and ignorance. That, in my personal experience, set the bar for what a real art snob looks like. I almost didn't graduate college because of that shit.

I just went to my local paper and read 3 art reviews to try to find a single example of "pretentious art speak" that was "snooty", "condescending" or incomprehensible to someone with access to a thesaurus. Every single bit of every one of them was very approachable, surprisingly so, though some did include some flowery language like "mélange" and "cohesive". But some people like to spice up their writing with language like that, like throwing a dash of hot sauce on your eggs, I don't really think that alone is so far from approachable when used in a creative medium to be automatically presumed as malicious or anti-social.

So yes, an academic going around throwing out constant jargon like "stippling" and "batique" and "imposto" and "tromp l'oeil" can be just as upsetting as people who say "fruit of the poisonous tree" or "Terry frisk" or whatever. But what makes that... aggressive, offensive or condescending is not what language is being used, it's what message is being communicated and ultimately what the intention behind it is. If the language is being intentionally used to deceive the other person in the conversation, that's an issue. But how can you prove that intention if you literally don't understand what the other person is saying?! It seems as superficial, reflexive and ignorant as presuming everyone who speaks a foreign language is inherently hostile.

As far as I see, there's a chain-of-thought going on that is basically this - first, they hear a word they are unfamiliar with. They associate that term with elitism, with cartoonish prejudiced tropes, and automatically assume prejudice against themselves. Rather than clarifying what the word means and verifying intentions, they "mind-read" intentions, bypassing any form of investigation and immediately presuming guilt, and then preemptively counter those presumed intentions. Their response is a smug "gotcha, you can't fool me" type of response, which... in cases like this... turns out to be a completely unfounded outburst.

Moments like these upset me very deeply. I see them frequently. In fact, the more jargon I learn from different fields, the more knowledge I accrue from different disciplines, the more I see them. In a moment where we have an opportunity to both learn and teach, a moment to grow as a group, experience new things and connect... instead, there is ignorance, suspicion and hostility.

It makes me especially sad because I have been that person in the past in my younger years. I am grateful that I have learned how limiting that mindset was to my personal growth, and I try every day to see the learning opportunity in everything. However, moments like this often make me scared to teach, despite a strong desire to pass on what I have learned. I have no doubt this pattern of social behavior has existed as long as the human ego has been in existence, so I frankly don't expect it to change anytime soon... so, I guess the life lesson I am getting from this is...

If we put selflessness, generosity, kindness and teaching into the admittedly excessively broad category of "Good", and put selfishness, gatekeeping, prejudice and persecution into the admittedly excessively broad category of "Evil"... I would say the lesson I'm getting out of all of this is... Just because "Evil" exists in the world and is often staring us in the face... shouldn't discourage us from doing "Good", even though it's hard, deeply unfair and often feels dangerous. In fact, it's arguable that because "Evil" exists in the world, and "Evil" begets (sires, creates more through reproduction) more "Evil"... that makes acting from a place of "Good" in these moments especially important. And one thing I'm really trying to practice in my own experience of being human, is being "Good" in the face of "Evil", despite the presence of "Evil". Looking "Evil" in the eyes, and being "Good" regardless. And not allow the self-serving/self-preserving mindset of others to pressure me into acting in "Evil" ways myself, either through active forms such as retaliation and punishment... or through passive forms such as retreat and prejudice.

Yeah, this is all a bit deep to be extrapolating from a Twitch clip, right? Welcome to art - where exploring the experience of reality, existence and our own creativity is encouraged, not dismissed as frivolous useless nonsense. Because within every prompt lies how we feel about it, and our feelings are a reflection of our self, and our story. Ultimately, I've found that the more we explore in this manner, the more we learn about ourselves, which provides tremendous opportunity for personal growth.

[minor-solemnity]

hi i love your work and am excited for your series. i was wondering if you can do a one shot where the reader comforts tom and let’s him fall asleep on her while she plays with her hair 😩 soft tom 😈

Yesssss! Soft Tom - I cannot resist! This may have gotten away from me a bit so I hope you enjoy 2.6k of fluffy comfort!

Tag List: @jinxqsu @naps-and-lemons @riddles-wifey @mainlynonsense @cakesarecute @crumpets-are-better-with-jam

What Equates to Worship

The door to your bedroom is open and you roll your eyes when you peer inside and find the source of your broken wards slumped in the armchair next to your bed. Tom’s best robes are in a heap at the foot of the bed, his smartest brogues are kicked into the furthest corner of the room, his hair - usually so neat - is disarray. He looks like the world’s most harangued man. “Good evening, my love,” You murmur as you make your way over to his side, kneeling on the floor so that you can take hold of his hands which are resting loosely in his lap. “You broke my wards again.”

It’s late when you get home. There is a Very Important Case being tried in the Wizengamot and your boss, Gerald Montague, is running you ragged in an attempt to get the edge on the prosecution. It’s a nasty case, the defendant, Mr Vickers, is on trial for the kidnapping and murders of five women. His chances aren’t looking good - there is enough physical evidence to bury him and his alibi is flimsy at best. In private, both you and Montague are convinced of his guilt but that doesn’t matter when it’s your job to convince the Wizengamot and a jury of his innocence. Needless to say, it’s not been an easy couple of weeks.

Your shoes click against the uneven cobblestones as you make your way down the narrow road to your flat situated just off the main drag of Knockturn Alley. It’s not the best part of town, but the flat itself is double the size of what you would be able to afford if you lived somewhere more reputable. Besides, it’s not as though you’ve ever been scared by the less savoury parts of humanity and society - you’d be awful at your job if that were the case. You throw a couple of sickles to the hag that operates outside your building, and she promises you glory in the afterlife in thanks. “If you could promise me glory when I’m alive, I think I’d find that more useful,” You say as you fumble with your keys.

She laughs, “That will cost you more than a few sickles, love, try again tomorrow.” You chuckle and shrug a shoulder. It was worth try at least. The gas lamps that lead the way up the winding stairs to your attic flat are already lit, casting a dim, flicking light across the stairwell. You frown slightly as you make your way up the stairs; no one usually lights the lamps, leaving it up to you to light them when you return from the Ministry every day. Your curiosity is further piqued when you reach your front door and find it glowing a dim red, indicating that someone has broken through the wards. You have an idea of who it is, but you take your wand out just in case you’re mistaken. You have a few files from the Very Important Case hidden in the depths of your bedroom, which in the wrong hands, would be disastrous for you and Montague.

The inside of your flat is dark and cold and looks just as you’d left it this morning. With a sigh, you flick your wand at the fire and smile as flames begin to flicker and burn. Your flat is relatively spacious, but the fireplace is enchanted to spread the warmth further than a normal fire would and with any luck you’ll be toasty and warm within a few minutes. You shrug out of your travelling robes and kick off your heels, rubbing your aching feet with relish. Next on your list of things to do is figure out who has broken into your flat and if it's something you should be concerned about.

You pad through the flat, your stockinged feet making no noise against the polished wooden floorboards. The door to your bedroom is open and you roll your eyes when you peer inside and find the source of your broken wards slumped in the armchair next to your bed. Tom’s best robes are in a heap at the foot of the bed, his smartest brogues are kicked into the furthest corner of the room, his hair - usually so neat - is in disarray. He looks like the world’s most harangued man. “Good evening, my love,” You murmur as you make your way over to his side, kneeling on the floor so that you can take hold of his hands which are resting loosely in his lap. “You broke my wards again.”

He makes a small sound in the back of his throat which is honestly pitiful and you are struck by a burning desire to make whoever put him in such a state pay for their crimes. Tom should never look so downtrodden - it doesn’t suit him in the slightest. You rub soft circles against his palms, smoothing the tension out of his fingers with careful strokes as the quiet of your flat weaves a gentle spell of calm and soothing around the two of you. “Is it a good evening?” He mutters and when you look up at his face, you can see the hard lines of annoyance and defeat marring his forehead.

“Hmm, don’t frown, darling - you’ll ruin your pretty face.” This at least gets a small hum of amusement out of him which you count as a win. Heaven knows that when Tom gets in these moods it can take a lot more than gentle touches and murmured sweet-nothings to get him to smile. You rise from your position and move behind the armchair, resting your cheek on the crown on his head and your hands on his shoulders to kneed at his knotted muscles. “I assume that you didn’t get the job?”

You’ve been so busy with your own work that you’d forgotten that Tom’s interview with Dumbledore was today. If you had remembered you would have taken the day off because even the most optimistic person would have known there was a fool’s chance of Tom getting the Defence job. Despite everything though, Tom is an optimist. You would never have guessed it when you first got to know him, but underneath his taciturn facade is a terribly hopeful young man who still believes that things will turn out in his favour. His idealism is part of what you love about him if you’re being honest with yourself. It’s a good contrast to your cynical realism.

It’s ridiculous, of course. Tom, despite his young age, is the most qualified person you can think of for the position. He knows more about Defensive magic than anyone save for maybe Dumbledore himself, and beyond that, he has the right temperament for it. It comes as a surprise to most people who meet him that Tom would be a good teacher, but he really is. His love of Hogwarts, defensive magic, and his desire to impart that knowledge all adds up to someone who sees struggling students and wants them to succeed. If it had been anyone other than Dumbledore, he would have been a shoo-in for the role.

“You assume correctly.” His voice is still tight and muted with resigned anger, but he begins to loosen under your hands, his head lolling to the side and coming to rest against your forearm.

“Did he give you a reason why?”

Tom sighs and the sound is world-weary and destitute. At that moment, your hatred for Dumbledore intensifies. “He never intended on giving me a chance. He invited me in and lectured me about dark magic. He essentially said that as long as he was Headmaster I would not be welcome in the castle.” The worst thing is that Tom sounds so forlorn. Unlike you, who had decided after a year at Hogwarts that the only thing you wanted to do was leave, Tom’s fondness for the school is unparalleled. “Knowing him, that won’t be for another hundred years or so.”

“I’m so sorry, Tom,” You say, dropping a kiss into the dark curls of his hair. “He’s an old coot. Still so struck by the mythology of his own genius that he can’t see past his own prejudices.” He hums lowly in response and eventually, you feel him start to relax. It’s gratifying to know that it’s you over anyone else, that he comes to when he needs support. You know his friends and followers would do anything to gain his favour, but at the end of the day, he doesn’t seek them out. No, he doesn’t trust them to see him like this, to see him in his more human moments of vulnerability. He trusts you to understand him and comfort him. That in itself is a gift.

“Now, come on. We can worry about Dumbledore later, but right now, let me find us something to eat.” Food, in your opinion, can go a long way to right a lot of wrongs and you have a sneaking suspicion that Tom probably hasn’t eaten all day. He’s annoying like that, too wrapped up in his own thoughts to care about silly little things like eating and taking care of oneself. You can’t help but chuckle softly as he mumbles something under his breath and reaches for your hands to hold you in place. “Later, my love. I promise,” You say and disentangles yourself from his grasp.

Tom follows you out of the bedroom and watches you with a look of exasperated amusement as you search your kitchen. Your cupboards are sinfully bare when you go to inspect them, the rush of the last two weeks has meant that you’ve neglected a lot of your more basic chores. “And you accuse me of neglecting my needs. You hardly set a good example, my dear.” He murmurs from where he’s lounging against the stove. You roll your eyes as you shove your feet back into your heels and head for the door.

“Veeraswamy?” You ask and have to hide your smile when Tom’s eyes light up. It’s not often that the two of you treat yourselves to restaurant-quality food as neither of your jobs’ salaries really allow the indulgence, however, tonight, you think an exception is called for. “Feel free to look over the files I brought home - maybe you’ll notice something I missed.” You don’t even finish your sentence before Tom is digging through your work bag and pulling out the offending files. Typical, you think fondly. Tom is as curious as a cat and one of the easiest ways of making him feel better about anything is to introduce him to a puzzle.

Fifteen minutes later you apparate home with a brown paper bag of Veeraswamy’s finest selection of curries and sweet treats. As a rule, they’re dine-in only, as many of the restaurants in muggle London are, however, you’re not above a confundus charm to get what you want and you always make sure to tip splendidly to offset any guilt you feel for taking advantage. When you get in, Tom has the case files splayed out on the small kitchen table and you spare yourself a moment to admire the elegant curve of his neck and the way his curls fall in graceful arcs across his brow. Without looking up, he makes a space for you to drop the bag of goodies on the table and you collect plates and the bottle of wine that is the only thing you already had in your flat.

You discuss the Very Important Case over dinner and he indulges in your complaints about Montague’s refusal to even consider your line of defence. “Vickers says that he went to a Seer and was told that these women would die by his hand. I want to make the case that he can’t be fully held accountable for the murders if it’s already foretold.” Never mind that that isn’t how prophecies or fortune work, no one in the Wizengamot understands the intricacies of Divination well enough to know that just because something is said, doesn’t mean it will come to pass. “Montague is convinced that we can prove his innocence without resorting to asking for lesser charges.”

“And he’ll lose the case because of it.” He hums, sets his fork down and reaches for your hand, his long fingers looping around your wrist. “Have you considered the fact that Vickers may have been compromised? The file says that when he was found, Vickers was abnormally placid and made no attempts to hide the evidence that would have been easily disposed of? Maybe hire a mind-healer and see if he’s been the victim of an imperius curse,” He says nonchalantly as though he hasn’t just dropped the biggest break in the case in your lap.

“Tom. Tom, you are a genius. How did you even begin to come to that conclusion?” He must hear the wonder in your voice because a small, self-satisfied smile curves his upper lip and he leans over the table to press a chaste kiss to the corner of your lips.

“These things are obvious if you know what you’re looking for.” The knowing in his voice hints at something darker and your eyes narrow slightly. Tom’s proclivity for the dark arts is no secret, neither is his cunning and ruthlessness. You don’t ask and he doesn’t tell, but you suppose it’s probably a good thing that you’re training to become a defence lawyer. Maybe one day he’ll need one.

Tonight is not the night for those kinds of thoughts though. You doubt any night will be - if ever there comes a day when you have to reckon with Tom’s less savoury pursuits, you already know where your allegiances lie. With a soft hum of acknowledgement, you stand and lead him to the bedroom. “Enough maudlin talk for tonight, I think,” You say as you settle against the headboard and motion for him to join you. “You must be tired after today.”

Even though he tries to hide it, you can see that the day has worn on him. Shadows form like ink stains underneath his eyes, and he holds himself with a kind of forlorn regret that fills you with a feeling of sympathetic sorrow. He crawls up the bed and raises an eyebrow when you don’t move to make room for him. Instead, you simply lift an arm and smile, sleepiness and tenderness mingling into something soft in your eyes. After a few second of internal debate where Tom looks from you to the spot you’ve made for him, he gingerly lowers himself against you, his head resting in the hollow where your shoulder meets your neck. He lies unnaturally still and tense in the way a feral kitten might react to the kindness of a stranger.

Honestly, it’s more than a little heartbreaking. Slowly - carefully - you rest one hand over his heart and begin to card your other through his hair. You’re not entirely sure how he manages it - you’ve never seen a haircare potion in his vicinity - but Tom has the softest hair of anyone you’ve met. It’s dreadfully unfair, really. You rub gentle circles against his scalp and smile softly in the dim light as you feel him relax against you, the long hard lines of his body soften as you continue your gentle ministrations. Gradually, you sense him ease into a contented state as he seeks clemency from the day in your touch.

That you can do this for him, that you can be this for him is not something you would have ever thought possible. You remember vividly the uptight rigidity with which he had held himself throughout your time at school. The fervent dedication he had channelled to reach the top of the pecking order, never allowing himself a moment of softness or reprieve. You’re certain that if he’s not careful he will burn himself out before he’s had a chance to truly shine, and you know just how brightly he could if given the chance.

You brush his hair from his eyes and lazily draw abstract patterns against his chest, feeling the way his breathing deepens as sleep overtakes him. In this moment of calm, sleepy repose, you feel your heart expand with all love and care you think you might ever feel, and you brush a soft kiss to the crown of his head, revelling in the almost breathy sigh that escapes him. “You’re far too good to me,” He mumbles, half asleep and entirely too sincere.

“Agree to disagree, my love. I am exactly as good to you as you deserve.” He chuckles at this, nestling deeper into your side and flinging an arm across your waist. “Now, sleep - we have so much time for everything else.”

AN: Also before anyone accuses me of anachronisms, Veeraswamy is London’s oldest Indian restaurant. It was opened in 1926 and I’ve been there once before - the food was so so so good and it was disgustingly expensive. I’m assuming that it wasn’t that pricey in the 40’s

[hypercortical]

Ok, but certain ppl are kinda driving me insane rn. In what world does this look more like the average western cartoon than the average anime?

These girls got anime eyes. The characters are flat and cell shaded while the background is a highly detailed painting, leaning towards realism. Idk what you call it but look at the style of the highlights in their hair, or the shape their hair takes at it's ends (spikey, for lack of a better term). This is all like extremely anime.

Now I wouldn't say the show is a near-prototypical example of anime, but even shows from Japan that would obviously be considered anime will stray from the super immediately obvious anime looks and conventions (see: Jo Jo's bizarre adventure, Flowers of Evil etc.)

consider the following comparisons:

(top: Oreimo / bottom: high guardian spice)

(top: chunibyo / bottom: high guardian spice)

(top: high guardian spice / bottom left: Amphibia / bottom right: victor and Valentino.)

• Notice how the backgrounds in these western shows tend to stray more from realistic shapes and textures, while the Japanese shows tend to look more like an attempt at photorealism, with limited resources.

• Notice how the Japanese shows tend to outline hair with spike-like shapes while the western shows more typically keep the outlines rounded.

• the Japanese show characters and not the western show characters have highlights bands through their hair.

Here's some shots showing the details in and around their eyes better matches the very common anime convention:

(Bottom-Left: star vs the forces of evil / bottom-right: victor and valentino)

(Bottom-left: this art club has a problem / bottom right: Oreimo)

The typical anime eye might be described by the following conventions:

• an outline clearly divided into a top and bottom section, understood as eyelashes, where the bottom is usually either thin or non existent. (As opposed to an appearance of a more unified outline seen in western much animation)

• a tall-wise oval iris with a black or very dark outline. Usually partially obscured, espescially at the top

• a tall-wise oval pupil surrounded by 2 or more partial circles to give an appearance of highlights, or color variation in the iris. Typically having a gradient where the top of the iris is darker than the bottom of the iris.

(you can thank my years of trying to mimic anime in highschool for this.)

Now, the style does clearly diverge from the average anime look. I think that can be attributed to a few things. The line work in most shots in the trailer is thicker than what you'll see in these anime examples. The animation is less "on model" in certain shots. The characters body shapes are also a bit less descript. Compare the lower legs in the second comparison I posted (high guardian spice / chunibyo). Aside from faces, anime bodies tend to be pretty anatomically detailed (even if they take liberties to exaggerate certain anatomy). This distinction is most obvious when the characters are less clothed.

(top: Amagi brilliant park)

Looking at just their faces I'd say there's no obvious difference in the generating process behind them. Meanwhile, Amagi is clearly more concerned with maintaining the appearance of a realistic structure under the skin, when it comes to the rest of the body. That way they can sell their characters on their sex appeal. But just notice things like the curve from the kneck to the shoulders. Anime almost always maintains stuff like that. I think at least part of the issue here is just that anime girls tend to have a pretty homogeneous set of body types. Not everyone's shoulders have that general form irl. But you could argue that the body types are an important aspect of how people perceive and conceptualize the "anime" style.

Anyway, it's obvious high guardian spice has a style inspired by a more diverse set of sources than just japanese or just western (Which is good). It may not be the most anime thing we've ever seen out of a western production, but the idea that this "just looks like a cartoon network show" is pretty silly. None of the current cartoon network shows look like they're even drawing inspiration from anime in terms of art style.

[cainightfics]

I just watched s4e4 and I'm terribly upset. Don't you think Tyrell's death was just for the drama? Of course, it showed his love for Elliot, but, you know, it was clear from his behavior even before that. Tyrell is impulsive and inconsiderate, especially when it comes to Elliot. But is he really so reckless as to break into Elliot's apartment and reveal the plan?

i agree that tyrells choice to give up and die seemed odd, especially considering that at the end of s3, he realizes hes been used by the dark army and wants revenge. i REALLY wished he had played a larger part in taking down whiterose. he would have been perfect for it—his new position at e corp, as well as his access to deus group meetings, put him in an excellent place to serve as a double agent for elliot. i agree the scene in elliots apartment seemed overly impulsive—tyrell should have tried to get elliot out into a public area to talk about his plan, but then again, he did also confess to murdering sharon knowles after breaking into elliots apartment in s1, so idk. i would imagine that the dark army were only watching elliot in s4, not tyrell, since elliot was the wildcard whiterose was constantly unsure about. thus, tyrell was likely unaware that the dark army could be following elliot, since they werent following him personally.

in terms of elliots storyline, though, tyrells death was important. its the first time in s4 hes actually pushed to cry. he openly sobs after tyrell dies, and cant wash the blood off of his hands. i think tyrells death (which was, in many ways, a sort of suicide—like you say, he took the dangerous side of the van to protect elliot, and refused medical help because he knew the dark army would be suspicious) really made elliot consider his own selfishness. tyrell was the only person who really loved him (excluding darlene, of course, but sibling love is different, and their relationship was also strained at the time) so to see him give up affected elliot. i think his choice to leave tyrell there instead of forcing him to get help/trying harder to save him really haunted elliot throughout the rest of the season. you can see this very explicitly in the final few episodes, but i wont spoil that for you.

so yes, i agree that tyrells end was weird. i think a lot of characters were hastily dropped in the beginning of s4, tyrell and angela being the most obvious. this is a shame, because i far preferred their storylines to doms, who got a lot of screentime in s4. angela and tyrell felt very complex in their motivations—theyve done horrible things, but you feel bad for them because theyve been so manipulated and influenced. dom, on the other hand, felt like a very upright and moral character to me. her greatest concern is protecting her family, and thats it. its a noble goal, sure, but eh, its pretty boring in comparison to two characters who have become cultish followers, believing in fantastical things like time travel and godhood, only to have their beliefs shot down as they are forced to realize theyve been played.

to be honest, i think there should have been 5 seasons. i also thought the whole introduction of the deus group felt odd and kind of silly. a lot of the shows complexity was pared back to make s4 fast and snappy. i sort of struggle to reconcile s3, which was so dark and despondent (think irving telling mr robot that attempts at revolution are pointless because the rich are financially cushioned from experiencing chaos), with s4, where things wrapped up so conveniently and easily. idk, thats just my opinion though. i appreciate s4 for being a whirlwind of a ride, and it has some of my favourite episodes of the series, but the season overall felt weak in comparison to s3 in terms of plot and character arcs. even worse was the way the show lost a lot of its political bite. s4 is basically capitalist realism. the problems are blamed on a small set of people, the deus group, rather than the system itself, which encourages exploitation. so what if you take down evil corp and whiterose? something else, maybe even something worse, will eventually rise to take its place. price even says this in s3, too—elliots vigilanteism and targeted attacks arent good enough, he has to inspire a full-on anticapitalist revolution.

i feel like a better ending for s4e4 is tyrell gets shot, elliot rushes him to the hospital in the crashed, but still working, van, and they have to scramble to clean up their mess afterward so it doesnt get back to whiterose. this would still force elliot to realize he does care about tyrell, while also keeping tyrell alive. i wont spoil anything for the rest of s4, because youre still watching it, but there are certain episodes later where i feel like tyrell could have been SO USEFUL in. tyrell was always such a mysterious but unfalteringly loyal character. i think he could have been a really great emotional force for elliot in s4.

[inevitably-johnlocked]

JL Fic Recs: Angst With Happy Ending Pt. 3

Hey all!!

OKAY, so... I somehow LOST the original ask that this list was supposed to attach to, so I’m going to just offer it as a standalone list, because I need it posted for another ask I have, LOL.

So, for whoever asked about 2 months ago for Angst with a Happy Ending, this one is for you, LOL. I’m sorry, I have no idea why your post disappeared from my drafts. Enjoy, all, a rare List Without an Ask :). ENJOY!! And as usual, add your faves! <3

ANGST WITH HAPPY ENDING Pt 3

See also:

Angst With a Happy Ending

Angst With a Happy Ending Pt. 2

Angsty Fluff

A Room of One's Own by whitchry9 (K+, 2,174 w., 5 Ch. || S2 Timeline, Hurt/Comfort, Supernatural, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Coma, John Whump, Worried Sherlock, POV John, Angst, Friendship/Bromance, Hospital) – When a severe head injury lands John in a coma, somehow he ends up in Sherlock's mind palace. It's actually pretty nice there, and John is entertaining the notion of staying there, rather than returning to his broken body. But Sherlock isn't taking it as well, and John can feel him breaking around him.

To the Nines by suitesamba (M, 2,724 w., 1 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Magical Realism, Pining, Angst, John Whump, Time Travel, Fortunes, Time Jumps) – John skips forward in time, and Sherlock reads the signs that point to nine. John knows he’ll eventually be with Sherlock, but the waiting is nearly impossible, and his body is a lot more than transport. A foray into magical realism where all the canon events occur, and a hell of a lot more.

Reversed by whitchry9 (K+, 3,072 w., 6 Ch. || Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Medical Anomolies, John Gets Shot) – The man pointed his gun at John's chest, right at his heart, and shot.' Wherein John is shot, and Sherlock is the one panicking.

Bridges by sussexbound (M, 6,602 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TLD / S4 Fix It, Love Confessions, Mending Relationships, Moving Back In, Pining Sherlock, POV Sherlock, Past Abuse, Shaving) – The silence between them is deafening, interrupted only by the hum of the traffic outside, and the soft click-clunk of the plastic cups Rosie is playing with on the floor beside them. It is the first time they have been alone together, since Sherlock’s birthday. It’s only been two days, but it feels huge, important, like there is a precarious bridge stretched out before them both that they need to at least attempt to traverse.

London Gods by a_different_equation (E, 11,092 w., 5 Ch. || American Gods Fusion || Magical Realism, Sex Magic, True Love, PTSD John, First Kiss/Time, Marathon Sex, Sensuality, Genie Sherlock, Human John, Internalized Homophobia, Star-Crossed Lovers, Soul Mates) – Sherlock Holmes is a jinn who does not grant wishes. However, when Dr. John H. Watson, recently returned from the war in Afghanistan, gets into his cab by "accident", it might not even need magic to grant both men their deepest wish: love.

The Hand You're Dealt by Lady Sam Mallory (T, 12,092 w., 1 Ch. || Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Light Violence, BAMF John, Doctor John, Injury, Friendship) – Sherlock, John and several others are trapped in a building when an explosion disrupts the crime scene they are working.

Kintsugi by distantstarlight (E, 14,772 w., 1 Ch. || Post S4, Emotional Hurt / Comfort, Regret / Remorse, Loneliness, Separation, Drug Use, Healing, Protective John, Sad Sherlock, Dev. Rel., Complicated Relationships, Love, Angst With Happy Ending, Sherlock is Called Freak, John’s Penance, Voyeurism, Doctor/Caretaker John, Guilty John, Detox, Fingering, Love Confessions, Cuddling, Slight Non-Con Turns Enthusiastic Consent, Virgin Sherlock) – Sherlock Holmes becomes estranged from the man he had once considered his best friend after John lets him down horribly in public. It seems that the world's only consulting detective will be on his own once again...or will he?

The Burning of the Leaves by blueink3 (M, 15,915 w., 3 Ch. || Post S4, Angst, Reichenbach, Parentlock, Past Jolto, Idiot John, Sherlock’s a Mess, Puppies, Fluff, Possessive / Jealous Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Sherlock POV, Matchmaker Sholto, Melancholic Feelings, Emotional Sherlock, Domesticity, Love Confessions in the Rain, Kissing in the Rain, Pet Names, Panic Attack) – After the events of series 4, Major Sholto invites John and Sherlock to lunch one day. It nearly proves to be too much for their tenuous relationship as the past haunts the present, putting the future that Sherlock so desperately wants at risk.

The Palmyra Atoll by elwinglyre (E, 16,609 w., 3 Ch. || TSo3 Divergence / Episode Fix-It, Stockholm Syndrome, Kidnapped John Watson, John Whump, Evil Mary, Angst, Cuddling & Snuggling, Toplock, Limited 3rd John POV) – As John's preparing for the wedding, Sherlock is preparing to have his heart broken, and Mary is prepared to do the unthinkable. Intervention required. Enter Sherlock. Set before Sign of Three with a far different outcome. John is drugged, kidnapped, and left on an island, but not just any old island.

Wonderful, Etcetera. by VictoryCandescence (T, 16,955 w., 3 Ch. || Wonderful Life AU || Alternate Timelines, Brotherhood, Homophobia, Suicidal Ideations, Mentions of Drug Use, Friendship, Different TRF, Sherlock’s Past, Victor Trevor is Past Boyfriend, Depression, Hallucination?, Love Confessions, Christmas, First Kiss) – Sherlock thinks everyone would be better off if he had never existed, including and especially himself. When he finds himself in a world in which his wish has been granted, he begins to think perhaps even he could be wrong – but it takes an unlikely chaperone to make him not only observe, but understand.

I Think I've Come A Long Long Way To Sit Before You Here Today by ArwenKenobi (T, 18,251 w., 3 Ch. || Grief/Mourning, Passage of Time, Major Character Death, Alternating POV, Sherlock Whump, Pining Sherlock, Hospitalization, Coma, Revenge Murders, Hallucinations, Love Confessions, Brutal Accident, Mystrade, Ghost John) – One year after John is killed Sherlock starts to wonder whether John has actually gone anywhere.

Permanent Fixture by vitruvianwatson (E, 18,836 w., 9 Ch || Post-S4, Parentlock, Slow Build, Friends to Lovers, They’re Good Parents, Blushing Sherlock, First Kiss/Time, Explicit Consent, Sexual Content, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Big Feelings, Crying, First Kiss, Fluff, Anxious Sherlock, Inexperienced Sherlock, Emotional Communication, Love Confessions) – Now, as Rosie sat curled up against Sherlock’s side, John watched and wondered exactly how he had ended up here. Domesticity had never suited him before, not at any point in his life. His disastrous marriage had been proof of that. But somehow, here in the warmth and safety of 221B Baker Street, here with Sherlock Holmes reading medical jargon to his daughter, Sherlock’s bony feet nudging against his leg, John couldn’t imagine anyplace that would make him happier.

Silhouettes by allonsys_girl (E, 28,585 w., 7 Ch. || Canon Compliant, POV John, Heavy Drinking, Sad/Depressed John, Grief/Mourning, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Reunion, Foot Jobs, Blow Jobs, Infidelity, Cheating, Drug Use/Abuse, Anal, Switchlock, Rimming, Parentlock) – Sherlock and John find comfort in each other's arms, but as ever with these two, it's not your typical relationship. It's fluffy at the beginning, gets deeply angsty in the middle, gets porny at the end.

A Home for Us by sussexbound (M, 30,581 w., 12 Ch. || Scars, Bedsharing, Grief, Doctor John, Hurt/Comfort, Post-TRF, Implied/Referenced Torture, Sherlock POV, Pining Sherlock, Suicidal Ideation, Heavy Emotions, Clingy Sherlock, Hallucinations, Disassociation, Emotional Turmoil) – He has been on the road for two years, and he is exhausted. He’s almost accepted that he will never see London (John) again—almost. But then there are nights like tonight, where he is weak, and all he can think of is the warmth of the flat they once shared, the crackle of the fire in the hearth, the teasing smile playing at the corner of John’s lips, the boxes of half-eaten Chinese takeaway balanced precariously in their laps. He aches at the memory of it, at the realisation that it is something he may never experience again.

The Winter Garden by Callie4180 (T, 31,213 w., 13 Ch. || Post-S4, Retirement, Christmas, Slow Burn, Grown-Up Rosie, Parenthood, Rosie’s Cat, Angst with Happy Ending, Holidays, Beekeeping, Magical Realism, Sherlock POV, Sherlock’s Violin, Future Fic, Sussex, Honey, Magical Healing Honey, Love Confessions, Sherlock’s Scar, First Kiss, Touching) – As Sherlock nears the end of his career, he's given the gift of a cottage in Sussex. The honey from the beehives out back is amazing.Almost...magical.

Only To Be With You by SinceWhenDoYouCallMe_John (M, 40,768 w., 4 Ch. || Black Mirror / Future AU || Character Death, Future Technology, Sickness/Cancer/Illness, Heavy Angst with Happy Ending, First Person POV John, Pining John, Heart-Wrenching Angst) – I tell myself that next time I’ll come near this same place again. Wait around for the mysterious stranger in his coat to dash past me, hot on the heels of a new criminal in black. I think this all the way back to my Exit, planning where I’ll wait and what I’ll say when I see him. Scheming on how to get his name. It’s only once I reach the Exit Point door that I realize two hours and forty-five minutes have passed, and I realize that this won’t be the last time I Visit. It won’t be the last time at all.

Inscrutable to the Last by DiscordantWords (M, 48,842 w., 6 Ch. || Post-TRF, Alternate S3, John’s Blog/S3 is a Story By John, Divorce, Marital Difficulties, John is a Mess, Emotional Reunion, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Grief / Mourning, Pining John, First Kiss, Adorably Clueless Sherlock, Nostalgia, Love Confessions, Eventual Happy Ending) – He wasn't Sherlock, he couldn't work miracles. All he'd ever been able to do was write about them.

Anchor Point by trickybonmot (E, 49,856 w., 80 Ch. || Truman Show AU || Psychological Drama, Suspense, Slow Burn, Dark Characters / Fic, Alternating First/Third Person, Protective John, Anxious/Worried Sherlock, Tender Moments, Love Confessions, Hand/Blow Jobs, Cuddling, Jealous John, First Kiss/Time) – The world tunes in nightly for Sherlock, the ultimate in reality TV: Sherlock Holmes, a real person with a legendary name, unknowingly lives out his life in a staged setting contrived by his brother. Things get complicated when a retired army doctor joins the show to play the part of Sherlock's closest friend. This fic borrows its concept from the 1998 film, the Truman Show. However, you don't need to have any knowledge of the movie to enjoy this story.

The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse by SilentAuror (E, 50,635 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S4/S4 Divergence, Case Fic, For a Case / Reverse Fake-Relationship, Conferences, Marriage Equality, Travelling / New York, Pride, Homophobia, Bottomlock, Marriage Proposal, John POV, Sexuality, Love Confessions, Emotional Love Making, Public Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, Passionate Kissing, Needy/Clingy Sherlock, Virgin Sherlock, Touching / Hand Holding, Bed Sharing, Little Spoon Sherlock, Intense Orgasms) – John and Sherlock go to New York to attend a conference run by the National Defence of Traditional Marriage Coalition in order to investigate the potential bombing of the annual Manhattan Pride parade. As the conference unfolds, John finds himself repulsed by the toxic ideology being presented, which becomes relevent to his own unacknowledged issues and his friendship with Sherlock...

Gold Rush by ShirleyCarlton (E, 71,783 w., 17 Ch. || Post S3 / No Mary, Friends to Lovers, Mentions of Past Sexual Abuse, First Kiss, Case Fic, Slow Burn, Alternating POV, Switchlock, Angst with Happy Ending, Marriage Proposal, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Abduction, Anxious/Insecure Sherlock, Miscommunication, Emotional Lovemaking) – John has divorced Mary and pops round to 221B one evening to find Sherlock in the middle of a case. As Sherlock tries to find the identity of a young woman’s stalker, John realises he can no longer deny his feelings for Sherlock – which then, to their befuddlement, turn out to be mutual. Shy kisses and tentative embraces ensue. But will Sherlock be able to cast off a shadow from his past that he thinks might prevent John from wanting to stay?

Repairing the Broken Things by BakerTumblings (M, 75,252 w., 15 Ch. || S4 Compliant, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Medical Trauma, Hospitals, Big Brother Mycroft, Misunderstandings, Realizations, Severe Accident, John Whump, Pneumonia, Medical Procedures, Bed Sharing, First Time, Healing, Happy Ending) – "I'm calling today to notify you that there's been an accident."

Points by lifeonmars (E, 53,791 w., 42 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || HLV Rewrite / Canon Divergence, Married Life, Pregnancy / Baby Watson, Drinking to Cope, Boxing / Fisticuffs, Clueless John, Angst, Minor Medical Drama, Tattoos, Christmas, First Kiss/Time, Eventual Happy Ending, Love Confessions, Doctor John, Sexuality Crisis, Slow Burn, Case Fic, Drugging, Blow/Hand Job, Emotional Love Making, Parenthood, Passage of Time) – What if His Last Vow never happened? This fic picks up a few months after John and Mary's wedding, in an alternate universe where Magnussen doesn't exist, but Mary is still pregnant. Life continues -- just in a different direction. And slowly, Sherlock and John find their way to each other.

Lunar Landscapes by J_Baillier (M, 57,046 w., 21 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || S3/TAB Fix-It, Slow Burn Angst, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Confessions, Drugs, Pain, Medical, Injury, Sherlock Whump, Mental Health Issues, Panic Attacks, Romance, Secrets, Tragedy, Trauma, BAMF John, Doctor!John, Drug Addict Sherlock, Injured Sherlock, Grieving John, Idiots In Love,  Protective John, POV John Watson, PTSD Sherlock, Sherlock is a Mess, Medical Realism) – An accident forces John to face the fact that Sherlock's downward spiral had started long before his flight to exile even left the tarmac.

Hell Sent, Heaven Bound by ConsultingHound (M, 64,381 w, 16 Ch. || Angels / Demons AU ||  Fallen Angel Sherlock / Angel Cop John, Alternate First Meeting, Slow Burn, Case Fic, John & Lestrade are Friends Before Sherlock, BAMF John, Mind Palace John, Friends to Lovers, John in Denial, Sherlock Picks Out John’s Clothing, Clubbing / Dancing, Mildly Jealous John, Awkwardness, Kidnapping, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Sacrifice, Worried / Anxious Sherlock, Angst with Happy Ending, Immortal to Mortal) – Ex-War healer and current angelic guard John Watson is not having the best day. He overslept, he’s underpaid, and now there’s someone tagging the Council’s building walls. However things may be about to get interesting: there’s an unusual stranger hanging around (the definition of tall, dark, and handsome), a literal underground cult is brewing, and rumblings are coming from hell. Can he keep his neighbourhood safe, how and why is he being connected to all this, and who the hell is Sherlock Holmes?

White Knight by DiscordantWords (M, 69,840 w., 13 Ch. || S4 Compliant/Post S4, Marriage For a Case, Jealous John, Pining John, Janine / Sherlock Fake Relationship, Serial Killers, Case Fic, Undercover as a Couple, Weddings, John is a Mess, Misunderstandings, Wedding Planning, Jealousy, Drunkenness, Love Confessions, Angst with Happy Ending) – Green. The word green was used to convey a great many things. Illness. Envy. Inexperience. Standing there amidst Janine's chattering bridesmaids, watching Sherlock furrow his brow and study fabric swatches, watching him smile and simper and flirt, John thought it a remarkably apt colour choice. Because he felt quite sick to his stomach, he feared the source of said sickness might very well be jealousy, and he had absolutely no idea at all what to do about it. Or: Sherlock needs to fake a relationship for a case. He doesn't ask John.

Just To Hold You Close by sussexbound (E, 70,841 w., 18 Ch. || Alternate First Meeting, Sherlock POV, ASD Sherlock, PTSD John, Demisexual Sherlock, Bisexual John, Cuddling/Snuggling, Platonic Cuddling, Enthusiastic Consent, Bed Sharing, Love Confessions, First Kiss/Time, Sexual Tension, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Cuddle Negotiations, For a Case Until It Isn’t, Hair Petting, Sexual Negotiation, Anxiety, Trust Issues, Slow Burn, Panic Attacks, Frottage, Hand/Blow Jobs, Referenced Self Harm / Abuse / Suicidal Ideation, First Kiss/Time, Anal) – When a woman is murdered and the last person to see her alive is recently invalided army vet turned reluctant (and prickly) professional cuddler, John Watson, Sherlock Holmes is pulled into a world of intimacy and intrigue he never could have imagined. John is a conundrum and mystery: frank yet reserved, tender yet angry, open yet afraid. Sherlock is instantly drawn into his orbit, and begins to feel and desire things he never has before.

The Monument of Memory by J_Baillier (M, 79,663 w., 14 Ch. || Post S4 Fix It Fic / S4 is Canon, Angst, Family Drama, Guilt, Case Fic, John Loves Sherlock, Complicated Feelings, Mentalism / Hypnosis, Murder, Grieving John, Sherlock is a Bit Not Good, Team Work, Trust Issues, BAMF John, Psychological Trauma, Protective John, Autistic-Spectrum Sherlock, Parentlock, John POV) –  A genius traumatised by a past he's only beginning to recall. The psychopath sister that time forgot. A missing woman and a mentalist who may or may not be a murderer. And, in the middle of it all, stands John Watson.

Thermocline by J_Baillier (M, 83,557 w., 14 Ch. || Scuba Diving AU || Adventure, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Marine Archaeology, Asexual Sherlock, Horny John, Relationship Drama, Technical/Scuba/Wreck Diving, Slow Burn, Underwater /  Medical Peril, Doctor John, Hurt Sherlock, Anxious Sherlock, John POV, Protective John, Body Appreciation) – John "Five Oceans" Watson — technical dive instructor, dive accident analyst and weapon of mass seduction — meets recluse professor of maritime archaeology Holmes. As they head out to a remote archipelago off the coast of Guatemala to study and film its shipwrecks for a documentary, will sparks fly or fizzle out?

Kintsukuroi by sussexbound (E, 91,823 w., 20 Ch. || S4 Compliant / Post-TLD, Grief / Mourning, PTSD, Internalized Homophobia, Therapy, Past Abuse, Alcohol Abuse, Nightmares, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Depression, Anxiety, Bed Sharing, Love Confessions, Cuddling, Suicidal Ideation, Masturbation, Minor Character Death, Sexting, Frottage, Inexperienced Sherlock, Rimming / Anal / BJ’s, Emotional Turmoil, Finding Each Other) – “I love you.” Sherlock sees the words hit John with almost physical force. He reels back a little, jaw twitching and eyes filling. “I love you,” he repeats, a little softer, a little more gentle, as earnest as he possibly can. Because they’ve been teetering on the brink of this thing for years, and it had become painfully obvious over the last few months that they were at a tipping point. This had to happen. Now it has. Now they can see where they end up. The tears in John’s eyes spill over, and he wipes at them angrily. “Do you even know what that means?”  

The Summer Boy by khorazir (T, 94,706 w., 6 Ch. || Post S3/Post TAB/Alternate S4, Friends to Lovers, Flashbacks, Sussex, Bullying, 1980′s Kid Sherlock, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Inexperienced Sherlock, Grief/Mourning, Pining Sherlock, Background Case Fic) – About half a year after the fateful events at Appledore, Sherlock and John embark on a private case in Sussex. For Sherlock, it’s a journey into his past, bringing up memories both happy and sad that he has locked away for almost thirty years. For John, it means coming to terms with the present – and a potential future with Sherlock. Part 1 of the The Summer Boy series

Northwest Passage by Kryptaria (E, 95,157 w., 27 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Canadian AU ||  BAMF!John, Canadian John, PTSD, Anal / Oral Sex, Rimming, Emotional Hurt / Comfort, Drug Rehab, Falling in Love, Pining Sherlock, Love Confessions, Sherlock’s Violin, Panic Attacks, Switching, Anxious / Protective Sherlock, Hugs for Comfort, Suicide Mentions, Healing Each Other) – Seven years ago, Captain John Watson of the Canadian Forces Medical Service withdrew from society, seeking a simple, isolated life in the distant northern wilderness of Canada. Though he survives from one day to the next, he doesn't truly live until someone from his dark past calls in a favor and turns his world upside-down with the introduction of Sherlock Holmes." Part 1 of Tales from the Northwest

The Adventure of the Silver Scars by tangledblue (NR [M], 142,458 w., 41 Ch. || S3 Fix-It, Post-HLV/ Post-TAB / Canon Compliant, Case Fic, No Baby, Angst, Humour, UST, Slow Burn, Angry John, Reconciliation, Not Nice Mary / Leaving Mary, Dependent Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Caretaker John, Fist Fights, It’s An Experiment, Virgin Sherlock, Dancing, Drugging, John Whump, Pet Names, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Scars) – It’s been thirteen months since Mary shot Sherlock and John finds he’s still pissed off about it. Sherlock had thought everything was settled: John and Mary, domestic bliss. But when John turns up at Baker Street with suitcases, the world’s only consulting detective might not be prepared for the consequences. A new case. Some old scores to settle. Certain danger. Concertos, waltzes, and whisky.

Proving A Point by elldotsee & J_Baillier (E, 186,270 w., 28 Ch. || Me Before You Fusion || Medical Realism, Insecure John, Depression, Romance, Angst, POV John, Sherlock Whump, Serious Illness, Doctor John, Injury Recovery, Assisted Suicide, Sherlock’s Violin, Awkward Sexual Situations, Alcoholism, Drugs, Idiots in Love, Slow Burn, Body Image, Friends to Lovers, Hurt / Comfort, Pain, Big Brother Mycroft, Intimacy, Anxiety, PTSD, Family Issues, Psychological Trauma, John Whump, Case Fics, Loneliness, Pain) – Invalided home from Afghanistan, running out of funds and convinced that his surgical career is over, John Watson accepts a mysterious job offer to provide care and companionship for a disabled person. Little does he know how much hangs in the balance of his performance as he settles into his new life at Musgrave Court.

Against the Rest of the World by SilentAuror (E, 151,714 w., 20 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post-TRF, Hiatus Fic, POV First Person Sherlock, Present Tense, First Kiss/Time, Big Brother Mycroft, Escaping from Capture, Soft Sherlock, Toplock, Insecurity, Infidelity, Travelling, Introspection, Pining Sherlock, Depression, Fantasies, Yearning for the Past, PTSD Sherlock, Suicidal Ideation) – Sherlock has been away from London for nine hundred and twelve days and counting, and has no idea what sort of reception to expect when he finally returns.

[thequietmanno1]

Thelreads, MHA 251, Replies Part 2

1) “Oookay, you`re going to use your fire, sure… Huh… Hopefully this won`t make things weird with Ending there, we`d hate for the target of that death wish to be changed in a moment like this.

…

Shot`s going to be the new target, won`t he?”-

Shoto: Hey Jackass! You want fire!? I’ve got all the flames you want right here!! Ending: You vile, scurrilous pretender! Don’t you dare attempt to deceive me! Those miserable, pathetic sparks are not Endeavour’s lustrous flames! Shoto: (Grins) Thanks. It’s great to hear that from somebody else as well!! (Punch of Brotherly Rage)

2) “Oh boy, that can`t be good…”-

Ending: Hey Punks! Catch! Izuku: Ok! (does so) Ending: I wasn’t being literal, you moron! Izuku: Then why did you toss them straight up in the air instead of into the buildings on the side? Ending:…fuck. 3) “OH GOD NATSUO IS ABOUT TO BE ISEKAI`D SOMEBODY DO SOMETHING”- For some reason the Anime turned this collision into a train instead of a cab- presumably to avoid an uncomfortable level of realism to the danger?- but I think I recall something about an Iseaki that started with a train crash.

4)  “THE ROCKETMAN SAVES THE DAY, AND STOPS ANOTHER ONE TO BEFALL THE CURSE OF THE WITCH.”- The sheer timing Bakugou needs to have to pull this move off, not only reaching Natsuo faster than the car speeding right at him, but getting close enough to actually touch it before he fires his opposing concentrated blast back the other way to push them both out of danger, at the precise second before inertia imbeds him into the vehicle. It seems like Endeavour’s training not only honed Bakugou’s explosive ability to new heights, it sharpened his perceptions of the world around him as well, because Bakugou would need to have bullet time vision to avoid hurting himself or Natsuo with that move.

5) “JESUS FUCK BAKUGO- YOU KNOW WHAT, IF I WAS NATSUO ON THIS SITUATION I THINK I`D RATHER TAKE MY CHANCES WITH THE TAXI AFTER SEEING YOU FACE, THANK YOU VERY MUCH.”- Bakugou has accepted the ‘win by saving’ mentality, but similar to Izuku he’s actually pretty skilled at intimidating the shit out of people when he’s in a fighting mood- and for Bakugou now, every opportunity to rescue somebody is a ‘fight’ against himself, so he’s got his rage face on all the time in hero mode.

6) “ALRIGHT MIDORIYA, NOW IT`S YOUR TIME TO SHINE, AND I THINK I ALREADY KNOW WHAT YOU`RE GOING TO DO. TIME TO RELEASE THE DARKNESS, TIME TO LET THE WHIPS CRACK!”- I know this new ability is mostly spiderman, but with the terminology of ‘whip’ I’m constantly comparing Izuku’s usage of it to Indiana Jones, Catwoman or even Subaru’s.

7) “THIS IS NOT THE TIME FOR FLASHBACKS MIDORIYA, RELEASE THE DARKNESS BEFORE YOU START TO GET TOO AWARE OF WHAT YOU NEED TO DO AND YOU LOSE CONTROL OF IT. LET IT FLOW AND LET YOUR INSTINCTS GUIDE YOU”-Technically, ‘rage’ isn’t actually the source of Black Whip’s strength- it’s just a psychosomatic power that gets ‘amped up’ and more unpredictable when Izuku’s channelling a strong emotion as the trigger, which means getting pissed is simply the easiest way he can unleash its raw strength to do what he wants, helped by the fact that Izuku is quick to anger when lives are on the line, but in this case, his iron-clad desire to ‘protect’ others is what allows him to precisely shape and control the whips to move to his will.

8) “YEAH ENDEAVOR, YOU BE IN AWE OF THEIR POWER, THOSE KIDS AREN`T FUCKING AROUND, THEY WERE JUST BIDDING THEIR TIME UNTIL IT WAS THE MOMENT TO SHINE,

AND BY THE LORD ARE THEY GOING SUPERNOVA RIGHT NOW”-

Well, Shoto certainly is, but then again, he’s the only one on this impromptu team whose goal is ‘fighting’ the villain, leaving Izuku and Bakugou to protect the lives he endangers whilst he melts his threat into a pile of molten paint.

9) “AND LOOK AT THAT, IT SEEMS LIKE SHOTO IS HELPING ENDING

KEEP COOL

RIGHT NOW…”- I dunno if you’ve watched Vox Machina, but a particularly climatic moment occurs when one of the characters holds their enemy down for their ally to blast both of them with a concentrated beam of heat energy, tanking the damage until the target is ashes. Shoto’s tactic here is much the same, but luckily his ice achieves the same immobilisation effects without his needing to worry about harming his allies with his concentrated rage flames all up in Ending’s face.

10) “Midoriya, please tell me you put those cars down gently. You know, physics aren`t exactly well respected but they still exist to some extent, and if you just dropped them after stopping them from flying into the sky, well… somebody is bound to get hurt that way”- Unfortunately, whilst he’s mastered the act of unleashing Black Whip to achieve a specific goal alongside simultaneously using Full Cowling, it seems Izuku’s current skill level with that many whips only allow him to ‘unleash’ them, but not keep them extended or active for very long. Like a grappling hook, they can extend, snag a target and them reel it into Izuku or vice versa, but they can only manifest for a few short seconds before dissipating and him needing to fire a second follow-up whip to achieve any additional objectives. Izuku’s earlier showing during the joint training was with 4 whips maximum, two on each hand, and he only managed to hold up two metal pipe containers as large as his body for a few seconds before they ‘shorted out’, whereas here he’s moving the weight of three cars plus however many people inside them. Izuku might eventually be capable of lifting Busses and the like with a few Black Whip tentacles, but right now, being able to grasp and right some falling cars in mid-air so they land right-side up is the most he can achieve over a week’s training, especially since he doesn’t have any flying abilities that would allow him to gently let them down- he launched himself upwards both to get in prime position to snare the cars and also to provide sufficient force to ‘tug’ them in the opposite direction and avoid them hitting the ground at terminal velocity

11) “Oh that`s Bakugo, and holy fuck is he hating every single nanosecond of this.”- Ah, open affection, Bakugou’s Kryptonite. That or he’s as grossed out by Endeavour hugging him as Natsuo is. @thelreads

[phantomato]

What do you think about Tom being the Minister for Magic? Would you ever write a fic with him as that role?

Oh this is a really interesting question because, for as much Tom fic as I’ve written, I really ought to have written him as a minster by now, right? At this point, I’m clearly avoiding it. And there is a mundane reason for that (I am not expert enough in government systems to do this well without copious research), but that’s the boring answer, so let me dig into the interesting answer.

Something about Minister for Magic feels wrong for Tom’s character, as I write him. I think there are a couple of factors: the position makes him the head of the existing power structure that I usually have him rebel against, and for any semi-realistic take on this he would still need to wait until the 1970s at the earliest in order to assume the role.

Typically, my Tom defines his goals in opposition to the traditional power structures of the wizarding world. Yes, he does use blood prejudice in some iterations, but I see that as a convenient piece of propaganda in order to win the support/resources of a powerful segment of society. Blood purism gives him a built-in base and, if he successfully wins over these purebloods, eliminates one of the main possible sources of opposition to his control—he’s their leader, now, so they’re not going to be motivated to pick apart his lineage. From this vantage point, he has a good shot at taking down the other half of society, the ‘liberal’ wing led by Dumbledore and his peers. But the point of his war, as I see it, is that in fighting it he has a chance to remake all of wizarding Britain. He’s divided that world in two, taken one half as his own to shape as he pleases, and will subdue the other half. Whether or not civil war was a morally-right choice doesn’t really matter to him; he has a concrete political goal (overthrow existing governmental structures and rewrite them in my image), and his actions are logically consistent with that.

So, having established that, why would he want to be the minister? It’s a position that, in order to have value, necessitates preserving the power structures that I write him in opposition to. It’s a complete flip of the values I ascribe to him. One could do that, that’s a reasonable take on his character, but I write him as a revolutionary and so it does not fit. He wants power, yes, but power on his own terms. From what we see of the position, Minister for Magic does not have the right to make sweeping reforms as Tom/Voldemort would want. It seems like he would be stuck with stupid governmental offices that have ballooned past their justifiable size (Department of Magical Games and Sports, anyone?), he would be accountable to the Wizengamot, and even a Wizengamot stacked in his favor is still some degree of accountability that would frustrate him, and he wouldn’t be able to micromanage the types of decisions that really interest him. Sure, he might be able to advocate for a reform of the laws defining dark magic, but it will ultimately be other people who decide which texts, which spells, are unbanned—not Tom. That’s how government bureaucracy works. For all of its corruption, the Ministry of Magic is not a dictatorship, it is a government accountable to the international wizarding community as much as to its own citizens, and Tom being tied up in trade negotiations with magical Latvia seems like a very unhappy Tom.

But that all assumes we get him into the position so that I can bog him down with realistic responsibilities for a head of state. We still need to talk about what it takes for Tom to get there in the first place.

I got curious, so I looked up the current youngest-serving state leaders. What I notice in this is that “young,” for a head of state, is not that young—these are individuals who would still have the chance to work as public figures for over a decade before assuming the highest office in their government, and even in ten names, the list quickly hits 40s/two decades of public service. Plus, these are smaller countries. Yes, the wizarding world is small, but it seems like a fair assumption that the magical UK is among the larger/more powerful nations, and perhaps more likely to demand older/more experienced state leaders.

Why does this matter? Because when I see Minister Tom in fics, the ones where his rise to power is written out, the guy is nearly always the minister by the 1950s. He is in his twenties until late in that decade. I’m going to go ahead and call bullshit. Wizarding Britain is, even setting aside blood purity, a conservative, old-fashioned society. Why would someone with no background in this world have a shot at being the minister before he even hits 30 years old? I can’t accept that as a realistic option.

So if I am trying to write a reasonable take on Tom becoming the minister, I’m still going to need time. He has to establish an accountable public image, either in government or in some equivalently respected industry (education? business? this is a challenge because the adult world is so shallow in HP). He can’t go on jaunts around the world for a decade, disappearing from public view and creating the World’s Shadiest Resume Gap. He can’t be a shop clerk at B&B for years and years. He’d have to take favors from Slughorn and/or his pureblood peers in order to get on the right career path, which creates a network of debts that will haunt him into his time as minister. And it doesn’t necessarily save him any time—if he starts his war ~1970, when he’s 43-turning-44, well, that’s about a realistic age for someone with a history of public service to set their sights on becoming a head of state. And still, it might not happen right away, he might need another 5 years for the next election cycle to roll around, or to garner the support he needs to make a bid for the position, or whatever. Might as well start the damn war, you know?

And, like, I’m a staunch advocate of writing whatever fits the inspiration/story idea that I have. I’m not going to say I’ll never write a Minister Tom story. But I think it’s a fair bet that I wouldn’t write a story about Tom becoming minister, because for my style of writing—grounded attempts at realism within the world of wizarding Britain—it’s not a satisfying story for me to tell.

[10kiaoi]

For the 007 Fest Anon prompts: Magical realism

Scav hunt item #55: Create art using a prompt from the MI6Cafe Weekly Art Prompts + “Mayday”

Notes: Unbetaed as always. Canon typical violence.

"Mayday, mayday, mayday-!"

The city is caught in a deluge when he arrives. 

Traffic is backed up for miles, vehicle after vehicle trapped in complete  frustrating gridlock. 

He's walked the two miles to his destination, leaving behind an irate cab driver with a generous tip for his trouble.

Along the way, a young nymph looking to be no more than 10 summers old, offers a flower garland weaved of fresh white Heather from the shelter of a narrow porch. He eyes the fresh cut hanging over the front door. 

He purchases two, to the girl's cheery delight. 

----

“We've lost three engines! Requesting immediate vectors to the nearest airfield! Mayday, mayday, mayday! Shit, Number 4's go-"

----

One mile in, he stumbles across a heavily flooded street.

Earsplittingly loud lighting cracks overhead, an occasional flash that lights the street up. 

The flood waters are ice cold. With the water level at thigh height, his wellies do nothing to keep them from gushing around his equally frozen feet. He resigns himself to a hot bath later.

Here, no cars are able to pass through at all. 

Despite the hazards, there are people out and about in front of their buildings. There are merchants desperately hauling their merchandise to higher ground, attempting to salvage what they can from the havoc. Some are putting up brightly coloured banners and decorative displays. At every door, a stalk of white Heather hangs, children gleefully arranging whole seashells in intriguing patterns around them. 

The mood, though dampened by the terrible weather, borders on festive. 

There are neighbours exchanging sweet breads, a friendly trade of roasted poultry, a shared fish or two in covered dishes to shield the food from the downpour. 

Their joy is a distant consideration in comparison to his inner disquiet. 

An elderly man catches sight of him standing and staring openly at the activities. He glances down to his hand, to the two Heather garlands cradled protectively.  The old man tuts reprovingly and wades through the waters towards him. 

"Shells," the old man tuts as he offers two perfect clam shells, canine tail wagging, "Intention means nothing without it."

He crosses the street, with his gifts in hand. 

----

"Mayday, mayday, mayday! We've lost all four engines- Christ, we're not going to make it back to land-!" 

----

He hears the adolescents well before he sees them. 

In a deserted street, dull with old street lamps and filthy storefronts, the hooded teens giggle with cruel delight as they rip down fabric banners and shatter the crystal glass figurines of various marine creatures. The lovely shells and stalks of white Heather meet the same dismal fate.

Amidst their destruction, one of the teens happens to look up, forked tongue flickering out to taste the wind. Their eyes drop to his arms and they elbow their companions. The group sneers, wisely backing off momentarily and not doing anything as foolish as engage him in a fight. 

Given his state of mind, it is more than likely that the teens will not come out the other end of the fight unscathed despite the protection of armoured scales. 

"The sea witch's a fucking sham anyways!" the kid yells over their retreating backs, "ya'll nuts for believing that shit!" 

When the last teen disappears round the street corner, he sighs, taking the moment to sweep the glass shards to the side with his foot instead of leaving them in the middle of the pavement for some poor sod to injure themselves on later. The rising waters will take care of the mess soon enough anyways. 

The glint of light on glass draws his eye to the ledge, where several pristine figures lie untouched. He is irrepressibly drawn to one in particular- a carving not of an animal but a floating feather caressed by an invisible wind. 

His eyes surveys the street warily for a moment. The glass feather slips unnoticed into the depths of his jacket. 

In the distance, the sea churns with rage. 

----

"Mayday, mayday, may-"

----

There is little else he can do but scour the shores, buffeted by strong gusts and blinded by sea spray. 

The boats are all docked away, no skipper daring enough to take on the sea in her volatility. The worst of the storm is miles away from land, but its effects are felt all the same. 

A set of files arrives in his email courtesy of Q Branch and Tanner- maps and coordinates and prediction models, all of which he studies intensively in the comfort of his temporary safe house. The glass feather sits prominently besides his laptop, a silent but steadfast companion to his activities. 

It, along with the Heather garlands and clam shells, bear witness to him smashing his ceramic mug in a fit of fury. 

The lone image glares accusingly at him from his laptop screen, a low quality shot worsened by the movement of the camera it was shot with. 

The object is a blurry mess, details rendered indistinct by the rolling waves and heavy rainfall. But enough of the form remains for the item to be identified- its implications are what trigger his episode of temper. 

A lone tail fin, ripped from its place at the rear of an aircraft, is a death sentence. 

----

He's on his fifth bottle, drowning his sorrows with a vengeance. Outside, the deluge lets up a little into a light patter against the balcony. 

The helplessness weighs heavily like an albatross around his neck. 

Squeals waft up from the street below, a pod of local mers grasping the opportunity the flood waters present and taking the chance to explore streets they have never traversed before. Their melodious cries of astonishment and wonder, once music to his ears, prove too much for the dark cloud hanging over him. 

He throws back his head against the couch and guzzles down more bitter ale. 

----

He comes to in his tiled bathroom, curled over the toilet seat with acidic sick stinking up his nose. It's no gentle thing, he wakes up with a jerk, disorientated and without memory of how he has gotten to the bathroom in the first place. Adrenaline rushes through his veins. 

With the fog in his head clearing up, he notices the rattling coming from his balcony, accompanied by quiet curses. 

He gets up, hand curling around the walther under his arm. He creeps towards the source of the commotion, feet as light as a cat's paws. Whatever and whomever the intruder is, he's of no mood to be gracious. 

The rattling pauses, an indignant squawk of frustration follows it. 

It speaks volumes of his training, both military and 00 that he does not drop his piece from shock. 

There on his balcony, his Quartermaster scowls angrily at the offending lock while looking like a drowned rat. 

In his chest, his heart leaps. 

His movement draws Q's attention and it's then he's hollered at to "open the bloody doors before I kick them down!" 

There's no word vast enough, deep enough to encompass the depth of his emotions as he swiftly undoes the lock and throws the double doors open. Heather and shells are sent flying but all he cares for is pulling Q into a bone crushing embrace. 

----

The rain picks up, droplets soaking through the cotton of his shirt. The front is already soaked through, thoroughly pressed against a sopping wet Quartermaster as he is. 

He pulls them inside, away from the storm, away from the windows. Disbelief and hope war within his chest as he studies Q with an anxious eye, warm towels in his hand to replace soaked clothes. 

He says nothing of the massive bruising on Q's torso, a large swath that belies the extent of physical trauma its owner has gone through. 

Belatedly, he registers the noticeable lack of glasses, the raw scrapes and bruising over pale cheeks and knuckles. 

The hulking set of white wings tipped with black and dusty grey. 

"Albatross," he breathes reverently.

He'd assumed from Q's presence in the tunnels of Q Branch, the way he draws comfort from his underground haven, that his Quartermaster is a member of an underground species of sorts- a Null even, rare as truly non-magical folk are amongst the general population. The personnel file certainly hasn’t provided much insight either given their propensity for obfuscation when executive members of staff are involved.  

"Yes, well, turns out I was just a late bloomer" Q sniffs, squinting at a dust speck on the wall through the conspicuous lack of glasses, "you're not on the water all the time either." 

Bond smiles indulgently though offers no contest. 

With his parents and kin long gone, there was simply no incentive to remain near his family’s seat of power all the time. The murky depths of the loch holds no interest, lacking in the thrill and constant entertainment cities like London offer. Besides-

First M, a hawk, now Q, an albatross - he's always been drawn to the sky much more than his peers. 

He feels out Q's wings carefully, stretching one out to examine the feathers and bone. The appendage trembles under his tentative scrutiny, morphing into a full body shiver that goes right down to Q's toes. The first wing passes muster, so he moves on to the other. 

Q yelps loudly as his fingers prod a particular sore spot. 

It has him relaxing his fingers immediately, though he does not cease supporting the injured wing. 

"I don't think it's broken," Q whimpers, fingers twisting anxiously. 

Like a dam, Q's hard won composure crumbles. "Couldn't get them out," Q sobs, "They were too far forward, I barely got myself out-" The frantic babble dies away into hitched sobs. 

He croons lightly in response, a soothing rumble he's heard mers sing to their fry. He runs his fingers through mussed curls, letting the grief and guilt run its course. 

The kit he has isn't stocked for treating winged individuals or traumatised ones for that matter, but he's a witch- he'll make the best with what he has. He'll get them both home. 

---

In the distance, the sea finally calms.

[twentiethcenturymoviesandtv]

The Princess Bride: Facets of Film

Movie-making is a tough and complicated business.  Once you have a studio sold on your pitch and script, there’s changes to be made, casting to be done, lighting choices, changes to the script, sets to find, costumes to make, special effects to prepare, more changes to the script, camera set-up, studio supervision, and then, possibly, more changes to the script.

In a business populated by that many people all working on the same project, every film is a minor miracle that it got made at all.  

As you may have gathered, making a movie is a huge undertaking.  There’s a lot that goes into it: cameras, music, sets, special effects, costumes, and more, managed by a lot of people who are very good at their jobs.  All of these little elements, which don’t seem that important on their own, all go into piecing together a coherent narrative in a way that makes sense, and looks good, to an audience.  

These elements, cinematography, lighting, costuming, special effects, etc., are the elements that can catch the attention of an audience, taking a ‘good’ film, and turning it into a ‘great’ film, thanks to the powers of movie magic.

See, movies are a very visual medium.  You can have a good story and characters in a book, but you have to imagine what it looks like as it moves along.  In a film, you have to watch what someone else made up.  This can be either an advantage or a disadvantage, and the difference is made entirely thanks to production design.  These ‘facets of film’, the trimmings that make a movie a movie, are vital to visual storytelling, enabling casual movie-goers to interpret what the framing of some scenes is trying to tell them.

Most audience members subconsciously internalize things like thematic costume changes, or a musical cue, without putting thought into figuring out what exactly was getting that point across.  The point is, these ‘facets of film’ are not only for filmmakers or movie critics to think about and fawn over: This storytelling shorthand is an important tool that gives the audience all of the information they need to have, without spelling it all out in dialogue.  Westley as the Dread Pirate Roberts wears all black as visual shorthand that he is dangerous, Humperdinck wears fine clothes to establish status and style, even Buttercup, whose clothing is plain when she is with Westley and uncomfortably bedecked when she is with Humperdinck, is dressed in a way that conveys something to the audience.

In other words, it’s very useful.

A good director knows to use these aspects of ‘storytelling shorthand’ well, as opposed to competently.  Too often, directors can decide to focus the production crew, and the movie itself, in the wrong place, attempting to garner praise for production design rather than substance.

There’s nothing wrong with looking good and being a well-done movie from a technical standpoint, but the balance is necessary.  A good director knows that visual storytelling accentuates its story, rather than overshadows it, intended to get the plot across in the most effective way possible, focusing on what is important: the story and characters.

Much like The Princess Bride does.

The Princess Bride isn’t exactly a blockbuster-style film.  There isn’t a huge budget spent on special effects or huge setpieces, but what is in there is done so with a remarkable touch.  Every inch of this film is designed to look like it takes place in a fairy-tale story, not exactly ‘real locations’, but looking like pictures you’d find in a story book.  That extends to the camerawork.

Camerawork is a pretty big deal in film for obvious reasons.  

The way a director uses a camera can tell the audience a lot, using some shots to emphasize different emotions, or even to get across different feelings to the audience.  Filmmakers use editing of these shots together to tell the story, to move the audience’s line of vision so that it is always centered on the action while also helping to set the mood or leave a visual impression on the audience.

So, does The Princess Bride manage that?

Most of the camerawork in The Princess Bride is fairly standard stuff, wide-shots for action, close-ups for dialogue or emotion, establishing shots for a new location, etc.  However, there are a handful of tricks that are notable: natural lighting used in the shots to make them feel open, spacious, and real, contrasting with artificial levels of darkness in the Fire Swamp, or the upwards-facing shot of Fezzik’s impersonation of the Dread Pirate Roberts, seeming to increase his size and formidability.  Other shots, like the coming-into-focus of Westley rising to point his sword at Humperdinck, are equally effective, in uses of ‘subjective camera’.  There are other, more traditional examples: shots of Buttercup’s abduction from above to make her seem even smaller, and establishing ‘relationship’ shots of people on the same level in the same frame, such as the sunset-lit kiss sequences bookending the film.  Even the editing, while being mostly standard, is given a few moments to shine, such as when the Grandfather is trying to find his place in the story after interrupting to make sure the Grandson isn’t frightened by the Shrieking Eels.  

Still, overall, it’s a fairly simple film in terms of visual style.  The cinematography is aimed at one goal: creating a charming, warm, comforting atmosphere that translates well and correctly conveys the mood of the audience.

This is even more so aided by the film’s score.

It’s fairly obvious that a movie’s soundtrack is integral to its success: a good movie can be elevated to iconic levels thanks to a good score (i.e. Jaws, Psycho, Star Wars, etc.).  In other cases, music can be passable, serviceable, without being bad or fantastic.

In the case of The Princess Bride, the score is….interesting, to say the least.  Instead of a traditional ‘fantasy’ score, the soundtrack was composed by Mark Knopfler, the front guitarist for the band Dire Straits (Money for Nothing, Walk of Life), using synthesizers and acoustic guitars to get the sound of the film.  The score, especially both the instrumental and vocal covers of ‘Storybook Love’ (sung by Willy DeVille) is memorable, overall, if nothing to write home about.  The soundtrack does what it is intended to do: set the scene, notably in the scene ‘The Chatty Duelists’, where Inigo and Westley fight to the stings of the music.  The music overall accentuates the grand, sweeping visuals as well as the tense, exciting sequences, keeping the audience in the story very well.

Speaking of grand, sweeping visuals:

The sets of The Princess Bride overall aren’t really ‘sets’ at all.  The ‘Cliffs of Insanity’ were in actuality the Cliffs of Moher in Ireland, and even Humperdinck’s castle was actually a real medieval manor house.  From Miracle Max’s shack to the Fire Swamp, to Rugen’s torture chamber, the rest of the settings of The Princess Bride do their job very well, creating a fantastical atmosphere that serves the story admirably.  These aren’t the vivid, magical sets of The Wizard of Oz, designed to create an atmosphere of dreamlike fantasy, rather, the settings of The Princess Bride are more intended to create a feeling of Magical Realism, that it is a storybook, but that the locations look and feel familiar and realistic.  This is helped somewhat by the fact that the film itself doesn’t rely on special effects much at all: aside from the Shrieking Eels and the (rather unrealistic looking) ROUSes (saved by the storybook feel of the entire film), there aren’t any real fantasy-specific special effects that other films might utilize.

There’s more to an immersive movie experience than sets, costumes and music, though.  In the end, no matter how impressive, the special effects, sets and costumes don’t really mean anything if the characters aren’t believable.  The movie really rests on the shoulders of the performers: it’s on the actors to try to sell not only their surroundings and story, but the characters themselves, everything from the personality to the emotions.  

In the case of The Princess Bride?

Cary Elwes’s performance as Westley is lighthearted, emotional, and extremely sincere.  He’s charismatic, charming, and makes you believe that he’s exactly as skilled as the story needs him to be.  He also manages to convince an entire audience of the genuine love he has for Buttercup, and is distinct as both his Westley persona and his ‘Dread Pirate Roberts’ persona.  In other words, he’s perfect.

Cary Elwes balances the ‘indestructibility’ that most protagonists seem to possess, seemingly in control of dire situations, as well as the vulnerability necessary for an audience’s sympathy and concern for his well-being, for his goal.  In other words, he manages to pull off a character that seems designed for an earlier time, updating it with a sense of humor and charm that perfectly suits the rest of the film.

Robin Wright is similarly well-suited for Buttercup, as she’s written.  I’ve discussed elsewhere the potential problems presented by Buttercup’s rather uninteresting personality and role in the story, but Buttercup’s Defrosting Ice Queen tendencies are very well conveyed, especially early on.  As I mentioned in other articles, her chemistry with Elwes makes the romance element of the film convincing in the few scenes they have together.  She does a good job with the material given to her, it’s just a shame that there wasn’t more for her to do.

On the other hand, Mandy Patinkin as Inigo Montoya, despite the unconvincing accent, is inspired, with Patinkin bringing both warm humor and ice-cold vengeance and formidability to the role.  Both he and Elwes brought great physicality to their sword-fight sequences, training hard in order to do as much of their own fighting as possible, and it shows in the performances in the final product.  Inigo’s inner conflict is showcased well, with Patinkin providing both the comedic highlights as well as the intense emotional ones, especially his final duel with Rugen.  It is Inigo’s lines which tend to be the most memorable, owing a lot to Patinkin’s iconic delivery.

All three of the main trio play their parts perfectly, but they are only the chief standouts in an entire film full of them.

André René Roussimoff (better known as André the Giant) despite not being an actor in the same vein as the rest of the cast, is iconic as Fezzik.  The instant likeability present in the performance carries strongly throughout the film, with his own fair share of memorable dialogue (which, granted, nearly every member in the cast has).  His physicality isn’t really what makes him such a distinct part of the cast, rather, it’s the character’s heart and humor that makes this performance such an integral part to the film at large.

Similarly (though in the opposite direction), Wallace Shawn is a wonderful choice for Vizzini, his distinct voice and mannerisms giving the character plenty of funny dialogue without entirely removing the threat he poses.  Despite not having a lot of screen time, Shawn manages to make the role iconic instantly, with inflections that make the word ‘inconceivable’ memorable to this day.

Chris Sarandon is perfectly cast as Prince Humperdinck, playing arrogance and control that all come crashing down in the final scene.  Humperdinck is all bark and no bite, appearing confident and competent until he is met by someone who might pose a challenge.  He’s conniving, cold, and disinterested in anything other than his war, making it especially rewarding when he is defeated.

Similarly, Christopher Guest plays Count Rugen with a sophisticated coolness, never really invested in what’s going on or terribly worried about it until that ‘little Spanish brat’ comes for revenge, very well equipped to deliver it.  He plays the final duel scene notably with an increased losing of composure, cluing the audience in to his inevitable demise for the sake of vengeance.

The other characters perfectly hit their mark as well: Billy Crystal and Carol Kane are a comedic team to be reckoned with as Miracle Max and Valerie, with other special standouts including Peter Cook as the Impressive Clergymen (a scene stealer with only one appearance), and Peter Falk and Fred Savage as the Grandfather and the Grandson, respectively.

Every character in The Princess Bride comes across exactly as they should: as characters in a fairytale, fondly looked back on from a place of adulthood.  Each performance is perfectly suited to each character and the type of movie that they are in, with every performance hitting a mix of sincerity and drollness.  These performances aren’t necessarily subtle, but they aren’t supposed to be.  They are heroes and villains, giants and master swordsmen and princesses, acting out a fairy-tale that knows exactly what it is, with tonal consistency that never seeks to outdo the material the actors are given.  These performances are the final piece to cementing this film as a true classic, bringing entertainment to people decades after it’s first release.

In short, the filmmakers of The Princess Bride knew what they were doing.  Everything from the performances to the camerawork gets across every emotion and aspect of the story instantly, with the sets and costumes working to explain simply what’s going on as quickly as possible.  It’s a storybook set to film, both comforting and exciting, and the ending feels right, no matter how many times we revisit it.  

The Princess Bride has long been considered a cult classic, a hidden gem that was looked over by a public who never really knew it was there in the first place.  Even if it never reaches the high peaks of fame as other fantasy classics, it may not be a stretch to hail it as one of the greatest fantasy films (or films in general) ever made, through simple (but not simplistic) substance, if not bombastic style.  

Of course, no movie comes around accidently.  There had to be some work done behind the scenes for this film to have come about.

Join me next time as we discuss the Facets of Filmmaking: the Behind the Scenes of The Princess Bride.

Thank you guys so much for reading!  If you have something you’d like to add or say, don’t forget that the ask box is always open!  I hope to see you all in the next article.

[eliasfilmreviews]

Review of “The Dark Knight” (2008)

*SPOILER ALERT* - This review contains spoilers about The Dark Knight (2008).

Alongside allies Harvey Dent (Aaron Eckhart) and Jim Gordon (Gary Oldman), Batman (Christian Bale) has been thwarting organized crime groups in Gotham City for a while now. However, these mobs of offenders have a retaliation plan. When they acquire the help of a deranged criminal mastermind, known as the Joker (Heath Ledger), his intent to kill Batman leaves the masked hero treading lightly—attempting to continue fighting crime while simultaneously defending himself and his true identity.

The Dark Knight (2008) is not your typical superhero movie. While it incorporates typical themes of the genre, such as good versus bad and wrong versus right, it also includes multiple psychological and ethical dilemmas. While I appreciate the thought-provoking content that comes from these dilemmas, it feels as though the filmmakers were attempting to fit in as many different topics as possible, forgetting that a lengthy runtime detracts from the film’s intensity and allows audiences to lose attention. 

The mainly dark and desaturated tone of the film did a great job of capturing the crime-ridden city of Gotham. In fact, the cinematography as a whole was incredible. The camera movements in the various action scenes felt meticulously choreographed while more serious and intimate sequences were shot skillfully and with thought. As a viewer, I felt immersed in the setting of the film, but as a reviewer I was thoroughly impressed by its visuals.

Heath Ledger is often praised for his complicated and deep portrayal of the Joker, and I couldn't agree more with this praise. His incredible acting breathes life into this maniacal villain, who may have lacked emotion had he been played by anyone else. The audience can’t help but root for Batman, as he is the protagonist of the film; however, it’s hard to dislike the Joker. His witty jokes and ever unclear recountings of the past make him funny, but also do a great job of showing off how crazy he really is. Ledger puts the suspension of disbelief in this film in overdrive, in a way that other members of the cast were not necessarily able to do.

Unfortunately, I had a really hard time enjoying Christian Bale’s performance as Batman. Maybe my dislike of his portrayal resulted from his odd, forced-sounding take on the character’s iconic voice, or maybe it was just the rigidity that he had throughout the film’s various action scenes. The sequence in which we first meet Batman is very odd, especially considering how important this introductory scene is. Bale barely seems interested in the fight that he’s taking part in, and is quite stiff in his actions. In general, Bale’s portrayal just doesn’t meet the mark and feels very unrealistic. But the acting wasn’t the only part of Batman’s character that I didn’t enjoy.

Batman’s costume just looks cheesy. I can’t be the only one who thinks that the character looks awkward and uncomfortable throughout the film. There is even a joke in the script in which the hero asks for some more neck mobility in the next version of his costume. To be completely honest, it looks like poor Mr. Wayne stepped straight out of a Party City. This costume looks plain bad, and does loads of damage to the realism of the character. It isn’t as low-quality as the costumes of the original 1966 Batman series, but in a film loaded with high-quality special effects, great cinematography, and an interesting storyline, it is definitely disappointing to see such a cheap-looking costume strapped on the main character.

The final criticism I have for this film is that, though everything comes together in the end, the beginning of the storyline feels somewhat segmented. I personally had a hard time understanding the film at the beginning as it lacks one single and distinct plot, instead boasting multiple side plots, intertwined with one another. The characters’ motivations and the reasoning behind the crimes that they’re committing is quite unclear as the film opens. That being said, it shapes up in its later half, and I especially enjoyed the shocking conclusion regarding the two ferry boats, and the massive ethical dilemma that faces the citizens of Gotham City within this sequence. It concludes nicely and with a good verdict on the theme of good versus bad.

Overall, I would rate The Dark Knight a 7/10. The plot, packed with thought-provoking ethical dilemmas, feels to drag on a little bit, and the long runtime risks losing audiences’ attention. However, the incredible cinematography and shocking conclusion make up for this small issue. While I didn’t necessarily love Christian Bale’s portrayal of Batman, it is almost worth watching the film just to experience Heath Ledger’s Joker—a complex character filled with interest and likeability. I recommend watching this film if you’d like to see a superhero film that’s been elevated with thought-provoking content, or if you are just interested in the action and visuals that come with a typical film of this genre.

[marysfoxmask]

the secret garden (1949) - why it’s my favorite adaptation

hello @renee-mariposa! thank you so much for the ask! while i believe i have answered a question like this before, i don’t think i’ve elaborated as much as i’d like to. so allow me to wax poetic on my favorite adaptation, the secret garden (1949)!

intro

this adaptation really stands out, i think, because of the the era it was made in; i don’t think you could get an adaptation aimed towards kids that is such a sentimental, gothic-lite melodrama with these days, at least without aggressively telegraphing its more emotional moments a la pixar/disney; it’s amusingly blunt and straightforward in that regard, much like the children at its center. there’s not much syrupiness at all. the child actors (margaret o’brien as mary and dean stockwell as colin) are fast-talking as any actor of that era, but in my opinion, the film’s clearly scripted dialogue just makes all the kids seem amusingly precocious.

actors

margaret o’brien as mary is great. i love her stridency, her snobbishness. unlike other adaptations, which downplay mary’s contrariness to the point where her character arc comes across as too subtle by half, the movie upgrades it. not only is 1949 mary contrary, her sullenness has been replaced by a shrillness, snobbery, and the tendency to run to emotional extremes (not to mention a healthy helping of classism). she alienates herself from the other children on the ship to england purposefully, finding them inferior to herself, then attempts to physically fight another passenger when the child calls archibald a hunchback. while this characterization isn’t book-accurate (book mary is a mix of fiery and sullen that none of the films capture accurately imo), i prefer this characterization of her to the closed-off sullenness of the 1993 version or the palatably traumatized 2020 version. 1949 mary isn’t given an obvious freudian excuse for her issues; her parents are just as neglectful, but the film puts the onus on mary for being contrary, which is weirdly refreshing and more attuned to the novel’s perspective. (that isn’t to say that mary’s traumatic early childhood didn’t inform her character in any meaningful way, or that the adults around mary aren’t responsible for how she turned out--but imo the films tend to take an un-nuanced view of the situation in order to make her a more palatable, sympathetic character, which is vastly less interesting than a complicated, flawed one no matter if the character is a child or not). when mary’s character develops and she becomes sweeter, it’s much more impactful as a result of this earlier narrative choice.

brian roper, who was 20 at the time (crazy, right?), plays dickon, and he plays him with a sweet affability that’s hard not to enjoy. he’s a little mischievous, laughing at mary when she accidentally speaks yorkshire (i’ll talk about that in a bit), and has, in a nice touch that i’ve strangely only seen in in the 1994 straight-to-dvd animated film, just as much of a passionate interest in the secret garden as mary does. dickon isn’t treated as mystically as other adaptations, save for the tendency to disappear strangely quickly just when mary happens to turn around (which is a nice nod to his quasi-magical aspects without being distracting, and also adds to mary’s sense of displacement/confusion on the mysterious misselthwaite grounds). he also gets a surprising amount to do in this adaptation, which i love, as someone who strongly believes his character has been under-served in all the film adaptations thus far. in this film, he gets to even enter misselthwaite manor by climbing up ivy into colin’s room in the middle of a storm (albeit offscreen), which is just the kind of adventurous, dramatic touch i enjoy. he also gets probably more dialogue than any of the other dickons (whoo!), as he makes a couple minor declarations--nothing super ham-fisted and melodramatic, as i said the screenplay is rather straightforward and devoid of a lot of corniness you might expect from a children’s film made in the ‘40s, especially with this kind of source material--that are heartfelt without being cloying (one of the benefits of having an older actor playing this kind of role).

colin, played by dean stockwell, is a weaker element to me. he does a good job alternating between screaming (and this movie contains a lot of screaming) and being sweet when the movie calls for it, but i don’t think he was the best choice for colin. while i think it’s awful to criticize a teen actor (stockwell was 13 at the time) for being baby-faced, the fact that he looks significantly younger than o’brien (who was 12) means that his tantrums come off as less a result of arrested development than they should. while he speaks as stiltedly as 2020 colin (who i personally think was one of the best elements of that film), it’s unclear whether that’s the result of the ‘40s fashion of expressing dialogue or a characteristic choice (i’m guessing the former). he can’t help but pale compared to o’brien’s mary, though he is perfectly adequate. he just didn’t stand out for me.

i summed up my feelings of elsa lanchester as martha in my previous, brief review of the movie back in june: “the one major flaw, i think, is actually martha, played by elsa lanchester; her portrayal is odd, feels definitely tone-deaf. her constant shrieking laughter feels very forced and unconvincing. in her few scenes, she jars everything to a halt in terms of believability.” she was significantly older than brian roper, being in her ‘40s playing a character heavily implied to be in her mid-teens to early twenties, and as a result feels out of her depth. her establishing scene is probably the worst, although i’ve warmed to her other scenes as time’s gone by.

tone/atmosphere

in general, i think the ‘49 film does a wonderful job expressing the gothic implications of the original book, even emphasizing them by casting misselthwaite manor largely in shadow and having mary and mrs. medlock first arrive in a carriage pulled by black horses on a dark, stormy night. it makes the bright outdoor scenery seem that much more inviting in comparison. burnett’s robin is also replaced by a raven, who also takes on aspects of dickon’s crow soot, as he is friends with dickon and hops on his shoulder occasionally. while it divulges from burnett’s book, i think a raven makes a little more sense in this adaptation, which amps up the eeriness of the original story; it gives mary’s journey a little more of a fairytale aspect, i think, and is overall an understandable and palatable change.

plot

the big plot development that divulges from the novel is the presence of a subplot where, due to a misunderstanding of an axe and a tree in the titular garden, mary and dickon fall under the impression that archibald killed lilias. now, this is a pretty bizarre plot, don’t get me wrong, but it doesn’t take up much of the film; it’s charming in its strangeness, and fits well with the idea of innocent children struggling to understand the complicated adult world—which is itself a theme original to the story that i’m kind of a sucker for, in general. it also serves as a bonding point for dickon and mary, whose friendship largely feels passed over in film adaptations.

and, of course, there’s the big plot-breaking point near the end, where archibald goes to tell colin that he’s selling misselthwaite and going to move to europe with him. an obvious plot point that conflicts with this scene is that colin, in the book, has no relationship with his father. again, it’s an odd adaptational choice meant to amp up the stakes, but it doesn’t impede my enjoyment of the film as a whole. the presence of two doctors—one, a hapless neville craven figure named dr. griddlestone, and the other is obviously inspired from the book’s “doctor from london,” who insisted all colin needed was fresh air, food, and exercise—gives the film some psychological weight. despite the disappointing element of all of colin’s neuroses being blatantly the result of his father’s emotional ailments, which i think is a lazy way of reading the original novel’s portrayal of colin’s illness, i think the way this development was executed in the film was tolerable—and i’m a sucker for children’s films that don’t think anything of including long conversations between adults about psychological issues. like, you can’t help but respect a film like that!

the garden

something i also love about this adaptation is that the garden isn’t a huge part of it; it represents more of a place where mary and dickon and colin can foster ideas and grow rather than a place of orgasmic beauty. there’s not a surplus of lavish panning shots, really, like in the ‘93 film, and it lacks the magical realism of the 2020 film. the garden itself is more transparently a plot device, which i actually like—it gives more room for the children to center themselves.

individual scenes

and the pacing of the film is actually really nice, i think—probably the best out of all the films. i love the ‘93 film with all my heart, and it’s definitely gorgeous in its own right, but i think it gets a little sluggish; this film is paced beautifully. there’s no fat, really. 

there’s a scene i really love that shows the passage of time from winter to spring in a super succinct, stupidly obvious way that nonetheless works because of the innocent sweetness of o’brien’s delivery. like, it’s very old-fashioned and sentimental, but gah, it gets me every time.

it’s time to talk about the scream scene!

this film stole my heart the minute mary screamed wholeheartedly at colin that she hopes he dies. there’s a dark comedy to this whole scene; these two maladjusted, spoiled children trying to out-scream one another while tearing down curtains and knocking down tables full of food higgledy-piggledy?? you just can’t get better than that!

if you’re adapting the secret garden, i strongly feel you can’t soften the children’s meanness, their sharpness and ugliness. their tantrums must be harsh and grating and horrible! they have to really let loose! the rawness of the children’s emotional dysfunction contrasted against the buttoned-up stiffness of edwardian england is one of the fascinating aspects of the novel i love to think about, and you just can’t get that contrast if you don’t have the children be genuine terrors! i think this scene puts that nicely, more nicely than any of the other films, which pussyfoot around colin’s intense tantrum too much to be nearly as effective. i get giddy whenever this scene comes on; it’s brilliant.

there are so many little details from the book that i love: that the children speak yorkshire to one another, mary singing her ayah’s song to colin, 

dickon’s “i will cum bak” note (here written as “i will kum back”), the mention of dickon’s mother sending them bread to eat to make them strong. it’s all so nicely implemented, and reminds me of the joy of reading the book for the first time.

but the scene i love most is one entirely made up for the film. in it, mary tells colin about the garden, but wraps it up in fiction wherein it’s a sort of child’s eden, only accessible for children like themselves. that gets to the heart of why i love the book moreso than any other adaptation i can think of. it’s a children’s paradise where the innocent, inherent goodness of children reigns. it makes me tear up almost every time, despite the scene’s brevity.

miscellaneous

there are some little details that i love about this film: the fact that mrs. sowerby is spotted in one scene where we see dickon at his home, feeding a lamb (and the implication that mary was so darn excited about finding the key to the garden that she ran all the way to the sowerbys’ cottage, five miles away from misselthwaite, to show dickon), mary’s clearly false story to colin about being surrounded by tigers and elephants in india, mary threatening to tear people’s gizzards out, mary telling dickon she hates him because he (gasp) dared to know about colin so she couldn’t reveal his existence to him...there’s a lot to enjoy about this film. it definitely isn’t the most accurate to the book, but it’s one of those films that i could watch over and over again.

aside from some superfluous subplots, it’s a lean adaptation that still captures all the essential elements of the book to at least to a degree. i can easily imagine some very indignant little girls in 1949 insisting that no, the raven was a robin in the book, and there was no implications of murder, either, but i love it in all its simplicity. i think you need a little old-fashioned sentiment to make a film adaptation of the secret garden successful.

[yeoldontknow]

Totem

Author’s Note: this story is entirely an act of fiction. it contains strong, mature themes and features subjects which may be triggering or uncomfortable to read. these themes include, but not limited to: themes of abduction, references to ptsd, extreme trauma, and paranormal activity. please take these warnings seriously and do not read if any make you uncomfortable. | this story is written as a script, rather than a traditional prose fanfiction. even though its unusual, i still hope you enjoy it <3 happy spooptober! Pairing: Hoseok x Reader (oc; female) Genre: horror; suspense; thriller; haunted house au; light romance; au Summary: What follows is an account of YouTube vloggers Euripet3s1 and theJungProject. This is a report of the last known whereabouts of Jung Hoseok. Rating: M Warning: themes of abduction/ghostly possession; references to ptsd; extreme trauma; paranormal activity; explicit language; non-explicit nudity; graphic situations Word Count: 5.5K

Towards the end of my research for my Ph.D, I became fascinated by what has recently been cited as the "second wave" of realism films in production, thanks, in part, to the advent of creative social websites like YouTube and Vimeo. The introduction of reality and scripted reality television, alongside its relatively unilateral conjunction with the internet, sparked a new direction in filmmaking that prided itself on low budgets and the autonomy of immediate authorship. 

Where Vimeo encouraged, and favoured, well produced filmmaking and art house developments from a range of semi-professionals to professionals, YouTube saw a strong dynamic shift in what eventually was defined as vlogging. Video series like Marble Hornets, Fewdio, and curiously chilling uploads by users such as EverymanHYBRID became cult canon amongst internet users. Instead of humour posts, video game plays, and make-up tutorials, users sought creative expression in 'noise aesthetics' and the horror genre. 

On April 30, 2010, YouTube user Euripet3s1 (full name: Y/F/N Y/L/N) uploaded a video entitled #184-190 to her channel of 12,413 subscribers. It would be the final upload she would make before deactivating the account three weeks later, eventually removing herself from social media altogether. The video itself is an account of her trip to England to visit fellow YouTube vlogger and boyfriend theJungProject (full name: Jung Hoseok), who was residing in the country while finishing his degree, depicted through seven pieces of footage taken from video cameras and mobile phones. 

Euripet3s1's channel was a comedy and lifestyle channel, in which she would present everyday information in a humorous way. Therefore, the unsettling events in the final video left both fans and casual viewers stunned. Avid fans of the Marble Hornets series were the first to draw attention to the video, before it went viral on hundreds of forums, including Reddit and BuzzFeed. When the users’ account was deactivated, the video was removed from the website only to resurface two months later by user TwerK (full name: Kim Taehyung). There are only two videos on TwerK's channel: #184-190 and Help Explain This. 

Help Explain This was filmed in August 2011 and is the last surviving footage of Jung Hoseok.

Numerous attempts at paranormal investigations have occurred in the last two years with no results. Psychics have been brought to every location depicted, though their efforts have been futile. The pocket watch in the film has been defined, by paranormal researcher David Kelwayne, as a totem. To quote David:

 "A totem is an item left behind by the dead which they had ascribed deep personal meaning or symbolism during their life. To come into contact with a totem is to contact the spirit attached to it, even if said contact is relatively erroneous; to become connected to the totem is to become connected with the spirit, often permanently" (Seeking Answers: Beginner's Guide To The Paranormal, 54)

This report exists only to present the video as it was found, in its untouched manner, for archival and historical purposes. The research to be found on the events, people, and locations involved has lead many in vast circles and down endless rabbit holes. It is my hope that the academic world will provide its resources for the many seeking answers about what truly happened to Jung Hoseok during that week in April. 

 ~~

Editor’s note: Heretofore, the speakers will be quoted using their first initials rather than their usernames.

#184

Duration: 1:46

[Exterior. Night-vision mid-close up of dirt path. Leaves cover the ground and crunch audibly. Feet remain in view as two persons walk the path in brisk, even steps. A low male voice is heard, his accent distinctly Korean. ]

H: Are you filming, Y/N?

[A second voice speaks, female. She is American]

Y/N: I have no idea. Your camera is weird.

H: It's no different from any American camera. It's a SONY. Has the green dot gone on?

Y/N: Well, it's different in the dark. Yeah, it has.

H: Then it's filming. Point it at your face, dummy.

[Camera is lifted and spun towards the holder's face, the night vision on the camera giving her a blue glow. She is young, no more than 24. The fringe of her hair gets caught in her eyes, trapped there by the hood of her sweater. She smiles brightly, waving at the camera momentarily.]

Y/N: And so we meet again! Today I am joined by theJungProject -

[camera pans left. A young man, also no more than 24, is walking briskly with his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. He squints at the light of the camera and pulls a face by sticking out his tongue]

- say hi, Hobi.

H: [nods once] Hello, Tiddy Harem.

Y/N [sighing]: Must you call them that?

H: [shaking black hair out of his eyes; he sniffs, not looking at the camera] You have thirteen thousand subscribers and 12,950 of them are men. Yeah, I'd say it's a harem.

Y/N: [snorting] I do not have thirteen thousand. And that's an insult to my fifty female subscribers.

H: You know I’m playing. [sniffs] You have fantastic tits, though.

Y/N: You’re literally disgusting. [turns camera back to her face] So, as you all remember I landed last night in Heathrow, after which I got embarrassingly drunk on incredible beer. We spent most of the day being hungover before getting on a train from - what station was it?

H: [in background] Liverpool Street.

Y/N: Right, yeah. We got a train from there to here, [pulls camera back to wave hand, denoting surrounding location] which is apparently Suffolk…specifically Sudbury. We had a grand idea to go to the Borley Rectory because I'm in England and apparently that means it's okay for Hobi to go on a midnight ghost hunt.

H: I'm not ghost hunting, I'm just…exploring.

Y/N: [faces camera; raises one eyebrow]

[Camera turns off] 

~~~

#185

Duration: 7:08

[Interior; night. Camera pans from left to right as Y/N breathes heavily. The windows of the rectory are shattered. Leaves scatter the concrete floor. What little furniture existing within the house has been tattered and worn over time, the sheen of its once extraordinary grandeur decayed with dust and time. Y/N walks to her right, into a small dining area. The camera pans over a wooden table that is badly scratched, three long distinct marks marring the mahogany. A hand comes into view, Y/N’s, as she runs her fingers over the marks. The camera pans up and to the left, showing cabinets that are missing their drawers. She leaves the room, slowly walking towards the foyer. A mirror hangs on the wall, the light reflecting off the glass into the lens. She waves.]

H: [distantly; calling] Baby, come up here.

[Y/N head turns right, facing the direction of Hoseok’s voice. The camera turns right as she walks straight back toward a carpeted staircase. Slowly, she ascends it, her footsteps quiet and muffled by both the camera and the foliage. She sniffles. As she approaches the landing, a painting of a pasture comes into view. It is crooked. When she reaches the landing, the camera moves from right to left. There are three bedrooms]

Y/N: [loud whisper] Where are you?

H: [voice from left] In here.

[Camera passes through a doorway. Long shot of Hoseok at chest of drawers to the left. There is an empty bed on the right side of the room, the mattress bare and torn. The video pixelates for approximately two seconds, correcting itself. The windows of the bedroom are in tact, though the carpet has been ripped up from the floor in a seemingly random pattern. Y/N walks to where Hoseok is standing. Atop the chest are several items: a broken hairbrush, a small empty picture frame, an empty ring box and a pocket watch. Y/N zooms in on the pocket watch. Hoseok picks it up, his grip indelicate. Y/N turns the camera, and zooms out to a medium close up of Hoseok’s face as he inspects it]

H: [whispers] This rectory had hundreds of residents before it was condemned. I wonder whose this was.

Y/N: [also in a whisper] Hobi, this place was destroyed by a fire in 1939. Isn't it weird to you that there's still…..things, objects…belongings in here? Nothing seems terribly ruined.

[Pause. Hoseok does not reply. Y/N returns the subject to the pocket watch, appeasing him by maintaining focus on the object though her discomfort is evident.] It looks really old. Can't be from any time after 1920, look at the design. Early surrealist or something.

H: [humming in interest] How do you know that?

Y/N: I’m taking art history for my electives. I’m just saying it looks like something I’ve seen.

[The camera zooms back on to the pocket watch in Hoseok’s hand. There is a patch of dirt along the rim of the cover, but an intricate design of intertwined clock hands and numbers is distinct.]

H: This is mental. You know the more you look at it, the more it resembles a kind of face. Like from a masquerade. 

[Long pause]

Y/N: I don't see it. Where are you looking? 

[Hoseok’s thumb comes into view. It presses the button on the side to open the watch. The cover pops open with a soft click, revealing an elegant Victorian clock face.]

H: Too much to ask for it to be working, isn't it. [laughs]

Y/N: Probably needs to be wound. 

[Hoseok closes the pocket watch.]

[Cut. Interior. Y/N thuds down the stairs after Hoseok, hands clasped and both laughing They come to a stop in the parlor. Hoseok inspects bookshelves, looking for something or nothing, running his fingers over the dusted wood. Y/N turns the camera away and zooms in on a picture frame. It is badly singed. The image of a woman, who looks almost sad, is barely discernible.]

Y/N: [muttering] Something about this……isn't……

[The sound of piano notes echo loudly through the room. Y/N screams loudly, swears, and is visibly shaken as she turns toward the noise. Hoseok sits at a piano by the back of the room, playing Erik Satie's "Gnossienne No. 1." He is chuckling. Y/N approaches him.]

Y/N: There's a fucking piano?

H: [plays uninterrupted] Scare you, did I? 

Y/N: Hobi, is there anything about this that's ok? You said this place was destroyed by a fire and has been abandoned. Logic this out for me: why would there be a piano in a burned down house? Wouldn't the city have this cleared out?

[Hoseok shrugs]

Y/N: I think we should go. 

H: Don't want to spend the night here? We haven't seen anything yet.

Y/N: I paid £35 for a train ticket to this hell. I'll cut my losses and say we’ve seen plenty enough, okay? 

H: [expression softening, he stops playing. The silence is deafening.] Okay, baby, we can go.

[Cut. Exterior. Y/N and Hoseok walking along a residential sidewalk. Hoseok is holding the camera this time, pointed at Y/N in a long shot. Night vision is switched off, faces now illuminated by street lamps they pass. He whistles seductively.]

H: [whispering] Don’t tell anyone until she watches this guys...but I think I’m in love with her. [He turns the camera to face him. The camera zooms out to fit his face.] I mean it. [He looks over the camera to her.] I love her.

Y/N: [distant, off camera] What are you whining about back there?

H: [laughing, he catches up with Y/N and aims the camera at her profile] Say what you said again. 

Y/N: [biting her cheek, but smiling nonetheless] I said you're a twunt.

H: Look at that! Y/N has spent 30 hours in this country and is already adopting its language. 

Y/N: Yeah, well you are. Tell the audience what you did.

H: [turns the camera to his face and holds it out. His leather jacket is unzipped, revealing A Horrors band-tee shirt] I've been a naughty boy. [His other hand reaches into his pocket. He pulls out the pocket watch] Y/N’s upset with me because I wanted a souvenir. 

Y/N: It's not yours, Hoseok.

H: [turns his face to Y/N, camera still aimed at himself. He puts the watch back in his pocket] It's technically not anyone's. Besides, this is one thing we could at least fix. 

[Camera turns off]

~~

#186

Duration: 2:01

[Interior. Hotel bedroom. Y/N sits at the desk provided, laptop open as she uploads footage from the video camera onto her computer. Her back is to the camera. The pocket watch twirls in front of the screen. Hoseok hums. The camera flips, revealing his face. It is clear he is filming on his iPhone. He starts to mouth lyrics to "Don't Stop Me Now," which is playing in the background. He flips the camera back to the watch.]

Y/N: [turns her head quickly over shoulder] Holy shit, come look at this.

[Hoseok drops the pocket watch and hoists himself off the sofa. He is wearing plaid flannel pants. He approaches the desk, leaning against the back of Y/N’s chair and extending his arm as he films.]

H: [kissing Y/N’s head off camera, voice muffled] What is it?

Y/N: You tell me. [looks back at Hoseok, anxious]

[Y/N has Final Cut open. She presses play on footage taken earlier in the evening. She has selected footage from when he ascended the stairs and entered the master bedroom. It plays without sound.]

H: What am I looking for….I don't…

Y/N: [quietly] Just wait. 

[The footage shows the camera panning through the room. As it comes to the bed, the footage warps, revealing a figure wearing black sitting on the mattress. It turns to look at the camera. It is wearing a white mask. The footage warps again. The figure is gone]

H: [reels back] What the fuck is that?! Did you put that in there?

Y/N: [turns to look at Hoseok] No. How would I do that? 

H: [words unsteady] I don't know, you're the film wizard. I still use iMovie. Maybe you have clever special effects or something. 

Y/N: I can assure you that I have no idea how to superimpose an image that clear onto digital footage. I took one semester of New Media, I'm hardly advanced.

H: How did you not see it when you were filming?

Y/N: I don't know, the camera went all pixelated when I was filming but I just thought the battery was running low or something. 

H: You better not be having me off.

Y/N: [brow furrowed, disbelieving] What does that sentence even mean? 

H: Is this punishment for taking the pocket watch?

Y/N: [pursing her lips briefly before she speaks] I'm really not that upset about the pocket watch. Why would I do that?

H: Whatever. Let's just go to bed and forget about it. I don’t want this to turn into a fight.

Y/N: Fine by me.

[Video ends] 

~~~

#187

Duration: 0:53

[Interior. Mid-Day. Close up of Y/N’s face. She stares at something out of view. Behind her, the scenery has changed. Band posters line the green wall, gig tickets and setlists framed next to them. This is what many assume is Hoseok’s bedroom.]

Y/N: [whispers] He's been like this all morning. I have no idea what the hell is going on. He was fine yesterday when we got back from Borley. Fine when we went to lunch, fine when we went to The Borderline for the Lescop gig. Now, he won't stop staring at that goddamn pocket watch. Look.

[The camera is flipped, again the film is from an iPhone. Hoseok sits shirtless on the bed, hickeys dotting his neck and collarbone, the pocket watch in his left hand. He stares almost impassively at it.]

Y/N: [loudly] Hobi.

[Hoseok does not respond]

Y/N: [louder] Hoseok, what the fuck are you doing?

[Hoseok does not respond]

Y/N: [mutters quietly] Jesus Christ.

[The camera tilts and wobbles, tipping down for a moment as Y/N bends to pick something up. A shoe is thrown in frame and lands on the bed right next to Hoseok. Hoseok lifts his head, dropping the watch. He smiles]

H: Want breakfast, baby?

Y/N: [long pause; quiet breathing] Uh huh.

[video ends]

~~~~

#188

Duration: 3:21

[Exterior. Mid-Day. Extreme long shot of Hoseok as he stands in front of a wooden sign that says Boxer's Lake. From the pockets of his leather jacket he pulls the pocket watch]

H: [looking over his shoulder; calls] You sure this is a good idea.

Y/N: [loudly; voice garbled by wind into microphone] You should have seen yourself, Hobi. It's gotta be the watch and I don’t want to go back there to return it.

[Hoseok reels back and throws the watch into the lake. He stares after it, shoulders drooped and jaw tense]

[Cut. Interior of a car. Hoseok is driving. Y/N points the camera at his face.]

Y/N: How do you feel?

H: Like my soul has been ripped from my chest.

[Pauses. Looks at Y/N]

H: [bursts into laughter] Chill out, baby. I feel fine. 

Y/N: [laughs weakly]

[Cut. Interior. Hoseok’s kitchen. Y/N films as Hoseok brews tea.]

H: You want any, love?

Y/N: Nah, water is fine.

H: [looks up at camera] Are you going to film everything? 

Y/N: We have an interested audience. Need to keep them satisfied. And besides, I’m only here for a week. I want to remember everything with you.

H: [begins to pull off shirt, suggestively wiggling his eyebrows.]

Y/N: [laughter] Don’t start with that!

H: [straightens and flattens shirt] You said satisfied! Y/N: [still laughing] Yeah, well, that’s just for me and I’d like to keep it that way.

[Hoseok bites his lip, happy, and walks to a cabinet to the left. He makes to open it, but his attention is brought to something on the counter beneath it. He pauses. His hand slowly drops from the knob of the cabinet. The colour drains from his face]

Y/N: What?

[Hoseok brings his eyes to the camera, lips parted. He is visibly disturbed. He lifts his right hand. He holds up the pocket watch. Y/N’s breath becomes heavy and labored]

H: [voice small] What the fuck.

[Camera shuts off]

~~~

#189

Duration: 8:32

[Interior. Mid-Day. Hoseok’s car, again. Y/N holds the camera as Hoseok drives, lens pointed out the windshield] 

Y/N: Slow down, Hobi.

H: [voice hollow] No. The fucking watch is ticking…and existing. How is any of what just happened possible?

Y/N: I don't know, I don't know.

H: This is fucking twisted.

Y/N: What are you going to do?

H: Leave it in a field? Pawn it off? Whatever, as long as it's far away from me.

Y/N: Why not burn it?

H: Any fire I make wouldn't get the metal hot enough.

Y/N: Just don't get reckless. [Pleading] Please, baby?

[Cut. Interior. A Pawnshop. The camera pans along a shelf. Various objects come into focus. A door opens and an older man comes into view from the back of the store. To the left of the frame, Hoseok walks over and introduces himself]

H: Hi. Uhm, I'm Hoseok. I need to sell a pocket watch?

[The store clerk looks from Hoseok to Y/N]

Clerk: Get your mate to turn the camera off and then we can do business. 

[Cut. Interior. Hoseok’s car. Y/N has rested the camera on the dashboard, pointed at the passing scenery]

H: WOOOO! £650 for a shitty old watch!!

Y/N: I think the fact that it was still working was what sold him.

H: Who knows how long it will work for. We practically robbed him.

Y/N: You practically robbed him. I almost got thrown out for having a camera.

H: Eh. He was probably drunk from boredom. I would be, too, if I had to sit in silence eight hours a day. 

[Cut. Interior. Night. Hoseok’s kitchen. Hoseok presses play on his answering machine as he takes off his coat. Y/N sits at a chair at the kitchen table and zooms in on a Sainsbury's frozen dinner.]

Y/N: Mmmmmm.

[In the background, a voice is heard on the answering machine.]

Recorded Voice: Mr. Jung. It's Geoff. You sold me a watch not two hours ago. I’d like to make it clear I don't appreciate being fucked with. [Y/N brings the camera around, landing on Hoseok who is paused at his refrigerator staring at the machine, frowning.] I get enough shit in my town, and I certainly don't need non-locals breezing through and pulling pranks. I'm giving you twenty-four hours to return the watch or my money to the store. If you don't, I'm calling the cops and we can settle this with legal action. [Machine beeps]

[Hoseok remains paused at the refrigerator - frozen. He begins to visibly tense and Y/N gets up from the kitchen table. She approaches him slowly, before Hoseok slams the refrigerator door shut and rushes into the living room]

Y/N: [shouts] Hoseok!

H: [yells] Where the fuck is it? WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT WITH ME?

[Y/N enters the living room and turns right. Hoseok is standing in front of his mantle, hitting his chest with the flat of his palms. He stares at the ceiling and screams]

H: [still yelling] YOU CAN HAVE YOUR FUCKING WATCH BACK, I DON'T WANT IT.

Y/N: [yelling over Hoseok] HOSEOK, THERE IS NO ONE ELSE HERE.

H: [looks at Y/N] Of course there is! How else would any of this be happening? [Turns abruptly and heads down the hallway. He disappears into his room.

Y/N: Fuck’s sake. 

[Y/N follows and enters Hoseok’s room. Hoseok is pulling books out of shelves. He abandons that project and quickly goes to his bed, where he up-turns his mattress]

H: [yelling again] WHERE IS IT, HUH?

Y/N: Hoseok, calm the hell down!

[Hoseok turns and rushes past Y/N. Y/N follows]

Y/N: Hoseok, ripping up the house isn't going to solve anything!

H: It's not in my room, it's not in the kitchen. It makes itself known, right? It wants to fucking be seen. The goddamn ATTENTION WHORE.

Y/N: It's an inanimate object, Hoseok, stop!

[Hoseok stomps into the kitchen and picks up his jacket. He pauses for a moment, softening, and reaches into a pocket. He pulls out the watch]

H: [staring at the watch] Something…someone…whatever…wants me to have this. I don't. Fucking. Want it.

[**In the recorded footage, a voice is heard. It clearly says “But you took it.” Neither Y/N nor Hoseok reacts to it and neither has spoken. This voice was pointed out by YouTube user Sarkozam12**]

[camera turns off]

~~~

#190

Duration: 8:00

[Interior. Night. The couches and chairs have been removed from Hoseok’s living room. Two pillows are placed on the ground, side by side, beneath the coffee table where a ouija board as been set up. The scene is lit by numerous candles along the floor and mantle. Fingers over the microphone cause muffled noises and garbled sounds. Hoseok enters from frame right. He sits, in jeans a tee shirt, on one of the pillows. He takes a swig of cider before setting it next to him. He looks slightly above the camera.]

Y/N: [off camera] This is a terrible idea, Hobi.

H: [solemn] Is the camera set up?

Y/N: [pauses, sighs] Yeah, it's just about.done tightening the tripod.

H: Good.

[Y/N enters from the bottom of frame left. It's a long shot of the living room. Y/N sits next to Hoseok. They look at each other briefly. Hoseok draws his eyes away and onto the Oujia board. Y/N’s brow furrows, and she reaches to twine her fingers with Hoseok’s. The contact has him return his gaze to hers, smiling before he leans in and kisses her deeply. Pulling back, he kisses her knuckles three times. Hoseok’s expression hardens]

H: [quietly] I love you.

Y/N: [smiling; quietly] I’m still not used to you saying that. [pauses] I love you, too.

H: [inhaling deeply] Let's do this.

[Y/N pauses. Hoseok looks at her, concerned.]

H: Don't tell me you're quitting on this.

Y/N: [looks at the ground] Ouija boards are scary, serious shit, Hoseok. I don't think we should fuck around with this. We’ve already fucked up so much shit.

H: [shaking his head] I fucked up. And I just don’t know what other choice I have.

[Y/N pauses briefly, hesitating before leaning in to kiss him once more. They whisper to one another as they break apart, kissing for a few more seconds before separating fully. Pulling her hand from his, she sighs and places both hands on the planchette. Hoseok follows suit and does the same]

H: [uncomfortable] What do I say?

Y/N: [loudly] Is there anyone here with us?

[They remain quiet and wait. The planchette does not move.]

H: What if we contact Zozo? That's the opposite of what I want.

Y/N: [giggling, though her sense of amusement is unconvicing] Don't be stupid. 

[Both are silenced by the planchette which has started to move in swirls across the board.]

H: Is that you?

Y/N: No, I'm barely touching this.

H: [shaking his head] It's not me.

[The planchette stops on the word 'Bye']

H: [pauses] Well, that's sinister.

[The video warps into pixels and corrects itself. Three candles have been blown out. Y/N is panicked]

Y/N: What the fuck did that?

H: [loudly] What is your name?

[The planchette moves, quickly. Y/N says the letters it stops on.]

Y/N: L…A…I…R…R…E. D…D…D…E…A…T…H.

H: Lairreedddeath? The hell?

Y/N: I'm busy focusing on the part that - [The video warps. the masked figure from #186 appears behind Hoseok, getting closer after each pixel correction. A white hand with sharp nails reaches for his neck. It disappears] in the fire?

[The Marimba ringtone of an iPhone goes off]

H: Shit. That's mine.

Y/N: Leave it.

[The planchette spins out of control and falls from the table onto the floor. All the candles are blown out at the same time, though there is no wind to disrupt the atmosphere. The camera shifts to night vision. Both draw their attention to the bright light from the camera]

Y/N: Does your camera shift modes automatically?

H: No, what -

[A loud thud is heard, the sound of a door slamming open to the left, its metal knob hitting the wall. The door to what is considered a broom closet has flung open, but its interior is black and occasionally blurred by pixelated static. Y/N turns to look at the noise, but Hoseok disappears from view. We hear him scream]

Y/N: Hoseok?!? [Y/N searches frantically for where the sound is coming from. She turns her attention back to the door, eyes wide in alarm.] Hoseok? 

[Y/N gets up and approaches the closet but the door slams shut. The lights of the house come on. Y/N opens the door to the closet. It is just a closet. The tripod falls over. The screen goes blue and flashes NO BATTERY]

~~~

Given the found footage nature of the editing and the allusion by Hoseok that Y/N was proficient in film editing, at least once mentioning the capability of using special effects in post production, many of the initial viewers of #186-190 believed the story of Hoseok’s disappearance was a clever hoax. While this report remains unbiased, it is important to point out several facts. 

Firstly, it is true that Jung Hoseok went missing from his shared home April 25, 2010. The phone call received on his mobile during #190 was from his mother, mentioned in Y/F/N Y/L/N’s police report, who had not seen her son since April 11, 2010. Secondly, the pocket watch, and the clothing in which Hoseok disappeared in, have never been found. Until August 2011, the footage captured during #190 depicted the last known whereabouts of Jung Hoseok. 

When Y/N deactivated her account, #184-190 was removed from YouTube in accordance with YouTube’s privacy policies, however not before user TwerK had downloaded the video to a flash drive. In June of 2010, the video was uploaded to Kim Taehyung’s channel, with reasons citing the urgency for fans and interested parties to continue to study the video - i.e in search of clues or proof of a hoax. It is worth noting that while there is a well documented friendship and romantic relationship between Euripet3s1 and theJungProject (ie: both were subscribers to each other's channels, the earliest comments on each party's videos date back to 2008, Euripet3s1 tagged theJungProject in a video called Top 10 Films of 2009, etc) TwerK did not subscribe to either channel, nor has he confessed to knowing either personally. 

It is because of these reasons that the footage in Help Explain This is, in a word, astounding. The film itself was uploaded with a description consisting of a personal plea from Taehyung to help explain what he had caught. Once the video was live, Taehyung experienced a brief period of notoriety on the internet, while simultaneously going under fire by those close to Hoseok who called his video 'tactless and offensive.' 

It is also worth noting that Y/N has become reclusive since these events and has not been available for comment since late 2010, on advice from her therapist.

~~

Help Explain This

Duration: 4:03

[Interior. Mid-Day. Footsteps thud up the stairs of Borley Rectory. The camera is pointed at the landing, but the painting is gone. The person arrives at the landing and he speaks. He is Korean.]

T: Okay. So. Kim Taehyung here. I’m sorry in advance for any English mistakes, but a few subscribers wanted me to visit the rectory while I am here on vacation. Yes, yes, I know it's weird that my YouTube channel only has one video on it, but some of you on Reddit convinced me to make this.  Here we are [Camera pans right to left, light pours in from holes in the ceiling. The home appears to be empty.]. Exact same spot where Euripet3s1 stood. As you can see there is no painting on the wall. Ehm.

[He turns to his left and enters the bedroom, panning the camera right to left as Y/N had done. A naked figure stands in the back right corner of the bedroom, his back to the camera, facing the wall]

T: Again, the room is completely empty. The walls are badly burned. I know you all want to believe this was a hoax, but there's no way these two had the budget. You can't even get up the stairs easily without worrying about falling through.

[He turns left, zooming to an extreme long shot. The right side of the room out of frame.] 

T: This is where theJungProject found the pocket watch. No chest of drawers here. [Camera pans down, showing his feet] You can see the boards of the floor are burned. I'm too afraid to even put weight there. [He presses his foot to the floor, retracting it immediately.]

[Raising the camera, he turns the camera back to right, slightly, showing the whole of the room. The figure from the corner has turned around and is standing naked in a full body shot. The camera pixelates. The figure is now close to the lens, able to be viewed from the middle of the waist up. His mouth and eyes are wide open, but blackened as though holes. The figure is clearly Jung Hoseok.]

T: That's it, then. Sorry the video was so lame.

[He turns and leaves the room. The camera does one last pan from the landing back to the room. The foyer below is empty. The room he had just exited is empty]

Fin.

Author’s Note #2: The locations in this story - Borley Rectory, Boxer's Lake, Liverpool Street Station, Suffolk, and Sudbury - are all real places. Borley Rectory was known as 'the most haunted house in England' and it did get severely burned in 1939. There is actually a woman who haunted the building named Marie Lairre. 

[wickedandtrue]

The blade entered with little resistance. Striking from behind left the outside guard in a gurgle of his own blood. Stefani twisted and yanked her stiletto blade free. He dropped and she stepped over his body with a flair for light footwork. Without shoes it is easier to maneuver. This will make it quicker to get him out. 

“Come this way.” 

She said over her shoulder, pausing to watch as a second man faded under the strangle of Corvus. It was a sight to witness. A dawning chill ran up her spine. Knowing what he is capable to this day can only push the icy realism of fear. It is part of why she was so good not to draw ire unnecessarily from him back then. Even so she had a knack for getting under his skin. Would it still be the same?

“Corvus-” his name died on her lips. 

His hands cupped her face, roughly. She released a gasp. Gripping onto his wrists is all she could do. Her eyes widened up into his. The darkness of his gaze she sunk into succumbing to that familiar ebony sea. She could never forget it. 

“You lied to me.” He whispered.

“Yes.” One small confirmation could bring her death but anything is better than The Dragon finding her. “I had to.” Even in his grip there is that ever flowing energy. He managed to pull it from her during the very first months she hid here in the city. Far away from Tokyo and her father’s betrayal, Stefani found the smoldering red of Scarlet Lounge. It took so much willpower not to show her face there for so long. 

Stefani curled fingers atop his hand. “Corvus, if you knew.... The Dragon found me. I had to die.” Partially her reasoning, she used her word and her lips brushing to his palm when she turned her face into his deadly touch. His skin stained with the burgundy of her lipstick. He let go then. “Corvus?” Unsteady. Gripping his head. Something is wrong and it’s not just the beating they were giving him. 

She grabbed at him when he reeled on his feet. Fastening an arm around his waist steadied him. “She did use something on you.” Frost said plenty of things. People like her gloat about their power. Who else would understand that type of thing if living around it all her life? 

“Injection.” Corvus swallowed. Righting himself, he needs help from no one. However his body would not allow him to cooperate with his ideology. His mind is still dangerous. “I recall it now. Mind drug.” 

“Mind drug. Mind control?” It sounds so far fetched. She knew better. “Look at me.” Commanding him to give her his eyes, Stefani stroked his jaw. A soothing brushing of her thumb smoothed along his goatee. The action became a ritual when they were together. “You have a fever. But I have a way to fix what she did. At least there is a way she has here.” 

“What way?” Unaware of how she would know all he can think of is her with Frost. Why she was here in the first place. 

“You forget. I live on stealth. I saw a lab. Overheard a discussion. There is an antidote. It can reverse the effects.” Curious how he is so quiet now. That is always his nature though. A quiet death. She often liked to listen to him breathe at night. Just a poignant silence as he appeared so docile among satin sheets and nighttime. “We have no time.” 

“No. Time is death.” Shifting away from her, he forced himself to straighten. “Give me your other blade.” 

Stefani pursed lips before they perked into a smile. “You remember.” An airy tease left her lips sliding her hand down against her thigh. Hiking up her skirt showed off the smooth skin and the weapon holster securing her second little surprise. She lifted it and flipped the knife over in her hand. 

His fingers swiped against hers to take it in his grasp. His gaze darkened. Fixing on her face, Corvus reeled again from her presence. No longer lost but found. She is alive. This is no figment of his imagination brought on by this intoxication. Foggy mind. Bitter heart. Endless rage. The Raven is flown. Cawing his vengeance in a swoop down, the man did just that as he pushed through the compound. 

An alert went off. Pinpointing his escape does make this vital. Blood spills with the slash of the knife. Corvus cuts open the throat of a man immediately. Another attempting to do their job. Holland has enough expendable men. Loyalty is not one of her strong suits. 

“I found it!” Stefani called out to him. Picking up a key card from one of the dead guards and swiping it opened the door. She slipped through and held up her knife threatening the startled doctor there. “Good evening darling. I need you to point me to what I want. Then I won’t cut your tongue out. Does that sound good?”

By the time he nodded there was little time. They had to be quick. Ordering him to hand over the vial, Stefani secured it in her thigh holster. “Thank you for being sweet.” She cooed, slamming an elbow into the scientist’s face. 

Corvus moved behind and studied the unconscious man. “Very astute.” 

She smiled. “You act so surprised.” Stefani moved around to face him then. “I have it. The exact serum they were talking about earlier. It should stop what-” 

“Get DeVille!” 

“Look out!” Straining to push him aside cleared him as a shot rang off. Echoing in the room and slicing through her burst with immediate pain. The bullet struck knocking her down. Her blade flew down in clatter but she managed to cup a hand to her thigh. Protecting the vial in her landing is all she could act to do. 

Her breath escaped raspy, staggered. Stefani tilted her head. Watching as a pair of raven shoes moved into view she realized that man’s screams were in due part to what just occured. Corvus swooped upon him. A vulture of death. A - “....beautiful moon....” the nickname of old danced on her breath. 

He pulled her up from the floor. “My Ivy.” 

A small smile reflected through the pain. “Ivy....I always loved that name. I was such pretty poison. That is what you said after the first time I woke up in your bed at the villa.” 

“Oracle.” 

Who is Oracle? She willed herself to ask but no words could form. 

“Blow the compound....” 

Stefani barely registered those words. Blow. Compound. 

Her body transformed to a feather. Carried away now, dangling lax in his arms, she could only hear distant shouts. Voices blended as her vision blurred. No longer feeling herself sent her somewhere else. As the fire rained down with thunderous booms she knew there was an outlet away from Frost’s domain. This came with the shift in air. It was chilly. The night was cold in Detroit but fires blazed as Holland’s compound went up in smoke. 

feat. @creation-is-chaos​ mention. @cyberneticxcollective​

[choisansexual]

“My Cousin’s Best Friend”

For: @atinypiratequeen Pairing: Kim Hongjoong x Fem Reader Genre: Realism/Angst/Smut+ Word Count: 4327 POV: second person POV

Preview: You blinked twice. Then a third time. A fourth. All the air in your lungs suddenly felt like water. Your eyes narrowed. No… fucking… way. Were you dreaming? You were definitely dreaming. Right? No. A doppelganger! Had to be. Because there was absolutely, positively, just… no fucki-- “Hey… nice to meet you. I’m Kim Hongjoong. Well… Hongjoong… or just Joong, is fine, too.” Perfectly articulated english. Fuck…!

“Damnit! Okay, stop. Stop! … Arghhhh, shit!”, you exclaimed loudly as moments of light alternated with pitch blackness. The deep rumbling of thunder followed sharp flashes of lightning as the rain pelted the roof like bullets. The scrolling marquee across bottom of the television screen, read in bold print, warnings of the storm. “Yeah, yeah, yeah…”, you paused in the middle of the living room staring at the screen momentarily. It was rather rare that a strong storm hit your area like this. Much less a storm strong enough to possibly knock the power out. Retrieving your phone from your back pocket, you check the time. It was half past seven in the evening. The sun was already gone from the sky. Checking the time stamp from the last text you’d received from your cousin, it read a quarter past six. Andrew was always the most punctual person you’d known. Always early, hardly on time. When he’d messaged that he’d landed and would be at the door in less than an hour, that’s exactly what you were expecting. Excitement bubbled back up from your stomach as it had been quite some time since you’d seen him. He was your best friend. The big brother you never had, and never knew you needed. So his visits were always a big occasion for you. Especially this one. Your parents had left town for the weekend to visit relatives out of state. You offered to stay and watch the house and surprisingly, they didn’t argue. Now, the entire house was at your free reign for the next 3 days. Not that you had a massive house party planned or anything, but it would definitely be nice to have your own privacy and space. 

Still absent-mindedly glaring at your glowing phone screen, the shadows in your living room began to dance as headlights moved outside of the living room window. Finally! He’s here! A rush of adrenaline shot through your veins and within seconds you were swinging the front door open. “Hey!”, you called out into the steady rain. Huddling into yourself in an effort to shield from the wind, and crossing your arms against your chest as you squinted in the dim porch lighting, Andrew responded with equal excitement. “Hey, you! We got stuck waiting on our rental car!”. Wait ... ‘we’? As you inhaled a breath in preparation to interrogate him, you heard a second door slam shut on the vehicle. There was a dark figure walking alongside Andrew as they approached up the driveway. But… he didn’t mention he was bringing anyone else with him… right? As they stepped onto the porch you were finally able to make out your cousin’s familiarity. Tossing your arms around his neck, completely disregarding the fact that he was absolutely sopping wet from the rain, your happiness over powered all other thoughts in that moment. That is until… “So… uh… yeah. I’m sorry I didn’t mention something sooner. It was literally a last minute thing and I figured since we have the house all to ourselves…”, Andrew’s voice trailed off. Gesturing in the air with his hands as he pretty much failed to present a valid explanation and he knew it. Ceasing to speak and just shrugging his shoulders with his sweet endearing smile, you immediately cut your eyes to the personage situated directly to his left. 

You blinked twice. Then a third time. A fourth. All the air in your lungs suddenly felt like water. Your eyes narrowed. No… fucking… way. Were you dreaming? You were definitely dreaming. Right? No. A doppelganger! Had to be. Because there was absolutely, positively, just… no fucki-- “Hey… nice to meet you. I’m Kim Hongjoong. Well… Hongjoong… or just Joong, is fine, too.” Perfectly articulated english.

Fuck…!

Your skin was feeling like it had been set on fire, from head to toe. You stared. A little too hard. You had no idea how long the silence had been present. Andrew laughed awkwardly, snapping you out of your trance. “Yeahhh… so, uh… he’s a foriegn exchange student from Korea that got assigned to my dorm… we got pretty tight, and I didn’t think it would be an issue for him to just… yunno… tag along!” Trailing off, Andrew left you two standing there face to face in the whipping rain as he disappeared through the front door and into the house. Turning on your heels, you quickly followed him inside. Once all three of you were in the warmth and safety of the living room, you were literally unable to peel your eyes from your cousin’s guest. Emerging from the hallway after taking in their small amount of luggage, Andrew prepared to take his seat in front of the television on the couch when you suddenly sprung to your feet. Quickly making your way to Andrew, grasping onto the sleeve of his sweater, you yanked him up and into the kitchen. 

“Have you… any idea…. any… idea… who… that is?!” You tried so hard to keep your voice hushed and quiet. If hissing counted as quiet. Andrew shrugged his shoulders once again. “I mean, he said he was kinda famous in Korea… and that he sang and danced with a buncha other dudes or something… I don’t know…”, his tone of voice laced with nonchalant disinterest. Huffing you rolled your eyes with your hands balled into fists against your hips. “Look, it’s not a big deal, okay? Even he told me that… so… just treat him like a normal person, alright? He’s my best friend at school, and honestly… he’s pretty cool, actually.” You could not believe what you were hearing. Was this even reality right now? What kind of warped dimension was this?! A look of exasperation twisted up Andrew’s features as he gazed down at you. “He’s really chill, okay? Stop acting weird!”, Andrew remarked as he furrowed his brows. Turning and walking out of the kitchen, he left you speechless and still attempting to comprehend the gravity of the confirmation that was just handed to you. So it really is… it really IS him. 

Tapping your nails against the countertop you momentarily contemplated on texting your friends. No. They wouldn’t believe you anyways. What if you took some candids of him and posted them to your tumblr and twitter? Ew, no. That’s creepy. Super creepy. Besides… he’s on vacation… right. In YOUR HOUSE! But still… respect his privacy. And… respect yours. He’s just a regular human being, right? Just like you and your cousin. Sighing heavily and rubbing both of your palms against your face, you wring your hands out and calm yourself enough to walk back into the living room. Sitting yourself down in the same spot on the sofa that you were prior, tucking one leg underneath yourself, your eyes darted across the room and landed on Joong’s face. My god he was just as breathtaking as the fan cams and fan photos you’d filled your blog with. Gnawing on his thumb nail and slowly rocking back and forth in the lay-z boy recliner, his eyes suddenly dart from the television screen and meet yours. Oh, shit! Dropping his hand from his mouth, he offered a partial smirk from the corner of his lips. You unknowingly gasp to yourself. Clearing your throat loudly you whip your head in Andrew’s direction. “So… how long was the flight here? How’s school? What have you been up to…?”, you spouted questions at him. He was unusually quiet tonight. His stories were always mesmerizing and interesting to hear. But tonight the fatigue on his face and in his body language was as loud as a fog horn. Pursing your lips in frustration you looked upon him anticipating an engrossing conversation. “Oh, man… there’s so much. You have no idea…”, he paused momentarily. “I don’t even know where to begin, honestly… my brain is just mush right now, from being so tired.” You knew it. Nodding and looking at the floor, your eyes lift as Andrew rises to his feet. Patting his hands against the sides of his jeans he looks at you and then at Joong and with that, you already knew what was coming next. “Welp… I think I’m going to shower and take my happy ass to bed. I’ll catch you up on everything in the morning, alright? Don’t worry.” His gaze returns to your face. A subtle wink from his left eye has you feeling the urge to sock him right in the mouth, as he shuffles across the living room floor, turning into the hallway and becoming no longer visible. The awkward silence returned like an inevitable looming cloud. 

“If you don’t mind… I think I might lay down, too?”, Joong’s melodic voice finally slicing through the thick tension in the air. “Oh, y-yeah… yeah, sure. Go right ahead.”, you immediately respond. Wondering if there was something you could have said to keep him right in his place and possibly more entertained. “Okay… thanks. Uhm… if you don’t mind… I’m not sure… could you show me where… please?”. He began to sit up from this chair. His eyes steadily trained on you like a sniper. It was almost intimidating. “Oh, sure! I’m… I’m sorry! I’m just so used to Andrew knowing where to go around here, I just--”

“It’s okay…”, Joong immediately cut you off. His tone offering reassurance since it was rather obvious that you were feeling like a total failure of a host, at that point. His lips parting into an almost blinding smile. His features were literally so flawless. So sharp and so overwhelmingly attractive! He gestured with one hand for you to walk ahead of him. Pressing your lips together to stifle a smile that was going to be bigger than it should have, you pass him. His scent being carried in the wind. It was intoxicating. A mixture of masculine fragrance. Slightly spicy with undertones of cool blue water and crystal clear ice. 

You trek down the darkened hallway and turn a sharp right into the guest room. Flipping on a dim bed side lamp, you spin around anticipating to see his gorgeous face again. Hearing soft shuffling across the carpet, several seconds later, he appears. You swore he got more and more attractive every time you looked at him. Inhaling a deep breath, you gesture around the room, pointing at things and offering a short explanation of the sparse decor in the room when you hear the door click shut behind you. Immediately cutting your eyes towards the sound, you’re met with the most devilish grin you’d ever seen in your life. Air catches in your throat. The shadows casting against his handsome features literally have your heart racing. Your mind scrambled to find an explanation for the situation. Your fight or flight instinct was on a hair trigger, until his soothing and melodic voice cut through the silence like a knife. “Thanks… but I’m sure I can figure it out from here.” He nodded. You nodded. Anxiously weaving your fingers together. So… is he going to let you out then? You take an apprehensive step closer towards the door, but he stood stead fast. His back leaning against the wood. “Got something else to do for the rest of the night…?”. Hongjoong’s bottom lip becomes trapped between his teeth. How incredibly sinful. “No… not really…”, your mind on high alert. He raises a single eyebrow. Pushing himself forward off the door, he takes a slow, single step towards you. Dropping his chin and narrowing his piercing gaze, you were sure you stopped breathing. His jaw shifting left to right as he continued to gnaw at his lower lip. He takes another step towards you. Your mind urges you to take a step backwards, but your feet insist on rebelling. The space between you two quickly closing. Another step and— the air catches in your throat. He was absolutely stunning at this distance. Or rather… lack there of. Perhaps star struck, in your mind, you just knew that you probably looked like that emoji with huge heart eyes and a cheesy smile, gazing back at him. One of his hands comes forward. With his palm facing sideways and index finger slightly curled, he slides it underneath your chin. Lightly lifting up your head, he tilts his own to the right. His gaze darting between your eyes and your lips, Hongjoong ever so cautiously dips his head down. Pressing his lips against yours, your eyes immediately flutter shut. Registering the sensation at a slight delay, you’d only began to relish in the softness of his lips when the hand hooked underneath your chin, slides up and around to cup the nape of your neck. Instinctively your lips reciprocate. Molding against his in a seamless seal. Pulling away just as slowly as he brought himself in,  he presses his lips together and drags his tongue between them. Keeping his forehead pressed against your own, he whispers against your mouth, “....okay?”. The only response you can manage is to offer a single nod of confirmation. Within that same second, Hongjoong returns his lips to your own. This time, parting them slowly, his tongue slides out beyond his teeth and into your mouth. The unexpected, forcing a soft whimper from your throat. The most beautiful note to ever grace his ears. His other hand sliding from the side of your hip, under the bottom hem of your sweater, and coming to press against the small of your bare back. His skilled tongue tangling with your own. Your eyes flutter shut and you momentarily lose yourself in the intensity of the kiss. Without even realizing it, the edge of the mattress was pressing against the back of your knees. With his palm still pressed to your lower back, he gently guides your down onto the sheets. His lips moving in the same direction as he peppered feathery kisses along your jawline, and the side of your throat. Inevitably coming to focus in the crook of your neck, his lips creating a light suction against your flesh. Rotating his hips just right, Hongjoong managed to wedge his way between your thighs. With his left arm bent at the elbow propping himself up above you, his right hand gently slides down the length of your left arm. His hand soon finding your own and weaving his fingers within yours. With his lips never leaving your flesh, he trails his way down the center of your chest and into the valley between your breasts. Stopping short only on the cause of the neckline of your shirt. Lowering himself, his eyes cut to your own. Drinking in every reaction he could pull from, his teeth bite down on the bottom hem of your top. Raising himself back up towards towards your face, your shirt bunches up just under your bustline. Immediately returning to his previous position, his lips resume their connection to the sensitive skin of your tummy. Kissing his way down to the top elastic of your pj bottoms, he looks up once again. Hongjoong’s smoldering gaze rendered you barely coherent and it was getting more and more difficult to focus on anything. But there it was again. That sinful tongue of his. Allowing it to slip from his lips, he drags the tip of his tongue along the bottom of his top lip. Left. Right. Releasing your hand, both of his hook into the waistband of your bottoms. His eyes still fixed on yours, he quietly asks again. “...okay?”. Just as before, a quick and single nod of confirmation, and he’s tugging the material down. Leaning back and up on his knees, you rock your hips to assist in the removal. Pulling them off your ankles and dropping them to the floor bedside, he then crosses his arms, gripping the bottom hem of his shirt and yanks it up over his head. The metal dog tags around his neck clang loudly as they fall back onto his broad chest. Swallowing hard, your eyes shamelessly drink in the sight before you. Tossing his shirt to join your pj pants on the floor, he leans back down over your body. Scooting himself back to adjust his position, his head turns to the right and he continues his trail of feathery kisses starting at your knee, moving down the inside of your thigh and ending directly, dead center, at the crotch of your soaked panties. Chewing on the inside of your cheek, your gaze cuts off to the side, then back to him. Off to the side, then back at him. He purses his lips and presses them against the dampened material. The warmth of his breath sends shock waves all the way to your toes. Bringing a hand up between your bodies, his lithe fingers traces the lacy edge of the fabric. Hooking his index finger underneath the material, he pulls it to the side, fully exposing you to him, as his face sat literally inches away. Squeezing your eyes shut tightly, you swallow hard. Fuck… you shaved last night, right? Or… wait… was it the other day? No… it was this morning! It had to be-- “Auuhhhhnnn!….”, suddenly grounded back into reality as your body responded completely on it’s own, a soft moan spills from your lips as the tip of his tongue delves between your dripping folds. Lashing in an up and down direction, he laps at your core. His free hand coming up to gently pull your folds apart, as he flattens his tongue  against your swollen clit. Being able to hear nothing but your own heart beat pounding in your ears, laced with the lewd noises of sloshing wetness coming from between your legs, your chest rises and falls as your body jerks with each pass of his tongue. Strangle whimpers and drawn out whines tear from your throat as the coiling heat in the pit of your stomach churns. Tangling your fingers into the bedsheets on either side of you, you fight to keep your legs open for him. Feeling your thighs beginning to tremble, Hongjoong suddenly stops. Voiding you of any contact with him, you feel the mattress shift underneath you. Snapping your eyes open, just in time to lock gazes with him, he’s now hovering over you at eye level. Pressing your lips together tightly, that same wickedly seductive expression was plastered all over his face, as his tongue glides over his bottom lip. My god… he’s so beautiful. The dim lighting in your room proved to be a curse just as much as a blessing in that moment as you turned your head to the side, momentarily attempting to catch your breath. Catching his perfectly defined silhouette against the far wall, you admire every hard line as your eyes travel it’s length. Inevitably coming to settle on the shameless bulge on the front of his figure, your head whips back to face him. Holding himself up above you via on hand planted beside your head, his other hand was already wedged between your bodies, making quick work of the front of his pants. Searching his eyes, desperate for any kind of communication before anything else happened, he drops himself down towards you. His dewy lips brushing lightly against your own as the words trickle into your mouth. “You want this…?” In the same moment, you feel the large and smooth head of his cock toying between your soaked folds, just as his tongue had done, minutes earlier. 

Fuck! How could you not?! Temporarily unable to answer, as your eyes flutter shut, his lips press against your own and with his free hand gripping the hilt of his shaft, he continues to tease at your pussy. Skillfully rubbing circles against your clit with the tip of his cock, the friction was absolutely knee-buckling. Pushing your head back into the pillow to create enough space to break the kiss, you pant out the answer that you knew he was patiently waiting to hear. “Y-yes….”.

Without a second to spare and his reaction time seamless, Hongjoong rears his hips back, aligning himself with your entrance. Locking his lips against your own in a conscious effort to muffle the sounds that were to come, he applies pressure with his hips. Feeling yourself stretch around him as he entered you, you suck in a sharp breath through your nose, in return, moaning into his mouth. Your hands grip at his bare shoulder blades, feeling the muscles in his back flex as he thrusts forward. Ceasing his movements only once his lower pelvis leaned flush against the back of your thigh, it was obvious that he was silently at war to keep himself as still as possible, allowing your to adjust to him. Squeezing your floor muscles around his shaft, he suddenly breaks the kiss with a harsh gasp. His torso curls inward as his back bows against your fingernails, and his forehead presses against your collarbone. Seconds later, he blesses you with the sweetest sound you’d probably ever heard in your life. “Auhh-Auuugghhhnn… fuck!”, a lewd moan spills forth from him as he grits his teeth in his face. Panting heavily against your skin, your trail your hands down to each side of his hips as a gesture to let him know that you were okay. Only then did he begin to move. 

Starting with slow and shallow strokes, his body rocks gently against yours. His lips busy working the side of your throat. The slick sounds of flesh on flesh echo through your bedroom. Allowing you plenty of adequate time to take this at your own pace, you’re quick to sense that Hongjoong  was fighting to keep himself in tandem. Your hands slide from his hips down to hook into the back of his thighs and you begin to pull him into you with every inward stroke. Able to read the signals like a well memorized book, he begins to quicken the pace. Keeping flawless rhythm for several minutes to follow, it wasn’t until his movements began to stutter and stumble that you knew he was getting dangerously close. Clamping your muscles around him, his groans grew in volume and frequency. “Sh-Shit… Auugghnn…. Augghnnnnn!”, his voice becoming raspy and ragged. Eventually unable to keep your own climax at bay, you decided if you were going over the edge, you were taking him with you. 

Hongjoong’s thighs begin to quiver as your own begin to violently shake. Feeling the swell rise in the bottom of your belly, your back arches at a sharp angle off the mattress and your head tips back against the pillow. A feral moan rips from your throat as you toss yourself over the edge, spiraling head first into your orgasm. Feeling your muscles spasm around his thick shaft, his thrusts become uneven, breaking the prior pattern he’d kept before. Clinging on to each wave of your climax as they crash over you, his labored breathing rings in your ears. Peeking your eyelids open as you feel yourself beginning to come down from you high, there was nothing in this world that was going to make you miss watching him come unraveled. 

As his hips jerk back and forth, he presses harder and longer into you with each stroke. Finally feeling his cock begin to twitch deep in your core, he thrusts inward one last time before holding his body flush against your own. The arm planted beside your head buckles as he leans down onto his elbows. His face buried into the side of your neck, as a guttural moan shreds the quiet ambience of the room. “Hhhhggnn-AUUUHHgggggnnnnn!!! Auugghnnn! Mmmggghhnnn…. Fuck! Fuck!” Each hard jerk of his shaft accompanied with a lewd groan from his lips as he spilled himself inside of you. Immediate warmth coating every inch of your walls, as he unloaded. Struggling to keep enough air in his lungs, his hips rut against your body as his spasms become less frequent and further apart. Combing your fingers through his hair, soothing him as he began to come down from his climax, sweat collects along the ridge of his spine. 

As several minutes pass, he still remains buried deep inside of you. Looking up through sweat laced bangs, he offers a blissful smile. I literally cannot believe that just happened… am I dreaming? Nope. I asked myself that question before. I’m definitely awake. And he’s definitely right here. And… he’s definitely starting to get heavy-- Shifting yourself underneath him, he chuckles softly as a slightly apologetic expression takes over his sharp features. Looking down, he slowly pulls himself out. Hissing and taking his bottom lip between his teeth, as the slight friction faults a shiver down his spine, he flops to the sheets beside you. With your thighs slightly aching, your sit yourself up. Momentarily lightheaded, but still feeling the rush of the euphoria, you blindly grab at the edge of the covers. Tugging them up and over both of you, and adjusting your position to face him, you lay back down, tucking an arm underneath your head. Gazing at his stunning features, as he lay with his eyes closed, you lift yourself and lean towards him, placing a soft kiss to his forehead. Without bothering to open his eyes, his hand searches for your own. Entangling his fingers into yours once he finally did, he brings your hand up and presses his lips to back of your palm, refusing to let your hand go. Settling back into place, unsure if anything more should be said nor if anything more even needed to, considering how cryptic and quiet of a person he turned out to be, you simply whisper, “....wow.” No response, except for the soft purring of his slumber. 

[the-kings-of-games]

i’m not popular enough to get tons of asks, but I pushing off zine work and secret santa so fanfic writer asks! (YGO only)

1. What’s your favorite character(s) to write for? 

Answered here

2. What character(s) do you find the most difficult to write for? Why? 

Characters that don’t get much of a reaction from me from the beginning or at any point, and characters I have never considered writing before (like Bruno). Never feel like I’d write them so I never put thought in their character and stories. 

3. Do you have a favorite scene you’ve written from [Fanfic Name] story/chapter? 

Yeah, from Two Fingers Crossed Over Your Lips, Chapter 8: Domestics (Orinthoptershipping). It’s when Crow is laying on top of Bruno on the couch, and they share a kiss. Crow is flirty, and Bruno is cute. I think this is the best example of my portrayal of Crow, lol. 

4. Did you have any ideas that didn’t make the final cut of [Fanfic Name]? 

No, for the most part, I end up using pretty much everything I write out. I’m the kind of person to go back and cut out entire scenes because I tend to write out scenes I like/want to do and find ways to connect them together. It can be kind of counterproductive because some scenes might actually pull you away from the plot you wanted, but I never never plot before I write, lol. 

It doesn’t mean, however, that that I have never ended up writing something bigger than I expected. Currently, it’s The Supreme King’s Husband (Prologue) because I just wanted to add in Yūsei and Kizuna, omgs. QWQ

5. Do you listen to music when writing? 

Yes, I do. It both keeps me focused and distracted at the same time. 

6. If you listen to music when writing, what [do] you listening to when writing [Fanfic Name]? 

A lot of Joji, Jack Strauder, Oliver Tree, CUCO, and the like. Pretty much this mix. 

7. What story/headcanons do you feel the proudest of? 

I really love my headcanon of Crow being masculine leaning genderfluid afab (assigned female at birth). It’s really fun exploring this headcanon, and I always write Crow with this in mind. However, it’s only 5D’s Crow, not Arc-V Crow. They are both Crow but, in a lot of ways, are essentially two different characters, and I’m very attached to the former. Crow didn’t start doing he/him stuff until he was, like, nine, and Yūsei and Jack have been super supportive about it since the beginning. Crow was she one day, and he the next day. Still Crow. ^^ This is from one of my many Crow WIPs:

"It doesn’t matter how I look or what I call myself, I’d always be their friend, and they’d always be my brothers. The bond we share is irreplaceable, and I’m thankful to have met them in the first place. They’ve always supported me, and they know it’s my right to tell people about me, when and how. If I wanted it to be different, they’d be the first one to know. As it is right now, though, I’m happy with the way I am."

Crow has two feminine outfits he wears occasionally: a yellow dress with red flats (a gift from his girls), and a yellow blouse with a green plaid skirt and black knee highs. To go with these looks, he wears his hair down with his headband around his neck and shiny lip loss Trudge bought for him. 

8. Do you prefer writing one-shots or multi chaptered stories? 

One-shots by a long shot, lmao. That being said, I sometimes don’t finish one-shots either. 

9. If you had to assign a theme song to [Fanfic Name], which would you assign?

I don’t think in music. I do that thing where you pick a song and write a fic with it but not the other way around.   

10. What is the line you’re proudest of from [Fanfic Name]? 

One of my favorites, from the aforementioned Chapter 8: Domestics (Ornitoptershipping):

Closing his eyes, Bruno was taken back to the beach, the one he woke up at with no memories, but this time, he didn't feel the confusion, nor the faint touch of grief at the bottom of his heart. Instead, he only felt the quiet crash of the waves on his skin, the sun shining brightly over his head. This was now a memory he remembered twice.

(I really like this one-shot a lot, lol.)

11. How would you describe your style? (Character/emotion/action-driven, etc) 

A lot of dialogue, stream of conscious narrative. I think. I never really thought about it. 

12. Who is your favorite author? 

I don’t really have one at the moment. I don’t read a lot, lol. 

13. When did you start writing fanfic? 

I got more serious about it in high school, but I think I started during middle school? KHR was a thing then, lol.

14. How do you feel about your older work? 

Answered here

15. What is the fanfic you’ve written that you’re most proud of? 

From YGO, probably The Distance of Time which features Orinthoptershipping. It’s very dialogue heavy, but it was a lot of fun. I’m very thankful of the people who took the time to read it, and even more those who commented and gave feedback. 

16. What fanfic tropes do you avoid writing for? 

I don’t do gore, violence, or torture. I don’t dislike them, I just don’t write them (so I don’t have any practice either). 

17. What fanfic tropes do you gravitate to writing for? 

I love ones that explore the idea of soulmates. I’m a big fan of the soulmates AU, but I love the different ways that people just complete each other that borders on more realism than trope. I mostly write fluff though, and attempts at humor because I think I’m funny. 

18. Do you prefer editing as you write, or waiting until it’s finished? 

I edit as a I write, which is bad because I don’t edit afterwards and miss typos (lol) and sometimes makes writing take longer to finish. 

19. What words do you think you tend to use the most? 

Epithets probably; otherwise, I don’t know. 

20. What feedback makes you the happiest to hear? 

I love comments that think my pacing is good and my character interpretations are great. If someone tells me that they can imagine this happening in canon, I’m over the moon. 

21. Is there an idea you’ve always wanted to write, but haven’t yet? 

Yes, and they’re all WIPs. 

22. Do you enjoy making OCs for your fanfics, or prefer sticking to canon characters? 

I mostly stick to canon characters and don’t like doing OCs (unless they’re extras or side characters). Writing OCs makes me a little uncomfortable actually because I fear veering into self-inserts which I cannot write because that’s even worse than doing OCs. The only OCs I like do are OC babies of my favorite ships. 

For YGO, I currently have two: Sky Hogan, the daughter of Crow (Papa), Jack (Father), and Yūsei (Dad); and Mira Princeton, the daughter of Chazz (Mama) and Jaden (Dad).

23. How much do you stick to canon? 

I try to write characters based off of canon as much as possible. If I don’t see a character doing something, then I don’t write them doing that thing. I’m more about filling in blank spaces than trying to rewrite inked ones. 

24. Do you prefer AUs with the characters, or sticking to the original universe? 

I do original universe most of the time. 

25. What scene in [Fanfic Name] took the longest to write? What was difficult about it? 

Smut scenes because they are pretty much one continuous scene, lololol. There’s no scene changes for the most part, so keeping up momentum is a must and a difficulty. 

26. Are titles for your stories easy to come up with? 

I suck at making titles. I can have whole fics done but back petal so hard because I forgot to give it title. 

27. What time of day do you prefer to write? 

Past bedtime. 

28. Is there a part of [Fanfic Name] you’re surprised no one has picked up on yet? 

I’m not sure what this is asking, lol. 

29. What part of the writing process do you enjoy the most? (Brainstorming, outlining, writing, editing, etc) 

Writing it. I don’t brainstorm or outline, I just write what comes to mind. I brainstorm only if I need to connect things together. Finishing it is a close second. 

30. Do you write down all your ideas? What makes you decide to write one versus the other? 

I never write down my ideas; it’s either I start on a WIP or I don’t. What I decide to write depends on my mood. 

31. What was the development process of [Fanfic Name] like? 

I write for three hours and produce only a thousand words, smh. Agony. 

32. What story do you think showcases your signature style the most? 

Fluff with subtle angst, I guess. 

33. Have you ever stopped yourself from writing something? Why? 

Yes, because I already have so many WIPs, I shouldn’t start on another one. (Does this stop me? No.)

34. Have you felt emotional while writing a scene before? What scene was it? 

I might have, but I have terrible memory. U_U

35. Where’s your favorite place to write? 

In my bed in the dark, on my phone. (Computers tire me out after a while.)

36. What fanfic of yours has the symbolism you’re proudest of?

I’m not sure what symbolism is. 

37. Would you ever collaborate with another writer for a story? 

Yes, but it will be a really big learning experience because I’m using to have most, if not all, control over my writing. I try to be open, but getting used to new things is hard, you know?

38. What story of yours are you surprised that people liked as much as they did? 

Honestly, for YGO, any of them. The feedback for YGO isn’t a lot, lol, or it’s because I write characters/ships/tropes a lot of people don’t go for? I’m just glad I now know the people who like my stuff. I know my writing is good, but I won’t force people to read it. 

39. What area of writing do you feel strongest in? 

Characterization, if I’m not being too big-headed, lol. 

40. What area of writing do you want to improve in?

I need to stop feeling the urge to rush ending and give the settings more details.