#but i have been writting little bits and pieces here and there and recently had a dream that inspired yet another fic | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ineffablemossy · 1 year

Text

Hot chocolate under the stars

Day 2 of @flufftober / Good Omenstober @disaster-dog Prompt mashup: Hot chocolate // Star

I set out to write a wee drabble and ended up 2 days later with 4790 words. You might prefer to read this here on AO3.

---

1986

The bell above the door jingled as they stepped through. The lighting inside the bookshop was dim, the desk lamp valiantly trying to bathe the immense space in warm light.

“Angel?” Crowley called out, turning the key in the lock and switching the sign to ‘Most definitely closed’. They sauntered over to the desk, pulling off their sunglasses and throwing them onto the wood and leather surface. They pressed their lips into a line, the frustrations of the last few months wearing their internal armour down to nothing. Crowley felt stretched thin, like butter spread over too much bread. Leaning one hand on the desk, they ran the other through their fire-kissed hair. They’d let it grow long the last few years, as was the fashion in some circles. The curls were a bit softer than the tight perms you saw these days on humans, but Aziraphale had called them rather pretty, so they’d kept them as they were.

They noticed a note propped up on the desk, a folded piece of cream paper with Crowley writ large in perfect copperplate hand. Snatching it up they collapsed into the armchair, one leg hooked over the arm. The paper was thick and textured; bringing it to their nose he could even smell the Angel’s soap and ink clinging to it. They smiled at the gentle heart-warming familiarity of it. Flicking the note open, Crowley read:

My dear Crowley,

I hope this note finds you well.

“Bloody Hell Angel, it’s a note not a letter to the Queen,” they quipped, chuckling at the formality.

I know you’ve been very busy recently, what with all that business in Wapping and further afield. I’d quite like to provide you a moment of respite, so I have planned a little soiree for us tonight.

When you’re quite ready you’ll find me upstairs, ALL the way upstairs. It might get a bit chilly so I’ve laid out some warm clothes for you in the bedroom, I hope they’ll be to your liking.

Yours,

Aziraphale

P. S. Please could you also bring the two books and pencils I’ve set aside in the top drawer of the desk, I won’t be able to manage them with the other things I have to carry up.

Crowley folded and clutched the letter close, as though they could breathe in the words written there. They closed their eyes, letting a warm feeling wash over them, spreading outwards from their chest.

“Aziraphale, I’ll never understand how you manage to make me feel so damned soft,” they murmured to themself. “Quite unseemly for a demon really.” Crowley tucked the note away in the inside pocket of their finely tailored black jacket and rose from the chair in one smooth movement, suddenly feeling lighter on their feet.

They slid the drawer open, smooth on its runners. Reaching into the dark recess and curling their fingers around the books. Lifting them out they noticed the black ribbon tied around the belly of the books, one larger and a lot older, all ragged edges and worn leather cover. Raking around they found two pencils, the long grey ones he’d seen the angel use many times over the years for making informal lists or writing tags for books he had no intention of selling. Occasionally they’d caught him drawing, but Aziraphale had always seemed a bit flustered and quickly covered up the pictures. It made Crowley very curious, but they didn’t push, the Angel was entitled to his privacy.

They tucked one of the pencils above their ear and used the other to pin their hair up into a rough twisted bun. Satisfied, they grabbed the books and bounded up the spiral staircase, black Doc Martens clattering on the wooden steps. The door to Aziraphale’s bedroom was open, and they hesitated a moment before entering.

The room was cosy, the walls a warm yellow shade, the bed covered in an ornate gold bedspread. It smelt of talc and vaguely of a sort of incense. Crowley had always liked talc, it reminded them of powder down and the smell brought back strong memories of grooming Aziraphale’s wings over the years. They smiled and reached down to inspect the black clothes laid out carefully on the bedspread.

Crowley picked up a large hand-knit jumper, incredibly soft, with complicated cables running down the front and a neat crew neck collar. They buried their face in it, smelling the faint linger of lanolin.

“Mmmm thas nice,” they said. Crowley pulled off the jacket and threw it on the bed before slipping the jumper over their head. They hugged themself with a wiggle, squeezing the soft wool under their hands. “What else you got for me Angel…not sure about these…” They picked up a pair of fluffy socks, white with gold stars, and a pair of black soft-soled sheepskin boots. They shrugged and flopped down on the bed, pulling off the leather boots and slipping on the new footwear.

“S’not so bad I suppose,” they said. Standing up they posed to look in the full-length mirror mounted on the ancient dark wood armoire. The jumper was too big, hanging down over their thighs encased in tight black jeans, neckline slipping down on one side to reveal their fine collarbone. Crowley jutted one hip out, tilting their head to the side, a few bright red strands escaping to trail down their neck. “Ngh, not bad at all Angel.”

Turning back to find the final piece, Crowley’s eyes widened as they recognised the coat. The lush black fur ran long and cool under their fingers. I had no idea he kept this, they thought, it’s been 20 years since I last wore it. They swung the coat around their shoulders, arms slipping easily through the silk sleeve lining. The wide collar stand pushed the full collar up around their neck, tickling their freckled skin with the soft strands of fur. Crowley grinned, revelling in the pleasant sensations and the obvious care their companion had put into the arrangements for the night.

“Whatever could you be planning Mr Fell, dressing me up like this.” They turned this way and that, admiring the drape and cut of the old coat. “Feels almost like I should put some lippy on with this get-up,” they laughed to themself and snapped their fingers. Colour spread across their lips, a favourite shade of pillar-box red.

“Perfect!”

Crowley grabbed the books and walked out into the corridor, the soft sheepskin muffling all sound this time. They were puzzled by the message since there were no other floors to the bookshop.

“ALL the way upstairs, where on earth is that,” they said. At the end of the corridor a dim light glowed through a crack in the ceiling. Crowley peered up, brows knitting together in confusion. “Did the bookshop always have a loft?”

They coiled their hand around the short cord dangling from the backlit square and pulled. They jumped back as a hatch clattered open, dropping steps to the floor. The pull of curiosity tugged in Crowley’s mind, excitement rising to flutter in their stomach. They lept up the wobbly steps into the dim, dusty space filled with clothes rails and, incredibly, more books.

“Angel! Are you there?” Crowley called louder now.

“I’m out here darling!” Aziraphale’s voice filtered through from one side. Crowley picked their way between stacks of books and hat boxes to the dormer on the side of the room. A large window was opened outwards. Crowley stuck their head through the window with a confused expression. Outside, the flat section of roof looked out over the rooftops of Soho, and a pair of deckchairs.

“Aziraphale?”

“Ah, there you are my dear. Let me give you a hand, it's a bit of a step up.” The angel appeared in front of them and stretched out a neatly manicured hand. Crowley eagerly took his hand and stepped up into the window frame. Aziraphale pulled more than they expected and they stumbled upwards and into the angel’s strong arms. “Oh my, sorry about that Crowley, I didn’t mean to catch you off guard. I’m just quite glad to see you.” His eyes crinkled as he beamed down at the half-collapsed demon in his arms. Crowley felt their cheeks heat up suddenly and they swallowed, throat suddenly dry.

“Ngk, s’alright Angel,” their voice came out low. They scrambled to find their footing and pulled themself up to their full height, hanging their arms around the angel’s neck with a lopsided grin. “M’glad to see you too.” The angel’s eyes wandered to their red lips and Crowley saw him swallow, saw a blush peek above his shirt collar. Thousands of years they’d known each other and he still felt a flutter in their stomach like they had on the Wall, or even before, in that Time before the Earth, before the Fall.

Crowley tangled their fingers into the angel’s white hair, gently combing through the curls at the nape of his neck. They tilted their head, moving close to his ear, grazing the edge of it with their nose. The angel let out a ragged breath, which only made their blood run hotter in their veins. Slowly dragging down the helix of his ear, Crowley pressed their red lips to Aziraphale’s neck, drawing a soft moan from the angel. They could feel his pulse thumping against their mouth, quickening by the second. They slowly planted two more kisses, thrumming with a wanton tension that squeezed their lungs and balled up low and hot in their belly.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale’s voice was shaky as he slipped his hands onto the demon’s hips, under the coat. “Are you trying to tempt me dearest?”

“Didn’t think angels could be tempted, Aziraphale” Crowley smiled against his jaw, lifting their eyes up to sneak a look at his flustered face.

“Ah, hmm, well, technically you’re correct but..”

“Ah, well then, you see technically is the best kind of correct,” said Crowley, placing a light string of kisses along his jawline.

“Oh but you know fine well that I’m quite a bad angel, really,” Aziraphale whispered, his breath hitching at the touch of their lips.

“Ohh I know that very well Angel, in fact I think you’re the worst angel I’ve ever met.” Crowley ran their thumb down his jaw and around his chin, grazing his bottom lip with their painted nails. “S’what I like about you.”

Aziraphale lifted his eyes and when their gaze met Crowley smouldered. His hazel eyes had shifted from their usual grey-blue to a green shade, flecks of brown shining in the half-light. It felt like gazing up into the lush canopy of Eden. They bit their lip, desperate to lean in and feel those soft, full lips against theirs.

Suddenly, the angel rose on his toes and planted a sweet, chaste kiss on Crowley’s nose before pulling back and turning on his heel.

“Come now dear, the night is young as the humans say!” said Aziraphale merrily. Crowley stood mouth agape, staring after him. Unarticulate noises rose from their throat, fading to a petulant whine. Aziraphale looked over his shoulder and winked comically. “Like I said, I’m a very bad angel.”

“Aziraphale! You tease!” Crowley smirked and followed, still feeling like their bones had turned liquid.

“Umm, Crowley,” Aziraphale turned back around, “Your feet dear, I think you’re on fire!”

“Oh shit!” Crowley looked down to see the soles of their shoes glowing red, thin tendrils of smoke rising to their calves. They hopped from one foot to the other, trying to tamp down the embers, then closed their eyes and took several deep breaths as the heat dissipated.

“Is everything alright? I didn’t think the roof would pose any problems, it is part of the bookshop after all and you’ve been here since we opened it. Why in Heaven would this spot act like consecrated ground?” Aziraphale’s voice was worried and he fiddled with his ring.

“Ngk, how can you be so… It’s not the ground that caused it, Angel. It’s you!” said Crowley. Aziraphale looked puzzled before understanding spread across his face.

“Oh. Oh! You mean? Well!” He gazed at Crowley with a hungry look in his eyes and beckoned them over. “We’ll just have to see about cooling you down a little then, won’t we? Why don’t you take off that lovely coat for a moment? And what do you think of the clothes I put out for you?”

Crowley obliged, letting the fur slip down their arms and draping it over the nearest deckchair. They walked in a lazy loop around the chairs and the angel, showing off their fluid swagger, all swinging hips and arms.

“Be honest with you, at first I was a bit…” they waved their hand in a horizontal motion to indicate ‘so-so’. “But when it’s on? I love it. You know what Angel, I think in a few years time we’ll be seeing this all over the catwalks and Top Shop windows. Who’d of thought you could be so avant-garde,” they said teasingly.

Aziraphale beamed back at them, clearly happy to receive such praise.

“Thank you! I must say you look quite stunning in it. The neckline suits you very well…like that…” He trailed off distractedly and swallowed. Crowley felt another flush around their ears, took a breath to steady themself and clapped their hands together. Aziraphale jumped.

“Right then! Tell me Angel, what’s the plans for this evening? I know how much you like your plans” Crowley said and sidled up to the angel, placing a hand tenderly on his cheek. “Like you said, the night is young. There’ll be plenty of time for any unplanned things later.”

“You’re right, I do hate to waste a good plan,” Aziraphale said, waving his hands a little and smiling brightly. “Oh, did you bring the books?”

“Err, yeah,” Crowley looked over the angel’s velvet shoulder. “I must’ve dropped them look.” They shimmied loosely over to the window and picked up the books. They crooked their arm at the elbow as they turned, dangling them from a long finger by the ribbon.

“Jolly good, pop them on the table there dear then follow me.” The low table sat between the chairs, with two crocheted doilies laid out. They took the angel’s outstretched hand and followed the short distance across the small, odd-shaped balcony-roof. Aziraphale was wearing his usual garb, but with no jacket over his worn waistcoat and shirtsleeves rolled up to the elbows. Crowley secretly enjoyed when he did that; the strong, well-muscled forearms having no place on a person who spent so little time doing manual labour. But their angel had been a soldier, a warrior, led his own battalion no less. Their human forms clearly had some sort of muscle memory even after so many millenia.

Next to the wall, they found an odd little setup. Aziraphale fiddled with a contraption, his gramophone of all things, thought Crowley. They looked over the metal table in front of them, a wobbly-looking camping stove sat there with a heavy copper coffee pot balanced on top. The gas was turned down low. Next to it sat a silver tray with two mugs, teaspoons, and a round red tub the same size as the mugs. They looked up at the scratch of the needle on a record, soft beats bouncing out of the trumpet. They furrowed their eyebrows at the angel.

“Angel, is this?” Crowley started as Aziraphale turned towards them. “Is this…Blue Monday?!” They stared, mouth open in disbelief.

“It is! I got it for you from the record shop, I know you like them very much. The last time you went to see them in Manchester you hardly stopped talking about it for a month after.” The angel held up the record sleeve, the cut-outs resembling a floppy disk. He swayed a little from side to side, looking very pleased with himself.

“Oooh Aziraphale, you dark horse! One of the first pressings too.” Crowley grinned and swaggered over to the angel, plucking the sleeve from his fingers and replacing it carefully next to the gramophone. The music soared through them, making them feel giddy, turns out it didn’t take much. “Hell, I love the Hacienda. Those guys are geniuses.”

“So glad you like it darling!” said Aziraphale. He wriggled on the spot and Crowley reached out their hands, feeling their worries of demonic affairs slipping away with the pulse of the music and the touch of the angel’s palms in theirs.

“Dance with me, Angel?”

“I. I don’t really know how to dance to this…”

“If you say bebop I will throw you off this roof Angel.” They craned back, stretching their long lithe spine. Feeling Aziraphale’s hesitance they softened their voice. “Don’t worry Mr. Fell, it's easy. Just put your hands here and move around to the sound of the music, there’s no rules, you can move as much or as little as you want.” They guided his hands to their waist, a thrill shooting through them at the touch. Crowley reached up and felt the cool slither on their scalp as they pulled out the pencil, letting down their long scarlet tresses with a shake of their head. They felt the angel’s hot gaze on them as the curls spilled around their neck and shoulders.

How does it feel… to treat me like you do…

“Thassit, yeah. You keep going like that and I do… stuff like this…”

When you've laid your hands upon me… And told me who you are…

Crowley tossed their head back, swaying in time with the music. The chords thrummed through their body as they raised their arms above their head, twisting and bouncing languorously between their paramour’s hands. As the music crescendoed they felt the cool rush they still remembered from the old days, when they flew through the Universe with starlight in their wings.

But if it wasn't for your misfortune… I'd be a heavenly person today…

Aziraphale stilled on hearing the words. Crowley stepped closer to him and slipped their arms around his neck, pulling him tight against their chest.

“S’alright Angel, it's not about us,” they murmured in his ear.

Tell me, how do I feel… Tell me now, how should I feel…

Aziraphale squeezed them around the waist and it felt good. They hadn’t realised how much they’d needed this, needed him. The music faded out and they snapped their fingers, miracling the record back into its sleeve, replaced with some quiet Saint-Saens.

“You’ve no idea how much I appreciated that Angel,” they said. They felt his nose nuzzle into their neck, making them hum with pleasure as his short hair tickled their ear.

“I’m so glad. I’ve felt like things have been wearing you down recently, and what kind of angel would I be if I didn’t take care of those in need?” Aziraphale said coyly and pulled away. “Now, it's time for some…” he wiggled again, “hot chocolate!”

He rushed over to the stove, pulling Crowley by the hand.

“Hot chocolate? Angel, you spoil me!” said Crowley sarcastically, watching as Aziraphale lifted the copper pot and poured the steaming, chocolatey mixture into the mugs.

“And it's your favourite, the Bournville one,” Aziraphale said knowingly, handing over a large mug with a poorly printed image of Freddie Mercury on it. Crowley smiled wistfully on seeing it.

“Thank G…Satan, their purple one is far too sweet for me.”

“Mm, quite. Shall we sit?”

They moved to the chairs, both cradling their mugs. Crowley sank down into the canvas and tucked their feet up under them, warmth spreading through their fingers. Steam rose into their face as they blew softly on the surface. When they took a sip the silky liquid coated their tongue, the bite of bitter cocoa perfectly balancing the rich milk. They hummed in approval, meeting Aziraphale’s eyes over the top of the mug.

“I managed to get some of that delicious Jersey milk at the market today, that’s why it’s so nice.” Aziraphale arched an eyebrow. “Much better than that homogenised stuff you get these days.” Crowley twisted towards their companion and nodded in feigned agreement, amused at his angel’s seriousness over such things. But then they felt the same about music and clothes and wine didn’t they, so they couldn’t exactly grumble. The gentle rocking of the suspended canvas was soothing.

“S’lovely evening Angel, very kind of you.” Crowley reached out to brush the angel’s forearm.

“Oh, it’s not finished yet! Don’t you go falling asleep on me!” Aziraphale said affectionately. He met Crowley’s gaze, set down his mug and made a flourish with his hands. “I thought we might rather do a spot of…stargazing!” Crowley chuckled and started to protest, gesturing out at the cityscape.

“Angel, we live in the middle of London you can’t expect to see anything apart from the Moon with all that li…” Crowley heard a soft chime and saw patches of the city go dark, one after the other. They turned to the angel with lips pursed, wagging a finger. “You didn’t…”

“Oh, how strange! A line must have come down… in that one substation…that serves this whole side of London…” Aziraphale said flatly, the creases around his eyes betraying his amusement. Crowley felt their ribs protesting as they tried not to laugh, committing to the bit as they pointed accusingly across the small table.

“Bad Angel! That was very… naughty of you!” Crowley’s face finally gave way to a fit of giggles, dropping their head to their hand. Their shoulders heaved as they collapsed in laughter, Aziraphale joining in their mirth.

“Now, let’s enjoy it while it lasts.” Aziraphale wound his fingers around Crowley’s hand and lifted it to his lips, kissing each knuckle in turn.

Satan’s sake I might melt into a puddle if he doesn’t stop this soon, thought Crowley.

“Tonight is a quite special night you see, not just because of this,” he gestured at the rooftop, “but celestially as well. Look up, my dear.” He sat back, keeping a gentle hold of the demon’s hand.

Crowley lay back in the chair, which obediently slid into a comfortable reclining position. They looked up with golden eyes and gasped.

The sky was a deep blue-black, pinpointed with the brightest stars. The moon was a waxing crescent, low to the horizon now and close to setting. Some way above, a bright streak of white and blue. A brilliant smudge drawn lazily across the night, its long tail fanning out into traces of yellow and green. A ball of ice and cosmic dust slowly shedding its mass in a spectacular display. A squeeze of their hand brought Crowley’s attention back into their body and they realised they’d been holding their breath.

“It's…” they murmured, “it’s Halley’s Comet.”

“Mmhmm,” said Aziraphale.

“I’d forgotten. How could I forget? Wait…” they replied. They lifted their eyes up and concentrated. Their thoughts raced, times and speeds and the movements of celestial bodies all clamouring for a place in the equations running through their mind. “It’s April, isn’t it? April 11th. So it’s about what, 39, 40 million miles away? More or less. And today’s the closest it’ll be to Earth this time around.” They grinned excitedly.

“Did you know, Angel, that humans first recorded seeing it in 240 BC? It was in China, I was there you know. They didn’t know it at the time of course, didn’t figure it out for hundreds of years. Until Halley came along, d’you ever meet Ed?” The words fell out of them, exhilaration prickling their fingers and tingling through their scalp.

“No, never had the pleasure I’m afraid,” said Aziraphale tenderly.

“Nice bloke, curious, brilliant mathematician, few years younger than Newton. A bit arrogant,” they snorted, “went to make the first map of the Southern skies. As if all the people living in the Southern Hemisphere hadn’t been doing that for centuries. But he did have views about the Church, denied that the Earth was only as old as the Bible said. I mean he was wrong, obviously, we know that. But you’ve got to admire the gumption, ‘specially at that time.”

Aziraphale made encouraging noises, happily taking in the glee emanating from the demon. They sat for a long time, Crowley stringing together the minute details of short-period orbits and remembered scenes from their history chasing the comet around the world, revelling in the wonderment of humanity discovering the stars. Aziraphale listened intently, hanging off every word with a small smile.

Eventually, Crowley went quiet, all the nervous energy drained out of them. They felt heavy and let their arms drop to their belly. They felt a lump in their throat and heat in their face.

“I missed the last one, Angel,” their voice cracked, “I was asleep. Was just meant to be a nap after, you know, the Argument.” They closed their eyes, trying not to let the feeling overwhelm them. They heard the angel shuffling around and felt him against their shoulder. A broad, soft hand lightly turned over their own, fingers interlacing.

“Yes, I thought that might be the case dear. I couldn’t feel you around much at the time.” Aziraphale said in a soothing voice. “I did take some small liberties on this matter. I hope you won’t mind.” Crowley opened their eyes a crack, peering at the angel through damp lashes. His hair seemed to glow in the reflected light of the comet and the stars, like a halo. If a halo were made of soft white fluff.

Aziraphale reached over to the table’s new position, their chairs now cinched up next to each other, shoulder to shoulder. He silently passed one of the books to Crowley, his eyes were a deep blue now, reflecting the colour of the sky. His hand trembled minutely as Crowley took the book.

“Whas this Angel?” Crowley ran their hands over the old book. The fine leather was black with gold lettering that glittered in the faint light:

Observations of Halley’s Comet Throughout human history By Anthony J. Crowley Edited & annotated by A. Z. Fell

Crowley's mouth dropped as they opened the tome. They felt a sharp pull in their chest as they leafed through the pages. The book was filled with sketches and quotes, each carefully numbered with the year of the comet’s passing. Many of them were Crowley’s own, scraps of parchment they hadn’t held onto after the fact. A few were made by human hand. One of them was a rubbing of the Babylonian tablets they recognised from the British Museum. And some of them were beautifully made, full-page drawings of Crowley. One of them wearing a toga, the comet in the background, adorned with a quote from Cassius ‘a very fearful star’. Another of them in dark, heavy armour in 1066, the comet rising above a stylised battlefield in the background. On the final filled page, simply annotated ‘1910’, was an intricate sketch of the comet’s nucleus and tail; and on the facing page, a photograph. The first one of the book. There were a lot of blank pages after it.

Crowley’s heart beat wildly against their ribs, their whole being ached with longing and the strange pang of being known. They snapped the cover shut, two drops falling to the surface. Gentle fingers brushed their ear and they twisted into the angel’s hand. The pad of his thumb caressed their cheekbone, skimming away the tears that silently strolled over their skin. The angel’s gaze held a look of total adoration, his eyes shining with tears of his own.

“Aziraphale…” Crowley said, voice low. They shifted, letting the angel’s hand guide them closer until they could see the starlight dancing in his eyes. Those searching eyes, laying their soul bare. “Why?” The angel took a slow breath, touching his bottom lip to his teeth.

“For love, Crowley.”

Aziraphale leaned forward, capturing their breath in a kiss. Crowley’s mind went blank. Behind their eyes, stars and comets swirled around the Sun, but the Sun was Aziraphale. His lips were warm and welcoming, and his curls between their fingers felt like the softest thing they’d ever touched. His hands cradled their face, and Crowley sighed when he pulled away; only to hum contentedly when the angel placed a kiss on each of their closed eyelids, light as butterflies. The demon opened their liquid gold eyes and felt like they were Falling again, only this time into the cool, deep pools of their beloveds’. And in that perfect moment, Crowley felt the most accepted, most loved, and most Crowley they had ever felt in their whole existence.

“For love, Angel.”

15 notes · View notes

legionofpotatoes · 3 years

Text

we decided to watch all story cutscenes from the new resident evil village videogame on a whim, since it’s not really our cup of tea gameplay-wise but seems to be this massive zeitgeist moment that made us morbidly curious. And I know how much everyone cares about my thoughts on things I know very little about, so. let’s get into it huh gamers. and yeah spoilers?

for context, I’ve only played resident evil 4 and a small portion of 5. I also read the wikipedia entry for 7’s plot recently. all this to say I was only vaguely aware of how tonally wacky the series was going in

I also completely gave up following the plot of the mutagens’ soap opera, so that paid off in spades here as you might imagine

anyway so that baby in the intro. that baby’s head is just massive. humongous toddlerdome. when ethan finds the baby’s head in a jar later on. there is no way that head would fit into that jar. bad game design. no not even game design. basic stuff. one hundred years in prison for jar modeler

if I see a single functional hetero marriage in video games I will cry tears of joy. I understand their misery is kind of The Point irt them badly working through the hillbilly romp trauma but like. sheesh. at least set that up as an emotional story goal the plot will help resolve. but nope they start off miserable and it goes nowhere

I know I know the mia thing has a huge wrinkle in it but like. not really in terms of dramatic function?? set up a happy end to the re7 nightmare (miranda can keep up appearances for all she cares) and then take that all away from angry griffin mcelroy for manpain. it will still absolutely work to set up the dramatic forward momentum. why throw in this cliche Hollywood Tension in their marriage if you’re not going to address it oh maybe because it’s normalized as automatically interesting because nuclear families are a self-propagating pit of a very narrow chance at emotional happiness relying on social stigma to preserve their empty function oops my baggage slipped in yikes abort mission

I called him griffin mcelroy because I saw his face on twitter and. yeah. I will continue to do this occasionally. my house my rules

... fuck the reason I’m hung up on this is specifically because the rest of the game is so tonally dexterous (which is a shining point to me! more on that later!), and yet they felt weirdly compelled to create the aesthetic trapping of a family-at-odds trope without following it through too well. a sign of both the good and the bad stuff to come

but listen the real reason why I wanted to talk about any of this is to nitpick the fascinating backwards-engineered nucleus of the entire thing; in that this game essentially creates a melting pot of just SO many disparate horror tropes and then makes a no-holds-barred unhinged effort at weaving thick lore to piece them all together. it is truly a sight to behold. like straight up you got your backwoods fright night situation, your gothic castle vampires, your rural-industrial werewolves, and don’t forget your bloated swamp monsters over there, with then a hard left turn into robotic body horror, and the entire ass subgenre of Creepy Doll writ large, and the bloodborne tentacle monsters, and a hellboy angel bossfight, which rides on the coattails of a mech-on-mech pacific rim bonanza, and just jesus henry christ slow down

almost all of these are textural hijack jobs that don’t really get into the metaphor plain of any of those settings but the game sort-of makes an argument that the texture IS the point and revels in it. It is kind of admirable almost. The same reason why the intro felt boxed in and unmotivated is also why the rest of the game just blasts off of its hinges to the point of complete and self-indulgent tonal abandon. I kinda loved that about it. lady dimitrescu made sure to hold her hat down as she bent forward in mahogany doorways and then suddenly she’s a giant gore dragon and you settle in your temp role as dark souls man with Gun to take her ass down. Excellent??

this rhino rampage impulse to gobble up every horror aesthetic known to man comes to head when the game wrestles with its FPS trappings in what is the most hilarious solution in creating visceral player damage moments. Since most cinematics and the entire game is in first person, that leaves precious little real estate for the devs to work with if they really want to sell griffin’s physical crucible. To wit. This dude’s forearms. Specifically just the forearms. They are MASSACRED throughout the story. The poor man lives out the silent hill dimension of a hand model. by the end cutscene he looks like a neatly dressed desk clerk who had decided to stick both his grabbers into garbage disposal grinders just a few hours prior. like in addition to everything else it manages to rope in that tinge of slapstick violence into its general grievous genre collection except this time it IS for a lack of trying! truly incredible

but wait his miracle clawbacks from everything his poor paws go through are retroactively explained away, yes, but far too vaguely and far too late to console me as I sat and watched everyone’s favorite baby brother reattach an entirely severed hand to his wrist stump by just. placing it on there. and giving it a lil twist ‘n pop terminator-style. and then willing his fingers back into motion right in front of my bulging eyes. this game just does not care. it does not give a shit. and boy howdy will it work to make that into one of its strongest suits

cause generally speaking resident evil was THE premiere vanilla zombie content destinaysh for like a decade, right? and as the rest of the world and mainstream media started encroaching and bloodying its blue ocean it went and just exploded in every single conceivable horror trope direction like a smilodon on catnip. truly, genuinely fascinating franchise moves

yeah the big vampire milf is hot. other news; grass... green. although I do love the implication that her closet is just identical white dresses on a rack. cartoon network-level queen shit

apropos of nothing I’ve said there’s also this hobo dante-devimaycry-magneto man, and I can’t believe this sentence makes sense. anyway he made that “boulder-punching asshole” joke referring to chris redfield and it was probably the only easter egg that really landed for me and boy did it land hard. I have not seen him punch the boulder in re5, mind. I had only heard about how funny it is from friends. and here this dude was, probably in the same exact mindset as me, trying to grapple with that insane mental image. with you on that ian mckellen, loud and clear

I advocate vehemently against the shallow pursuit of hyper photorealism in art direction but I gotta admit it works really in favor of immersive horror like this. the european village shacks especially gave me super unchill flashbacks to my rural countryside retreat in western georgia. I could smell the linoleum dude. not cool

faces are weird in this game. can’t place it. nice textures, good animation, but the modeling template is... uuh strange? and the hair. it has that clustered-flat-clumpy look that harkens to something very specific and unpleasant but I just don’t know what. sue me

griffin’s mental aptitude to take all this shit in stride and end every seemingly traumatizing bossfight involving some fucking eldritch being yet unseen through mortal eyes by essentially throwing out an MCU quip is just. What the fuck dude? I mean that was funny how you casually yelled the f-word at a god damn werewolf that you considered a fairy tale an hour ago but are you like, all right?? it was swinging a sledgehammer the size of a bus at you, ethan

oh oh the vampires are afraid of cold and your last name is winters. I get it haha

Pro Gamer Nitpick: boss fights seemed a bit unnecessarily long?? idk why the youtuber we picked decided the ENTIRE propeller man fight counted towards the vital story scenes he was stitching together, but man mr big daddy lite there really had some get up and go huh??

why are they saying dimitrescu.. like that. is it really how you say that word or is the english language relapsing into its fetish for ending every single word with a consonant at all costs

I’m not saying it’s a dramatic miss of a twist in context of all that’s going on, but the “you died in the last game actually and have been DC’s clayface ever since” revelation is low-key. it’s. it’s just funny to me, I dont know what to say. century-old god-witch fails her evil plan after she mistakenly removes heart from what was definitely NOT just some white guy with eight fingers after all

chris realizing he’s about to become the player character and immediately swapping out his tsundere trenchcoat for the muscletight sex haver sweater

the little bluetooth speaker-sized pipe bomb he taped to his knife was nuclear?? really??? I must have missed something because that is just too good. I buy it though I totally buy it. chris just got them fun-sized nukes in his car trunk for, you guessed it, Situations

anyway this is all for now just wanted to briefly touch on how unexpectedly funny and tonally irreverent this seemingly serious game turned out to be. did not articulate any cathartic story beats whatsoever but my god it had fun connecting those plot points. he just fucking put his severed hand back on his stump and it Just Worked todd howard get in here

#text #another one in my bulleted review series with no rhyme or reason #sorry resident evil fans this could be a painful read pls turn away #i know almost nothing about it but i am gonna be super fake familiar and critical of this one hey ho

23 notes · View notes

squeeneyart · 4 years

Text

Breathe in the Salt - Chapter 16

AO3

Beta read as always is @thesnadger!

A week sure flies by.

Martin gets some of his thoughts sorted.

Nothing happened.

The sky was unchanged in every way but for the time that had passed. They had bid Evan a good night (“Oh, right, it’s evening now? Should probably give you some idea about time when we talk.”), and Martin stood at the front entrance to stare through the small window. It was grey and downright gloomy out there. Nothing new.

“D’you think Simon and that woman just wanted to mess with me?” Martin said. “Like, say some spooky stuff to make sure I stay quiet about the whole thing?”

“It’s possible,” Jon said, exhaustion clear in his voice. “But there’s still a sky, which is good news, I suppose.”

“And not everything is sky,” Sasha added helpfully. “That seems more Simon’s speed than getting rid of it.”

Tim stretched his arms above his head. “Either way, keep an eye out for a warning text before we all become professional skydivers.”

“At least I’ll have a job lined up?” He wanted to muster up some more concern but after a day of waiting the suspense had run out. If something was going to happen, there was nothing he could do. “Well, goodnight. And don’t stay here too late! You all won’t make it another day without getting proper sleep.”

His eye landed on Jon, who huffed a little. “Yes, yes, we’ll all get a proper rest. Unlike the others I don’t do coffee. Though, let me walk you out. I’d like to get another look at the sky.”

It wasn’t the smoothest transition to accompanying Martin outside, but lack of sleep didn’t make for good excuses. Martin nodded and walked out with Jon in tow.

Once outside, Jon folded his hands together and seemed to consider something. “I think I’m a bit of a broken record at this point, but I wanted to apologize for earlier. I had become concerned about the lack of response from Elias and wanted to get it all back to him before too long.”

Martin looked at him carefully. “So… you think it’ll be enough?”

“Yes. It might even be overkill, but now that I’ve promised multiple people to help fix things, it’s better to be safe than sorry.” Jon let his hands fall to his sides. “The apology still stands, though.”

“Well, with you staying longer I’m sure I’ll find a way to even out the apologies between us. There are always papers to scatter.” Martin smiled sheepishly and adjusted the bag hanging from his shoulder. “But it would be nice if you didn’t have something to apologize for in the first place.”

“Yes, I recognize that.” Jon rubbed his arm. “I’m trying. I hope that much is clear.”

Martin sighed, the final piece of irritation drifting away. “Yeah, I know. I do accept it, the apology. But maybe try to go without needing to? For like a day?”

Straightening, Jon nodded. “I can do that. Or try, at least.”

“That’s all I ask.” All of that out of the way, Martin relaxed. “I guess I’ll be going. Big day tomorrow, right?”

“Yes, it will be.”Jon stood there as if about to say something else, stopping himself several times. Finally, in earnest, he said, “I’ll… I’ll do as much as I can, to help.”

“See you tomorrow, then.”

As Martin walked away, he glanced back and saw that Jon had remained on the front steps, turning his gaze upward with a frown. If this had been a trick, Martin thought, it had done its job quite nicely. He almost regretted bringing it up to the others. They all shouldn’t have had to worry about nothing.

No, that wouldn’t have worked. One of them would’ve picked up on it. Sasha probably, though with that kind of intuition she also should’ve known better than to keep Naomi’s warning a secret from him.

But she apologized, and had only wanted to help. And she had been right about the results. There was no arguing that. It didn’t make it less upsetting, but putting it behind him wouldn’t be difficult. They were all going to be around each other, after all. Martin wanted to enjoy that.

He passed the place where he’d fallen. There was no sign of the event of course, no crack in the street or mark of a skull hitting concrete. No one had been there to witness it, either.

The sky was getting darker still, the street filling more and more with chill and emptiness. Ahead was the wooded cliffside that split his home away from the rest of town, and Martin dearly wished he had someone to walk home with.

The TV was on when he returned home. He slid off his jacket and damp boots by the door and stayed there in his wool socks. There was a numbness to his knees, a soreness to his throat that he couldn’t swallow away. It was getting colder outside, and the sea air always got worse as the year crept closer to winter.

Tea would fix it, once Mum was off to bed.

A sore throat meant talking less, which is what she preferred anyway. He nodded to her once in her chair, then went into dinner preparations. Something warm, something hearty, and something simple. He grabbed the container of beef stew and a cylinder of dinner roll dough from the fridge. Simple and, even better, fast.

Before long there were steaming bowls of meat and vegetables on the table with rolls for dipping. He thanked his past self for thinking ahead as he and his mother ate in silence.

She said nothing, did nothing but her usual routine. There was no going outside with the intense chill that had settled onto the beach. Instead, she went straight to bed without a word spoken.

A tingling in his throat kept him from uttering a single goodnight. He turned out her lamp and closed her door, returning to the kitchen to wash the dishes and make himself some tea with honey. While waiting for the water to boil, he checked his phone and saw a text from earlier.

Tim: got home alright?

Martin: sorry. yeah i made it fine

He hoped his response hadn’t come too late to be worrisome, but Tim responded rather quickly.

Tim: gotcha. no tumbles?

Martin: no nothing

Tim: good. ill let the others know

Tim: so i guess tomorrow is gonna be interesting. its a bit weird to get a project really started on a friday but i was thinking we could all get food afterwards tomorrow, maybe get some drinks

Tim: usually jon skips out on that sort of thing but on trips its easier to get him since he hates making food choices in new places

Tim: you in?

Martin’s thumbs twitched over the phone keyboard. When was the last time he bothered sitting in a restaurant instead of getting takeout? Or went to a bar?

He would have to get his mother settled in with dinner and everything. Her usual bedtime was early, but they were late workers so maybe it would be fine? Would it be fine? Would he be fine?

Shit, he needed to respond.

Martin: sure that would be nice. what time?

Tim: probably later evening, since we’ll be settling work stuff. thinkin 8 or 9 if that works

Martin: yeah that’s perfect actually

Tim: great, see you bright and early! 👍

Martin: have a good night!

Slumping against the counter, Martin looked over the short conversation a few times (perhaps more than a few) and then pocketed his phone.

This was fine. It was getting some food with some people. He would be fine.

The kettle whistled and he nearly jumped out of his skin. Tea, he was making tea for himself. So he did, adding honey and milk to his liking. It was too sweet for his mother or anyone else he knew, but this was for him.

He took the steaming mug in both hands and looked out the window. The sky was still there, as were the beach and crashing waves though he could barely see them. His house still stood around him with the lights on and heat running.

Savings were something he’d finally managed to have in the recent months after years of low-wage customer service positions. He and his mother could survive without income for a little while. Getting through the whole of winter would be a stretch, but his spending habits were fairly restrained and his mother’s medication would still be covered. In the meantime there were other avenues for making money, so this job wasn’t the end-all-be-all.

God, it had been nice though. Martin would hold onto the pay for as long as he could during the whole saving-Evan process, but after that he would have a lot to figure out.

Draining the rest of his mug, he rinsed it out and set it into the sink. The tea had done its job in soothing his throat. The extra warmth in his hands was a blessing as well. He wondered if Jon would be keeping warm at all, though he suspected the truth would be disappointing.

No matter. If the others were working there a while longer Jon would have to adjust to the weather eventually, or else deal with Martin pushing hot mugs of tea into his hands until he learned. Maybe he’d toss in a scarf to complete the set.

With one last glance out the kitchen window, he walked out into the hall and up the stairs, turning off each light as he went. Once in his room, Martin slipped into his pyjamas and reached into the drawer of his bedside table. His poetry notebook had gone ignored for several days, and that needed rectifying.

Where would he even start? The last page he’d written seemed like it was from years before, not a week. Now he had a whole swirl of worries about the future he hadn’t had to deal with since he was in school. Worries and fears and-

And a silly, one-sided thing that while completely hopeless was a nice thing to feel all the same. So just like school, except he had people to meet on a Friday night.

Looking out his window a final time, Martin sat in his bed, bent over his notebook, and began to write. It was clunky at first, the words getting stuck somewhere in his pen or his throat. Part of his mind kept drifting to his mobile on the bedside table, wondering if Tim was still available to talk a bit more about the day ahead. Tiny things to fill a text log, like food options or how Martin would meet up with them. For a moment he even considered asking Tim for Jon and Sasha’s numbers, in case of emergencies.

Better to have that conversation in person, he thought, pulling his attention back to the page. Soon after he was writing short couplets at a quick pace, scraps of rhyme and feeling, until he checked his phone and found an hour had passed. Sleep, he thought. He needed sleep.

It was almost disappointing to have the writing go by so quickly, but there was no helping it. The poetry notebook was placed neatly into its drawer, his glasses were set onto the table, and Martin, wrapped in a thick blanket, stared out into the night until his eyes were too heavy to hold open.

It wasn’t his alarm that woke him the next morning but his ringtone. When he checked the screen, he found notifications for several missed calls from Tim and hurried to answer.

“Tim? What’s-”

One by one, files and folders were packed into car trunks.

He’d wasted no time in getting there, booking it all the way across town, but when he arrived Martin could say nothing at all. Standing near the stairs, he could only watch as the three researchers marched out of the lighthouse with their work things.

Sasha kept the most calm of the three, nodding at Martin as she walked past him. Her fingers tapped furiously on the side of a box, nails making dents in the cardboard.

Something between misery and confusion pulled at Tim’s mouth. More than once Martin worried he would keel over with nausea, but he stayed upright as if out of spite. He met Martin’s eyes a couple of times with a friendly smile, but it never stuck for long.

Jon was stone faced, though his jaw kept clenching and unclenching. He had only looked at Martin once, keeping that neutral expression to the best of his ability but unable to mask his frustration. Whatever he wanted to say, it wouldn’t be said there.

Behind Martin, Peter Lukas stood with his hand gripping the railing, equal measures tired and irritated and making no attempt to hide how much he didn’t want to be there. No, none of them would be saying anything except their goodbyes.

“Thanks for having us,” Tim said, shaking Martin’s hand. “I’m sure you’ll be happy to have a quiet workplace again.”

“Right. Have a safe trip.” It was the easiest thing for Martin to say, his mind not yet caught up.

Tim backed away to join the others who simply waved or nodded their goodbyes. Something in Martin��s chest twisted

“Yes, I’m sure you’ve seen now that it’s a poor environment for multiple employees. The acoustics make it unbearable.” Peter smiled something empty. “Tell Elias I will be unavailable for communication for the next few weeks, at the least.”

Jon opened the door to his rental car and said, voice dripping with acid, “I’m sure we’ll speak with him very soon.”

“Perfect. Well, you’d best be going. Wouldn’t want to keep your workplace understaffed any longer.” With that, Peter glanced at Martin and jerked his chin to the front entrance before walking inside.

As Peter disappeared from sight, Sasha’s calm face twisted into furious determination. She nodded at Martin again, then stepped into the driver’s side of the rental and closed the door behind her. Tim sighed, holding up his phone and mouthing “later” before entering the passenger’s side.

Jon gave Martin a familiar look before slipping into his own car. Both vehicles left the lot, vanishing into the fog.

“What did I tell you? Academics,” Peter said, picking some lint off his sleeve. “Now, before I go, there are just a few things.”

It took all of Martin’s will not to drag his feet on the way to his desk. The folded table was gone, but dirty footprints littered his newly-mopped floor from where it had been. He focused on the different shoe sizes and shapes in the mud and slush.

"They certainly made a mess of the place, didn't they? You'll have to redo this floor, of course. The upstairs can wait until next week. Just keep to the usual schedule there."

His desk was still littered with papers he’d pushed aside before his nap the day before.

"You've fallen behind on paperwork as well. Understandable with all the blustering from those three, I really can’t imagine. Ah, well, it's nothing a few extra hours on the weekend won't take care of."

Martin dropped in the chair he’d sat in for months, overlooked by that crest and its ridiculous seal, eyes dead and glassy.

"Oh, and I’ve made some changes to your workload. It's all written down here.” Peter placed a piece of paper on the desk. “Pretty straightforward. I don't imagine that any of it will be a problem for you."

With a dull nod, Martin dragged the page toward himself without looking at it. An updated part of his work contract. More things for him to accomplish that weekend most likely, as if it was all a punishment.

Peter breathed in sharply through his nose and clapped his hands together, looking much more refreshed. “I did miss the sound of this place. I have other business, of course, so I’ll leave you to it, hm?”

Not waiting for a response, Peter strode away and out of the building with a decisive click of the door. Martin was left to himself in that wide, empty space, spending five, ten, fifteen minutes just staring at nothing.

Stupid. If their boss had meant for them to stay longer, they wouldn’t have gone through more extensive measures the day before. They should’ve known better than to make plans that were never going to happen.

Or he had just been so clearly desperate for help that they played it cool until it was time to get out.

No, that wasn’t fair (though he wasn’t ruling it out entirely). Tim’s invitation the night before would’ve just been cruel if that were the case, and Tim didn’t seem like the type to pull something so mean. And none of them seemed happy about Elias’ decision, especially with all of the work they’d put in. Sasha certainly wasn’t close to dropping anything.

And Jon had made a promise, even if he had a hard time keeping them.

Eventually, Martin looked down at the page in front of him.

Up and around he ran, panic and dizziness squeezing at his skull and threatening to pull him backward off his feet.

Stumbling into the upmost level of the lighthouse, Martin whispered through haggard breaths, “No, no, no, no-”

He hurried across the room, placing a hand on the dial and giving it a twist. “Evan? Evan, can you hear me?”

He waited for familiar voices with no success. Again, “Evan? It’s me, Martin. Peter left already, so just say something.”

A perfectly ordinary silence washed over him. He sank to the floor, his hand still brushing against the dial as if it made a difference. From his other hand fell a brand new set of panel instructions. An extra note was left at the bottom, something about the importance of proper lighthouse management to landbound ships.

Through the windows morning continued to break over the ocean, familiar cliffs just visible through the fog down below.

#tma #the magnus archives #breathe in the salt #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #sasha james #timothy stoker #peter lukas #jonmartin #fanfic #au fanfic #selkie au

24 notes · View notes

deathwish-koala · 4 years

Text

Harry, the womanizer

Okay, I’ll admit it. When Watermelon Sugar hit the radio and I suddenly had to hear it everywhere, in my head I kinda went, “Jesus Harry, we get it. You like to fuck.”

But I was just playin’! Joshin’ my boy! You know I love Harry, and more to the point, I think he’s a very thoughtful artist. I think he’s straining for an emotional truth in his work that he must constantly interrogate and shape--hence his propensity to change lyrics and cadence (the Spotify Singles version of Two Ghosts comes to mind) in live performance.

I don’t really believe that his music, allusions to fruit juices aside, is mostly sexual. But even if it were--would that be a bad thing?

At the ripe old age of nearly-27, Harry is definitely allowed to have sex, you know? Like all adults. He’s also allowed to sing about it. I have a friend who is a rather brilliant, cerebral young musician (And also an Aquarius! Go figure.) who has songs about sex, because sex is part of his life. Sex, beyond being fun when done right, is also a realm of extreme spiritual and emotional truth. It’s also...sexy. It makes for good music. We know this. So no harm done there.

A Note On Olivia Wilde

In recent days, Harry’s been photographed holding hands with Olivia Wilde. I have a lot of respect for Wilde, both for her longstanding activism and her career. On House she portrayed the first canonical bisexual I ever saw on TV, a massive moment in my life that made my heart hammer with a sense of recognition I was too young to really appreciate.

Yet I can see why the current media setup--including a Vanity Fair piece dropped yesterday--might make some longtime Harry fans nervous. A decade ago, Harry’s purported involvement with Caroline Flack had fans frothing at the mouth. Whether the relationship was legit or not is hardly the question, and, out of respect to the tragic situation surrounding Flack, I wish to speak instead on the hideous media coverage at that time.

So much of what defined Harry’s media image as a teenager was sexual. The world very quickly realized, I think, that he is a massively charismatic person, but the extremely sexualized coverage he received was singular and disgusting. He could not so much as speak to a woman without speculation that they were involved. An exhausting burden for anyone, let alone someone so young and so suddenly exposed to the world’s scrutiny. In 2012 my mother very cheerfully read off that infamous “400 women in a year” headline to me and it made my stomach twist.

Beyond the closeting many suspected was behind this early media narrative, there was also the fear fans held of Harry’s predation. First Caroline, then Taylor--Harry was linked to older women all the time, and as we know, age gaps create power imbalances. Harry was still a teenager. It all seemed wrong.

So perhaps the Wilde thing chafes, as we remember these wounds of old. Two things to consider, however:

1) Harry is no longer any sort of child. He’s an adult man with a career that he has made conscious efforts toward maintaining. Time has ruled that none of his fame was an accident or mistake. He has chosen this path, treacherous though it may be, and that’s worth respecting.

2) Essentially, he and Olivia Wilde are peers. For one, they’re co-stars, but they’re also both household names, both wealthy beyond imagining, both seemingly secure in their image and personhood. This is pure speculation, but I suspect they have a bit of an intellectual connection, whatever else they are.

It is not so unheard of that a person in their mid/late-20′s might date someone in their 30′s, especially if they share a career and relative position in society. The world is very large and full of people, and finding a person you connect with is a brilliant feeling. If that’s what they have, these two adult peers, then fantastic. And if it’s PR for the film they’re in together? Wouldn’t be the first time. Wilde is admittedly gorgeous. Who better to offer her their arm than a handsome man who cut his teeth as a young lothario?

And Yet...

The womanizer image, grafted onto Harry in his days of earliest fame, has never sat right againsthsi skin. We certainly talk about it enough around these parts: Harry Styles starts each day with a glass of antioxidant rich Respect Women Juice, yet media (and many fans) would have you believe he wakes up, sees a lamp shade that looks like a boob, and just starts wacking it. If media was reality, Harry would have to be a bedridden compulsive to keep it up.

Now, one can respect women and still have sex with a lot of them. Promiscuity is not inherently evil or immoral or filthy or wrong. Really, for me the question becomes, “How comfortable are you, dear HStyles fan, with speculating on the amount of sex he has?”

We are all a little bit complicit in Harry’s sexualization through the years. Some of it is less okay than the rest. I’m not here to decide for you, but hopefully it’s become clearer over time what is and is not creepy, what is and is not invasive, what would and would not make Styles himself lose sleep if he knew it existed with his name attached.

The media, writ large, is more broadly complicit in this sexualization. In 2011, Alan Carr interviewed 1D for Chatty Man and--having already confirmed which of the boys was 18 and old enough to drink--begins to hassle Harry (not yet 18) about “pussygate,” aka

Black & white for nostalgia purposes.

Listen, I get it. You wanna take the piss out of the 17-year-old pop star, because it’s funny and silly and he’ll be embarrassed but cool about it probably. You wanna tease him. Because he’s a kid.

On their next interview with Alan Carr, Harry is once again addressed on sexual terms--”Harry, give us your gravy!”--that are playful but also pointed. By age 18, Harry had dealt with this for years.

Hi, Watermelon Sugar

Harry is not the only musician, not even the only member of the band, to have their personal life made a public topic. Superstardom in the 21st century is invasive to the highest degree. But it seems peculiar that the specter of hyper-sexualization chases Styles most everywhere, despite the decidedly non-sexual accolades and regard his career has gathered in the last five years, and despite the lack of flagrant behavior.

Perhaps this specter hangs on because of Harry’s emotional and sensual approach to music--I mean, he does talk about fruit juice a lot, and fabric, and flowers. In an interview with Zane Lowe, the friendly, stoney mood is momentarily dampened by Lowe’s assumption that Watermelon Sugar is about oral sex.

“Everyone’s kind of figured out what it is about, the joys of mutually appreciated oral pleasure. That’s what everyone’s saying,“ Lowe tacks on defensively.

According to some, Harry even confirmed as much at a different point. In the Zane Lowe interview, he denies it.

For what it’s worth, In Watermelon Sugar is a post-apocalyptic novel by Richard Brautigan from the 1960′s. The book, a sparse narrative of a commune existing post-societal collapse, has been called “a parody of the pastoral” by Patrick Morrow. “This society may represent what modern man might wish it to be...but the distortion in the new society is also obvious and just as unattractive.”

Harry has confirmed that a copy of the book was present during the genesis of the song. The shimmery, ephemeral lyrics--the fragility of sugar itself, easily melted--seem to hint at a desire to stay in the best parts of feeling while acknowledging that these moments are necessarily short-lived. In Morrow’s view, Brautigan’s book is about reality denial. In my view, Styles’ song is, at least a little bit, about the same.

So it’s not that the song isn’t about oral sex--it’s that it’s about more than oral sex.

Or maybe it’s that oral sex is about more than oral sex.

Or maybe it’s about nothing, and there are certainly those who choose to believe that. Still, it seems a shame that so much of Harry’s image continues to be wrapped up in that of the Don Juan, the Casanova, the Lothario.

Really, he’s more of a Vonnegut.

#harry #womanizer harry #media image #pr narrative #wewithyoursmile #hope this answers your question!

7 notes · View notes

b-does-the-write-thing · 5 years

Text

Teach Us Something Please

I was deeply honored (and terribly excited) to get @thestraggletag for Secret Santa this year. I really wanted to write something worthy of my deep admiration for you and I hope it comes through in this little (okay not so little as usual I got carried away) Hogwarts Professor AU.

It has a lot of callouts to the books and I formatted it to fit the same story structure so I hope you enjoy it! Happy Rumbelle Christmas in July, straggle. Sincerely, one of your biggest fans.

(Note: I did not get to brit-pick this as well as I would have liked so if you see something, say something and I’ll update!)

Chapter One: Summer

June

There was a light deep in the heart of the Forbidden Forest.

In this forgotten place, there were trees older than most civilizations but it had been eons since anything unknown to them had strayed this far into their dominion. Around them, the night was ripe and ready, potent with promise. It was just minutes from midnight and magic hung in the air as tangible as a summer berry ready to be plucked.

A branch creaked as a tree leaned closer to get a better look. The light spun, illuminating the inquisitive tree, but also revealing a witch’s young, pale face.

Her eyes were as bright as the bluejay’s breast.

Her hair a rich brown, the same shade as the maple wand she held in her hand.

Satisfied the creak had not foretold danger, the witch turned to continue forward, following the protected path deeper and deeper into the woods. As she arrived at a grove of aspens, the witch faltered for a moment, pausing to dig out a small book from her robes. Though there was no breeze, their silver leaves shivered and shook as the trees chatted amongst themselves. Nearby, a river gurgled and bubbled in interest.

Her wand tip lowered to the pages, revealing a scrawled map. The map was still, save for one small dot that was moving rapidly across the page. Keeping the book in one hand, the witch threw a cautious look over her shoulder before she carefully placed her wand in the palm of her hand. “Point me,” she whispered.

The wand hurried to obey. It spun once, twice, three times before it jerked to a stop sixty degree to her right. Well off the path. With a weary sigh, the witch continued onward, casting occasional glances to her right but keeping the octavo open in her hand.

Bound in black leather and stitched with golden thread, at first glance, the book looked like any other Hufflepuff memoir. Perhaps why it had been left undisturbed for over a century, hidden in plain sight amongst the other books in the library.

As the Hogwart’s librarian, Belle French had numerous obligations to the school. First and foremost to make sure its students were safe. Books could be very dangerous things, and even the most unassuming book could cause lasting harm to the unwary. After all, knowledge was a dangerous thing.

The book in her hand was an excellent example. If Belle had not been searching for some light reading on Bridget Wenlock, she may not have ever noticed the small book. It had been nestled in amongst the countless Helga Hufflepuff biographies and Belle had assumed that was what it was as well. That was until she had lifted it to get a better view and felt the tingle of dark magic race down her spine.

Pushing cautiously through the overgrown branches barring the path, Belle was careful to keep on the trail. Robin had warned what might happen if she stepped so much of a toe out of the protective wards. He had wanted to go with her, but the book was clear: only a winged maiden of sound mind would be able to seek and find.

Seek and find were the words of the book. A winged maiden could have meant anything but Belle suspected it meant a daughter of Ravenclaw. She was not descended from the line but she had been sorted into the house. She hoped that would be enough. As of sound mind… she felt far from sane at the moment.

“Are you sure about this?” Professor Lucas had demanded when Belle had started asking questions about the forest. The Care of Magical Creatures Professor knew all too well what lurked in the forest during the full moon.

The attack had been two summers ago now. Ruby had been lucky to escape with her life. While parents had not been keen on a werewolf teaching their children, Headmistress Ghorm had pointed out there was hardly a better-suited teacher for the role. Thus, Professor Lucas had been allowed to stay, with some safety measures in place.

As if sensing her thoughts, there was a howl in the distance. In answer, a branch broke nearby as something hurtled through the underbrush. Belle froze, waiting until it had passed. After several long minutes, when nothing stirred, she began again, but her heart was thudding sickeningly in her chest.

She walked on for what felt like hours, occasionally stopping to check the map. The dot on the map had come to a stop up ahead but she was still a fair ways away and the path was overgrown and slick. Belle had cloaked her steps to make no noise but her feet were sore and her back grew tight. She was pressing on- when all at once, the path stopped.

A great tree had fallen across the path. The trunk was nearly seven feet high on its side. Belle considered it for a moment. She could easily levitate over it or remove it from the path entirety but she suspected that was exactly what something wanted her to do. Upon closer inspection, she saw the tree had been recently felled. She hoped and despaired all at once.

Steeling her spine, she spoke into the wind. “I seek the one who sees all,” she said to the gloom surrounding her. “Let the seer be seen.”

The wind rustled the branches, and for a moment, the only answer was the shivering of leaves. Belle bent her head back to the book, murmuring a sharp “Lumos.”

The tip of her wand flared brightly as a torch, illuminating not only the map but the face of something reptilian and cruel which sat crouched at her feet. Belle would have shot backward, and nearly did so, before she recalled nothing could hurt her on the path.

Still, she trembled when she lifted her wand out towards the creature to find it safely outside the path’s border. Belle released the breath she had been holding when it stood, revealing it to be more man than creature.

“You would look upon the seer,” it hissed. “Look your fill and then release me. I have my own business this eve that does not pertain to you, child.”

Belle’s fingers were thick and clumsy as she raised her free hand to the neckline of her robe. Slowly, she pulled at the chain at her neck until it fell free, revealing what appeared to be a small charm. It was shaped like a crooked lightning bolt but on closer inspection was a dagger. It was heavier than it should be and cold as ice against her skin despite the warm night air and her evening exertion.

An artifact of untold power with the only clue to its purpose the single word etched into its surface. Few wizards or witches would have recognized it for what it was, but Belle had delved deep into the tomes detailing the darkest of arts. When it had fallen out of the octavo’s pages, Belle had suspected it for what it was the darkest of dark magic.

“Rumpelstiltskin,” Belle said, faltering slightly as she recited the unfamiliar word writ upon the dagger. “I name you.”

A crooked smile revealed jagged, yellow teeth. “As did my mother.”

“Dark powers are gathering. War is coming.”

“It is already here,” the creature told her cheerfully. “And it will fall upon Hogwarts before the next summer solstice.”

It was as if he was stating a fact and not the end of the world as she knew it. Belle lifted her chin. “I have need of a seer. Need of you, the one connected to the Darkness but unbent to its will. I have sought you out to free you from your binds.”

“And how do you know I am what you say I am?”

Belle held up the book. It had been vague in details in some places, but rich in others. It had spoken of the seer, a creature tainted by the Darkness, bound to the Forbidden Forest.

Belle bit the inside of her cheek. “I am here to seek and find-”

“Seek and find?” he began to laugh. “All you have found is death. I see your end, child. Alone. Afraid. Surrounded by books. Blood seeping into their pages. You are still. You do not move.”

If he thought to scare her with foretellings of death, he misjudged her. “So, I will not die here tonight at your hands,” she said with a grave nod. “Good. Then, we can speak frankly.”

Belle transfigured a nearby branch into a chair. “Tell me how you came to be bound to the Darkness.”

He raised a clawed talon to his breast, raking the sharp claws down his scaled chest as he considered her. There were remnants of leather hide clinging to his arms and shoulders but they were in tatters, shredded. Belle wondered how long he had been out here.

“Four centuries,” he answered, golden eyes unblinking. “As for my origins, I sought protection from the Darkness by joining with it and found more than I had bargained. I found power beyond telling, a power that meant I would never be afraid again. The cost was madness.”

“You don’t seem insane to me.”

He cackled as he sank back down into a crouch. “Says the child who wandered into the woods alone. Haven’t you ever heard of what happens to maidens who enter the Forbidden Forest?”

“I am no maiden,” Belle said curtly. “Now, as I was saying-”

“Where did you find that?” He gestured to the book which was now open in her lap.

“That would be telling,” Belle responded just as blithely. “Why do you want to know?”

Without warning, his hand shot out as if to grab for her. Belle leaned backward, nearly toppling over in her transfigured chair. His talons stopped just shy of her.

He was grinning. “I am tied to that damnable piece of steel. I have searched every inch of this forest. I have dug through the dirt, broken stones, climbed to the top of trees. I have plundered the bottom of the Black Lake and for not. A spell has been placed upon it, binding me to this land. Even if I wished to join the gathering Darkness, I could not so long as that dagger remained out of my possession. So, I will ask you again, where did you find it, child?”

“I am not a child,” Belle snapped, losing her patience as usual. “I am the head librarian of Hogwarts-”

“The library!” Rumpelstiltskin hissed. “A dirty trick. He knew I could not cross the castle’s wards.”

“Who knew?” Belle was annoyed at herself for giving it away, even unintentionally. She would have to be more careful.

“My son,” he spat. “All I did, I did for him. But he could not see past what I had become. He bound me here, left me here to rot.”

Belle swallowed. “Then, attend me well. I have a deal for you.”

“Oh?” He sidled closer. “ I like deals. What shall it be? You wish for freedom. To see the world. You wish for knowledge. You thirst for adventure. You long for something more-”

“This is not about me,” she snapped, afraid of what he might reveal. “This is about the fate of the wizarding world.”

“Spare me,” he said with a shake of his head. “It is none to me what happens to it. I ceased caring long ago, child.” He gestured to his tattered clothing. “I have my problems.”

“Then, I have a beneficial solution for us both. Come teach at Hogwarts,” she proposed.

“Teach?” he hooted. “Teach what, child? The Dark Arts?”

“Divination,” Belle replied as the pieces fell into place. “Our divination professor foresaw her death and fled. The students leave for summer term shortly. Come on the first of July. If you swear no harm shall come to anyone who calls Hogwarts home, the wards will be open to you.”

“And why would I want to do that?” he snarled. Saliva dripped down from his curled lip. “You would have me swap one cage for another,” he murmured. “A nicer cage, true, but a cage nonetheless. Give me freedom.”

Freedom would allow the seer to return to the Darkness from which its power originated. And with a seer as powerful as the creature before her...whose very existence thrummed and hummed with secrets of the past, present and what would be...if Belle freed this being from its binds, she would condemn all of wizardkind.

Belle shook her head. “I cannot do that.”

“You could,” it sang, sliding back into the shadows.

Belle took a risk. “It very well might be swapping one cage for another, but this cage has running water.”

Rumpelstiltskin scoffed.

Belle pressed on. “If there is to be a battle, you may do as you like, fight or flee back to the forest. All I ask in return is that you give us counsel. Warn us of what you see.”

Warn you? Very well. I’ve seen you,” he said quietly. All traces of insanity and monstrosity vanished. “If you offer your hand to me, I will take it. But,” he held up a finger and wagged it at her. “Once I take it, you will never be free of me.”

Belle cocked her head to the side. It did not sound like a threat...more of a warning. “I’ve come all this way,” she told him. “If my freedom is the cost of knowledge, so be it.”

She reached her hand out across the path border.

When his scaled fingers curled over her’s, they were warm.

July

A cup of lukewarm tea was cradled in her hands. Belle had barely touched it, too caught up in searching the forest line, waiting with bated breath for Rumpelstiltskin to emerge. She had been waiting since morning. Hours had passed and now the light was fading as the sun started to sink in the western sky.

It had been a long two weeks. She had emerged from the Forbidden Forest the morning of the Summer Solstice and gone straight to the Headmistress. Reul Ghorm was one of the most powerful witches in the wizarding world as well as the wisest but it took all of Belle’s collective powers of persuasion, stubbornness and determination to get the Headmistress to agree to let the seer into the castle, much less award him a role on the teaching staff.

In the end, Belle had not been completely forthright. She had shared the book, told the story of her encounter with the Seer in the forest, and shared her plans to use his powers to continue to protect Hogwarts. But she had left out his true name and the matter of the dagger currently hanging around her neck.

Footsteps approached from around the back of the groundskeeper’s hut. She turned to find a wizard standing over her, but not the one she was expecting.

Robin hoisted his son, Roland, upon his hip and nodded toward the untouched cup in her hand. “My tea’s not that bad, is it?”

“Bad tea, Daddy,” the toddler insisted, struggling to get down.

Belle shook out of her reverie and stood. She murmured a wordless apology as she swapped the teacup for Roland, gathering the boy in her arms. His curls, so like his mother’s, tickled her nose. A rush of sorrow washed over her as she thought of Marian. She would have understood.

To hide the sadness in her eyes, Belle pressed a kiss to Roland’s forehead, and the boy giggled. “Down, Belle!” he begged but she didn’t dare let him down to run, no matter how much he wiggled and whined.

The sound of someone else approaching caused her heart to jump up into her throat. But the figure was coming from the castle, not the woods, draped in a familiar red cloak. “No sign?” Ruby called out as she neared the hut.

Belle shook her head. She should have known Rumpelstiltskin would keep her waiting. If he was even coming at all-

“Do you have such little faith in me?” came Rumpelstiltskin’s voice from behind her.

Roland took one look at the scaled creature and began to wail. Robin had his wand in his hand in an instant but Rumpelstiltskin waved a lazy hand and the wand skittered out of Robin’s grip and flew high and far out of range. For a horrible moment, it looked as if Robin meant to tackle Rumpelstiltskin, who was already grinning nastily.

“You will do no harm to those who call Hogwarts home!” Belle reminded him over Roland’s terrified cries.

Rumpelstiltskin bared his teeth at her just as Ruby’s spell hit him square in the chest. He froze before teetering backward to crash across the kitchen table at his back. Cookery went everywhere as the petrification totalus spell kept the Dark One from twitching so much as a muscle to stop his fall.

“Ruby!” Belle cried out as the Gryffindor came charging to the rescue. She accio-ed Robin’s wand as she charged past Belle into the hut. Belle couldn’t get to her wand to stop them, not with a screaming Roland nearly choking her in his terror. Small bursts of magic were emanating from the toddler, which could turn dangerous quickly. “Stop! He wouldn’t hurt anyone!”

At her exclamation, Robin and Ruby paused in the doorway, between her and Rumpelstiltskin. The two Gryffindors considered the creature bound on the floor but they did not sheath their wands.

Belle pushed past them, handing the sobbing Roland to his father. “Take him outside,” she murmured, patting the boy’s back as he clutched at Robin’s shoulders.

The groundskeeper looked as if he might argue but he only cast one last look at the creature on his hut’s floor, surrounded by shards of wood and pottery before he did as she suggested. Belle could hear him murmuring platitudes as he attempted to calm Roland down.

Belle knelt among the ruins of the table, careful to keep her face in clear view. The dagger free from her robe’s neckline “Rumpelstiltskin,” she greeted. “Took you long enough.”

“Belle,” Ruby wheedled, clearly frustrated. “This doesn’t feel right. We should get Mary Margaret. ”

Belle didn’t need a host of well-intentioned Gryffindors telling her what to do. “Give me a minute,” she said over her shoulder. When Ruby did not move from the doorway, she sighed and stood. “Ruby, please,” she said quietly, though she did not doubt Rumpelstiltskin could hear every word. “You said you’d trust me on this.”

“I trust you,” Ruby said, looking over her. “I don’t trust that thing.”

“Ruby,” Belle said softly, hearing the loathing in Ruby’s voice. “He’s not the creature that bit you.” Her hands were gentle as she laid them upon Ruby’s right forearm.

The witch wrenched her arm away, holding it protectively. “Could have been one of his pets,” she argued. “That’s just what I mean, Belle. It’s evil.”

Belle did not feel much like arguing. She had her doubts about all of this, but it did not change the facts. They had sent the students home across Great Britain and every day she woke wondering which ones may not come back.

“He can help,” was all she said.

“Yes, because he’s a great and powerful seer,’ Ruby mocked. “He doesn’t seem all that powerful if he didn’t even see a second-year level spell coming straight at him.”

“It doesn’t work like that,” Belle whispered, all too aware he could hear every word. “Don’t you remember anything from Divination classes?”

Ruby bristled. “I’ve been more interested in astronomy these days, so forgive me if I don’t recall the intricacies of fortune-telling.” She brandished her hands out at Belle, palms facing upwards. “Remind me. Where’s the line that says I was going to turn into a bloodthirsty animal every month for the rest of my life?”

Belle’s temper flared. “You went out into the woods to find what was killing the unicorns. No one made you-”

“I went out there to stave off the Darkness from encroaching into Hogwarts-”

“And I did the same exact thing!” Belle finished breathlessly. “I went out in the woods, the same as you, for the same reason.”

There was no more time to cross one’s fingers and hope for the best. They had to defend themselves, defend Hogwarts. With knowledge. With foresight. With whatever they could.

“I had to at least try. We,” she added. “We have to at least try. I’m not saying you have to like this...but access to a true seer...one linked with the Darkness but not bent to it? It’s not much...but it’s more than we had before.”

Ruby stared at the creature on the floor for a long, long moment. Finally, she nodded but she wouldn’t meet Belle’s eyes. “I just hope you know what you’re doing, Belle.”

Me too, Belle thought miserably but she managed a smile. “Go help Robin?” she suggested gently. Outside, Roland’s crying was only growing louder and pops of what sounded like fireworks were starting to go off.

Ruby disappeared back out into the warmth of the early evening, leaving Belle alone with Rumpelstiltskin. Her hand went to the dagger around her neck, a constant chill against her skin.

Taking a deep breath, Belle turned to kneel back down beside the seer but she did not take off Ruby’s spell, not yet. His eyes were calculating, something hidden deep in their depths. “I hope you can help,” she said quietly. “Merlin’s beard, I hope you can help.”

She murmured “finite” and braced herself for an attack, physical or magical but none came.

Rumpelstiltskin merely raised himself to a sitting position and took a look around the hut. “What a sty,” he grumbled and with a casual wave of his left hand, everything straightened around them. The shattered table repaired itself, the crockery mending. The sink suddenly splashed to life, submerging the dirty dishes in soapy water as the soot started to scoot across the floor and out the door.

“His wife died last fall,” Belle said as she got to her feet. “She went to Diagon Alley for a pixie deterrent for the pumpkin patch. She didn’t come back.”

Belle offered a hand to help him up but the Seer did not take it. He rose to his own feet in a graceful motion, dusting off his leather breeches as if he had not been utterly at her mercy moments ago. “Explains his less than hospitable hosting skills.”

“He’s had a rough time of it.”

“And what’s the werewolf’s excuse?” he grumbled.

“She gets a bit...snappy around the full moon,” Belle said with a shrug. “We’ve gotten used to it.”

His strange golden eyes flickered to the sunlight where the two Gryffindors stood. They were both waving their wands so hundreds of colorful bubbles billowed out of the tips. Roland ran between them, his head thrown back in laughter as he rushed one way than the other.

“Everyone here has a story of being touched by the darkness,” Belle added quietly.

His eyes turned back to her. “And your story?”

Belle hesitated, just for a moment. “Ask me again at the end of this year,” she said quietly. “Come on, I’ll take you up to the castle. We set up rooms in the Divination Tower.”

August

The Charms professor was mad as a hatter.

That was the only reason Rumpelstiltskin could think of for why Jefferson had taken to coming to his office every day when most of the Hogwarts staff had decided to steer clear of him. All but the Charms Professor, the castle’s healer, and of course the librarian.

Rumpelstiltskin stood at the window, looking out across the Black Lake. The Giant Squid propelled along the surface, basking in the summer light as it had done for the past century. Behind him, Whale was reading the paper while Jefferson lounged on his back, spinning his hat idly round and round his finger.

“Someone spilled the beans,” Whale whistled as he folded the Daily Prophet and flung it over at Jefferson. The Slytherin caught it and flipped it open in one smooth motion without so much as missing a beat.

Rumpelstiltskin glanced over at the paper, and the photograph of a bombed-out building stared back at him. Flames flickered in black ink, the moment captured on magical film to be replayed over and over again for all of time. He turned away from it, back towards the sun, lifting his face to enjoy the Scottish summer breeze wash over him.

This he knew. This is he remembered. He had not forgotten the ways of wizardkind but a lot had changed since his Hogwarts days. He had spent the entirety of July ensconced in the tower reading whatever the Librarian had brought him and still wasn’t caught up.

Belle, a voice whispered in his head. Her name is Belle

She had not given him her name but he had heard it upon the lips of the others. Until she gave it to him herself, he would continue to call her the Librarian.

It had been what he had called her before he had known her.

He had known her the instant he had laid eyes upon her on the summer solstice. He had even warned her...and still, the foolish, brave girl had given him her hand. Sealing their fates.

How often had he seen her in his visions? The bright light at the end of the dark, long tunnel of his existence. He had seen their future, saw their lives entwined in ways he had not thought possible. His destiny stamped as clear as the printed word upon her fair face but he could not find the courage to give that truth voice. So, he told her of the other things he had seen: Her death. The fall of Hogwarts. Everything she was scared of.

But he left out the other parts. For those were the things that scared him.

Lost in his thoughts, he did not notice the first owl that flew by the window or the second. It may have been the fourth or even fifth owl he finally saw, but soon the entire sky was full of them. His brow furrowed at the flurry of wings. Jefferson joined him at the window, wordlessly handing him the paper.

The paper was opened to the headline “Newest Divination Teacher: Monstrous Minion of Darkness”. The article went on to explain in graphic detail how he had supposedly run off the old Divination Teacher (a young woman named Astrid Nova) and took her place, bewitching Headmistress Reul Ghorm and bending her to his will.

He tossed it aside. Ghorm had already been bent to the Darkness’s will. Even if she did not yet know it. He did not know how the Librarian had convinced that one to let him cross the castle boundary, but he suspected it was only a matter of time before the Darkness in the headmistress's heart overwhelmed her. He could see the shadows on her face whenever she gazed at him, considering, wondering. She would come to him by the end of the year with her questions.

There was a knock at the trap door. Ever polite, his Librarian. He waved a hand and the trap door flipped open for her to emerge with her daily peace offering, a tray of tea. “Master Whale,” she greeted as Victor took the tray from her. “Professor Jefferson.”

“The Dragon was just telling me my fortune,” Jefferson said with a sorrowful grin.

The Librarian knew all too well what his fortune entailed. Day after day, Jefferson only asked Rumpelstiltskin the same question. “And how does your Grace fair today?”

“Thriving,’ Jefferson answered proudly, though his sad smile did not brighten.

Jefferson and his family had encountered the Darkness early in its rise. After Jefferson had barely survived the attack that had claimed his wife, he had sent his only daughter to the continent to attend Beauxbatons, praying it would be far enough. She had not spoken to him since, nearly three years

“And you, Master Whale?” Belle asked, though not as warmly.

It was clear that the Librarian did not quite trust Whale’s interest in him. Rumpelstiltskin could have told her that Whale had lost a brother years ago and had kept his body in the hopes of finding some magic strong enough to reanimate him, to bring him back. But he doubted that would do much to alleviate her suspicions. The healer was harmless. For now.

“Happy to be here,” Victor responded flippantly. “But like all good things, my time with you all has come to an end. The Nolans are stopping by the infirmary for an informal check-up.”

The Defense against the Dark Arts professor and her husband were expecting their first. They had been going to St. Mungo’s but with the rise of violence in London, it did not surprise him that they had opted to stay closer to Hogwarts.

Rumpelstiltskin exposed his fangs in a grimacing smile. He did not care much for Mary Margret Nolan. She had been the most vocal against him taking residence in the castle and been a thorn in his side ever since. “Send along my congratulations,” he said as Victor started to descend the spiral staircase. “Emma is a lovely name.”

The Librarian sighed. “They were going to have it be a surprise,” she chastised him as Victor’s laughter floated back up to them.

“Oh?”

He wasn’t fooling her but he had come to enjoy teasing the smile out of her, it was happening more and more frequently these days, which should have worried him.

Jefferson cleared his throat. “I’ll go and give Leroy a hand with the owls,” he said with a tip of his hat. The trapdoor swung shut behind him, leaving the two of them alone.

“Owls?” she echoed in confusion. Rumpelstiltskin nodded towards the paper on the table. The Librarian picked it up, scanned the headline and groaned. “Curse her,” she muttered, tucking her hair behind her ear. He watched her from beneath his curtain of hair. The Librarian always wore her hair pulled back in a ponytail, using whatever scrap of ribbon was at hand, but tendrils always escaped to fall about her face. “I’m going to wring her neck for this. She knows how important you being here is-”

There was little love lost between the defense teacher and the librarian but he had not expected such violence on his behalf. “Pregnancy does strange things to the mind,” he said, remembering all too well his own wife’s pregnancy and the mood swings that had accompanied it back in the days before modern medicine’s miracles. “It matters not,” he said even as more owls flew by. “Hogwarts is still the safest place in England. Those who do not send their children put them at great peril.”

The Librarian poured a cup of tea, absently sending it floating over to him as she began to pour another. “I hope I was right about all this,” she said quietly, more to herself than to him.

He could have told her she was. That her destiny had been written long before she had been born, that she was following a path already laid out for her. But then she would ask him too many questions. He had did not always know when, just what would be.

So, he said nothing.

She let the paper drop to the table and sat in Jefferson’s vacated chair. Her fingers went to her throat, idly playing with the necklace hidden beneath her robes. “Why do you wear that?” he asked as he sat down across from her. “Inanimate magical objects can be dangerous things.”

“I’ve heard,” Belle said drily as her hand fell back to her lap. “I thought it better to keep it close than to risk it falling into the wrong hands.”

Rumpelstiltskin had thought the same thing. He could still remember the splitting pain...the emptiness that had never left him. To this day, he could feel the hole where his soul had been ripped away.

They didn’t say much after that. They took their tea in silence as owl after owl flew across the summer sky.

Read the rest on A03

#Rumbelle Christmas in July #Rumbelle Christmas in July 2019 #thestraggletag #rumbelle fanfic

25 notes · View notes

vapormaison · 5 years

Text

Best of 2019 Future Funk Release 1/4: Toyama’s Love Island by Skule Toyama

A common argument I get into on audiophile and vinyl forums — that by virtue of interest and venue tend to skew boomer (who isn’t on discord now? Answer: Your grandpa.) — often revolves around the raison d’être of pressing future funk. In an earlier piece, I gave my opinion on the subject — but I didn’t really evidence the critique by many opposing audiophiles. As far as they’re concerned, I might as well be collecting Funko Pops — that is to say that these presses aren’t worthy of serious hi-fi consideration and are merely collector’s items. To their credit, when posting about my experiences with the genre, most of these aged audiophiles scratch their head not at the anime art on the box nor at the picture disks (usually reviled by the old-heads)— but at the oft-digital source itself. These guys are the ostensibly cool uncles with the dope music collection, after all.

While they often are a wealth of information on the analog format, and voracious consumers of early City Pop — a genre beloved by audiophiles, — forums like this tend to create feedback loops of retrograde understanding. Their enjoyment of all things analog turns them into intense luddites, often to the point where I question why they are interfacing with a computer in the first place, that dreaded source for the perceived decline of their hi-fi culture.

I’ve more or less given up on the prospect of turning them around on the subject of future funk. However, this summer, on a thread where we review recent vinyl purchases and upload lossless rips, I made a rather pedestrian post about how much I enjoyed Skule Toyama’s latest release — Toyama’s Love Island. And to my complete and utter surprise, my vinyl-to-digital rip of “Sunset Hasn’t Come Yet” brought all the boys to the yard. While I got my usual peanut gallery of “lol future funk, lol vaporwave, buy jazz” posts, its turns out more than a few Joe Boomers with vintage, $10k-valued Sansui stereo sets could vibe with this too. You know, the purely purists of the pure.

This caused me to consider for a time precisely why Toyama Love Island whispered to these boomers I share a particular corner of internet space with. What about it warmed the heart of these old men so cold to cold media? It obviously had to be something more than the mastering or the press itself. Most of these guys had been engaged in serious listening to absolute titans in their craft for forty plus years now. Many had studio experience themselves. Even now, I don’t have a really good answer. The best one I can supply is this: the warmth that emanates from Toyama Love Island can melt even the iciest heart. Cliche? No doubt. Apropos? Of course.

PART 1: THE MUSIC

Intro warms us up with a minute-long evergreen bit. By whom and what from— I genuinely don’t know (perhaps that’s the appeal for me personally, the mystery but also the universality)— but the punch line certainly feels nostalgic, and the horns do too.

Have a Good Time fronts the funk after a minute-long intro track. It’s an absolutely fantastic true open because of its principal horn loop that absolutely claws into your cerebral cortex and takes root there. Between listens, I found myself humming it while brewing a pot of coffee. While it’s not my favorite of the tracks on the album, its pure energy and catchiness is a master class on how future funk albums should inject you with an uncut hit of unapologetic brass funk within the first couple minutes.

Electricity takes the initial energy of Have a Good Time and subtly ratchets up the vibe with clever layering and a sweet progression. While my initial take on my first listen was that the bass was too muted (a slight boost from the hi-fi set of your choice can obviously erase that distinction quickly!) — I warmed to the mix after hearing how well it meshed with the following track.

Love Island serves as a sort of kinetic climax to the first quarter of the album and a great midpoint for the A-side, but the treble feels just slightly compressed and off-balance on the wax here. After fiddling with EQ and my pre-amp settings on the second listen, the track came through vastly better. My suggestion is to subtract here and there if you have a Japanese-built set that tends to run bright. After doing so on the 2nd listen, Love Island began to shine — and the distorted loops that seemed discordant on my initial listen were brought back into a more complimentary role with the rest of the piece.

Midnight Mall is my absolute favorite of the album because it just unabashedly brings the boogie with a pure, slap-worthy bass, crisp midrange from the intermittent horn flares, and absolutely atmospheric vocal compliments. Although Love Island is a strong title track, so to speak — I really do think Midnight Mall is the true baby-maker banger of 2019. For peak enjoyment, boost the bass a little on your stereo, add mood lighting and engage in the wholesome romantic activity (impassioned stares, hand-holding) of your choice.

Sunset Hasn’t Come Yet is the boomer whisperer. My guess regarding what makes this track appeal so authentically to the boomer crowd is the strength of its arrangement. You get a comfy arrangement throughout, a bass twang that sounds like its straight outta Miami Vice coupled with very moody Japanese vocals. For a future funk record, this feels like the track most in sync with its roots, creating a very authentic, fun sound.

Marsala’s effortless sonic transition from Sunset Hasn’t Come Yet’s stage is definitely a highlight of this album’s pretty flawless composition and arrangement. It feels very much like a palette cleanser for the album’s first half, and is perfect for an LP format — as you feel this transition writ large by the very nature of the format. The blaring synths feel like they would meld into place effortlessly with a Michael Mann-directed denouement to a period action-psych drama.

Flying Star is a soft reset to the album from a vibe standpoint, and is competent at what it does in the overall scope of the album. My only significant criticism of Skule Toyama’s output — which is somewhat present here — is that they don’t really let the vocals carry enough water. While exquisitely layered in relation to the rest of the piece, I want to hear the vocals take up a sort of primary mantle in the soundstage in a track like this. We get it in Flying Star’s middle third, but it does feel like a sort of pointless delay in gratification. A track like this has a chance to capture the listener and bring them into the sonic space. It comes just short of doing that.

Sailor Moon Rock manages to decimate that previous criticism by running at me and grabbing the tempo by the collar with an absolutely fire set of loops and immediately accelerate. I love it for that, and is definitely the B-side’s strongest composition. We get some no-doubt nasty guitar riffs and some iconic SFX that really bring this track together and make a B-side banger exemplar, reason enough to flip the wax.

Keep On Going brings us closest to a synth-wave composition that we get in the entire album on the track’s first third, but finds its funk at the ideal moment. It definitely succeeds in fleshing out of the B-side, and creates its niche on the project subtly but at the same time, at the risk of seeming hyperbolic — brilliantly.

Do Me definitely feels the most “Nu-Disco” of both the side and the overall album. It’s definitely one of those tracks that you can both happily wait for in the queue and then just revel in — knowing that while the record nears its conclusion, you get a track that just would not at all be out of place in a Shibuya nightclub circa 1979 or weave its way into a Haruki Murakami novel.

Outro is a perfect closing for the album, but I question the utility of making it the penultimate track instead with the inclusion of the bonus track. That said, it’s impossible not to vibe with the arrangement and layering of this piece. My hope is that when I die and arrive at the pearly gates (admission pending), St. Peter (recently taking up a hobby in DJing to pass eternity) will have a special edition pressing of that will have this as the final track on the wax.

Live Now! is definitely the track I feel coolest about. A good piece on the whole, just feels a bit out of step with the rest of the project. But I’m never going to look the gift horse in the mouth when it comes to the prospect of additional music, so a welcome addition nonetheless.

PART 2: VINYL EXPERIENCE

I really like the Toyama Love Island purple wax. This seemingly benign statement is no doubt going to incur a chorus of audiophiles in that forum criticizing me for this. Vinyl is not designed — as much as some will tell you, to be a perfectly neutral hi-res medium. There is natural warmth, scratchiness, minor distortion — et cetera. It also features natural imperfections that develop over time — like any piece of physical media. What’s more, some perceived hiccups on the overall master might actually be caused by a slight offset or error in the press, a common and natural occurrence when dealing with physical media like this. That’s why graphic equalizers were so prominent in vinyl hi-fi set in its late 1970s/early 1980s heyday. This is just an aspect of the vinyl experience.

Toyama’s Love Island features, in my view, a few of these imperfections. But these imperfections are nothing major — a quick re-equalization (oxymoronic, but I’m sure you know what I’m getting at here) a little fiddling around with the pre-amp here and there — these are natural to any experience and remind me why I became fascinated with the hobby in the first place — to maximize an audio experience. If every indie press gave that to me out of the box, well, what’s the point of the system that I own? It exists to provide a platform for a rich, diverse, and vibrant sonic experience. But the platter is just decorative without real warmth coming from the music, and Toyama’s Love Island brings that in droves.

My Pet Flamingo has a long (in vaporwave measurements, obviously) history of putting out quality physicals. Toyama’s Love Island builds upon this with a big’ol brick and a heaping slab of mortar. I’m also a big fan of MFP’s visuals. I’m not sure who they use to make the sleeves, but I think they’re generally constructed well, and the cover images that grace them never feel compressed or feature much in the way of artifacts. When you become deeply intimate with a vinyl sleeve, you start to notice these things — and I’ve never had this inkling when fingering a Flamingo release, so kudos to the label’s curation.

The mix feels exceptionally bright on my current system, and that has been a consistent point of curiosity with My Pet Flamingo releases. My guess is whatever they test their masters on is engineered by a British/American company not named “KEF” — think Cambridge, Wharfedale, McIntosh, etc — or a damper sounding Japanese unit like Technics or Yamaha. Again — I don’t see this as a problem, just a note to those running more traditional Japanese (80s Harman, Sansui, TEAC) or Nordic systems (B&O, Blaupunkt) that tend towards that end of the spectrum.

With obvious digital and analog appeal, Toyama’s Love Island is the closest thing to a “holistic” future funk release that I can think of — which makes me wonder why Skule Toyama’s hasn’t blown up yet. Only a matter of time, I’d guess — especially after earning a nod from this little outfit, I’d hope.

#future funk #bestof2019

4 notes · View notes

hootpoop12 · 5 years

Text

Theory time

Alright, so we all know through the context of this being written in a fanfiction/a03 format that this is all a play about canon VS fanon. What is a little hard to decipher is what are the things that are plays off fanon and which qualities are the true aspects of the characters(canon)? ANYWAY here are just a few of the things I am ASSUMING are plays off fanon based on my years in the fandom and sheer obsession of consuming this shit (trigger warning for everything taken place in the epilogue FYI):

-Dave: I think some of the main aspects of fanon influencing his epilogue version is intertwined with “woobifying”, “Slow burn”, and even possibly even “sexuality”.

-Woobifying is a fandom concept of reducing a character to “a cinnamon roll too pure for this world” someone you wanna baby (often applied to trans guy characters whether canon or headcanoned). This one is a bit of reach I’ll admit because it DOES makes sense that after years of living with Karkat the dude would soften up but there were times in the epilogue even Dave admits he’s gotten softer and the dude just plain out was very passive. In my time I’ve seen tons of depictions of Dave as a lot more emotional than shown in the comic or a lot more woobified in fics (like in meteor fics where he often has very dramatic emotional outbursts) By the way this is NOT me shitting on you if you like viewing Dave in that way because a lot people with trauma relate to him and use him for “cathartic release”(me fucking too lol). It’s more a guess/observation of maybe why he’s developed in this way due to the comic now being a strange sponge absorbing all fanon, good and bad, into it weird ass grasp.

-Slow burn is likely the trope that plays into why the hell it took so fucking long for him AND Karkat to admit their feelings. If you have literally ever consumed Davekat content I’m sorry but 99% of it is slow burn lmao every meteor fic is pining, every coffee shop AU is the budding of a lifelong partnership, and every Harry potter furry inflation pwp crossover WHATEVER fic is 10k words building of sexual tension like......To bring their other relationships in canon into this we can see that Dave was able to flirt with Jade and Terezi and entered a relationship with them at a pretty normal rate WHICH can totally be attributed to the fact he views them as girls and himself as heterosexual so was much more comfortable making a move- sure. Looking at Karkat, however, and you see the dude is a little shy about romance sure but he was still able to flirt with Terezi and make awkward moves on John so like......I can’t help but to feel like something outside (us?) was influencing them?

-Sexuality is another sort of reach but I think it’s something to consider. In terms of the comic....when exactly DID canon end? You could argue at the end of act 7.......or the moment John used his retcon powers to create a new timeline. Fandom Dave (on the tumblr side at least) was usually consider queer and a lot people shipped Dave with another dude. Perhaps John going back and rewriting canon helped bring our influence over Dave’s sexuality into the comic? I remember finding out Davekat was canon and confirming my “Dave is bisexual” headcanon and just thinking in wonder how it felt like Hussie was plucking my desires straight from my head and incorporating them. Which made me HAPPY by the way. If this is anywhere even near truth it’s not like he didn’t do a fantastical and natural job of incorporating it into the comic which shows how “incorporated fanon” is not a totally horrendous thing. The comics always done it with fandom memes and such.

-Rose Lalonde. Not too sure what fanon influenes were brought onto her to be honest? In candy she was almost like a creepy stepford wife which is. Bizarre to me. Rose is the most contrary and rebellious character so seeing her settle down like that (OR FUCKING DOING SOME GUYS LAUNDRY) is a little strange. In meat she insists that she is an individual despite being married but that could have EASILY been Dirk’s influence? Also her biggest fandom stereotypes off the top of my head is Know-it-all smug meddler, alcoholic, and elegant. Really none of that was applied so still need to consider her more. The most damning thing however is where is all the piss?? If you look at the amount of piss kink rose fanfiction one has to wonder......and I can’t even continue this joke.

-Jade Harley: Gonna keep it real with ya’ll. I feel like this epilogue gave Jade Harley way more character. She wasn’t given much in canon except for lonely silly girl so it makes sense to me why she’d grow up desperate for physical bonds and inserting herself into relationships. I liked her telling John that she wasn’t some princess in a tower anymore cause it shows she KNOWS how everyone has always viewed her and that’s a little sad. As for tropes around her character.....yep people pleaser, silly girl, hippie, shoved aside for literally any other character......Need to think about her more, too.

-Jake fucking English. What even is there to say? He more than anyone was influenced by fanon and it doesn’t take too much thought to see how. In a lot of fandom jokes and in fanfiction he is basically treated as a stupid piece of meat. I genuinely don’t read much fanfiction about him except from a trust few fans who I know care about him and will write him in a full rounded way. In any case we see a single moment in which Jake has this oppressive narrative taken away from him and it was when he was talking to Dave and Karkat during their election conversation. If that wasn’t already hard enough to read we can look back at the implied rape that took place with him in the beginning of Jane’s relationship with him or over the course of it. John, the one person supposedly not influenced by fanon as he’s still tied to the comic via retcon powers, is even the one to tell people that Jake is basically being raped. So yeah. Good times. I’ll get to Dirk in terms of Jake in a moment L M A O. Imagine that being the saddest lmao you ever just read.

-Jane Crocker: Welp hope you weren't a Jane fan lmao. What can I say except it FEELS like all the subliminal messaging really got to her and she’s like......warped by the condesce? I think if in the comic they showed more of her political takes then maybe this wouldn’t have come as such a shock. Like, I flat out am disgusted by her character now? She’s a facist, abusive, rapist(that was hint, unfortunately)? WOW good take homestuck writting staff?? I mean I know one of you used to write like incest pedo rape porn but aight??????????? Anyways in fanon Jane is treated as the girl who gets in the way of dirkjake so kinda that early 2000s bitchy yaoi girl brand, boring person in the background, or the hottie. They obviously kept saying she was “easy on the eyes” so there’s the hottie trope but that’s about it.

-Roxy Lalonde: Out of ALL the Alphas they fucking escaped with their goddamn dignity PFFT. So in terms of tropes: trans Roxy, alcoholic, and flirty “boy obsessed”.

-So with trans Roxy this is like Dave’s sexuality thing I discussed where a widely celebrated headcanon influenced canon and that not necessarily a BAD thing. Like I said, this theory is that canon is just absorbing fanon for better and for worse. I saw people were bummed they weren’t a trans girl but I am actually down with this for two reasons. 1) being all those memes “what’s your gender?” “the void” and 2) a part being friends with someone who’s trans is.....not being used to seeing them as the gender they actually are but taking the time to learn these new unfamiliar pronouns- and get the fuck over it. It’s their choice and you just gotta accept it despite your feelings.

-alcoholic Roxy was not at all incorporated which is the biggest fanon about her (not as much in recent years thankfully) so honestly? Kinda diminishes my argument. It’s not like the writers were worried that tossing out their progress as person was bad writing lol look at Dirk.

-Flirty Rox. In candy they were SUPER fast moving in their relationship with John and despite towards the end they said that Dirk dying made them wanna do something with their life I just....don’t buy it? Mainly because john who is uninfluenced by the fanon tropes even noticed how fast they were moving and how stepford agreeable wife she’d become.

-Dirk Strider. Aight. So. Here we go. fandom tropes are controlling puppet master, abusive, and cold/uncaring.

-Dirk is a naturally controlling man, yes. Every version of himself struggles with this, yes. Even if we work on issues does not mean old flaws will never leak out, yes. However, after in the comic itself we see conversations with some of his closest companions and the effort he was making and ready to continue making was completely obliterated. Dirk is someone who takes his projects a little too seriously so why would he toss out this one- the most important one in his life? ANYWAY........Dirk in canon is shown that he’s also not great at multi-tasking or really anything that he really makes himself out to be AMAZING at. Don’t get me wrong I actually view Dirk as a complement dude cause he did get all the alphas into the session in a smoothish fashion (yes hal is him so it still counts) but, like, even when Dirk sounds like an AWESOME engineer to Jake he even admits that he basically had the future’s technology to help and it wasn’t that impressive. So now he’s claiming he’s the BEST? Wack.

-Abusive Dirk......The sheer amount of people in the fandom who still misconstrue his character as heartless and the sheer amount of fanfiction of sociopathic Dirk might’ve done something. If he is truly becoming his “ultimate self” and he is heart aspect.....all these fanfiction splinters are getting applied to him as well, ya’ll. INCLUDING one of the epilogues writers who literally used to write fanfiction depicting Dirk as a brutally abusive and manipulative version of himself. With the similarities between their big fic and the homestuck epilogue I can’t help but to wonder if they’re subtly trying to incorporate that? After all Alt Calliope goes into detail about how the writer/narrator is IMPORTANT and when one is someone who enjoys viewing dirk as such....well who’s to say pfft Everything about how Dirk treated Jake was some of the most shocking to me. How did you get the guy taking most of the blame for a relationship gone wrong to a man who in a very rapey way makes someone obsessed with him, stupid, and unable to ever receive respect? Horrifying stuff to read, lads. It makes much more sense to me if you look at this fandom’s perceptions on DirkJake. My god there are some bad takes and there’s a whole section of the fandom who was hellbent on making the ship out to be the most problematic ship to ever occur. So whereas in the comic you have Dave pointing out that both sides had issues and everyone was willing to talk things out you had half the fandom insist that it was all Dirk’s fault and he just COMPLETLY forced himself on an unwanting Jake. Yep, sound familiar?

-cold uncaring. yep tons of depictions of Dirk being cruel to his friends and family and sorry but go reread Homestuck I don’t even know what to tell you if you actually believe that. There’s literally nothing here I could write to help you. As if the whole thing about his character isn’t about how the people around him helped prevent him becoming like that and he hasn’t said in a dozen different ways how much he loves them and wants to treat them better. Get out of here with that shit lmao

I guess all can be said about Dirk at this point is either 1) the absorption of the vast amount of terrible Dirk depictions from ascending to his ult self has warped him 2) he’s playing a villain just because Homestuck being over means not existing which TERRIFIES him and existing is a higher priority than treating the people around him right or 3) caliborn influence

1) For the ascending I’m pretty sure this is the theory that’s gonna be right

2) playing the villain is probably not what it is because on twitter all of the writers are saying the transphobia is literally just him and they’re boosting a lot of theories say “this is a story about friends you love disappointing you and you moving on” So. Yeah. Take that depressing nugget of information. (I literally will be fucking dead inside if that really is where this story is taken. No joke I will probably quit this fandom lol don’t know if any of you really know how big that is for me to say

3) Caliborn? eh maybe who the fuck knows after typing that last bullet point out I’m too bummed to continue this hah

#Homestuck #Homestuck epilogue #upd8 #dirk strider #personal #fyi I love people who tell me when they disagree so if this seems like utter bullshit do not hold back

29 notes · View notes

tabbyclaw · 5 years

Text

Before season four comes along to utterly break our hearts, I wanted to have at least something of this idea posted. Please enjoy the first -- and very rough -- bit of what will eventually be a bit of Hamid/Sasha fluff.

Hamid looked around the small crowd that had gathered in the dining room for breakfast and couldn't help feeling a little uncomfortable. Everyone here was someone he was happy to be in the company of, of course, but the combination of them was somehow unsettling. His friends seemed out of place in this room where he had grown up, and their presence made the absence of some of the people he'd grown up expecting that he would always see here all the more glaring. There were empty spaces where his parents should have been -- his father gone and his mother in no state to deal with visitors -- and Aziza, and Saleh, and nether Azu's gently looming presence nor Grizzop's bubbling energy could fill them. It was as if parts of his world had collided imperfectly, the pieces colliding and breaking and trying to spin off into a new combination that didn't fit anything that had come before.

He wasn't the only one who seemed to be feeling this tension. His friends -- at least, the two who were present -- were treading as carefully as could be expected in the home of near-strangers who had been recently bereaved, Grizzop clearly trying to keep his usual impatience in check and Azu appearing distraught that there was so little she could do to help. Of Sasha there had been no sign yet, which Hamid didn't think was cause for immediate concern even if her absence seemed to make the rest of the scene even more dissonant. But on his family's side the twins were being the twins, now in these uncertain times even more so than usual, and it seemed to have fallen to Saira to take on the role of both hostess to their guests and babysitter to her two littlest brothers. It was a role Hamid didn't envy, although he doubted there was much else he could do to help.

She did seem to be doing a fairly decent job of it, though, whatever worries she might have. She kept the conversation... well, not exactly flowing, but she was accustomed to making people feel welcome and at ease, and she was doing that for their guests now. She let out a polite laugh at something Grizzop said, and then she turned to Hamid with a questioning look. "And will your other associate be joining us this morning?"

Hamid tried to look as if the question hadn't caught him off guard, nor had the way that his little brothers immediately perked up at it. "Yeah, is Sasha coming down for breakfast?" Ismail asked eagerly, leaning across the table to catch every bit of Hamid's response.

Ishak was right behind him. "Do you think she has any more knife tricks to show us?" He was closer to Hamid, and bent forward to jog his elbow. "It's about time you got some cool friends," he said.

Hamid batted him away impatiently. "Far too cool for you," he shot back, almost a reflex. As much as he'd missed his family, he had to admit that it was far easier to be an older brother at a distance, where he could just stick to his vague, hazy memories of a pair of wild little children who had looked up to him and wanted his company without the actual pestering of their wanting his attention. Saving the world didn't seem like such a chore when the other option was putting up with them.

"'S a good question, though," Grizzop added. "Where is Sasha, anyway?" He glanced around the room as if he half expected to see her lurking in a corner, which was probably not the most improbable thing. "We've got things to do today; has anyone seen her?"

It seemed that all eyes were turning to Hamid at this, for reasons he couldn't fathom, and he couldn't help an absurd desire to shrink from them. It felt a bit weird, the way they all suddenly seemed to think that he was going to be the person who would know where she was. But also a bit pleasant, somewhere in the back of his mind, that other people would draw that connection between them, be aware that he was the person here who'd known her the longest and thus might well know her the best. He couldn't help hoping that that was an accurate thought. "I don't believe she's feeling up to any social interaction at the moment," he said, as tactfully as he could manage. It was a guess at best, but knowing Sasha he felt it was probably the closest one. "She'll probably join us a little later, when she's ready to get on with her day."

There was a knowing silence that passed between the members of LOLOMG, obvious enough that Saira raised an eyebrow. "I do hope she's all right," she said, still in hostess mode and being careful not to pry despite what Hamid knew must be a burning curiosity about this strangest of the strange people he had brought home. "Is there anything she needs, do you think? Obviously we want her to be comfortable here, and if there's anything the household can provide..."

There most definitely wasn't, Hamid could tell her that right off. His mind was still burning with the last time he'd seen Sasha in the early morning, even more pale and ashen than usual, the blood pooling through her shirt. It was why he hadn't pressed her today, only knocking on her door to reassure himself that she was there and alive -- for whatever value of 'alive' she was currently occupying, not that he wanted to dwell on that -- without actually trying to get an answer. He'd told her that they were all going down to breakfast and she was welcome to join them, there was a muffled, mumbling grunt of acknowledgment from the other side of the door, and he'd left it at that. Left her at that, to deal with things in her own way and in her own time, as he generally tried to do no matter how much it worried him not to have a more complete understanding of her current situation. "I don't think she does," Hamid said as lightly as possible, not trying to think about how much help she did need and how powerless he and his friends were to do anything but intercede on her behalf with a higher authority and pray that it saw fit to grant her assistance. "But she knows that help is here for the asking," he added, while also reminding himself in his concern that she was still unlikely to ask for it even if she was confident it would be granted. "Right now, I think the best thing is just to leave her to herself for a bit."

Saira was looking at him curiously, and he suddenly felt as if everyone else was, as well. As if he'd said something weird without realizing it, or maybe all the worry he was trying to hide about her was writ large across his face. Saira could always spot his tells, no matter how cool and collected he tried to be, and it seemed that that particular sisterly superpower hadn't diminished with time and distance between them. "Of course," she finally said, breaking the strange tension that had come over the table before turning her attention to the twins. "And that means the two of you, as well. I expect you to be on your best behavior with all of our guests, no matter how unusual the circumstances around them may be."

Ismail rolled his eyes for the both of them. "All right Mum," he sighed.

"Don't be unkind to your sister," Azu scolded gently, and her calm and clear voice cut through the other conversations with surprising, gentle effectiveness. "You're family, all of you, and all of you have gone through a difficult time of it lately. The last thing you need is to be bickering among yourselves." She inclined her head towards Saira. "Although I beg your pardon for speaking out of turn," she added.

"No, you're absolutely right, thank you," Saira said, looking at her little brothers with amusement. "It's always wise to listen to a paladin," she observed to them, and they seemed to have come to the same conclusion as they both settled down a little further into their chairs. Azu might not carry the same fascination for them that Sasha did, but a woman over twice their size and dressed in glowing pink armor was still enough of a spectacle to make them sit up and take notice. Hamid hid his own smile at that, feeling just a bit smug at having been defended from the minor irritation that had been haunting him, but Saira fixed him with a look just as firm as the one that Azu had aimed at his brothers a moment before. "And that goes for all of us." He sank down just the same as Ishak and Ismail had, feeling about six years old under his older sister's inexorably watchful eye.

The conversation continued, bobbing off in a different direction with Saira giving them an overview of some of what was going on in the city and surrounding areas, as well as updating Hamid on some bits of local gossip and notable events that had occurred during his long absence -- and dodging revealing more than was necessary about the family's affairs even more deftly than she dodged revealing anything about the more secretive parts of her job -- while on his other side Grizzop and Azu tried to work out what their next move was for the rest of the day and beyond. Meanwhile Ishak and Ismail appeared to have taken at least part of Saira's warnings to heart, although the only part seemed to have been 'not in front of the guests.' They continued to chatter between themselves, but very quietly and in Arabic. The few snatches of conversation that made their way to Hamid's ears sounded like the standard grumbling and slightly rude jokes of any kids stuck bored at the breakfast table while the adults were talking. They were at least making some effort not to interrupt anyone else, and they weren't saying anything directly insulting -- except occasionally about him, and he knew it was because they knew he could hear -- so he figured that there was no real point in scolding them further. Let Saira deal with it if she felt it was necessary, but he didn't think she would. There was also a little amusement to be derived from the way Azu's eyes would occasionally flicker in their direction as a word or two caught her ear, and the questioning looks she would throw at Hamid as she debated whether or not she should interfere again. His brothers had apparently forgotten -- or just never noticed in the first place -- that one of their guests was just as fluent in Arabic as they were. Just don't believe a word they say about me, all right? Hamid thought silently at her, giving a faint smile at how interested she seemed to be in their conversation.

By the time the second course of breakfast was being laid out on the sideboard and Sasha still hadn't made an appearance, Hamid was starting to worry in earnest. Grizzop had begun tapping the table impatiently, one eye fixed on the door as he awaited her appearance, and even Saira was beginning to falter a bit in her pleasantness as she noted their distraction. "She does know we're all down here, right?" Grizzop finally asked, fixing Hamid with a concerned and curious look.

"She should," Hamid assured him. "I mean, I told her. And she..." Well, she hadn't really responded, had she? But she'd acknowledged him, at least, and that was probably the best he could expect at any rate. "She's... having a hard time," he finally said. It was the only answer he could offer.

"We all are," Grizzop returned at that, although he didn't sound completely devoid of sympathy as he said it. "And she's the one who needs to be here so we can figure out exactly what we need to do next to take care of her 'hard time,' right? So there's only so far that we can do her a favor by giving her some space before it turns into way too much space."

"Yes, but--"

"Not really room for a 'but,' is there? If she's not going to come to us, then someone has to go to her." Grizzop began to push himself away from the table, clearly intent on being the one to do so.

"I'll do it," Ishak said quickly, practically vaulting from his chair.

Ismail was right behind him. "No, I will!"

"No," Hamid said quickly. Probably too quickly, judging by the stares in response. Somehow the thought of letting someone else go after her in her current state felt like some kind of betrayal, especially when it was someone as overeager and wild as his brothers. It was bad enough that he'd seen her in the morning, when he was sure she'd rather he hadn't. If she was suffering something similar, or worse, at least it being him at her door again wouldn't be an additional problem on top of that. And besides, if she really was in some kind of trouble, he wanted to be there for her, just on the off chance that he could do something to help. "No, I mean, you're right," he tried again. "She should be here, and I should have made sure she got down all right. If anyone's going to go haring off after her, it should be me."

Did the stares continue as he started to stand up and head for the door? He didn't know, suddenly too stiff and uncomfortable to actually look at anyone, but he could hear little whispers of Arabic curling around him as the twins took in the situation.

"Oooh, he's jealous now, isn't he?"

"Doesn't want to share her with anyone else, I guess. I told you he fancied her."

"Yeah, fine, you were right."

"Oh."

That last was from Azu, listening in again, and it was the sound of the clouds parting and a mystery that has been left unsolved and uncertain suddenly coming into perfect clarity. The unruffled calm with which Hamid had been ignoring his brothers so far, borne of years of similar teasing from his other siblings every time he'd so much as looked at a girl, evaporated in an instant. "What?"

It was a sudden enough outburst to get everyone else's attention, as well. Saira tensed suddenly, startled out of the way she had been carefully ignoring the twins' gossiping, and Grizzop flicked an ear, newly part of a conversation that had been passing him by and clearly interested in where it was going. All of them seemed to be looking at Hamid, who had been the one to make the most noise about it, but it was Azu who flinched. "I know," she said apologetically. "I should have figured that out already. But I'm still piecing together how exactly this group works, and..." A quick look at Grizzop. "You should have mentioned that, when you were filling me in on all of it."

Grizzop's brow furrowed, and then an eyebrow raised as Hamid's stomach sank. The addition of Grizzop to this conversation could only go badly. "Mentioned what, exactly?"

To give whatever shred of credit might be due, the twins did seem to have figured out that something had gone drastically off the rails with what was supposed to just be a little harassment between siblings. "It was a joke," Ishak hurried to clarify, shooting Hamid a sheepish look. "Just having a bit of fun with him."

It wasn't enough; it would never have been enough. Not to stop that relentless goblin curiosity and the drive to keep tabs on all of the people around him. Grizzop cast Ishak only the barest look, and Hamid one that was only slightly longer, before turning back to Azu as the apparent expert on the situation. "Mentioned what?"

In the brief time that he had known Azu, Hamid had already come to two conclusions: That she was deeply, intensely, fundamentally honest, and that she had very little ability to read a room. It was hard to tell, at this moment, which part of that was going to make this worse for him. She did at least spare a look for Hamid, and he tried to convey some subtle signal that would beg her not to get anyone else involved in this without actually turning it into a desperate flail that would attract even more attention. Far too subtle a signal, apparently, as she returned her attention almost immediately to Grizzop. "That Hamid is smitten with Sasha."

She said it so simply, as if she were commenting on the weather or their itinerary. Not gossiping, just letting him in on the topic of a conversation that he had been inadvertently excluded from, a topic with which she assumed he was already familiar. All of which just made it worse. On the balance, the desperate flailing might have been the less embarrassing option.

"Eh?" Grizzop flicked an unimpressed ear at her. "Why would I bother? It's your lot thinks that kind of thing is relevant." His voice was cool, just restrained enough not to actually come across as contemptuous but with an obvious undercurrent of disdain. He gave Hamid a scrutinizing look. "If it's even accurate."

"Yes, thank you," Hamid started to say, surprised and relieved to have this sudden ally. He had already learned from his siblings -- and his 'friends' at University had only reinforced the lesson -- that there was no point in defending oneself from this kind of accusations, and that the only real solution was to ignore the gentle and not-so-gentle gibes until those who were making them got bored with his lack of reaction, but if there was someone else on his side for once it might go a little bit better.

Azu looked as if she hadn't even considered that possibility. "Sorry," she said as she looked back at Hamid, her face apologetic and still so utterly guileless that he couldn't actually be as annoyed with her as he really wanted to be. "I guess I just assumed that the people who'd know best how to recognize it would be the ones who know you best."

"Which doesn't include my little brothers," he returned, slightly mollified by the turn that the conversation appeared to have taken in his favor. He raised a faintly smug eyebrow at the little brothers in question, and there was a synchronized rolling of their eyes. Apparently there was only so much contrition that could be wrung out of them.

But Azu didn't seem to consider the matter dropped. "And it seemed like such an obvious conclusion to come to, once someone else said it," she continued, as if she were questioning her own instincts in a way that was entirely unnecessary. Why she was looking to Hamid for some kind of confirmation of this he couldn't fathom, and when he continued to give her as blank a stare as he could manage -- he was absolutely aware that it was straining at the corners, thank you very much -- she seemed to give up on the idea.

"'Course you'd think so," Grizzop said quietly. It was still without any real true viciousness to it, but Hamid had the feeling that he'd missed something passing between them and that he might not actually want to know what it had been. He was just happy to take advantage of it if it meant the conversation was going to move away from the invasive and frankly bizarre turn it had taken. But as he sank back into his chair, exhaling relief and subtly letting his fists unclench, he was aware of Grizzop taking the same moment to lean forward towards him, cocking his head speculatively. "Could explain some things, mind," he added, almost offhandedly.

So much for having an ally. "Clearly you've all made up your minds already, then," Hamid said. He was aiming for a dismissive tone, trying to sound like he was more bored than anything without losing that edge of annoyance, but he could feel a tightening in his throat as his voice rose in pitch the way it always did when something bothered him. "I don't know why you're even bothering to talk to me about it, when you could have this entire conversation between yourselves and never have to involve me at all!"

And now he'd done it. There was no chance of getting away from the conversation now, not when he'd made it into a spectacle. He could feel the change in the air in the room, and it was worse now than the unbroken tension had been. Azu's face dropped, and she looked at him with new concern, her brow furrowing. "I'm sure none of us meant to upset you, Hamid," she said quickly and gently, laying a massive hand on his shoulder by way of an apology. "It was just..." She trailed off, seeming lost for an end to that sentence. "A mistaken impression," she finally concluded. "One that got out of hand."

Hamid closed his eyes and buried his head in his hands. He had just woken up, but he was already so tired. The previous weeks had contained so much horror and peril, so much loss, so much that was wrong with the world at large and his corner of it specifically. A little bit of familiar hounding from his family and his new friends shouldn't have been enough to unravel his composure yet again, and yet here he was feeling like everything had somehow gotten away from him again. He sighed through the sinking in his stomach as something in him finally gave in. "No, it wasn't."

He could feel the flurry of confusion rippling around the table at his muffled words. Confusion, and a bit of impatience at what must have seemed from the outside like self-pity. "That's not true," Azu said, still gentle, and he could imagine her eyes boring into his brothers and trying to urge them to offer the same reassurance. "It was well-meant, even if we got it wrong."

He could easily have argued that point, at least where Ishak and Ismail were concerned, if that was actually the issue at hand. But this time it wasn't his brothers he had lost all patience with, but himself. "No," he said again. "I mean, it wasn't a mistaken impression."

His face was still covered, his voice muffled as he made his confession, but he knew better than to think that that would actually stop anyone from hearing it. That friendly hand on his shoulder, still patting him awkwardly, suddenly stilled in its motion, and he could feel the rest of the room going equally quiet as this sunk in. Ironic, really, that he had gotten them to stop talking about him by giving them something to talk about. "Oh," Azu repeated after a moment. It was a sound of realization again, but rather than the sudden shock of a puzzle she hadn't known she was solving falling into place, this was a more gentle sort of understanding. "And she doesn't... oh dear."

Whether she had inferred that Sasha didn't know how he felt or that she just didn't feel the same way, Hamid couldn't guess. Not that it mattered -- the safe bet was that both of those things were true, anyway -- and at the moment he was more focused on the sympathy in Azu's voice and her touch, a reaction that he simultaneously craved and hated. In a better time and place he might have been grateful for her comfort, but not here and now. Not when there was an audience to see him as something pitiable, and when there were so many greater burdens that they had to bear that this one was even smaller and sillier than it would have been normally. He just wanted to let everything go, not even caring anymore what anyone knew or thought they knew after this conversation.

It was Grizzop who broke the silence that had fallen after that remark, cutting in with his own particular brand of sensitivity. "Right, then, so you do fancy her," he said briskly, though not entirely unkindly. He sounded like he was trying to be the reasonable one, injecting a final note of calm into the proceedings before brushing them away, but really it was coming off far more like he had just lost all patience for the subject. Why couldn't he have done so two minutes ago?

His head still in his hands, Hamid felt himself nodding, both reluctant and resigned. What was there to be gained now from protesting? From lying about one awkward, embarrassing little secret when there were so many others -- and so many worse -- that all of them were still carrying? Why should it matter to anyone else that he was suffering from a few butterflies over someone when the entire world was in danger and everything they touched seemed to be crumbling in its own way? If they were going to make a spectacle of his feelings, then let them do it and get it over with now, while he was somewhere familiar where he knew all the escape routes if such a thing became necessary. And while Sasha herself wasn't present. Gods, he would put up with no end of humiliation from his friends and family if only they'd leave her out of it. "Yes, all right?" he finally forced out. The words were weary, but there was also a growing burn of irritation to them as some of the exhaustion that had led to him getting caught up in a confession started to give way to anger at the people who had caused it, and the incessant hounding that had suddenly added this new complication to his life. "For gods' sakes, Sasha is one of the most amazing people I've ever met. She's brave, she's loyal, she's clever, she's got one of the biggest hearts I've ever known..." He could feel his voice going just a bit softer at that, as he said all the things that he'd wanted to say aloud about her for some time now. "Of course I fancy her. How could I not?"

It was possible that someone would have had something to say in response to that, but whatever it might have been was interrupted by the crashing of a plate being dropped that came from too far away to be anyone at the table. Everyone turned to follow the sound, and even as Hamid's head lifted to do the same he could feel his stomach sinking. Because there really was only one thing that could have made this whole thing worse...

Saira was the first to manage a reaction, her hostess instincts kicking in with a bright smile. "Good morning, Sasha," she said cheerfully, and if Sasha had been standing still before she was utterly frozen now. "Lovely to have you joining us. We didn't see you come in."

Hamid didn't think he'd ever seen Sasha looking so trapped before, standing next to the sideboard and clutching a slice of bread. "Right. That's... kinda supposed to be the point, yeah..." She straightened up slightly, clearing her throat. "Anyway. Just. Came down for a bit of breakfast."

"Of course," Saira said, still utterly unfazed. "Help yourself. And you're welcome to join us, as well, if you'd like."

"'M good, thanks," Sasha said vaguely, giving her half a wave, still crouched as if she was trying to escape all of the prying eyes. And while she wasn't making eye contact with anyone -- not terribly unusual from Sasha in any case -- Hamid couldn't shake the feeling that she was very specifically not making eye contact with him. "Think I just. Need some air."

"Take your time." It was Azu who spoke this time, that gentle hand still resting on Hamid's shoulder and keeping him from bolting from the room. "But do come back as soon as you're ready; there's still quite a bit we need to do today."

"Yeah, sure thing." Still not looking at anyone, Sasha collected a few strips of bacon to go along with the bread she'd already secured, and before anyone could say anything further she was gone, slipping out of the open window that had apparently been her point of entry as well.

In the ensuing silence, all the eyes that had turned towards the window now returned to Hamid, looking hungrier and more eager for a response than ever. Silently, he just pressed his head into his hands again. For the first time in a very long time, he felt that he had quite lost his appetite.

#rusty quill gaming #fanfic #my fanfic #Hamid/Sasha #hamid #sasha racket #I will paddle this lonely little canoe with vigor

11 notes · View notes

atrixfromice · 6 years

Text

Yesterday’s ramblings over art appreciation

Just some mushings I wrote yesterday but I didn’t post because it was just too sad...but I think I need to post a quote of a bit of it today, because...

cos I have some personal trouble that’s devasting me, but which it’s quite delicate, so I can’t talk it about with anybody...except my close friends, but I don’t wanna bother them much with it either *blush* So instead I’ll talk about the things about what’s is considered art nowadays that frustrates me, because it’s artist stuff, so I can talk to my fellow artist, some of they might feel identified with me. I feel that might help me out to overcome my frustration in general and feel better about my current situation in general.

It is ok to feel down sometimes when you’re passing through hard times... Isn’t it?... I just...I try so hard to balance my own feelings and the others’ to keep the sadness to myself so I don’t spread negative feelings to the people I appreciate the most! but sometimes it’s just too much to keep inside..

I think I should do like my friend Jame and just say that I’m down and I would like you to send some cute hug gifs to be remembered that I’m appreciated...that I’m not alone...but I think too much and I feel too much sometimes...So sometimes it's relieving to talk about that and makes me feel better.

I promise this will be the last “sad writting” I’ll do. I’ll do my best to try be more light and positive on the things I write from now on! Because I know sad feelings are not fun to read *blush*... I wouldn’t like to scare away y’all folks, specially not right now you have been so nice and supportive with me! so, don’t worry you don’t need to read this :) Ignore it *blush* Probably I’ll feel better just with writting it.

But in the case you read it, I would like to hear your opinion about it. Do you think there’s justice for artists on these days?....Great artists get the feedback and love they deserved? Or like me do you think there’s some artist who get appreciation they don’t deserve cos they have not been worked for it? And some artists who deserve appreciation cos they work hard to do great things don’t get it?

I also wonder...if there’s no man justice for artists...God’s justice exist on these case?...

I wanna believe it does...even if I haven’t seen it yet but...I think it will arrive to me one day and I’ll get the answer to solve this problem of lacking of time and energy and my dream of finishing this webcomic will come true. Cos God knows I’ve been working hard on this projetc and I’m giving my soul and mind to it!

It's been a while since I really felt I have the strenght to draw something really well done, just cra...I mean, messy sketches.

Things are no longer like they used to be on the internet either....Are they?...People on dA doesn't really appreciate artwork like they used to some years ago... Long are the days where I used to get great feedback anywhere ...and when I see a 13 years old opera singer that becomes famous for singing on a talent show, even if is not a good singer, just because of their short age...or a 20's or less years old who gets to work for big studios like Disney, dreamworks or Cartoon Network, because they think their ideas are "awesome and brilliant"..when their cartoons stories and characters are not even creative or well developped!But the same silly and hollow stuff we usually see on cartoons recently...

And meanwhile, I'm here trying with all my heart to create a comic that can be creative, funny, original, heartwarming, and also meaninful!! I care about the narrative, the character's personality and design, the character's backstories, the graphic visuals, that the pace of the story is fluid, that the story has no plot holes, and all that sh-I mean, stuff people have to care about when they make a comic. And plus to that, that everything can be scientifically accurate while being also meaningful, endearing, funny, and entertaining!

I’ve seen, that every new cartoon is just a shameless clone of something that had been made before, or sometimes a silly weird mix of a lot of other cartoons made in the past (*coughstarvstheforcesofevilforanexample*) Dumb, shallow, or/and gross out humor powered. That's the "winning formula" for a cartoon show, movie or comic to attract the people in these days, for what I've seen.

But... why?....why?!!...I just wanna know why....

It’s not much better an original, well developped story and characters than just a clone of other existing cartoons?

For me it is!!!

So that’s why I'm still here pouring every bit of my soul and brain power to it! And using the little strenght I have after work for it! Without any resources, without any kind of help from anybody. And nobody cares about it!!

And then I realize that this feeling...

That overwhelming feeling that tears me down and makes me feel heavy and useless...like an insignificant piece of *ehem*...space dust... The feeling that my comic doesn't avance because I have not the strenght to draw it, and it will likely never be realized...And I feel like it's not fair that dumb and shallow nonesense its trendy, and a well thought story is boring and unnoticed. And I'm not talking just about my work, but also I've seen a lot of great artist and great webcomics being ignored and unnoticed.

I just feel it's not fair....that the justice it's lacking in these situations! And when I see that, I feel like a looser... Like... Like a really insignificant old and pathetic looser which nobody cares about, who has done nothing relevant or really valuable in her life.... I work all the day and when I get home I barely have the force to keep my eyes open, much less to draw...This is when I realize things are no longer like they used to be... But even if I had energy left to draw...would it worth the effort to do it? I wonder that very often... I would like to ask you a question, right here, right now. If I would die tonight...would you miss me? The people I know where I live answer its a no....or “yes” on my mon’s case.... And I wish yours it's yes....I hope with all my heart it is a yes, because I wanna know I’m not alone in this world!...I don’t wanna feel...insignifant...

Sorry, I don't want to sound pessimist, and usally I’m not! I'm all the contrary, I'm very positive. I've just had a hard day today and it's really frustrating to not be able to do new drawings anymore because of lacking of energy.

2 notes · View notes

the-rats-story · 6 years

Text

Spooktober: Day 1: Trick

A Labyrinth Story: Trick

“Hurry up, Sarah! We’re gonna miss out on the best candy!” Toby whined as he tugged on his sisters hand. Sarah smiled down at her enthusiastic brother.

“Calm down, kiddo, we still have over an hour.” She chided.

“That’s not the point! If we don’t hurry all the other kids will get the good candy and we’ll be stuck with the gross ones! And no one at school will want to trade with me!” Toby pulled even harder on Sarah’s hand, leaning forward to try and gain some momentum.

“Alright, alright! God forbid you don’t get to trade your candy tomorrow! It would ruin you in the eyes of your friends!” Sarah put a hand to her head in a mock faint. Toby rolled his eyes, but refused to reply. He was used to his sister’s dramatic antics by now. He was seven, after all. Practically an adult. Sarah let out a laugh and picked up her pace.

She supposed Toby had a point, there were a lot of kids out Trick-or-Treating this year. She suspected that a good amount of them were from other neighborhoods and their parents had brought them to this one because it had good lighting and wide sidewalks. It was a “safe” neighborhood. She thought that some of the neighbors might have suspected this would happen, as a few of them went all out with their decorations. Flashing lights, spooky lawn ornaments, and recorded screams combined with the high volume of children in costumes created a rather disorienting feeling. Sarah made sure to keep a tight hold on her little brother.

The two siblings marched up to the next house on the street and Toby knocked with determination.

“Trick or treat!” Sarah and Toby shouted in unison. The woman at the door pressed a hand to her chest in mock fear.

“Goodness! If it isn’t the Addams siblings! Wednesday and Pugsley!” She exclaimed. Toby let out an excited gasp.

“You’re the first grown up to get it!” He shouted, beaming.

“I am? Goodness! Well, I say you deserve extra candy as an apology for all the other ‘grown ups’ you’ve visited tonight! Your costumes are spot on!” The woman said, shooting Sarah a wink. Toby held out his bag, grinning a Cheshire cat’s grin. The woman dropped a few pieces in his bag before turning to Sarah, who sheepishly held out her own bag. The woman chucked as she gave Sarah just as much candy. Sarah knew that at 21 she was far too old to go trick or treating, but she couldn’t say no when Toby asked her to take him. And she figured if she was going to put all of the work into dressing up and going door to door with Toby, she might as well reap some reward.

“Well you two have a happy Halloween, and be safe tonight!” The woman said with a pointed look at Sarah. You keep an eye on him, it said. Sarah nodded back, I will. Sarah took Toby’s hand again as they walked back to the street. The woman had nothing to worry about. Sarah was, to put it mildly, protective of her little brother. She loved him more than anything in the world. He was a part of her soul. Even now, when she had her own apartment and a full-time job, she made sure to spend as much time as she could with Toby. The days she couldn’t visit him, she would make sure to call him and talk to him. Even if all Toby wanted to talk about was what happened on the most recent episode of his favorite cartoon, Sarah made sure she made the time for him.

“Woah! She gave me full-sized candy bars!” Toby exclaimed, his head practically completely shoved into his bag. Sarah gave a low whistle. Full sized candy bars were no joke. She was about to check her own haul when someone bumped into her shoulder.

“Hey, watch-” Sarah bit off her sentence when she looked around to see who the offender was. She barely caught a glimpse of wild blonde hair and a black cloak before the figure disappeared behind a group of rowdy trick-or-treaters. Something about that figure gave Sarah the oddest sense of deja-vu.

“Sarah?” Toby tugged at her shirt, “Sarah, what’s wrong?”

“I thought I saw something….” Sarah murmured. Taking a step in the direction the figure had retreated.

“What did you see?”

“I’m not sure… he went this way.” Sarah tugged Toby along with her, trying to find the figure again. She ignored Toby’s protests and marched back the way they came. Something told her that she knew who the figure was, but she couldn’t remember. There! This time Sarah was able to see a bit of a white, flowy shirt under the cloak and leather boots. The pushed past masked trick-or-treaters and annoyed parents, dragging Toby behind her.

Alarms rang in her head. Some long forgotten memory itched to resurface, but no matter how hard Sarah dug, she couldn’t uncover it. She felt like she had done this before, searched this man out in a mass of costumed people. Only catching glimpses before he disappeared again. She barely registered Toby’s worried questions as they began to walk further and further away from the houses with the candy and closer to the deserted park. Less people surrounded them, but the stranger was now hidden by trees and bushes.

Strangely, Sarah could hear laughter around her, accompanied by rustling leaves and quick moving shadows. The smell of peaches wafted on the breeze. Sarah felt some old memory beating on a wall in her mind, begging to be released.

“SARAH!” The shout, emphasized with a small fist hitting her back, broke Sarah out of her trance. She gasped as she looked around, realising just how far they had gone. Toby was crying, clawing at the hand she was holding him in a death grip in.

“Oh, Tobes, I’m sorry!” She knelt down and brought him against her in a crushing hug.

“Yo-you weren’t answering me! And you k-kept walk-walking! And you wouldn’t let-let go!” He wailed into her chest, he leaned back to look at her, “Why?”

“I’m sorry! I was following that man, I don’t know what came over me! I didn’t mean to scare you Toby! I should have known better than to follow a stranger.” She explained, tears pooling in her eyes as she thought of the danger she had led her precious brother into. Toby looked at her in confusion, tears still streaming down his face.

“What man? Sarah, there wasn’t anybody else here! You just walked and walked and walked and didn’t listen to me!” He sobbed. Sarah’s blood turned to ice. She looked around to see if the blonde stranger was there, but there was no hint of him. No rustling bushes, no leather boots, no peach scent. Had she imagined it all? She stood up and scooped her crying brother into her arms.

“Let’s go back to the houses, okay? We’ll get all the candy we can carry! And you can have all of mine as an apology, okay?” She murmured as she walked as fast as she could out of the park. Toby rested his head on her shoulders and nodded.

“I’m so sorry, Toby.” Sarah sighed. Perhaps she hadn’t seen anything at all. Perhaps it had all simply been a trick of the light.

---

My first time trying any sort of writting challenge! I only had about an hour to throw this together, so sorry for any mistakes/shitty writting!

#labyrinth #sarah #jareth #spooktober challenge #day1 trick #day 1 #sarah x jareth #fanfiction #story

18 notes · View notes

ericlwoods · 6 years

Text

Not sure how to start this write up. There is some hesitancy on my part, but not for the usual reasons.

Not for fear of Leica adherent backlash. I am a casual member of the same. Very much enjoyed a brief Leica film dalliance I fully understand the Leica allure.

https://flic.kr/p/26omc7J

And I loved what the Leica M3 (KEH Blog Post here) could do.

https://flic.kr/p/YPNiHi

What happened? As much as I loved the M3 functionally it was a dead end fiscally.

Body: I would rather in body metering. But that means a film M6 (M5 also technically) which currently goes for more than a few brand new full-frame digital cameras.

Lens: Had and loved the Voigtlander 50mm f/1.5. But why not a proper Leica? They are quite expensive, especially when you go wider than f/2. Multiples of the cost of the M3 body alone used in fact.

Media: An M mount digital Leica was beyond my reach. The cost of moving to a digital M mount was a hard proposition for me personally.

Sidebar: Not saying digital M mounts are not worth the price. They are. Simply a matter of them costing more than I am willing or able to spend.

What did I do next? I already enjoyed Voigtlander lenses so I went for a less expensive Voigtlander Bessa R2 that has in body metering.

https://flic.kr/p/261676d

Perfect for my purposes for much less spend. So it looks like I dodged the Leica bullet. What happened? Put simply the Q happened.

As soon as it was released back in 2015 I knew the Q would haunt me. Some scoffed at such an expensive all in one camera. Not me. Without knowing anything more the mere fact that this was a camera with:

An AF Summilux lens included where a manual focus M version would cost more alone.

No rangefinder, but zoom and peeking aids like those I grew to appreciate on other mirrorless cameras.

Full frame. As much as I appreciate the Leica name I would not purchase a less than full frame lens Leica product.

I stopped reading further. Knew I was in trouble. A close encounter with a Q in the wild proved problematic as well. On a local photo walk accomplished photographer Edde Burgess took what is still to this day my favorite portrait of me.

Edde took this with his Leica Q that I tried not to look directly at during the walk for too long. In short, I had a medium format film camera in hand and a bag full of digital gear, while Edde was rolling with one self-contained wonder. Still, I resisted.

Then after some years went by…

A Q showed up at my local camera shop recently.

Dang it.

Took it in hand and told myself not to look at the price on the bottom. I looked. Was initially stunned by, but not really surprised by, the price. Holding its value better than I had hoped.

Went home and looked at the prices of examples online and realized the Q really holds its value. This local example was very much priced to move. If I ever was going to get one this would likely have to be it. Dang it.

Went on to finally read and watch the reviews and deep dive into the specs I had all avoided all of these years. Hope was that these would back me down. Snap me out of it. Sheesh. A rare consensus. Praise after praise. And the specs listed features I did not expect of any all in one camera, especially a Leica.

OIS

Found this particularly surprising. My one real bogey, the RX1, does not have this feature. Digital stabilization does not count. Having long become spoiled with OIS it is now a must-have feature.

Macro

So avoided early reviews and specs that I had no idea that it had a macro function. The party piece is the shifting distance markings. Amazing bit of engineering and design that actually works.

Leaf shutter.

Silent shooting with physical shutter up to 1/2000s and flash sync up to 1/500s. Will not ever likely use flash, but the silent shooting is a definite plus.

E-shutter.

Up to 1/16,000s shutter. What? This means completely silent stills in daylight with the aperture wide open without an ND filter any time I want.

WiFi/NFC.

Well implemented remote control and file transfers by all accounts. I see you Leica.

10fps… 10fps!

3 years old and bests the rightly highly regarded newbie 8 fps A7iii (No ding intended. Love that camera. Just facts.).

AF.

Fast and accurate AF on a full frame Leica. That is a ‘take my money’ sentence.

Direct manual focus.

With assists. WIth hard stops. Focus tab with an ingenious AF/MF switch built in.

Not drive by wire. With zoom and peeking. No. it is not a proper rangefinder, but it more than makes up for it with it’s well thought out and elegant implementation.

Face detect AF.

Another ‘take my money’ feature.

Touch screen with touch focus.

Greatly helps to mitigate the omission of a tilt screen for me.

AF Tracking.

Actually works.

Favorites menu.

Most recent firmware I installed added a favorites menu where you can choose what comes up first. Found the menus already to be intuitive and quick to navigate, but this is even better.

User profiles.

Quickly switch between my favorite self defined configurations (B&W/High Speed/Street/Normal) just like I have set on all of my other cameras.

Video.

Not pro grade. No mic jack. Not 4K. But AF tracking is good and more than serviceable for the few occasions I would want to capture video.

Decided a test drive was in order. Does it add up? Have been disappointed in the past when real life experience does not match the hype and/or spec sheet. Not the case here.

Lower price non Leica comparisons.

Having owned and tried many digital cameras (Sony RX1 line, Fuji X100 line, Ricoh GR line and the like) I can honestly say that this camera is greater than the sum of its parts. It is not about capability since any number of cameras can produce excellent images. But even if you took the word Summilux out of the equation this camera matched or bested every camera listed above ergonomically in my book. I spent near no time staring at the camera wondering how to change setting X or Y. Switch to MF? Move the focus wheel on the lens away from AF. Change the aperture manually? Move the dial on the lens off of A. Change the shutter speed manually? Move top plate mounted shutter dial off of A. Change the ISO? Press button on the back marked ISO and turn the wheel. Hey, what is this unmarked dial on the top do? What do you know it adjusts the exposure compensation. All this in the first few moments after having picked up the camera without ever picking up a manual or visiting Youtube. Your mileage may vary, but add the Summilux name back in on top of that (and my notes below) and it is a no brainer for me.

Higher price Leica comparisons.

Leica M acolytes look away until the next paragraph. Nothing to see here… Seems absurd to say, but at the Qs price point there is value to be had here. To achieve the equivalent Leica M specs of this lens and body combination one would need to spend many thousands more for a digital 24MP M 240 body (new or used) or Summilux lens (any focal length used or 28mm new). And I did say ‘or’ not ‘and’. Combine the two and you easily surpass what I paid for my dadmobile daily driver on up into five digits. Some would say that an M advantage is that you can change the lens. Moot point for me. Truth is that if I ever did buy a comparable M lens and body there would be no budget left ever for another lens. And no AF at that price. Tell me of a less expensive AF true Summilux full frame experience anywhere and I am all ears. Not arguing worth. Stating what I am personally willing to pay.

But both comparisons ultimately miss the point. To say the most cliched of cliched things you have to use it and evaluate the results for it to make sense. Hard to relay in words, but since we are here let me try. Imagine if you combine:

Summilux.

I.E. outstanding sharpness wide open, class leading sharpness stopped down a little, great focus fall off, great contrast, creamy bokeh, and wonderful colors. Best lens I own hands down is permafused to this camera.

Near DSLR speed swift and accurate AF acquisition.

Even in low light. How they did this with contrast detect AF only I have no idea. Some Panasonic partner magic perhaps?

10fps.

With useable AF-C tracking in a pinch. That bests all of my other quite capable interchangeable lens cameras.

Best of the best mirrorless manual focus implementation.

Utterly silent shooting.

Best of any digital I own 1/16,000s shutter speed available.

Not to be used for panning/fast moving objects or it will distort, but fantastic in relatively static brightly lit conditions. 1/2000s leaf shutter available if need be for motion.

24.2MP.

This the goldilocks MP count for me. Any less is not enough of a post crop detail safety net for my liking. Any more eats into archive RAW archival storage space quickly and noticeably impacts the speed of my post processing workflow.

Full frame.

Some of my favorite work ever was done in MFT. APS-C is just fine for most all purposes. But if available I prefer full frame.

OIS.

Mentioned above, but deserves mentioning again.

Time lapse, panorama and other scene modes.

Have not gotten around to using any of this yet. But glad it has them.

Macro.

Mentioning again, because this is not just macro writ large on a non macro lens, but actual fast AF wonderfully implemented real deal macro capabilities.

EVF.

Best EVF I have ever used. And I have used a lot of EVFs.

In body 35mm and 50mm field of view crop.

May seem silly since you can crop after the fact. Made more useful since the images are so sharp that cropping still leaves plenty of detail.

Great for sharing real time with the Leica app. Crop while you shoot instead of after the fact.

If you shoot RAW and JPEG like I do it is the best of both worlds since RAW files are not cropped.

Monochrome JPEGs.

There are other JPEG settings, but this is the only one that matters to me.

Small.

No, not as small as the also full frame RX1 line, but tried it and that camera is too small for my beef mitts. Bought and sold two RX100 cameras for the same reason. For me there is such a thing as too small. A nice size with half case and hood, but remove both and I am able to get this camera into a jacket pocket. Plus more compact than a similar M set up. And far more compact than a similarly spec’d A7III and lens. I believe this may be the most compact brighter than f/2 full frame digital camera and body combination on the market currently.

Summilux, summilux, and in conclusion summilux.

But not so fast. There have to be minuses, right?

Focal length.

This was one potential demerit that concerned me. As I have pointed out ad nauseam my usual go-to prime focal length is 50mm or thereabouts. But in use, the 28mm focal length has not proved to be an issue at all. It has forced me to move in to get the shot sometimes, but this is where the small, silent, and quick nature of this camera pays dividends. So far I have thoroughly enjoyed taking shots while in the fray rather than having to back up and away. Has proven handy with environmental candid shots also. And if I do need to step back the bright aperture, ample MPs, accurate focus, and very sharp lens means that cropping is no issue. I should not have been surprised since two of my favorite all in one film cameras are 28mm.

Lack of weatherproofing.

Would have been nice. But not really an issue for me. Some of my cameras are weatherproofed technically and they all get put away at the first sign of rain regardless.

Saved the most biased, eye roll/cringe inducing, subjective assessment for last.

Fun.

Fun to use. Fun to review the results. A highly technical and very capable contraption that is simple to use for any situation that does not require a superwide or telephoto lens. I have cameras that have high keeper rates. The Q is the rare camera that has a high “wow factor” rate. And the only one I own film or digital with that “wow factor’ that does not have some usability compromise involved.

So much so that I have gone from carrying a gear bag everywhere to just carrying this camera. In fact I have already traded quite a bit of the gear the Q displaces without hesitation to partially fund this acquisition.

But lastly it has been out so long you might mention. True. But I know of no camera released since that tops this camera. Some mentioned a Leica Q 2 one day, but why? In my humble opinion there is little that would improve this camera.

So in case you were still wondering I like it. A lot.

Here are some sample shots below and here is a link to an ongoing gallery.

Happy shooting.

-ELW

The Leica Q 4 years on: An amazing camera still. @leica_camera #leicaq #leica #leicaqtype116 Not sure how to start this write up. There is some hesitancy on my part, but not for the usual reasons.

1 note · View note

notepadsandtealeaves · 3 years

Note

Hi, I just found your blog and it's wonderful!! I usually do this thing where I ask writers what their favorite things they have written is so that I can read those pieces. So, what pieces of yours would you recommend I should definitely read? Feel free to elaborate as much or as little as you want :))

First let me say hello and welcome to my blog—where the updates are infrequent, but usually (extremely) lengthy. ((way too lengthy, some might argue, but those people would be wrong lmao))

And secondly—well aren’t you sweet!

Not knowing what fandom brought you here I’m not exactly sure what to suggest, so I’ll just give you a bit from each one I currently write for.

The Batboys

Most of what I’ve written for these lads has been for my 12 Days of Batmas series. The Christmas series that has taken me 2+ years to write lmfaooo. Look, the 2020s have been ass so far, and inspiration likes to abandon me at years end, but anyways! Most fills are a HC/ficlet combo of varying lengths. It’s an all-around fun read, I think, and there’s a lot there despite the fact that I’ve yet to finish it.

As far as individual works go, Maybe (Love, Once Lost) is definitely a favorite despite the mental toll it took on me lol. I love reading angst and H/C fics, but writing them is… an experience. Probably wouldn’t have been so bad, but I was also writing like three other angsty pieces (they were fills for an event and I wanted to get them done ASAP) so I was already feeling the strain. The writing process gave me a lot of grief, but looking back on it now I’m p. happy with the way it turned out.

And as a palate cleanser for all that pain, Damian’s installment in the Autumn’s Arrival series is a cute little read (littlebeing used loosely here since I have a penchant for wordiness, as you can probably tell lmao).

In recent years Haikyuu!has become my main fandom, and I’m okay with that lol. As for works—honestly anything I write for Asahi is an instant favorite because he’s the loml, my sunshine, my Big Texas Cinnamon Roll lol. But if I had to pick my current favorite it’d probably be my latest piece for him, It’s so Lovely, Loving You; it’s a songfic based around one of my favorite songs by one of my all-time favorite artist. It was very relaxing to write, despite the lil dash of angst in the middle.

As for the rest of the fandom… The Autumn’s Arrival series is mostly comprised of HQ boys at current, despite the fact that it’s technically multi-fandom lol. I know I’ve mentioned it before, but it really is one of my favorite things I’ve ever written in general. A lot of people have described those fics as warm hugs, and honestly that’s all I ever wanted lol. They’re v. much meant to be comfort fics, so I’m happy to know that I’ve been able to consistently hit my mark. ((also writing this has reminded me that I need to update my m.list lol))

And lastly if you’re looking for really long, drawn out character study type deals, the Love You Like I Do series is a pretty interesting read, if I do say so myself. It’s currently on hiatus for the for foreseeable future, tho at current I’ve covered all of Karasuno’s first and third years (well aside from Kiyoko as I’m including her with the team’s management).

MHA

I haven’t written much for this fandom—a far as published works go, anyways. I’ve got a lot of WIPs, but god only knows when they’ll be released. At current there’s only the love letters written for my 2021 Valentine’s Day event (characters included are Eraserhead, Present Mic, and Hawks) and the NSFW ABCs written for Dabi (please excuse the look of this one; I’ve yet to go back and give it a facelift lol). Despite the fact that it was my first time writing for any of them, the letters were super fun to write as all of the guys are comfort characters for me. The ABCs were also a really fun write because I love Dabi’s trifling ass so damn much. I just love the dude’s energy, and what that says about me I do not rightly know lmao…

RDR

Most of what I’ve written for my cowbabies is over on my main blog (please ignore the state of that m.list, it still needs to be edited), but it’s all all NSFW so if that’s not your thing feel free to ignore that lol. (it’s also Javier-centric, with one random Strauss HC thrown in for texture and flavor lol)

On a more wholesome note, I did installments for all of the van der Linde gang in that VDE that I mentioned before. Sadly, my favorites are also some of the most overlooked, so I’m more than happy to give them a shout out now.

Unsurprisingly those listed aren’t exactly the fandom’s darlings, so it isn’t a surprise that they didn’t get much attention, but it’s still lowkey disappointing nonetheless.

That said, don’t feel the need to read them—or anything else I’ve listed—if you’re not that way inclined! At the end of the day fan fics (and fandom as a whole) are meant to be a form of enjoyable escapism—if more people remembered that and acted accordingly this damned hellsite would be a far chiller place, but ever as always I digress…

Alright, I’ve prattled on way longer that I probably should have, but such is my way lol. Thanks for taking the time to reach out, I really do appreciate it!! And do so I hope you enjoy your stay on my blog 💖

#them (in good faith): elaborate as much as you want! :D #me (being the wordy lil goblin i am): you sure about that fam?? lmao #just popped on here in between adulting and there's so many nice'n'sweet reblogs as well as this and i just...#i am feeling so many things #my heart is doing a swoop thanks for liking my work so much guys ;n;#i'm gonna reply to those reblogs too but it'll probably be late tonight or tomorrow as i still have Things(TM) to do--more's the gd pity :/#anyways...#asks answered

0 notes

aion-rsa · 4 years

Text

The Challenges of Creating Power Rangers Dino Fury

https://ift.tt/3a3NwmS

The current season of Power Rangers isn’t done yet but fans are already looking to the future more so than usual. Why is that? It’s the 28th season of Power Rangers so it’s not an anniversary. The theme of the season is dinosaurs, which is a nice connection to the past, but not one that builds this much anticipation from hardcore fans.

The excitement actually comes from behind the scenes. Dino Fury has a new executive producer, Simon Bennett. Joining long time producer Chip Lynn, fans are eager to see what Bennett will bring to the table and how he may or may not change the formula of the long running franchise. Not only that but Bennett is shepherding the show as news of a new live-action movie, “non-kid” TV show, and animation are on the horizon. Will Dino Fury be a part of this new rebooted Power Rangers universe?

Bennett sat down with us over Zoom to discuss this, the unique casting process of the season amid COVID-19, gender flipping one of the Rangers from the Sentai, and much more!

DEN OF GEEK: You’ve been directing on the show for four years and now you’re an executive producer. How have you taken the lessons you learned as a director on the show and applied them to your new role as the executive producer?

SIMON BENNETT: I think having directed four seasons means that I understand how the jigsaw puzzle that is Power Rangers works. When I first came on board as a director, it was mindbogglingly difficult.

All the component pieces, how it all fits together, Japanese footage, second unit, main unit, stunts, action, who does what. Any one scene might be broken into three or four parts to different people who manage different aspects of their scene. Working out how they all fit together and communicating with all the various people who are responsible for all the various pieces, is a challenge as a director.

What I’m doing now as showrunner, it’s the same challenge, but writ large, because my purview also encompasses writing the stories, and at the other end of the shoot, post production, visual effects, music, all those elements. I’ve done this before on other shows and I really enjoy having that creative overview.

With Power Rangers, it is so complex and big, the machine, that it’s never dull. I’m constantly occupied from the moment I wake up, to the moment I go to sleep I’ve got questions coming at me about this bit of that episode, or that bit of this episode. I’m rushing into visual effects to approve a shot, or into writing to solve a question, or talking to the directors, or I’m on set helping out maybe with a performance scene that second unit find themselves directing.

So I’ve done a bit of directing on Dino Fury as well, which keeps my hand in. It’s incredibly busy and a lot of fun because at the heart of Power Rangers there’s a kind of joy, because the material is light, it’s silly, it’s fun, and it’s exciting. It brings out the inner kid in everyone working on it. Which is one of the things that makes it a pleasure to work on.

Are there any new focuses behind the scenes to keep all things consistent behind the scenes?

I can’t go into details, but I can say that a lot of thought has gone into the new season, and it is certainly a development that I think will excite and intrigue and hopefully delight the fans when they see it.

Many of the cast members of Dino Fury have significant social media followings. Was that intentional as part of the casting process or just a happy coincidence?

I think it’s a happy coincidence. We cast the people who have the skills necessary for the roles. We didn’t cast people because of their social media following. So I think that is a happy coincidence.

We’re well into the shoot now. We’re about to break for Christmas in a couple of weeks time. And I have seen, I think it’s safe to say, I have seen eight completed episodes, and I’m very, very excited with how it’s going. I think the cast is fantastic.

The decision was made to gender swap one of the Rangers from the Sentai, which hasn’t been done since the early 2000s. Were you a part of that decision or do you know why it happened finally?

I was part of that decision, and it was really about diversity. It was really about wanting the cast of the show to represent a little bit more of a balanced representation of people than Sentai delivered us. They had five men and one woman in Sentai, Ryusoulger, which we’ve adapted. We really wanted there to be at least one more female character. We’ve been very careful with all the guest characters as well, to ensure that there is a gender balance within the cast.

What was the casting process like amid all of the COVID restrictions? You were casting people over webcams and such. What were the challenges there?

It was tricky. It took longer than it would have taken normally. In an ideal world, I would have gone to the States for the final round of auditions. You start with maybe 4,000 people and then you narrow that down to maybe 30, and those final 30 we’ll get intensive auditions with the executive producers.

That would ideally be in person, but we couldn’t do it in person because of COVID. I know that Chip Lynn went back to the States, and he met at four-meter distance, in a tent, with open sides, in a park, the final candidates to have a meet and greet, and see what kind of people they were. But that wasn’t any type of audition because we actually weren’t able to do (traditional) auditions. The final auditions for the American cast were done by Zoom, basically.

They would play the scene, often they were at home, and often it was their mom or roommate who was reading the offlines. So the caliber of the audition was variable, trying to get them to set up their phone in a way that presented them in the most favorable light was a challenge.

And so they would play the scene and then I would give them some notes to see how flexible they were as actors. And they’d do it again. And we went through maybe three stages of this process with the final 30 odd actors. We would try them out on a new scene (as well.)

Finally, we narrowed it down to the people that we wanted. I was also running auditions in Australia and New Zealand. And Australia, because it looked in the early stages of COVID as if there was going to be some trans-Tasman bubble, so there would be free travel between Australia and New Zealand.

That turned out not to be the case, so we haven’t cast anyone in Australia. But we ran auditions in New Zealand, and because we’re very lucky here in that COVID is under control, basically our borders are closed. And the only cases that exist are people who are coming into the country, returning New Zealanders go in quarantine.

There’s no community transmission. So it’s strange, but we’re able to operate pretty much business as usual here. So I was able to do in-person auditions in New Zealand, which were very successful. We cast our secondary characters and our guest characters that way.

Hasbro CEO Brian Goldner stated in a recent interview that Jonathan Entwistle, who’s directing the new Power Rangers movie and overseeing the new shared universe, is handling “the kids-oriented TV show that’s in its 27th season.” Have you and Entwistle had any contact with each other?

No. I know as much as you do, because I read about it online as well. It’s completely news to me. I’ve had no contact with Mr. Entwistle.

The Top 54 Power Rangers Episodes That Will Make You a Fan

By Shamus Kelley

Power Rangers and How It Adapted From Super Sentai

By Shamus Kelley

So right now you’re just making your PR season, there’s no a “you’ve got to think about this movie. You’ve got to think about this animated show.” There’s none of that right now?

No, none of it. We’ve pretty much finished writing the entire season of Dino Fury, and we’re well underway with shooting, and we have interfaced with various executives within Hasbro and eOne and it’s going very smoothly. There’s been no external pressure on the show to make it something other than what it has always been going to be. If that makes sense. But things are going very smoothly.

What’s it like working with the cast? A lot of them have come from America, where we’ve very much had to be dealing with COVID. Now they’re able to live life normally in New Zealand.

Well, they don’t have a lot of time to live normally when they’re here, because they’re usually picked up at about five in the morning and driven to makeup, and on set. They have very long days because the actors playing the Power Rangers, when they’re not on main unit, they’re on second unit. So they will be working from 5:30 (in the morning) until 6:30 at night. Long days.

Then they’ve got to look at learning lines and material for the next day. And their weekends, I think they’re out and about exploring Auckland and enjoying the summer. I mean, what I would say about the cast is that they’ve got a huge amount of excitement, and enthusiasm to their work and maybe the anticipation in the States after they found they were cast and having to keep the secret. Then the two weeks quarantine that they had to go through when they arrived in New Zealand serves to heighten that anticipation, but they certainly haven’t lost the enthusiasm since they started shooting.

I’m aware that in previous seasons, the cast have been able to go home over the Christmas break and spend things like Christmas with their family. And we can’t do that because of COVID, and quarantine, and those kinds of issues.

So I think the cast during our Christmas hiatus, will be traveling around New Zealand and exploring the country and just enjoying the summer. We’re doing what we can to give them a Thanksgiving dinner, or a Christmas dinner, to give them a sense of family as much as we can. But they all get on very well with each other. I’ve heard no complaints, and they seem to be relishing being Power Rangers.

You had mentioned in our last interview that the start of production had to be delayed a little bit because of COVID. Has there been an attempt to catch up to where you would be, or is it just, “Okay, we’re just shooting it as we normally would.”?

Production can’t go any faster than it does because it is a fast show anyway, so that two months delay in starting shooting will have a ripple effect right through production. Post has been squeezed a little bit. We’re trying to actually complete the episodes a little earlier than we would if the two month delay had to trickle down through into the post production period. But beyond that, I can’t say much more because it’s commercially sensitive.

Can you comment on whether there’s going to be more than 20 or so episodes of Dino Fury?

No, I can’t. Because again, that hasn’t been announced, and it is commercially sensitive information.

Is there anything else you want to tell the Power Ranger fans that’ll be reading this?

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

Expect lots of surprises with Dino Fury and keep the faith.

Power Rangers Dino Fury will debut next year and Power Rangers Beast Morphers will wrap up its final season this Saturday.

Stay tuned for the second part of this interview coming soon where Bennett discusses directing the final episodes of Beast Morphers, including all those returning elements from previous seasons!

The post The Challenges of Creating Power Rangers Dino Fury appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/39YDpj3

#aion-rsa #Den of Geek

0 notes

sincerelybluevase · 7 years

Text

Fanfic Friday: Lips touch, part 14

In which Sister B hurts her foot and Doctor T has to come to the rescue like the proper chivalric doctor he is. Based on the prompt ‘Sister B hurts her ankle/knee/hip whatever and Doctor T has to help her’, suggested to me by @bloghey131313.

The scream lasted a second at most, but Patrick had years of experience of waking from the muffled ringing of the telephone downstairs and was on his feet before having made a conscious decision. Within a few heartbeats he was out of his office and across the hallway. Only a handful of seconds more and he stood outside, at the top of the stone steps that connected his surgery to the street.

Sister Bernadette was on the bottom of those steps, a tangle of limbs and navy fabric. Her wimple was splattered with dirt. Patrick guessed that her habit was just as soiled, but the deep blue hid it better.

“Sister!” he exclaimed, and almost flew down the steps.

“Careful!” she warned him, her voice higher than he was used to, “Those steps are slick as a selkie.” It had rained these past few days, and the grey stone shone almost black with wetness.

“Did you slip?” Patrick asked. He knelt down next to her, found her glasses on the final step, and handed them back to her.

Her hands trembled as she put them on. “It’s nothing,” she murmured, and tried to get up. She cried out in pain just as Patrick wanted to order her to sit still and let him check her for injuries. Her left leg refused to carry her weight. She would surely have collapsed and fallen in the murky puddle she had upset so recently of Patrick’s arm hadn’t shot out to catch her. Her lips moved, but no words came out. He guessed she was either praying, or pouring out a string of silent curses. He would bet money on the former, simply because he could not see the little nun performing the latter. “That doesn’t look like nothing.”

“I… I think I’ve twisted my ankle,” she whispered. She looked very pale all of a sudden, only a few shades darker than her scapular and the clean parts of her wimple. Patrick feared she might faint.

“I’ll take you inside and have a look at that ankle of yours,” Patrick decided. There was no way she could go back to Nonnatus like this. She could hardly stand, let alone walk or bike. She can’t very well hop up those steps, either, a voice whispered inside his head. He would love to call it the voice of reason, or common sense, but his heart drummed too fast at the idea of holding her in his arms for it to be either. “I’m going to have to carry you inside, if that’s alright with you, Sister,” he said.

“Maybe I can walk inside with your help,” she suggested, her eyes not quite meeting his.

“And risk us both falling?”

“I don’t want you to throw out your back.” “I’m stronger than I look. Hauling around all that gas-and-air has given me plenty of practice. Besides, unless you can levitate, I don’t see how you’re going to get from here to my examination table by yourself,” he quipped.

“Me, neither,” she confessed, and gave a tight smile.

Patrick guessed she must really be in pain by the way she scrunched up her face and bit back a scream as he picked her up. Sweet, self-sacrificing Sister Bernadette. He had been her GP for the past ten years, but he had only seen her as a patient twice before. He thought back to those times in an effort to distract himself from her arm around his neck, from the warmth that seeped through her habit into the hand he had placed on the small of her back to support her, from the scent of starch and soap and something distinctly her that nestled itself in his nose.

The first time she had come to him because of a throat infection that had rendered her almost mute. Patrick had given her a prescription for penicillin and advised her to drink lots of tea sweetened with honey. The second time it was Sister Julienne who asked him to take a look at their youngest religious sister. Sister Bernadette had fainted several times in just a couple of weeks. It had been concluded that she had low blood pressure and suffered from anaemia, for which he had given her iron tablets.

Sister Bernadette was someone who didn’t complain, ever. Patrick sometimes wondered whether she had learned to keep her hurts and troubles to herself as a young child after her mother had died, or if she felt that it somehow went against her vow of obedience to complain. It wasn’t his place to ask, though.

Patrick put her down on one of the examination tables and put some screens around her. The surgery was deserted at this time, but someone could walk in unannounced and he didn’t want to compromise the little nun’s dignity. He still had to examine her, though, and that was going to be uncomfortable for both of them, though for different reasons.

“Do you need help to remove your shoe?” he asked.

“I think I can manage,” she said.

“Well, don’t force it. If it won’t come off, we’ll cut it off,” he said.

“Sister Evangelina will throw a fit if she knows I ruined a perfect pair of shoes. I’ve only had them for a week,” Sister Bernadette said, two small lines appearing between her brows as she knit them together.

“Let her blow her top. I’ll buy you a new pair.” The words were out of his mouth before his brain had properly processed them. He blushed.

“I couldn’t accept that,” she said. Her eyes snapped up and met his, worry writ large in them. “Let’s see if you can get it off without the use of scissors, then. I’ll fetch my bag.”

Get a grip, Turner, he told himself as he found his bag in his office. He grabbed a towel for Sister Bernadette to cover herself with, then made a detour to the kitchen to put on the kettle. He washed his hands with icy water in an attempt to get his flushed body under control again. He would be the picture of professionality as he palpated her foot, her shapely ankle, getting a glimpse of her leg without the woollen stocking…

He cleared his throat and rubbed some cold water on his wrists. This would not do. He sighed and rubbed his eyes before washing his hands again.

Your attraction to her is only partly physical, so stop behaving like a hormonal teenager, Patrick scolded himself, and knew it to be true. Her pretty face was still visible, as were her small hands and delicate wrists, but for the rest the habit did an admirable job of hiding that the body underneath was female. No, he had admired her capability as a nurse and midwife, her quiet efficiency, but most of all her compassion long before he got a glimpse from the individual, from the person she was before she was Sister Bernadette. He wondered when his admiration for her had started to slip into something more.

Patrick was not a religious man. His faith had been wavering ever since he was a teenager, and he had lost whatever lingering bit there was after the war and the death of Marianne. Sister Bernadette, however, made him entertain such religious concepts as the soul. He was still no closer to forming a definite answer to some of the bigger questions of life that had plagued him since adolescence, but he did know one thing: if there was such a thing as the human soul, Sister Bernadette had touched his, and now his soul cried out for hers.

He snapped out of his reverie and returned to his patient. He passed her the towel without looking so she could cover herself up, and waited till she told him she was ready. By the time he was ready to examine her he had himself under control again.

Sister Bernadette sat on the side of the table, her legs dangling from the edge, her eyes trained on the floor. She had managed to get her shoes off in one piece, and flashed him a brief smile as he told her he was glad he would not have to be some prince in a warped version of Cinderella.

Patrick knelt down in front of her and looked at her foot. He couldn’t help but wince in sympathy. The ankle was already swollen, the skin radiating angry reds and purples. He tried to be gentle, but Sister Bernadette still hissed as he palpated her ankle.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured.

“I’m alright,” she said, but her voice was tight.

Patrick checked for breaks and didn’t find any. That was a relief, at least. It would still take considerable time before she would be able to be up and about again, though.

He knew he had to get up and wrap her ankle, that he had to tell her to keep bedrest and elevate her foot till the swelling went down, but he could not bring himself to speak. He could have guessed that her foot was small – her hands were quite tiny, after all– but he had never really thought about it. He tried to keep thoughts of her body at bay if he could. Now, with her small foot resting in the palm of his hand, he was entranced.

There was a sliver of pink nail polish on the nail of her big toe. Had one of the nurses asked to practice on the little nun’s feet, or had she done it herself? Patrick was quite sure that nuns were not supposed to use things like nail polish, and the thought that Sister Bernadette had gave him a secret thrill of pleasure. He had known she was not always a stickler for rules since the Carter delivery –the idea that she snuck cigarettes from her father’s desk still made him chuckle – but knowing that this trait was not mere teenage rebelliousness gave him more joy than it should. Another sign was the small bit of leg that was not covered by the towel; Sister Bernadette had shaved her legs. Patrick’s only knowledge about women and their shaving habits came from Marianne. She had often complained about it; her skin was sensitive, and shaving would cause a nasty kind of irritation that would last for days. Now, it could be that Sister Bernadette simply wasn’t that hairy and that she hadn’t used razor blades to get rid of unwanted hair at all, if it had not been for the tiny cut near her lateral malleolus*. Patrick might not know much about women and shaving, but he could recognize a razor cut. He suddenly wondered whether the silent string of words that had poured from her mouth outside might not have been curse words, after all.

What struck him most, though, was the smattering of blisters on her heel and the side of her foot. They were large and an angry red. A look confirmed that there were several blisters on her other foot as well. “Sister, how could you walk with those?” he whispered, and stroked the skin around them.

“They’re because of my new shoes. I should never have taken them. They were uncomfortable from the start, but I thought I’d break them in if I kept walking,” she explained, and sighed. “Just an ordinary case of hubris, doctor.”

Was it? It seemed to him that it was more a case of her trying not to break her vow of poverty. Patrick looked at her shoes. They might have been new, but he could see they were cheap. He wondered whether they were even the right size. He suddenly understood how it could that Sister Bernadette, who was always so careful and precise, had fallen down the steps. It was more miraculous that she hadn’t done so sooner, her feet looking like that.

Patrick took some bandages from his case and started wrapping her foot. “This won’t do, Sister, it won’t do at all,” he said. “You’re going to need new shoes as soon as you can walk again, because we can’t risk you hurting yourself like this another time. I won’t allow it.” He couldn’t help that emotion bled into his voice. “This time it’s a sprained ankle, but it could have been a lot worse. You could have broken your wrist, or your arm, or hit your head…” That didn’t bear thinking about. His throat felt thick and his eyes burned.

“I’m sorry,” she stammered.

He sighed and brushed her foot with his fingertips. He had nearly wrapped her entire ankle; only a small part of skin on the lateral malleolus* was still bare. Patrick couldn’t help himself. He placed a quick kiss on the exposed bit of flesh, marvelling at how soft her skin was. It was a bit of information he would try to forget, but knew he could not; it would be stored deep into his heart, trying to fill the longing of a soul that ached for its mate. He instantly regretted his impetuous action, but couldn’t take it back. He quickly bandaged the rest of her foot, but that only trapped the kiss against her skin and the white fabric.

“There, all done,” Patrick said. He didn’t dare to look her in the face. She had such expressive eyes, and he feared what he would read there. He should never have taken such liberties with her, but how to make it up to her? What if he apologised and she hadn’t even noticed?

“I’ll take you to Nonnatus; there’s no way you can get there yourself.” He cleared his throat. “I’ll make us some tea,” he said, and fled the room in silence.

He just wished that his heart would stop screaming her name with every heartbeat.

* the bony part on the outside of the foot; the knobbly part of the ankle that faces outside

#call the midwife #call the midwife fanfiction #sincerelygeertje writes #turnadette #writing tag #sister bernadette #patrick turner

26 notes · View notes

giacintodenmark · 6 years

Text

A Week in Rome

I journeyed over to CPH airport at around 6 PM to make it to my 8:30 PM flight on Friday night. After some difficulties, I made it to my home for the week at 2 AM.

Saturday

A late start to the day, I had nothing planned... and so began my first day wandering around the city without a particular destination in mind.

My first view of St. Peter’s Basilica. The sheer size of the building and the number of sculptures placed atop the structure, surrounding the square was quite an amazing sight to see.

I was taken aback by the sheer number of tourists surrounding the more famous places in Rome, I’ve never seen so many anywhere I have been... they are paradoxically beneficial and detrimental to the city. While tourism brings money and activity into the Roman economy, it also brings piles of garbage from careless littering and city spaces blocked off to the locals.

I found myself walking along the River Tiber. It was quite beautiful (save for the garbage within it and the general neglected decay of the areas bordering the river) and it served me well as a means to navigate my way through the city.

Another view of the river... an abandoned houseboat and small dock falling apart off in the distance. According to myth the founders of Rome, Romulus and Remus were cast off as infants on the banks of the Tiber River under the order of their Uncle, King Amulius... they were seen as threats to the throne. The brothers were later saved by Tibernus, God of the Tiber River, at the site that would grow to become Rome.

The Temple of Fortuna Virilis (”manly fortune”). Dedicated to the god of keys, doors, granaries, and livestock... Portunus. The building that stands now was constructed around 120-80 BCE. It is one of the greatest examples of classical architecture of the Ionic Order (there are three: Ionic, Corinthian, and Doric). It is one of the best preserved ancient buildings in Rome.

I cannot deny that the extremely hearty Roman food and it’s equally hearty people demand high regard.

I learned a lot about the simple and very rich food during my week here... and in turn learned a bit about the people that cook and eat the cuisine.

Campagna Amica Market was my stop for my first meal in Rome. Open only on weekends from 8 AM to 3 PM along a road near Circo Massimo, the place was filled with locals getting their fill of fresh produce, meat, seafood, bread, sweets, olive oil, and wine (and a few tourists, who knew what to do with themselves along a spectrum of absolute confidence to embarrassing incompetence, I was on the latter end).

After four embarrassing exchanges in Italian, English, body language... I managed to pull together I little meal for myself. It doesn’t look like much, but it was quite delicious. A loaf of bread filled with walnuts and olive oil, some fresh ricotta, some cured pork with red pepper flakes, fennel seed, and black pepper, and a very very ripe persimmon (they are going to keep their good persimmons for their regulars). Unfortunate the most Roman grocery stores and markets warrant so much packaging for their food.

I ate my lunch at Circo Massimo, the ruins of a chariot racing stadium. It was once the largest stadium of the Roman empire. I eventually went back to the market to escape the heavy wind that kept kicking up dust from the field.

Back in the market, I was given some charcoal roasted hazelnuts and squash + a bit of wine from some of the people managing the market. I sat for an hour or two watching the group of men and women, a few kids... working together cracking, cooking, and distributing the hazelnuts to visitors and friends.

I found myself before the Colosseum and the Arch of Constantine. The triumphal arch was built in AD 315. The arch interestingly reuses a number of pieces from other older imperial monuments of the 2nd century (piecing together other pieces like a collage is called spolia.

Taking old pieces of ruins/other monuments was quite common for Baroque architects (late 16th century) (many of the churches of Rome are of the Baroque style)).

The Arch of Titus, constructed in 82 AD to commemorate the war victories of the then recently deceased Emperor Titus, including the Siege of Jerusalem.

A detail of the Arch (not pictured in my photo). Depicts the spoils of the extraordinarily gruesome Roman attack on Jerusalem (stemming from a Jewish uprising within Judea, a Roman-held province). Much of the spoils coming from the Jewish Temple... one of which is the giant golden menora seen left from center.

The Colosseum, created in 70 AD and opened in 80 AD. Titus (the son of Emporer Vespasian, the one who began construction) opened the Colosseum, adding to his popularity in Rome.

A view of a residential area on my way back to the flat I was staying in.

Sunday

A view of Rome from Villa Borghese park near the Spanish Steps and Villa Medici.

A fountain within the Pincio Promenade. I recommend coming here to escape the swarms of tourists and busy car paths, its a pleasant place to wander... filled with large wavy trees... there are a great number of statues and busts dispersed amongst the area.

Old Bridge Gelateria, no artisan crafted ice cream or unique flavors... or something along those lines... like some of the other “top gelato” places mentioned in articles by Eater and the likes... but this is one of the Roman classics for some simply good gelato. My friend and I ordered three flavors: crema (eggs, cream, sugar), chocolate, pistachio.

Castel Sant’Angelo or the Mausoleum of Hadrian initially commissioned as a massoleum for Emporer Hadrian and his family in 123 - 139 AD. It was later used as a fortress and castle by the popes... it is now a museum. The ashes of Hadrian and his family + some of the popes are likely held deep within one of the Treasury rooms within the building.

Altar of the Fatherland, built in the honor of the first king of a unified Italy (Victor Emmanuel. The building’s construction began in 1885 and was completed in 1925 in the Neoclassical architectural style.

View from the top of the Altar of the Fatherland. The easy to access spot provides a nice view of the many ancient Roman ruins within the area.... this view shows a portion of the Imperial Forum (?).

Another view from the same vantage point.

Michelangelo’s Moses with San Pietro in Vincoli... part of Pope Julius II’s tomb, which was originally commissioned in 1505 (with a much grander scale and design in mind) but not completed in 1545 (with great difficulty, inconsistency, changes in plans/scale/commissions ... the work troubled Michelangelo for 40 years of his life).

Monday

Today I wandered to a variety of churches and other landmarks south of where I was staying.

I first stopped for lunch at Mercato Testaccio to continue with my exploration of the different food markets scattered throughout the city. I wandered through the aisles, looking at the usual spreads of fresh produce and groups of Romans doing their mid-day grocery shopping.

I stopped by Mordi e Vai, a humble deli space ran by a man named Sergio Espesito who serves up classic Roman slow-cooked meals between two simple bread rolls. I ordered #1, allesso di bollito, brisket with bitter greens... the bun is dipped in stewing broth that holds the brisket.

After lunch, I wandered a little southeast to the Protestant Graveyards. Romanticist poets Percy Bysshe Shelley and John Keats are buried here.

Keats died of Tuberculosis in 1821 at the age of 25, his tombstone reads...

This grave contains all that was mortal, of a young English poet, who on his death bed, on the bitterness of his heart, at the malicious power of his enemies, desired these words to be engraven on his tombstone: Here lies one whose name was writ in water.

Shelley drowned while sailing along the Italian Riviera a year after Keats, his tombstone reads...

Nothing of him that doth fade, // But doth suffer a sea change, // Into something rich and strange. (A quote from Shakespear’s The Tempest)

I walked North, wandering through a number of small churches and parks on my way to the Roman Forum... once the heart of the ancient city’s government, trade, and culture.

I surveyed the Roman Forum from the Capitoline Hill Plaza, designed by Michelangelo.

I concluded my Monday adventure at one of the oldest wine shops in Rome, Ill Gocceto. I enjoyed watching the servers swiftly open wine bottles and pour while conversing with regulars. They’d pop the corks with a flourish of speed as they made their rounds through the busy shop.

Tuesday

I wandered East to visit the Ecstasy of St. Theresa by Gian Lorenzo Bernini in the Cornoaro Chapel of Santa Maria della Vittoria. I planned to stop by a number of places on my way to the destination.

I stopped by the landmark Fountain of the Four Rivers, also desgned by Bernini. The base of the fountain represents River Gods belonging to four major rivers within the four continents subject to papal authority: the Nile of Africa, the Danube of Europe, the Ganges of Asia, and the Rio de la Plata of the Americas.

For a snack I visited Forno Campo de’ Fiori, a historical bakery known for its classics like pizza rossa and pizza bianchi. Rossa is a thin pizza crust topped with a rich tomato sauce. Bianchi is even simpler, just pizza crust brushed with olive oil and speckled with flaky sea salt.

After my snack and a couple small stops, I made it to my destination. The Bernini’s Ecstasy of St. Teresa is considered one of the central sculptural masterpieces of the Roman Baroque period that spanned from the 17th to the 18th century. The group’s imagery comes from the autobiography of Teresa of Avila:

I saw in his hand a long spear of gold, and at the iron's point there seemed to be a little fire. He appeared to me to be thrusting it at times into my heart, and to pierce my very entrails; when he drew it out, he seemed to draw them out also, and to leave me all on fire with a great love of God. The pain was so great, that it made me moan; and yet so surpassing was the sweetness of this excessive pain, that I could not wish to be rid of it...

After reaching my destination, I enjoyed the long walk home to the light of the setting sun.

Wednesday

I got up early in the morning to get in line for the Vatican Museum. I planned well as I was the first in line behind the many hundred that congregated behind me as the time to open drew closer.

I did not take many photos while I was in the museum, I left my phone off to focus on what was in front of me.

The mysterious Belvedere Torso is a fragment of a statue from the 1st century BC. Over time the statue was damaged and lost to be rediscovered in the 15th century. was highly influential to artists of the Renaissance Michelangelo who uses the Torso’s iconographic form in many of his own statues and paintings.

One of Francis Bacon’s pieces from his study of Diego Velásquez’s Portrait of Pope Innocent X. Supposedly the study produced around 50 pieces between the 1950s and 1960s. The most well-known pieces from the study are those that are a part of the “screaming pope” series

Friday

I couldn’t do much Thursday, the storm was too strong to take the long walks needed to explore Rome.

I woke up early Friday to get into St. Peter’s Basilica, mainly to see Michelangelo’s Pieta.

I ended by Roman adventure at Mercato Trionfale, the largest market in Rome with an astonishing array of vendors.

Although the market is said to be the most busy in the mornings, my mid-day visit was still overwhelming. I didn’t buy anything, I just wandered through the aisles and watched the exchanges occur. I wished I spoke Italian to understand the conversations I would walk by, the way in which the produce is bought.

Saturday

I returned home on Saturday, I spent most of the day waiting for my departures at the train station and the airport... I watched people walk by and wrote in my notebook.

From the floor of Roma Termini, waiting for my train to the airport. I was glad to return to Denmark.

1 note · View note