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dreamgrlarchive · 4 years ago

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Self Care 101 🦋

In this post I’ll be outlining my current routines as they relate to self care. I’ll cover everything from head to toe making sure not to skip your spirit. You cannot be a girl of ANYONE’S dreams if you aren’t taking care of the most important person in your world: you.

mornings:

wash face with gentle cleanser from curology, tone with organic Mamonde rose water and finish with rich moisturizer and spf30

brush teeth with activated charcoal toothpaste by Crest and baking soda for whitening and gum clarity

take vitamins : woman’s one a day, hair skin nails, biotin, vitamin c

drink glass of water then a cup of tea

black tea, raw cane sugar, a lemon slice, ginger

good for energy, immune function, and detox

showers:

this may sound so extra (😅), but depending on my hairstyle, I sometimes like to let the shower run for about five minutes with the door closed to create a sauna effect. this is especially if I have a mask on my hair.

my showers usually are about 20-30 minutes

I have a back brush, pink exfoliating gloves, a loofah, and tree hut body scrubs and I use them ALL.

I wash first with my dove beauty bar to assure clean skin before washing with EITHER my OGX Shea So Soft body wash or Dove Renewing Peony and Rose Oil body wash to add scent or silkiness to my skin.

hair removal:

I haven’t yet mastered the art of waxing myself so I’m still riding the shave wave. *when I do I’ll make a post 4 that*

I exfoliate throughly before AND after shaving

I shave my entire body using Tree Hut Shaving Oil and a nice conditioner I’m not using. This leaves my skin super soft and silky and helps the razor to glide without skipping. I use Gillette Venus. no less than five blades, anything less is ASKING for nicks and a hard time.

when I don’t feel like shaving, I use Nair. use at your own risk. yes, I Nair my ENTIRE BODY. only leaving it on for about 7 minutes I rinse in WARM (not hot) water and exfoliate afterwards. it is imperative to moisturize after to avoid irritation. however, Nair is much easier to do than shaving and seems to last an inkling longer.

after shaving, once a month, I pull out my KENZZI. it’s an IPL device and it has helped to slow the growth of my hair. it’s noticeable for us long, thick haired chicks. I use the second to lowest setting as a melanated babe, as the higher settings could burn me.

I know many endorse the hair on women movement and I can understand it. But I personally love my skin silky, hairless, and smooth.

nights:

after eating dinner, I wash my face and apply the tiniest bit of glycolic serum and my curology night cream. my skin has been the best it’s been in a few years. then I brush my teeth and rinse with peroxide.

every four days I give myself a facial

my favorite face masks:

The Ordinary Salicylic Acid mask

The Ordinary AHA + BHA mask

all Tony Moly sheet masks *luvvvvv those*

GLAMGLOW SUPERMUD clearing treatment *fav*

Peter Thomas Roth Pumpkin Enzyme mask

Peter Thomas Roth Cucumber Gel mask

Peter Thomas Roth Irish Moor Mud mask

Peter Thomas Roth Rose Stem Cell Bio-Repair Gel mask

ORIGINS Clear Improvement mask

An at home honey and aloe mask

I apply a rich facial moisturizer and get to bed.

I then write in my planner my new plans and what I did that day if I hadn’t already. then after that I script and make mood boards in my diary. then I read a little. currently reading: Making Faces by Kevyn Aucoin, and Live Like a hot Chick by Jodi Lipper.

emotions:

I talk to my grandmother about my feelings, she helps me sort things out. please try to find one person you trust to talk to, my messages are always open. 💓 I often overthink. I suffer from anxiety and clinical depression. sometimes these things make me FEEL limited. these experiences wax and wane. I remind myself that the darkness is temporary.

I write in my diary what I feel and track my emotions for potential patterns. I don’t manufacture or sugar coat my feelings, I just talk.

sometimes you need a good cry. let it out. clean your slate. you’ll always feel better, sometimes great after a hard, deep sobbing cry.

I try to get out of the house and get some sunlight. it helps brighten my mood sometimes.

baths:

LOVE taking baths I don’t care what the status quo is about dirt. just rinse off. I love wrapping my hair up and soaking in warm-hot water.

first I run the water. as it’s running I add my bubble bath, then body wash, then my Shea Moisture fragrant coconut oil. it smells soooo good, literally yummy. then I inevitably scream from dipping my toe in the hot water. finally I get in, scrub down my body, emphasis on feet. then I wash, and just relax. I’ve even fallen asleep in the tub once, I was so zen.

careful not to soak too long or overdo it with your products. synthetic materials lingering in your lady bits for too long cause cause infections like bv or uti

some women add tea tree oil, acv, or even Aztec clay to their baths for wellness purposes. I love adding essential oils to my baths to relax and the natural scent is just great 🥺

when I get out I always put something that feels lush and soft on. *invest in super soft, comfy bath towels, they’ll make you feel so luxurious and soft after a nice relaxing bath*

flower:

the yoni is something sensitive that needs to be taken care of thoroughly, and differently than the rest of your body. it’s not recommended to use soaps down there, it can unbalance things and make you itch. also make you prone to infection. this is why I use clear warm water to clean. if I use soap it’s a sensitive, gentle formula. don’t ever try to clean the cavity. she’s a self cleaning vessel.

to shave, I trim my hair down as close as possible and use a FIVE BLADE razor with conditioner and take my time. making sure not to pass a spot twice, I apply moderate pressure and move slowly. when finished I rinse and scrub gently. I PAT not rub dry. to finish off I apply TendSkin, and salicylic acid to avoid ingrowns. once that’s soaked in I apply shea butter. very soft and pretty 🌸

⚠️ DO NOT PUT ON TIGHT PANTIES OR RIGHT PANTS AFTER SHAVING. it restricts the hairs and causes irritation and ingrowns. throw on some comfy loose shorts for a while, let it breathe

dietary needs:

drink plenty of water

cranberry juice

vitamin c

minimal red meat

probiotics

at home vagacial for the high maintenance girlies:

*make any necessary extractions with pointed and slanted tweezers *

scrub:

brown sugar, tea tree oil, a little shea butter

exfoliating and anti inflammatory

mask:

baking soda, fresh lemon juice, vitamin e oil, papaya juice, gelatin

fixes discoloration and brightens the skin while softening

moisturize:

aloe vera gel, rose hip seed oil

smelling sweet:

ah yes, my favorite part. I love fragrance so much. I love to smell like you could literally break off a piece of me and eat it.

I find that using fragrant washes and oils make your scent more strong and help it linger. I already mentioned the body washes I use. the tree hut scrubs I use smell amazing also. I alike to add essential oils and man made scents like strawberry and chocolate to my Shea Moisture oil (so yummy).

I also use a fragrant lotion, eau de parfum, and fragrance mist.

here’s a list of some of my favorites:

perfumes:

jimmy choo fever

coach floral blush

yves saint laurent mon paris

victoria’s secret bombshell

victoria’s secret scandalous

valentino

fragrance mists:

victoria’s secret velvet petals, pure seduction, warm and cozy

bath and body works a thousand wishes, fiji pineapple palm, warm vanilla sugar, black raspberry vanilla

oils:

coconut

sweet almond

peppermint

chocolate scented essential oil

strawberry scented essential oil

orange

grapefruit

eucalyptus

sweetest combo ever:

vanilla extract, coconut oil, shea butter, and your favorite perfume. you’ll be smelling like a warm cupcake with extra sprinkles and icing 🧁

layering:

oil, lotion, eau de parfum, mist

pulse points:

inside elbows and knees, in between thighs, inner arms, behind ears, back of neck, ankles

hair:

it’s super important to keep your hair moisturized. quenched tresses move, grow, shine and bounce. dry hair is limp, lackluster, and extremely fragile

my fav diy deep conditioner:

a banana, half an avocado, three spoons of honey, an egg, a spoonful of mayo, a spoonful of coconut, olive, and castor oil each

strength from egg, avocado, mayo and olive oil

moisture from avocado and honey

cover damp CLEAN hair and scalp in mixture and cover with a plastic bag, then towel for an hour, rinse thoroughly, and seal in moisture

fav hair products:

castor oil

fusionplex conditioner and mask

Aussie conditioner

wella goji berry mask

coconut oil

style booster edge control

helpful tips:

when shampooing, concentrate on the scalp and wash thoroughly twice, as the suds will naturally cleanse your stands without drying and stripping them

rinse hair with apple cider vinegar every now and then. it restores your ph balance, smooths the cuticle, clarifies the strands, and adds shine

always add oil and leave ins to DAMP hair, never dry; this will ensure you’re sealing in moisture

try to use smooth fabrics to dry your hair, bath towels encourage frizz and breakage

hands and feet:

and last but not least, let’s cover manicuring and pedicuring.

it’s super important to make sure your nails are either DONE or filed, shaped, and smooth. at home maintenance is super easy. make a point to scrub your hands and feet well when bathing. make sure to stay on top of your cuticles by trimming or pushing them back. I like the look that pushing them gives. I use an orangewood stick, metal pusher and cuticle softener to make the process super easy and safe. after I’m done I add my pineapple scented cuticle oil. I do this on my fingers and toes.

invest in a rasp and pumice stone for your feet and use these gently every two weeks after soaking them in warm foot salts. rough usage can cause cuts and irritation. in between treatments keep your feet soft by slathering them in a moisturizing foot cream, cocoa/shea butter then oil to seal it all in. buy some soft thick aloe infused socks and wear them to sleep. you’ll thank me 😉

for info on how I do my nails click this

well, that’s all I’ve got. I truly hope you enjoyed my post! it’s always fun sharing my advice with you all. any feedback is appreciated and question is welcomed ♡

#my posts #self care #high maintenance #the prissy girl agenda #dream girl journey

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felassan · 3 years ago

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Article: ‘The Most Powerful Woman in Gaming Wants to Make EA Loved Again’

Laura Miele is helping direct the company toward a future where it’s more attuned with consumers.

One of the first things Laura Miele did when she became chief studios officer of Electronic Arts Inc. three years ago was to gather 19 video game influencers in a conference room. “What do you want me to hear? Lay it on me,” she recalls asking them. “One guy sitting at the corner of the table, he just said, ‘I don’t understand why you don’t give players what they’re asking for.’ ”

[rest of article under cut for length, pasted as Bloomberg has an article read limit]

It’s something many gamers have wondered about EA for years. The $40 billion company, one of the biggest in gaming, is responsible for Battlefield, Madden NFL, and other megahit franchises. But many gamers have long seen EA as a necessary evil, resenting the direction in which it took some games and bristling at its aggressive attempts to extract money by charging extra for digital items in games that cost as much as $70 upfront. This dissatisfaction was no secret in 2018: Gamers spent their days filling up Reddit and other message boards with free advice for EA—but many felt its decision-makers weren’t listening.

EA’s leadership knows it has to improve that relationship, and Miele is a key player in its efforts to do so. Her focus group asked for new content for Star Wars Battlefront II and requested new types of games. Miele quickly assigned 70 people to the Battlefront development project, which dramatically improved its net promoter score, a measure of how likely people are to recommend the game. She also prompted EA to create a skateboarding game and committed to reintroducing its college football franchise, the two genres at the top of the influencers’ list.

In a sense, the guy at the meeting became a stand-in for all of EA’s long-suffering customers in Miele’s eyes. “I wanted to do right by this player,” she says.

As chief studios officer, Miele manages 6,000 staffers and thousands of contractors globally. She oversees EA’s 24 studios, where she makes personnel decisions and sets strategy, and she’s reshaped how the company uses analytics to create and market its games.

In the process she may have become the most powerful woman in gaming. In a 2019 International Game Developers Association survey, fewer than 30% of the more than 1,100 respondents were women, and few if any hold a more central role at such an important company. “It’s a tough place for a woman,” says Peter Moore, who was Miele’s boss when he was EA’s chief operating officer. “It wasn’t always smooth sailing, but she battled her way through.”

Proving good intentions is more important for EA than ever, as the business model of gaming continues to shift in ways that have the potential to alienate customers. Like its rivals, the company is increasing its focus on free-to-play games, making money through sales of digital products such as outfits and weapons for characters.

There are signs it’s succeeding. Apex Legends, EA’s free-to-play hero shooter game, has posted more than $1 billion in sales since it was first published in 2019, and it continues to grow. “The way to succeed with free-to-play games like that is to listen to and engage your customer base and earn their loyalty through incremental purchases,” says Doug Clinton, managing partner of the venture capital firm Loup Ventures, who says Miele deserves much of the credit for Apex Legends. “It feels like a proof point for her that the company is adapting well beyond traditional disk sales.”

Miele, 51, was born in San Francisco but grew up on the north shore of Lake Tahoe. She got her start in games—the kind that require a board—during family nights, when she pitted herself against her brother in Monopoly, Clue, Yahtzee, and backgammon. While attending the University of Nevada at Las Vegas, she worked at architectural companies. By the time she dropped out she’d moved on from receptionist positions to more senior roles, while gaining a reputation for organizing lunch-hour card games with her co-workers.

Miele landed a job as a project manager at Westwood Studios, a video game developer best known for Command and Conquer, in 1996. She eventually took over all marketing for its parent company, Virgin Interactive.

It wasn’t always a hospitable atmosphere: Miele remembers her colleagues expecting her to take notes at meetings, then clean up afterward. “That is just not something I would do today,” she says. “I adapted a lot because I was so passionate about what I was doing. I found my voice along the way.”

When EA acquired Westwood in 1998, she stayed on. At the time, the company did revenue forecasting by looking at sales data once a month and putting together spreadsheets by hand. Miele was tasked with developing more advanced analytics. She hired a group of data analysts, nicknamed “the Jedi,” and had them build EA’s first statistical regression models to examine sales trends, seasonality, and preorders. It took almost two years to put the system in place, but it overhauled the company’s business processes, and executives were soon using it to determine how to invest in advertising and promotions. “I loved how data and analytics can inform your judgment and your gut instinct,” Miele says.

Miele also decided to make one major break with EA’s existing business practices. In 2011 about 80% of game advertising budgets were spent on TV ads. But she saw how much time gamers spent online and decided to spend the bulk of the ad budget for Battlefield 3 on digital, downplaying other types of ads and cutting the TV ad budget to only 30%.

Messing around with the plan for Battlefield 3 was a good way to make people nervous. Miele remembers two executives calling her in for a meeting and demanding to know why they weren’t seeing billboards for the game as they drove in to the office. “It was scary for me, too, and I don’t blame our executives questioning me on that,” she says. But the game ended up being EA’s fastest-selling, moving more than 5 million copies in its first week. From that point, Miele’s marketing strategy became the standard for the company.

When EA signed a 10-year deal with Walt Disney Co. in 2013, Miele became Star Wars general manager. In 2014 she took over publishing operations, marketing, and other key areas, first in the North American region, then globally in 2016. At the time, the game industry was moving from physical disks to digital downloads, transforming its relationship with retail partners such as Walmart Inc. and Best Buy Co.

Miele was in charge of smoothing things over, explaining that EA would start competing with them for customers even as the retailers accounted for the largest portion of the revenue. “I never said to them, ‘Hey, see you later, we are moving on,’ ” she says. “It was, ‘How can we move forward together?’ ” EA began making physical cards with digital credits that its retail partners could sell at their stores, allowing them to share in the revenue from digital sales.

EA’s studios are spread around the globe, and Covid-19 altered Miele’s routine radically. “It was a very difficult year, and I’m really proud about how our company showed up,” she says. “I considered myself a wartime leader last year. You had to get in a bunker with everybody.”

Days became an endless progression of Zoom calls. To keep up with gamers, Miele started spending evenings listening to Clubhouse chats while answering work emails. Because she hasn’t been on the road, she’s also had more time to dine at home and play board games or Apex Legends and The Sims with her 16-year-old twins. As the pandemic retreats in the U.S., her schedule might change, but she still envisions providing more flexibility to her employees to work from home and office. “I do think we’re going to have a different work environment as we go forward,” she says.

Miele is itching to get back to the studio visits. She’s helping steer EA further toward smartphones. The company plans to release mobile versions of Apex Legends globally this year and spent $2.1 billion in April for Glu Mobile Inc., a mobile game publisher, while also preparing the next releases in its existing franchises. “I think the next Battlefield and the mobile shooter games, along with how successful the M&As come out will be key litmus tests of her management this year,” says Matt Kanterman, an analyst with Bloomberg Intelligence. “Her scope is clearly rising.”

— With Dina Bass and Jason Schreier

[source]

#video games #interesting..#long post #longpost

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creative-type · 3 years ago

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wake from death (and return to life) ix

AO3 first summary: Zoro had always been told Kuina died falling down a flight of stairs. But she didn’t fall, and she wasn’t dead.

It took Kuina almost five minutes of dangling over the rails of the ship to realize there was no wind. She was punch-drunk and giddy, the weight of uncertainty rolled off of her shoulders now that she had a clear path forward. She was a Revolutionary. She was going to be the greatest swordsman in the world.

Kuina allowed herself those five minutes. With everything she’d gone through in the last week and a half she’d more than earned them, and it had been so long since she’d felt any real excitement for her future. But no swordsman worth their blade would let themselves get lost in childish emotionalism. Kuina steadied herself with a few deep breaths, mentally drawing in the flights of fancy that had momentarily escaped from her imagination—daydreams of facing Dracule Mihawk at the behest of the Revolution, of proving once and for all that she could do what so many thought impossible, of reuniting with her father and Zoro proudly bearing the title Greatest.

It was like trying to wrangle a gaggle of unruly children. The more Kuina struggled to contain herself the more her imagination tried to run free, but she managed to settle back into the state of tranquil serenity that was more befitting of her training. The practical side of her, the part that quietly disapproved of this most recent turn of events, knew that now that she’d painted the broad strokes of her future it was high time to figure out what the hell Aria de Gris was doing now. It was then, and only then, that she noticed that the air was unnaturally still.

The sailors around her were not perturbed even as the Valor’s sails hung limp from their moorings. Kuina could feel that they were moving on the clear, mirror-flat sea. Slowly, but that was better than being dead in the water. Kuina wandered to the ship’s bow, noting that the Valor was sailing almost due south. If the Revolution had followed the same heading since leaving Tolouse, and Kuina had been unconscious for two full days, that meant…

“Don’t worry, we should be out of the Calm Belt by the end of the week.”

Kuina flinched, sword half-drawn before realizing it was only Dara using what had to be the most annoying Devil Fruit ability in the history of the world. Dara laughed as she popped out of the deck, hooking her thumbs in her pockets as Kuina shot her a glare.

But most of Kuina’s irritation was at herself for letting herself be caught by surprise, and she returned her attention back to the water. It was impossible to sail through the Calm Belt without some sort of engine, which the Valor lacked, to say nothing of the danger presented by the innumerable nests of sea kings that buffeted the Grand Line from the Four Blues.

Even as Kuina tried to wrap her mind around it, a dark shadow emerged from the depths directly in front of the ship. A high-pitched, eerie wail, almost like a siren’s song, reverberated through the air and deep into Kuina’s chest.

A monstrous head breached the surface so close to the Valor it sent rippling waves across its hull. Sprays of water jettisoned thirty feet into the air, exposing only part of a stripped, misshapen body before submerging once more. Great flukes, as large as a whale, but covered with algae-like strands of hair, slapped against the surface of the sea and sent sprays of salty water against the deck. Someone in the crow’s nest above whooped out a cry of encouragement.

Thoroughly confused, Kuina looked at Dara, whose grin only widened as she pointed to a tiny speck bobbing to the space recently vacated by the leviathan. “Oh look, there’s Cam. Someone should send a boat after her.”

“As if she’d take it!” a Revolutionary Kuina didn’t recognize shouted from across the deck.

“True,” Dara said contemplatively. Beckoning Kuina to follow, she meandered to the starboard side of the deck and loosened a rope ladder into the sea. “It’s probably faster to just let her swim.”

If Kuina hadn’t been so amazed by the fact Camille hadn’t gotten herself eaten, she would have marveled at the speed with which she cut through the unnaturally-still sea. Kuina considered herself a good enough swimmer, but Camille looked like she’d been born for the water. She moved like she was part fish, each stroke strong and graceful, returning to the Valor in moments. When she climbed back onto the decks she seemed sad to be there, looking back longingly at the water.

“So, how’s Fin?” Dara asked.

“Good, good. I adjusted the harness to fit more comfortably.” Camille arched an eyebrow at her friend while adjusting a leather thong around her neck, from which hung the biggest tooth Kuina had ever seen. “And his name isn’t Fin.”

“Well since you haven’t said what his name is, you’ve left me no choice but to improvise,” Dara retorted. She nudged Kuina in the ribs. “Can you believe she went through the effort of taming a sea king and then didn’t name it? ”

“You tamed a sea king?” Kuina said. “ How? ”

Camille rolled her eyes. “I didn’t tame anything. We’ve just...reached an understanding.” She gave Kuina an appraising look. “I’m surprised the doctor let you out of her grasp so soon.”

“She almost didn’t,” Kuina admitted.

Dara wrapped an arm around Kuina’s neck, ignoring the choked yelp of alarm and Kuina’s efforts to squirm free. “Forget about that! Did you hear, Kuina joined up. She’s officially one of the team!”

“I thought that was a given.” Camille said, utterly disinterested as she wrung the excess water from her shirt.

“When did you hear that?” Kuina said at the same time.

“Pfft, Dara knows pretty much everything on this ship,” Camille said. “You get used to it.”

Kuina frowned. She didn’t like the idea of someone with Dara’s ability nosing her way into business that wasn’t her own. If there was anything she’d learned since sailing with the Revolution, it was that there was very little in the way of privacy while at sea. Ships crowded everyone together, crewmates eating, sleeping, and working in close proximity. While the forced closeness had its advantages, Kuina was used to spending great blocks of time alone. It was something to get used to, and to be wary of.

“Don’t worry, your secrets are safe with me,” Dara said, tweaking the end of Kuina’s nose. “You saved me from losing five hundred berries, and to Lizard of all people. I am at your service.”

It took Kuina a moment to remember Dara’s ill-thought wager with Elizabeth, and before she could voice her protest Dara had taken her by the arm to make official introductions to the crew, Camille laughing a half-step behind.

There was John the cooper, and James the blacksmith. Among the deckhands Kuina was introduced to rapid-fire were Kojo, Zhao, Lin, Char, Sean, Jen, and Tiva, and by the end of it she had gotten them so thoroughly confused with one another she had no idea which one was which. Others were working belowdecks, or off-shift and resting.

Elizabeth was still regretfully in charge of cooking duties, while Lyudmila was the ship’s quartermaster and second in command. Kuina was surprised to hear that in addition to taming sea kings in her spare time, Camille was the crew’s navigator.

“And what is it you do?” Kuina asked as Dara dragged her back below decks for the grand tour.

“Get newbs like you up to speed. Now here’s Trini’s room—try not to get stuck in here unless you want to spend the afternoon feeding lettuce to snails.”

Kuina blinked in amazement. The communications room was packed full of terrariums housing snail phones of every size and color. At its center was an enormous machine that looked vaguely like what the marines used to send their faxes, with thin cords attached to half a dozen den den mushi. Behind the machine sat Trini wearing an oversized pair of headphones, deep in concentration.

“She’s scanning the airwaves,” Dara said in an exaggerated whisper, carefully closing the door once more. “Not that there’s much to intercept in the Calm Belt, but you never know with the marines these days.”

“The marines can cross the Calm Belt?” Kuina said. “I can barely believe we’re crossing the Calm Belt!”

“It’s all thanks to Fin. Sea king bulls don’t typically fight with one another unless it’s mating season, so even if he’s pulling along a tasty treat we should be all right. I think his song has something to do with it, too.” She made an exaggerated gesture. “As for the marines, I have no freaking clue, but it must be a pretty new development since Boss doesn’t know about it, and the Valor isn’t sea-king proofed either.”

“That’s right, this was a marine ship,” Kuina murmured, looking up at the planks with fresh eyes. It was funny, without the marine’s distinctive painted hulls, she’d never would have been able to tell the difference.

“Oh, yeah. Came with all the amenities, which is how Trini got her state of the art snail room.”

“So if you guys had a sea king snuck up your sleeve this whole time, why didn’t you use it during the battle?” Kuina asked. “A monster that size would have been useful on Tolouse.”

“Ach, must everything be about fighting with you?” Dara said. “You must never have seen a real sea king, but Fin’s practically a baby, not even half-grown. And it’s surprisingly smart—for all my teasing, Cam was right. The thing has a mind of its own and acknowledges no master. I don’t think we could get him to attack a ship if we wanted to.”

“But he’ll pull a ship through the Calm Belt?” Kuina said.

“It’s better than going the long way around, eh?” Dara said with a shrug. “Come on, I’ll show you where you’ll be sleeping.”

At the barracks, Kuina had her choice of seven open bunks. One, which happened to be closest to the door, had a small crate propped on top of the thin mattress. Inside was stuffed with clothes and basic belongings. When Kuina looked askance at Dara the light in her eyes dimmed.

“That’s Danny’s stuff,” Dara said. “The rest who died already have their things stowed for when we get back to base, but as far as any of us know she doesn’t have any family so we’re not really sure what to do with hers. I’d say for you to take the clothes since you don’t have any, but I don’t think they’d fit.”

Kuina drew her fingers over the box, trying to think if she’d said anything about any family in their short time together, but all she remembered her mentioning was an apprenticeship under a cruel master. Kuina’s throat tightened as the memory of Danny screaming hysterically echoed in her mind unbidden.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

Dara rubbed her neck uncomfortably. “It happens. I already told Boss when I bite it to sell all my stuff and use the money to have a party. If you all can’t be happy, at least you’ll be drunk.”

“I don’t drink,” Kuina said.

“Then you and Mila can be mopey together,” Dara said with determined cheerfulness. “It won’t matter to me, I’ll be dead. Now, where do you want to be? I’d be careful about that middle one there, it’s next to Lizard, and she snores terribly. ”

Kuina took the hint, and changed the subject, trying not to wonder how many of the bunks available to her had only emptied after the battle of Tolouse.

After the tour came lunch, and with two solid, if not especially tasty, meals under her belt, Kuina was beginning to feel more like herself again. The itch to train was back, and Kuina wanted nothing more to test the limits she’d recently expanded and chase after the high of battle, but much like her time on Belo Betty’s ship she was first subjected to the humiliation of being the newest and lowest-ranking sailor on a large and understaffed warship.

“You’re kind of shit at this, aren’t you?” Camille observed from her perch at the ship’s bow, watching as Kuina ran her mop over the deck for what felt like the hundredth time.

“You could help,” Kuina said.

“And deprive you of the opportunity to learn? Never.” She gave a long, catlike stretch. “By the way, you missed a spot.”

Kuina muttered an oath as she stabbed the mop into the bucket. “It isn’t as if it’s dirty.”

“Water expands and seals the wood, salt protects against rot.” Camille yawned, as if bored by the conversation, and wandered back to their useless rudder. As she passed Kuina, she said, “If you want to live in a drippy, softwooded ship, be my guest. As for me, I’d prefer not to die the first time a Grand Line squall hits.”

She left Kuina with her head bowed and cheeks burning. But the words had their intended effect and Kuina redoubled her efforts, determined from that point on that no one could in good conscience reprimand her sailcraft ever again.

It was nearing dark when de Gris and Lyudmila emerged from the captain’s quarters to call a meeting with the crew. After a long day of labor, Kuina’s muscles ached and she yearned for the sweet respite of bed. And it wasn’t as if the work had been taxing, especially after Clara Cross emerged from the infirmary like an avenging angel to tell off the entire crew, but especially Kuina, for overexerting herself.

There were some things not even Devil Fruit magic couldn’t sweep under the rug, and apparently the exhaustion of a near-death experience was one of them.

“All right everyone, gather round!” de Gris yelled. “Watchmen too! There aren’t any ships out here, and if the sea kings come after us we’re fucked anyway. I want everyone to hear this. Where’s Trini? She can leave the damn snails for ten minutes.”

The crew scrambled to obey the order. Kojo (or maybe Sean) went to gather those who were still belowdecks. Minutes later everyone was assembled in a loose circle around the main mast, with de Gris at the center. She paused a moment to ensure everyone was paying close attention, and under her stern gaze the idle chatter vanished into deathly silence.

Rays of dying light cast against de Gris’s back and framed her face in deep shadow. “I know you all have been wondering lately why the hell we were called to the East Blue so suddenly, and why we’re leaving just as quickly. I’ve heard you lot asking where our next destination was and wonder why I’ve not said where we’re going once we hit the Grand Line. Well, the answer’s simple. Until today, I didn’t know.”

From the folds of her coat, she pulled out an old and crumpled sheet of paper. Kuina squinted her eyes and was just able to make out the blurry picture of a masked figure. The bounty underneath, however, was clear as the sky above. Master-at-Arms Gemini, Wanted Dead or Alive. Bounty: B48,000,000.

Beside her, Dara snorted. “Oh, I bet the marine who thought up that name thought he was very clever.”

It was difficult to tell much from the photograph, but the one detail that was absolutely clear was Gemini’s strange, double-segmented arms, too long for an ordinary human and vaguely insectile. Kuina, who’d never seen anything like it before in her life, wondered what it would be like to fight someone who essentially had two elbows.

She brushed the thought away and turned to Gemini’s face. Their mask, fittingly enough, was divided vertically into halves, one dark and one light. The side that was dark was completely bereft of ornamentation; Kuina couldn’t even make out an eyehole to see out of. The side that was light, however, was painted with a garish grin. A shock of wiry black hair fell past their shoulders, but beyond that it was impossible to discern any identifying features. Baggy clothing and the poor quality of the photograph obscured anything else, even gender, and after spending this much time under de Gris's command, Kuina knew better than to assume.

“Gemini is a prominent figure in the criminal underground,” de Gris continued. “Arms dealing, drug trade, slavery, the whole lot. Removing them from the equation will make the world a safer place.”

“What’s an arms dealer got to do with the Revolution?” someone to Kuina’s right called. “And what have they got to do with the East Blue?” A murmur of agreement rippled through the crew.

“Enough!” de Gris bellowed, silencing them once more. “Tolouse's government were slavers, that much is now clear. They called it political exile to a labor camp, but the end result is the same—the World Government gave the king kickbacks for human chattel, using the Callihan Trading Company as a middleman. And we now now that the CTC was taking orders from Gemini. If Gemini is willing to go through so much effort to set up a scheme in some East Blue backwater, who knows what other fingers they have stuck into various pies around the world.”

“So we’re going after them,” Camille said, crossing her arms across her chest.

“That's right. So far Gemini has been able to stay one step ahead of us, but with the intel gathered on Tolouse we have the upper hand.” De Gris marched to the mast. In one smooth motion she drew a dagger hidden in her boot, and stabbed the bounty deep into the wood.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we’re going to Kyuka Island. In the days ahead I’ll be divvying out assignments. Any questions are to be directed toward Lyudmila or myself—out of an abundance of caution, you’re not to discuss your orders with anyone else on this ship. I’ll keelhaul anyone who tries.” At this her gaze went directly to Kuina, who got the impression these instructions were given strictly for her benefit. "Kyuka is marine territory through and through. I pray none of us fall into Government hands, but if we do, it's safest for the Revolution that each individual knows as little as possible about our plans."

After a pause, and hearing no objections, de Gris lit a cigarette for herself. “I’ll pay anyone who finds any intelligence on Gemini that leads to their capture or death the full value of their bounty. I’ll pay double to anyone who brings me their head. This chase has gone on long enough, I want this bastard dead. ” She flicked a bit of ash off the end of her cigarette and added, almost as an afterthought, “Dismissed.”

A gap in the circle opened to let de Gris through. As she passed, she grabbed Kuina by the shoulder. “Come on, greenhorn. It’s time we sort out your position on this ship.”

For the second time that day Kuina was led to the captain’s quarters. De Gris’s desk had been cleared away, the sea charts rolled back into their proper places and ashtrays emptied. Kuina slid back into a chair that smelled like tobacco. “What is it? Does the Revolution have Articles of Enlistment for me to sign? Is there a manifesto I’m supposed to study?”

“Don’t be stupid.” The sun had almost dipped below the horizon, and de Gris found a box of matches to light a kerosene lamp. The orange flame danced on its wick and flickered with the natural roll of the ship. “I’m told Dara gave you the runaround today.”

Kuina nodded.

“Clara never came screaming at me, so I have to assume you’re not feeling too poorly,” she mused, taking the time to light another cigarette.

“I’m fine,” Kuina said, rolling back her shoulders so de Gris couldn’t see the weariness in them.

“And have you taken that sword out of its sheath even once today?”

“Uh...no?” Kuina said.

“Unacceptable.” De Gris leaned back in her chair and let out a long stream of smoke. “You’re not some swabby or rigging monkey, you’re here because of your blade.” She looked at Kuina as if she were an idiot for not realizing this sooner.

“I’m willing to work just as hard as anyone else on this ship,” Kuina said stiffly.

“And you will. Harder, even, since you’re so far behind. But a ship is like…” She gesticulated, trying to find the right word. “It’s like a person. A crew is its own organism, and every one of us has to fit into their part. You don’t expect a heart to do the same work as a kidney, and no matter how hard you try, you’re not going to be half the sailor as the people who’ve spent their whole lives on the water. It’s ridiculous to think otherwise.”

Kuina nodded. What she said made sense, and in many ways Kuina agreed with her. But there was something about agreeing with Aria de Gris that didn’t sit right with her, so she said, “I have to learn sometime.”

“Obviously. I’m not about to let you be a liability once we hit the Grand Line, but there has to be balance. You’re no good to me if you get yourself killed because you spent too much time studying the different types of sails instead of your swordsmanship.” De Gris was pensive for a moment. “I’ll have Mila set up a schedule for you in the morning. Half the day working chores, the rest training. A few of my men use katana, but you’re better than all of them. Most of what you’ll do will have to be self study.”

“That’s fine. I haven’t had a master in years.”

De Gris looked surprised to hear this, but didn’t comment. “We have regular sparing times as well, to help our less practiced fighters build their skill, and to give the mainliners a chance to get used to each other's styles. Depending on how this all shakes out, you might be pairing with Dara or Camille for the upcoming mission. Do you know how to use a gun?”

“Of course not,” Kuina said, caught off-guard by the question.

“Then you’ll learn.” De Gris cut off Kuina’s protests before they could begin. “Can you kill someone at twenty yards with your sword?”

“No,” Kuina said mulishly.

“Then you need to know how to fire a gun, and probably keep one on you as a backup weapon. I have no use for senseless pride on this ship, girl,” she said as Kuina scrunched her nose in distaste. It’s your job to listen to what I say, and it’s my job to try and put you in a position to not die. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Kuina said, still unhappy at the prospect of sullying her hands with a firearm.

Without warning, de Gris pounded her fist on her desk. The kerosine lamp tottered and threatened to fall, but her eyes never left Kuina’s, the scar on her cheek pulled taunt with her scowl.

“I said. Do. You. Understand ?”

“And I said yes, ” Kuina snapped. “I’ll learn to use you’re stupid gun, and when I figure out how to kill someone at fifty yards with my sword I’ll drop kick it into the ocean where it belongs." She crossed her arms across her chest. "I already told you I’ll do what you say so long as you don’t interfere with my ambition, so there’s no need to treat me like a child.”

They glared at one another for a long while, hackles raised, but this time Kuina refused to let herself be intimidated into backing down. Slowly, still without breaking eye contact, de Gris eased back into her chair and doused her cigarette. “I have put too many people’s belongings into boxes because they wouldn’t listen. For your own sake, I hope you’re not one of them.”

For the second time that day, memory of Danny's last words echoed in her mind. “You’re in luck, because right now I don’t own enough stuff to fit into a box, let alone anyone to send it to.”

“No one at all?” de Gris said, eyebrows raising.

Kuina’s breath hitched as she thought of her father back at Shimotsuki village. Would the Revolutionary Army be able to return her meager belongings home without the marines knowing? Would he be able to stand knowing she’d joined Dragon’s cause despite all his warnings? What about Ipponmatsu? He at least wasn’t under suspicion by the World Government...Or was he, now that she’d attacked Tashigi?

Of everyone she knew, it was probably safest to give her belongings to Zoro , but gods only knew what part of the Grand Line he’d found himself in. She almost laughed at the thought of him using two of her swords for himself.

“No one,” Kuina said. Her hands clenched into fists, nails digging crescent moons into her palms, but she kept her voice calm and her tone even.

After another heartbeat of painful silence, de Gris said, “Well, you’re not the only one." The words were probably meant to be reassuring, but Kuina felt they were anything but. “If you think of anybody, make sure someone knows.”

“I don’t plan on dying,” Kuina said.

De Gris snorted and lit another cigarette. “None of us do. Now get some grub and get to bed. You have a long day ahead of you tomorrow.”

Kuina rose to her feet. After a moment’s hesitation, she bowed slightly. “Thank you...Captain.”

De Gris waved her away with a dismissive flick of the wrist. “You don’t have to break your teeth saying it. I don’t give a damn what you call me so long as you follow orders. Just know I take discipline on this ship very seriously. Cross me, and keelhauling is the least you’ll have to worry about.”

Kuina didn’t doubt it for a second. Murmuring her goodbyes, she left de Gris to her cigarettes and her musings, grateful to be able to swallow the clean sea air once more.

#wake from death (and return to life)#creative-type writes #holy crap it's been forever since I updated this #I think I missed several chapters on tumblr #I apologize in advance for being bad at promoting my own work #one piece #kuina #One Piece Fanfiction

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popculturebuffet · 4 years ago

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New X-Men Xtrospective Part 1: E is For Extinction “They Will Need Us”

I am SO fucking excited for this one. As might not be obvious to ALL of my readers but should be obvious to some, I fucking love the X-Men. They are one of my favorite superhero teams period as are several of their spinoffs such as X-Factor (All versions), New Mutants, and Marauders. I love the wide cast, the hugely vast universe within the already vast and wonderful marvel universe, and the sheer amount of GREAT stories. I own all 11 movies, have several action figures, and two posters from Jonathan Hickman’s current and utterly dynamite run right above me right now as I work, as well as a marvel 80′s themed poster behind me that’s at least half x-men for good reason. I love this gang of mutants and I have not talked about them enough.

I”ve done some X-Men stuff sure: I’ve talked about hickman’s time as head writer of the books a year in earlier this year, I did a few scattered reviews back when I did single issues of comics, and then we get to the one I beefed big time: covering ALL of X-Men evolution. While it’s a noble endeavor I freely admit to overexerting myself: I recapped the episodes way too closely, gave myself no real schedule and did so while I was already covering two shows a week at the time. My point is it was a good idea, but the timing was REALLY fucking bad and if I do it again, I intend to do it right and iwth a proper place in my now properly paced schedule. I also planned to do the movies which, unlike evolution, I have solid plans to do once I clear out some of my projects. Point is I burned bright and then exploded and took a whole projecet with me phoenix style.

I had until this moment yet to do a really big x-men project, something digging into the comics, something that could help fans both of the comics and not get familiar with something really good, and help me dig into both the good and bad of something. I jsut needed the right start.

Then Christmas gave me that spark, that project that gave me the idea for a butload more x-men content on here and was the perfect starting point for some. See my friend Marco lives in Honduras, and so since i couldn’t afford to send him anything for christmas in the mail, as i’m not exactly rich, I instead offered him three reviews of anything.l He still hasn’t taken up two of them, nor one I gave him for graduating college, but the first one was a doozy, something he hadn’t read due to not liking the art, which is fine as I have some art in comics I don’t like everyone has diffrent tastes, at least for the first arc, and something VITALLY important to x-men as a whole and that’s the backbone of hickman’s current run: the first arc of new x-men, e is for extinction. And given New X-Men is one of my faviorite comics of all time I not only lept on it.. but decided fuck it I’m covering the whole thing. So every so often on here from now until I finish, i’m going to be covering Grant Morrisons ground breaking, mind shattering, status quo destroying run on the children of the atom. This.. is going to be fucking awesome. Buckle up.

New X-Men came about in 2001. Stop me if you heard this one: The X-Men, once marvel’s best selling title and one of i’ts most beloved, had been set adrift in a seal of editorial bullshit, bad writing, bad storylines and a stale continuity where not much could change or grow and things always reset to about the same place it was last week. If this sounds familiar it’s because it somehow happened AGAIN thanks to Ike Perlmutter’s bullshit, hence the current hickman run, but we’ll get into all of tha tsome other time. Point is as it was in 2018, so it was in 2001: The x-men were in bad straits and marvel reached out to a host of various creators to swing for the fences and find a new direction, something to bring sales and life back to the book. To my shock they actually took a LOT of diffrent pitches in before Morrisons won and from huge names: Geoff Johns, who had not yet returned to DC never to leave, Alex Ross, Keith Giffen.. all huge creative types. but in the end the best man won.

For those unfamiliar with him, Grant Morrison is a gloriously batshit scotsman with a long, storied and delightfully insane history in comics, mostly at DC before and after this comic. This is for good reason: DC scouted Morrison specifically because of his early work at 2000ad. See at the time Alan Moore had hit it really big with Swamp Thing, taking a d list, so so book and making it into an utter masterpiece and giving it thoroughly interesting mythology. Given it was a blockbuster hit that’s still widely loved and discussed, as it should be today, DC decided to repeat the strategy of asking British indie comics creators to come do the same to another property. This same experiment is why Neil Gaiman’s The Sandman exists, so.. yeah it was actually a great strategy and naturally Grant had their first big hit with Animal Man, a metafictional take on a b-list hero that made him a loveable family man, while also putting him through hell and playing with the medium and dc’s vast history, the last two being Morrison’s trademark from then on out.

They’d next go on to reinvent one of my other faviorite teams: THE DOOM PATROL! The patrol are a bunch of victims of strange accidents who got powers out of them that are basically curses... and Morrison solidified that concept, taking over after a weak run that ironically enough was trying to imitate the x-men’s success at the time. Instead Morrison just went all out with his weird shit for the first time and made them a team of broken but likeable people with weird powers fighting just the weirdest most incomprehensible shit, a run i’ll likely be digging into eventually along with the team as a whole. It’s also, along with Gerard Way’s recent run, the bedroock for the current and utterly masterful doom patrol series I need to catch up on. They also apparently once wrote a satrical comic starring and lik mocking hitler... a fact I somehow JUST learned but naturally doesn’t surprise me at all.

Morrison’s career at dc, after doing some creator owned stuff there when Vertigo opened up, hit it’s peak in the late 90′s as they were given the go ahead to reinvent the Justice League, with the wildly successful and awesome JLA, another book I probably need to take a look at that put the big 7 back into the team. And by now your probably getting the point of me covering his career pattern.. besides giving morrison the praise they deserve, and they’d have some really great runs after this.. and some terrible ones but no one’s perfect. My point is that at this point in their career Morrison’s greatest skill was taking something that had grown stagnant or been forgotten, blowing it up and reworking it into something glorious and new. Taking what worked, scraping away what didn’t and on the whole making something fucking glorious out of it. So here we are. The X-Men needed a new coat of paint and uncle grant had their lcd laced psycadelic paint bucket and brush shaped like a pidgeon at the ready. And for better, way better and admitely sometimes here and there worse,they changed the x-men for good. Some changes were rolled back out of spite, others finally got their chance after said rollback recently, and some were just outright thrown on the grown and smashed with a hammer. But for the most part Grant left a huge impact on the x-men and i’m here to show you why, warts and all. To me my x-men, this is new x-men. Now naturally there’s even more exposition but i’ts more in what COULD’VE been. Originally while Wolverine, Cyclops, Jean Grey and Professor X were all part of the team the other two members of the slim roster for this run, Beast and Emma Frost.. weren’t. Originally Morrison was going to have Colossus and Moira Mactaggert, long time team ally, token human until very recently, and now thanks to hickman one of the most important x characters peirod and long before that a fan favorite of mine, on the team, with Moira taking over for beast.

This.. didn’t pan out since Marvel apparently either didn’t give a shit about their plans or already had things in motion as the climax of the longtime legacy virus storyline killed both off. Colossus until Joss Whedon, bastard he may be, brought him back for his terrific Astonishing X-Men, and Moira SOMEHOW stayed dead until House/Powers of X. See this speaks to one of the big roadblocks morrison faced: Jonathan HIckman currently has absolute power and all his writers working in concert, a new way of doing things comic companies shold honestly copy en masse as it’s really working wonders. Grant.. was just one of many writers and one of three main x books the others being Chris Claremont’s XTREME X-MEN, basically “let the legend do what he wants since he can’t get freedom on the main book” and another writer on uncanny... before eventually chuck austen took over and I will tackle that horrible mess some other time. Point is while Morrison was setting the tone, costume style and making the big waves, they still didn’t have full power and thus had to play nice with eveyrone else. So their next idea was Rogue, making mer more like her x-men evolution version.. except Chris wanted her, so that was out, though being a decent enough guy he willingly gave up Beast since the moira thing meant Morrison needed a science person. As for Colossus replacement, as it turned out a fan had suggested Grant do something with Emma Frost since Gen X was canceled and while Morrison had zero intention for it clearly Emma clicked with hthem and she was soon both a main part of the cast and one of their biggest contributions to X-Men as a whole.

As for what I think of the needed changes.. they ended up being for the best. I do like Moira... but Hank ended up being a much better fit for the team dynamic wise and power set wise, while Emma was the same. While Colossus, Rogue and Moira are all fantastic characters, I think what we ended up with was just a better mix overall. I DO think the team is incredibly white, but that’s a general x-men problem, even with having an assload of diverse and intresting characters, so it’s not entirely his fault. All in all it’s a fantastic roster: four of the x-men’s best, their leader in the field for the first time in forever, and a new and intresting wild card. IT’s a nice ballance of characters and we’ll get more into it as we go. Now all the expositions done, we can finally dive head first into new x-men. I hope you survivie the experince under the cut.

After an utterly gorgeous and striking cover, the one used up top, we get one solid page to introduce us to Morrison’s mission statment, how they feel and how good Frank Quitely’s art looks

I cropped it best i could for tumblr but this one image immidetly says a lot. Our heroes are just.. easily taking down this sentinel, an old model... the same one we’ve seen a dozen times. What were once the grim, possible destroyers of an entire race of beings in days of future past and devistating killing machines in the present.. had become stale easily defeated murder bots There had been noble attempts to really make the sentiinels work again like the horrifying omega sentinels, humans forcibly converted into sleeper agent killing machines, during operation: zero tolerance, but otherwise they were mostly just a prop for the x-men to knock down. And that.. really is morrison’s whole point. Lampshading and mocking the fact the x-men had grown stale, things hadn’t really progressed.. and that it was time to move on. But to Uncle Grant’s credit, they not only uses this as a mission statment but it’s plot relevant: this mission will both be explained soon and explains why Logan and Scott are out and about enough to end up where the plot will soon need them. It also helps, via the sight of the syndey opera house establish something Morrison made a staple of their run: the X-Men going global. While the x-men were never really NOT global post claremont, Morrisons run has them handling rescue missions and what not worldwide far more often than most runs before it sans Claremont, and really made it feel like they weren’t just another super team but a global force of good with a specific goal and mission. More on the global aspect next time, as that’s where it really comes in but I felt it was important to show it was there for minute one.

So yeah before we move onto the first full scene of the run, let’s talk about the costumes.

We’ll talk about Emma’s later since she’s not introduced to the story for a while but yeah. There’s a sharp, obvious and immediate change just in the outfits, which take after the movie’s more military look, having the x-men not only look more like a unit but more like a professional orginization. Someone to come and help when needed. While this would take on more siginifigance in a bit, we’ll get to it, it also fits Morrisions own views that the x-men were less of a traditional superhero team and more something different on the edges that fought things out there, sorta what like he did with doom patrol. And it’s honestly a valid interpretation as the x-men are often seen as outlaws and misfits by society for beingn well.. mutants. Not as trusted as the avengers. So having them adopt this look played into that: Having them look more professional and focused as The X-Men have a less blanket mission statement than the avenger.. but also mildly threatning. Something to alarm the humans. It’s an utterly brilliant look thrown best together by the big yellow x’s, still giving it a nice flash of color to show off and show this is still a comic and this is still damn colorful.. this just isn’t your AVERAGE supherhero comic or the x-men your used to. IT’s a real shame the only fox x-men movie to use it was fucking dark phoenix.. a film where it didn’t even fit as xavier was getting flashier and more reckless so why wouldn’t he have more garish and colorful and more traditional superhero outfits. They did look good in their variants in first class though. Props there. Point is this is a classic, utterly stunning look, and tha’ts coming from someone whose fine with goofy superhero outfits and perpetually bitter hawkeye is almost never allowed to wear his actual comic outift and is instead stuck with shades instead of you know.. a mask. Or anything resembling an actual good looking costume. This though this is how you do a less superheroy costume: practical and realistic, but still cool looking and comic book friendly.

We cut to a mysterious lady, we’ll come to know her as Cassandra Nova and while I know her origin... i’m saving it for later as the comics themselves explain it eventually, and a simpering dolt she brought with her, Donald Trask, a distant relative of the creators of the sentinels who, via holograms she’s showing cro magnons slaughtring the neanderthal. Her point is that Mutants are going to do this and she’s clearly fearmongering him and trying to talk him into genocide: to wipe them out before they wipe out humanity. And it’s here we get one of hte most important plot points of Morrisons run and one of the most intresting: according to cassandra’s research Humanity will be no more in 4 generations. Mutankind is on it’s way to overtaking them at last.. i’ts still a few decades off.. but it’s coming. It’s sometihing that the whole decimation nonsense sadly snuffed.. and John Hickman has thankfully brought back. I’ll get to his run once i’ts complete in a few years, but point is it’s an utterly marvelous plot hook: Humanity, whose already attempted genocide a few times, is now in real danger of what their petty, racist, fearful attacks have been about: being replaced. It’s one of the central themes of the work the other two being “Just what IS mutantkind and what will it be”. WHat are they as a people? We’ll dig into these as we go but the threat of exctincion is the backbone of this arc... and will lead to something truly ghastly.

It’s then we get our title page.. which nothing really to add it just looks really good and helps show off who are cast is and what they can do with striking simple art.

And since we’re already talking the art of the book, let’s take a moment to discuss an intresting detail of this run: despite it’s short length there’s quite a few diffrent artist, who we’ll talk about of course as we get to each one. The most common and notable though is Frank Quitely. Frank Quitely is one of Morrison’s closest and best creative partners, having a unique, squishy art style.. i.e. the one my friend didn’t like which is why i’m covering this. And while I like the art style quite a bit, I do get why it’s not everyone’s cup of tea: His art is squashed, weird, and admitely some faces can be good god no incaranate. But it’s also why I like it: his characters feel unique, each body and figure feels like it was custom made and thus feels.. real. Like this is a person before you. And given comics can often surrender to having everybody look the damn same, this is nice. His faces may sometimes look similar but his bodies are where the action is. But while having a realistic feel his work also has a weird alien quality that perfectly fits Morrison, and thus his run on x-men. I will say while I love All-Star Superman, his art fits less there in the more hopeful silver agey story, so he’s not an artist for EVERY STORY OF EVERY TYPE.. but when it comes to sci fi weridness, he fits it like a glove so i’ts unsuprising he and morrison are practicaley soul mates, nor that his art sets the tone perfectly for the run: this is something new, diffrent and strange.. and what says x-men at it’s best more than that?

So after our opening titles we cut to the mansion where Hank is showing off his latest and greatest invention: Cerebra. Cerbebra is a massively upgraded version of Cerebro, aka Professor Xavier’s iconic helmet that allows him to track mutants to help them out.. and covertly backup their conconousness for his long game plan, but shhhh, don’t tell anyone yet that’s not going to be retconned in for a few decades. Though i’m damn certain if Morrison has heard about the current era of x-men and how it both builds on what he built, shatters the status quo and is incredibly weird, he’d be damn proud. As for how it’s diffrent Cerebra not only has a large dome around it but said dome allows the machine to amply Charles powers to a global reach. He can now see mutants all over the world anywhere in the world, something I didn’t realize wasn’t ALWAYS a thing because it seems so simple. It’s also likely to bring it more in line with the movies. And while marvel has done TERRIBLE with bringing things in from the movies or in line with them in recent years, i.e. making star lord more like his movie self while forgetting that’s how he already used to be in canon before later writers thankfully did hte better step of merging the two, Hawkeye’s outfit, Cap’s outfit or Nick Fury Jr. But for every mistep there’s also been tons of times it’s worked out really well such as here, as well as bringing hulk into the avengers for the first time since the founding, making tony stark more like the mcu version and less like a nightmarish self righetous dicktator who rightfully gets beat up and called out a lot, making Scott Lang prominent since he became prominent in the MCU, Wakanda being a major force in the marvel universe as it always should have been and various titles that have popped up to tie into movies, often bringing back a team or property that hadn’t had a book in some time like Ant-Man, Black Panther, and Shang Chi just to name a few. It’s not always hawkeye looking all jeremy renner is what i’m saying.. though thankfully comics clint isn’t that uninteresting. Hopefully the series will change that.

So yeah along with a bigger shinier cerebro we’re also introduced to a big change in Hank whose taken on his lion form rather than his classic gorilla with a weird haircut or his return to that except bald. Here he’s more like aslan in a human body and I.. love it. It looks great, helps sell hanks delima of being brilliant while looking like a beast and makes sense: he kickstarted what was likely his own secondary evolution by drinking the potion that made him bestial, so it only makes sense his body wouldn’t be all that stable even if it took years to change again. And even that makes sense as hank was breifly turned back to his original hairless ape mutation during x-factor, easily one of the books.. worse decisions honestly and one that louise simonson thankfully later undid. That probably bought him some time hence why it’s only mutating further now. It also adds an intresting wrinkle which the run will explore further: how far does this go? Will he regress? and how much hank will be left? And how will society treat his new form?

For now he’s actually extatic. While he’s going through hormonal changes, and giving out some excellent banter with Jean

Which also includes one of the greatest lines in comic book history, one that’s been in my head for decades and made me absolutely love henry mccoy.

He’s just great is what i’m saying. As you can tell it’s stuff like this why i’m glad Moira fell through. While I love her.. Morrison’s hank is just a delight and one really questionable subplot aside, we’ll get to that, he’s one of the highlights of this run with an intresting internal struggle, and great chemistry with EVERYONE. And that is the main reason i’m glad Moira fell through as his history with everyone but Emma, who he still has a great raport with, means each interaction has weight. He’s close friends with both scott and jean and thus serves as their needed confidant, while still being able to buddy and banter iwth good old weapon x, and speak with his mentor charles as an equal. While I love moira... Beast just fits into the cast too perfectly and I 100% suspect Morrison was only using her because, while she’s awesome, Claremont wanted her and thus gladly snapped her up when he no longer had a science person. I’ll get into his Jean soon enough but she’s likewise fantastic and easily my faviorite version of the character.. not that until very recently there was much honest competition.

So Cerebra fires up showing a massive cloud of mutants, showing just how much of a huge spike theirs been with Xavier wondering what it all means.. and Hank seeing a weird flare on the mointor for just a second with his special eyes. But since Xavier isn’t stupid and isn’t the kind of idiot who just dismisses it as a fulke, and since Scott and Logan are in the field, he decides to confrence call them in to see if they can go take a look.

And naturally we get to see what their up to and get context for what the hell happened in the first page. Our heroes were on a rescue mission to save Ugly John, tha’ts what people called him, a three faced mutant who ends up passing out as they head out of the atmosphere for a second. Wolverine is regenerating and smoking out of his neck becaue he could still smoke back then before marvel decided “he’s setting a bad example”.. in a comic meant for teens and adults.

I mean I get it on some level as the x-men cartoon was a huge thing in the 90′s and Ben Grimm is basically a giant children’s toy with the mind of a surly 40 year old jewish man from yancy street, but stilll it’s just.. why. I may not like smoking but it’s not like it was SPIDER-MAN saying

It’s a grown man.. whose not a sterling roll model and who Claremont went out of his way to have Logan point out his healing factor means it really dosen’t hurt him in the long run and when Kitty, an actual teenager, tried one of his cigars she choked. I know it’s a weird thing to get hung up on but while i’m all for keeping kids from smoking, this was a really clumsy way to try and hehlp that that made no sense and will never make any sense.

One tangent later we find out that Cassandra was showing Trask a simulation on a flight to, unsuprisingly, south america, to a sentinel blacksite. Between covertly funding civil wars as they do, the US Goverment naturally founded an experimental sentinal project, and a second master mold during the production of the first line... when larry trask asks where it could possibly be well...

Subtly was not the trasks strong point.. or common sense... or.. not realizing their creations would dominate humanity too or not dying.

Anyways we then cut back to the x-men, as their having a psychic zoom meeting with Charlie giving one of his patnted big speeches.. and like a lot of this comic it’s too damn good not to use

The reason I couldn’t should be obvious: This one speech sums up the x-men, why their great and why their necessary in a nutshell: in a world full of prejucided morons.. there’s plenty of scared kids who NEED the x-men to protect and guide them, and with a surge in the mutant population, their needed now more than ever. We also get a good explanation in universe for the uniform change: Charles had them in the superhero outfits hoping humanity would accept them if they were packaged as something they know. Since that clearly hasn’t worked he’s trying new ways to reach out and thus going with a diffrent more rescue team approach to the uniforms. He assigns Wolvie and Cyke to go check out the flair as you’d expect and the meetings over. On the blackbird we get our first hint at a subplot as Logan noticed Cyclops couldn’t wait to get out of there, and is being a tad distant to his wife. He actually has reasons for being kind of cold for once instead of just bad writing as he just came back from being possed by apocalypse. Yeah that happened. So the experience has rattled our boy some what. More on that as we go. But Jean ducks the subject with hank but does breach the fact that Charles has been going kind of crazy with the spending, new uniforms and ambition lately. Hank explains it perfectly: After all the death, suffering and misery the x-men have endured lately, the aforementioned deaths I talked about that took Colossus and Moira off the roster, have lionzed Charles to make sure it was all worth something and look towards the future.

But enough hope time for horror as Cassandra makes her first direct move, trying to take over Charles brain , make his body her own and use cerebra to kill lots and lots of mutants. We then get one of the best moments of Morrisons run with Charles response to a horrifying monster trying to take his brain

While it is shocking to find out Charles has a gun..it’s a grim but kind of understandable precaution. The guy once got fully taken over by a brood, assembling the New Mutants in part because the brood wanted to create more of i’ts kind with more super powers. You’d be paranoid too if some of your beloved students were brought together partly due to your good intentions and partly because a space monster wanted to make more space montsters out of helpless teens, and even horribly gaslighted one of them. We’ll get to that some day. Point is Charles brain is one of the greatest weapons on earth and if the wrong person got a hold of it, it’d be the end of said earth. Thankfully Charles does not need plan gun, as Jean yanks Cerebra off him but the sheer HATE Charles felt from Cassandra, the sheer power has rattled him.. and also told him she’s in Ecuador and his X-Men need to be warned NOW. It’s a great way to set up just HOW powerful Cassandra is. Speaking of which as our first issue of the arc ends, we find out two things: Cass faked being int he government but really just used dead soldiers as prop.. and just what kind of sentinels are out there.. wild sentinels. Easily my faviorite variant of the old killing machines and one that’s barely used despite being really damn awesome. Their adaptive killing machines, designed to mutated just like their pray and take tech from around them, as a result they look like a jumble of guns and parts.. but not only does it give them a unique, cool look.. but it makes them ten times deadlier as instead of being big bricks of robots that while intimidating, the x-men know how to kill... their unpredictable variable killing machines. You can figure out how to kill one sure.. btu the next might be entirely diffrent. They are one of morrisons best creations and I hope someone uses the idea again.. aka hickman. Please use it jonathan I know your focused on nimrod but come on.

And we end on one of the best lines of the entiire run as we close out the issue

Yeah it goes without saying but i’ll say it anyway; Morrison is really damn good with dialouge and being damn quotable.

So we open with another great quote “When I got up today I didn’t expect to kill 20 million people”... and Cassandra being aware Wolverine and Cyclops are on their way and sending the Wild Sentinels to dispatch them. Also our heroes brought Ugly John along while while a dumb move, Wolvie does point out how dumb it was to divert to Ecuador with a civlian in tow.. after the plane crash of course. As for “wait what plane crash’, the sentinels attack and start picking it apart... and since letting them have such good tech is a terrible idea, Scotty blows up the damn plane. So to recap our heroes are stuck in ecuador, surrounded by murder machines, and oh look their there and knock off cyclops viser. Fantastic. So yeah our heroes are fucked. And naturally captured by the enemy.

The rest of the x-men are doing SLIGHTLY better. While beast makes a note for his girlfriend, more on that later on, Charles is in bed, half alive, explaning the rationale I gave for why he has the gun with Jean refusing to let him get back out of bed and you know.. put on the device that just nearly killed him. But when beast announces they lost contact with our boys.. yeah that ceased being an option.

Back in the Ecuadorian Genocide Factory, Cassandra does the obvious and kills donald trask as his real purpose..was to stick around and be stupid for a bit while she copied his dna so she could have full control of her new murder toys.She soon uses them, having a horrifying death chamber slaughter john.. or at least flash fry him. Wolverine takes it how you’d expect and since the sentinels need to “perserve trask dna”.. they can’t fire on him without killing her. Scott escapes.. and in a heart wrenching scene mercy kills john.. before getting badass.

To anyone who says Scott Summers is boring, unintersting, or a stupid asshole idiot head I present exhbit shut the fuck up. Morrison gets scott just right, deconstructing his emotional suppression, while showing him off as a dedicated, companionate man who gets the job done and who seconds after tearfully having to mercy kill an innocent mutant whose death was partially his fault, wastes no time making it painfully clear to the person responsible she WILL die if she tries that again. Logan however realizes she’s already won in some fashion as she’s grinning.. and yeah never a good sign when a genocidal madwoman is grinning like a loon.. and when we find out why.. it’s even less good> We cut to Genosha. A lot of you probably know what happned to Genosha but in case you don’t know what it is it was once a horribly racist country that genetically enslaved mutants and used them for slave labor. It was freed, but still struggled to truly move on.. till Magneto showed up, took the country for himself and made it a home for all mutants. When we last saw him he once again tried to take over the world leading to Logan seemingly killing him. Right now though Emma Frost finally enters the scene teaching some mutants.. when a young one named Negasonic Teenage Warhead.. yes that one and yes she was entirely chosen for deadpool for her name, reveals, via precognition, that their all going to die.. right as the sentinels attack.

Genosha.. is gone. In an eyeblink 16 million mutants are dead, a possible future gone, and one of their greatest leaders is no more. Yeah Magneto WAS alive.. but paralyzed so he could do nothing when his island was utterly slaughtered. Only a handful of mutants will be revealed to survive. Humanity had done a lot to mutants before .. but for once.. they’d succeeded in wiping a massive chunk out. What was an x-men location for DECADES at this point.. was now a smoldering crater. A what could of been that would hant the x-men ever after, even now into utopia it remains the darkest day in mutant history outside of hte decimation. It is a truly horrific moment.. and if the changes already hadn’t made it clear this is morrison saying “NO character is safe, nothing is safe, and nothing will be the same and I damn well mean that”. In one act of hate the world has changed. And it hasn’t finished changing yet.

Issue Three opens hammering in things, as Jean and Beast are in the ruins of genosha, with Xavier having found ONE surivor among the rubble, and our heroes sturggling to find even them, though Jean eventually picks them up and uses her TK to sift through the rubble.

They find Emma who emerges from a bunker in shock, clutching NTW... and not realizing she’s dead until later and revealing she now has diamond skin, her own secondary mutation. Secondary Mutation was a birlliant idea, new powers sprouting up within established mutants.. it’s just morrison barely used this great idea as did hardly anyone else. Only X-Men Blue ever really dug into it and those were artifical at that. IT’s a great idea..it’s just barely used and at most heavily implied to explain changes in powers like Jamie Madrox Multiple Personalities later on or Doug Ramsey’s vast increase in power. Disapointing.

While Charles takes in the tragedy and the fact his old frienmie is dead, the x-men wonder what the fuck Cassandra is and what to do with her.. why did she kill 16 million people, and what the fuck is she. I mean I know, but as I said i’ll explain that when the story does. IN the other room Beast tends to Emma who wants none of not fucking killing Cassandra.. and is utterly right. Bitchy, because i’ts Emma, but right: she killed 16 million people. Say what you want but while it may not be up to the x-men to kill her.. she shoudln’t be living much longer. She commited genocide. Emma decides fuck that and prepares to leave summoning a cab and making peace with being a glorious living fabrige egg. Emma did apparelty change in generation x.. but Morrison is responsible for returning her not only to being a bitch, but a gloriously delightful one And really I don’t think they reset her character entirely: she’s not the heartless monster she started out as: she has empathy, grace, and caring.. she just buries it under a lair of absolute bitch and after you know, surviving a fucking genocide who can blame her? And honestly.. I love their verison of her. She provides a nice contrast to the more idealistic, even logan, x-men and a nice contrarian voice in the room without being obnoxious and her style and sacrastic swagger makes her endlessly entertaning. Thanks to morrison she’s stuck around to this day and went from a pretty good character.. to a great one. And what makes her this way, or as jean puts it “such a bitch?”

With that settled, Hank explains what Cassandra is: a competing species. As he puts it sometimes evolution takes a quantum leap forward.. and Cassandra is the result. Thus she wants to wipe out the compettition and is so far above humanity, she dosen’t need them... especially since she knows what Hank now knows: humanity is at an end. As hank puts it we have an E Gene, one that basically shuts off a race.. and thus the x-men now know what we learned earlier and that cassandra wasn’t lying: in 4 generations there are no more humans and something has to repalce htem. And Cassandra wants it to be her.

Before Logan can do what he does best, and asks why she looks like charles, Cassandra escapes, and Scott briliantly urges them to fight only on instict as she’s a telepath. A damn awesome fight insues including Cassandra donning Charles Psoonic battle armor, Scott being put in his black bug room and the general good looking chaos you’d expect from a superhero fight. While this goes on Emma has an ephinany and realizes she likes to teach, the x-men have a school.. and she shoudln’t give up on helping kids just because of what happened and turns around.

Cassandra is near victory, slipping her way to Cerebra.. and planning to kill only one mind before getting to the millions she wnats, a horrifying slug manifesting around her.. only...

So the x-men accept this and cassandra rises.. seemingly saying “I am charles” Huh... and then charles uncaracteristiacally shoots her saying things must change

We’ll get to what all of that means next time as we close on Jean and Scott in bed. Scott explains why he’s been so distant as what I said earlier: fighting off apocalypse stripped away a lot of illusions about himself and he’s having a hard time walking back from that but Jean is willing to help.. but before they can resolve their issues.. charles has an annoucnment to make and grant has one last whopper of a suprise to end his opening arc on, and just like genosha...it’s a game changer of titanic proportions

No longer is Xavier’s School hidden. Their walking into the light now and so is charles. Hope they surivive the experince. Obviously this move is brilliant: while it removes the veil of saftey the x-men had it also brings on tons of new possiblities and unlike secondary mutation, this one not only stuck but would impact the x-men for good: no longer would they hide and cower.. their mutant and proud.. and their here to stay. E For Extinction is one of the best x-men stories period. Blisteringly paced, full of great character, great concepts and utterly terrifying and terrific moments that would impact the x-men all the way to present day. It’s beautifully drawn, well paced, and a masterwork. I highly recommend it and it’s a great kickoff to a great run. Shame the run couldn’t of ended on this kind of high but.. we’ll get to that. For now this is a masterclass in how to start a run and if you haven’t read it do so NEXT TIME ON NEW X-MEN: A bunch of weirdos try to harvest mutant organs, the x-men get a brain in a jar and a new teamate, and Scott maybe cheats on his wife. Until then, goodbye goodbye goodbye.

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emma-what-son · 3 years ago

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How Sir Philip's son cast a spell on Emma Watson: The super-woke Harry Potter star and the playboy son of the disgraced Topshop tycoon - it's hard to think of a more unlikely romance, writes ALISON BOSHOFF

One can almost see her eyebrows raised in quizzical disdain. Hermione Granger would surely disapprove.

Pictures emerged this week of Emma Watson, the serious-minded Harry Potter actress and eco-warrior, hopping out of Sir Philip Green’s family helicopter in Battersea, South London. Curious, some would think, given Emma’s long-standing war against fast fashion, that she would accept a lift from the fallen King of the High Street.

More curious still, however, is that Emma, 31, has apparently been enchanted by Brandon Green, Sir Philip’s 28-year-old son, whose longest relationship to date seems to have been with a Belarusian bikini model. Could there be a more unlikely romance?

Aside from both being awash with money —Brandon is an heir to a £2 billion fortune, while Emma is said to be worth about £59 million —they appear to have almost nothing in common. Yet according to a friend, a certain magic is in the air.

‘Brandon has been wooing Emma,’ says one source. Another says: ‘They are an item, although she hasn’t met the family yet.’

Emma, who once mused about being ‘self-partnered’, has certainly had more suitors than her single status would have you believe.

At 17, an early boyfriend was rugby player Tom Ducker, but her most serious romance seems to have been with another rugby player — and fellow Oxford student — Matt Janney, with whom she broke up in 2015.

Then there was another Oxford student, Will Adamowicz. The relationship lasted from 2011 to 2013.

She was then seen out and about with actor/producer Roberto Aguire, whom she first met in 2005 on the set of Harry Potter And The Goblet Of Fire. She also seems to have a particularly weak spot for young tech millionaires, as she has dated at least three of them, most significantly U.S. entrepreneur William ‘Mack’ Knight, whom she split from in late 2017 following a two-year romance.

Then came a six-month love affair with handsome Glee actor Chord Overstreet. They broke up during the summer of 2018.

She was then spotted sharing cocktails with tech CEO Brendan Wallace, a New Yorker, now 38, who is co-founder of a venture capital fund. By summer 2019 she was rumoured to have moved on to another tech millionaire, Brendan Iribe, CEO of Oculus.

She most recently split from her boyfriend of two years, businessman Leo Robinton.

It’s a longer list of amours than you might expect for someone who claims to be ‘self-partnered’, but then Emma is a woman who solemnly examines her life.

‘The boyfriends or partners I’ve had have generally made me feel really cherished. They have built me up,’ she said.

Quite how Brandon — who featured in Tatler’s ‘most eligible’ list in 2014 and was once caught patting Kate Moss’s bottom — fits into Emma’s orbit of admirers, remains to be seen. Although, like Emma’s other admirers, he does have a job running a tech investments company.

So who is this handsome young man — and what does Emma see in him?

Born in 1992, he was raised in Monte Carlo with big sister Chloe. His mother, Tina, is resident in the tax haven and was the ultimate owner of the Arcadia group, which went into administration last year. He went to the principality of Monaco’s International School.

To say his was a gilded upbringing would be an understatement. A source in Monaco says: ‘All the time he was growing up, the Greens would never fly commercial, always in their private jet.

‘They have a private chauffeur and in the family penthouse at the Roccabella building in Monaco there are uniformed maids standing to attention in every room just in case someone needs something. That’s the lifestyle Brandon was born into and has always thought was completely normal.’

He and Chloe have the use of the 109ft yacht Lionchase — Sir Phil has the 295ft Lionheart —which is moored in Monaco in the winter and cruises around the Med all summer.

I’m informed that his mum will pick up ‘seven-figure’ boat bills for the pair of them at the end of the season without blanching.

Brandon’s 2005 Bar Mitzvah caused a stir. It was held at the Grand-Hotel du Cap-Ferrat, with entertainment provided by Beyonce, Destiny’s Child and Italian tenor Andrea Bocelli. There were 300 guests over three days, all hosted by Sir Phil, who was then the boss of Topshop, BHS and Dorothy Perkins, all part of the Arcadia group.

When he was younger, Brandon seemed to be happy to join Chloe in a celebrity-packed party lifestyle. Locals say he was ‘practically living in Monaco’s Sass Café and partying until dawn every morning with a bevy of models’ in his 20s.

Kate Moss — a friend of his father — spent much of her 2011 honeymoon break with Jamie Hince on board his yacht and they got on famously. In 2013 he was spotted playfully groping Moss’s bikini-clad bottom while on holiday in St Barth’s. At the time he was 21.

When she was 21, Emma Watson had been famous for a decade and had just finished making the Potter films.

While Brandon found life one long, joyful party, she was struggling introspectively with having money and acclaim. As she recently said: ‘I’ve often thought, I’m so wrong for this job because I’m too serious.’

She felt physically sick when she found out how much money she had earned from the Potter films, and considered not renewing her contract to complete them.

Following stellar A-levels, she took an English degree at Brown University in Rhode Island — over five years, due to disruption from filming.

Brandon Green doesn’t have a degree. There was some idea that he might buck the family trend and go to university, but Sir Phil told an interviewer at the time: ‘It’s up for discussion,’ and evidently it was decided that was not the right path.

Instead, he spent years learning the ropes of the fashion business with Sir Philip and working for Arcadia.

As the BHS scandal raged in 2016 — after Sir Philip sold the company to a bankrupt, with a hole in its pensions provisions — and the company went bust, Brandon was sent to host a table at the Met Gala Ball in New York in his father’s place.

For three years, he was also a regular at the Topshop show at London Fashion Week, sitting with model Jourdan Dunn and chatting to Vogue editor-in-chief Anna Wintour.

He began to go to Cannes, again as part of Topshop’s presence at the film festival, and to attend the Amfar charity gala on the arm of girlfriend Maryna Linchuk, a Victoria’s Secret model who towered over him.

But when Chloe became more involved in the family business and started designing shoes, Brandon stepped back from the spotlight.

They are a close family, all the more so since the woes that beset the Arcadia Group and Sir Philip before it collapsed. In fact, this seems to have acted as a wake-up call for Brandon.

A source said: ‘Once Philip fell from grace so badly, all the A-list celebrities and many of the world’s elite dropped the Green family completely. It really shook them up.

‘There was a party in Monaco that a family friend threw for them in the middle of the BHS pensions scandal. Brandon looked around aghast and said to Tina, “We don’t know anyone here!”

‘They felt the world hated them. Philip would fill his days doing laps of Monaco on foot with his bodyguard and personal trainer. Tina would busy herself in her art gallery or with her interior design business. There were a lot of tears; it was an awful atmosphere for the staff and for the family.

‘Brandon could see how transient popularity is and how big A-list stars had been using them for free holidays on their yachts for years. The whole experience sparked a “woke-over” in Brandon.

‘He got very interested in biodiversity and saving the oceans. He does a lot of charity and advocacy work with both Monaco’s Prince Albert’s Foundation and Princess Charlene’s Foundation. He is a trained deep-sea diver, he is very into fitness and gets involved with galas and charities that help the planet. He does frequent beach clean-ups and whatever he can to help.

‘It’s all very low-key, as he doesn’t want to be seen to be doing charity work for PR. But he’s been getting Tina to donate a hefty amount of money to charities that help save the planet too, saying they should do some good with their huge fortune.’

A second source says it is now Brandon, rather than Chloe, who is the apple of Tina’s eye, and he who is seen as the one who will eventually turn the family’s public reputation around.

A friend says: ‘He is very disciplined, intelligent and keen on study. He reads a lot, he travels a lot. He’s polite and well-mannered. Whatever he does, he embraces it fully. His parents are proud of him.’

His hobbies include skiing, at which he excels. He trains almost daily and took part in a gruelling cycling and swimming charity event last year for Princess Charlene of Monaco’s charity, going from Corsica to Monaco.

The friend adds: ‘He eats right and doesn’t drink or party — he is a very nice young man.’

How Brandon came to meet Emma, whose woke credentials may prove challenging for his family, is somewhat unclear, although it is believed his newfound interest in charitable ventures may have steered him her way.

Last year Miss Watson joined the sustainability committee at Kering, the owner of top fashion brands such as Gucci. She was labelled ‘Hollywood’s queen of ethical dressing’ by Vogue.

She has been taking a break from acting after appearing in the 2019 film Little Women but remains an active advocate for ‘race and gender justice’ via various charities. In 2014 she became a UN Women Goodwill ambassador, and she also ran a feminist book club, Our Shared Shelf, on Twitter.

She loves writing poetry, jigsaws, cats and nights in.

Her first purchase with the Potter millions was a ‘brick-like’ Toyota Prius. She said: ‘It’s sensible and boring, like me.’

Not that Emma is as staid as she says. In conversation with Gloria Steinem at an event in London in 2016, she revealed that she subscribes to a sex education website called OMGyes.

It’s a far remove from the days when she was cast in the Harry Potter films at nine years old, having been found via the theatre club she attended. She only completed filming the last Potter when she was 20, in June 2010.

Sources who knew her in the Potter days say her father Chris’s influence was paramount, even though she lived with her mother in Oxford.

The experience of growing up on Potter was so constricting and stressful, when the cast and crew held a ‘wrap party’ at Harry’s Bar after the final set of reshoots in 2010, she didn’t attend.

She said in 2017: ‘It’s something I’ve really wrestled with. I’ve gone back and quizzed my parents. When I was younger, I just did it. I just acted, it was just there.

‘I was finding this fame thing was getting to a point of no return. I sensed that if this was something I was ever going to step away from, it was now or never.’

Post-Potter, her films have been generally low-key. It is said she turned down the La La Land role that brought Emma Stone an Oscar.

Her £3 million London home was selected after she viewed it over Skype, because she can come and go unobserved.

That’s not to say her life is in any way normal: her social circle includes fashion figures such as Antoine Arnault of the LVMH dynasty, she has been the face of Lancome perfume and launched a collection with the ethical fashion label People Tree.

The question now is, will Emma finally find lasting love with a most unlikely Green?

#news #boyfriend

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feverinfeveroutfic · 3 years ago

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chapter one: welcome home

chapter one of book four, mind you~

i decided to post it now because why the hell not?

"out on the wily, windy moors, we'd roll and fall in green. you had a temper like my jealousy, too hot, too greedy. how could you leave me when i needed to possess you? i hated you, i loved you, too." -"wuthering heights", kate bush

Marla closed the hatch at the back of her rental car, and she turned to Sam. The hot California sun beat down on both of their heads. The trees were already changing from healthy green to an autumnal yellow despite it being the middle of summer. The soil underneath them and the low sparsely forested foothills around them yearned for rain, and she kept her gaze fixated on the glass front door up the walkway from her.

It felt like forever since Sam had been to Lake Elsinore and what better way than to genuinely live by the lake as she began her senior project. Everything was as dry as a bone, and Marla's own caress upon her upper arms meant that the dryness would in fact persist throughout. Sam tucked her free hand into one pocket and she could feel the edge of the paper against her skin.

“God, I know it's hot but I feel it getting cold soon, though,” Marla confessed.

“That's the West Coast for you,” Sam told her. “The assumption is always one of 'oh, it's always so hot in California—surprised it doesn't catch fire more.' But it's actually cold and dry here, though. It's not like New York where you guys have the lakes and the Gulf Stream nearby.”

“By the way, did you tell Aurora?” Marla asked her.

“I did,” Sam replied, but she realized that she never did tell Aurora that she was going out to California over the summer, especially since she was due to give birth to her baby any day at that point. She never told her when she would be coming back, either. That is if she ever came back. Bill still never elaborated on what she was to do out there in the Golden State, even on the flight over from New York. If anything, he was awful quiet the whole way, especially with Marla right next to her on in that single row of seats.

Marla herself meanwhile had kept the black hair from the winter months, however she changed the electric blue streak to one of electric pink, and she added a second streak on the opposite side of her head as well. She tucked a single strand behind her ear right then.

“I can't believe you're actually here,” she confessed.

“I can't, either,” Sam said with a raise of her eyebrows. “But the boys are all up the road, though. If I find the time, I'll drive up there and at the very least visit Cliff.”

“That's definitely a must. Your couch is still stashed at my apartment, by the way. You know, when you moved in with me, you had to stash that thing. I might just keep it.”

“Hey, it's a comfy couch, you might as well. And I might be back come Christmas, who knows?”

“Miss Shelley?” Bill called from the front door right then. Sam raised her eyebrows at him.

“What's up?” she called out to him. He hurried out of the front door with something flat tucked underneath his arm.

“Hey, that's right, yeah,” Marla said with a nod.

“I don't know why I keep thinking it's going to be like forever,” Sam confessed, “I think it's the whole 'pick up and move across the country' kinda thing, to be honest.”

“I think it is, too,” Marla agreed, “going that far and being far away this whole entire time, you get kind of final in your thoughts.” He skidded to a stop before them as the words left her lips. He clicked a pen and showed Sam the clipboard with a blank white sheet of paper upon it.

“What's this?” she asked him.

“I'm gonna need you to sign this,” he told her as he pointed at the line underneath the edge of the blank paper. “It's an agreement to show that you are in fact out here with me.”

“Why didn't we do this before we left, though?” she asked him with a frown.

“I just forgot,” he confessed with a shrug of his shoulders. “It's okay, though—I have a fax machine inside. I can send it off to the school with ease!”

Sam glanced over at Marla, whose face fell and she fetched up a sigh through her nose all the while. She then nibbled on her bottom lip out of fretting. But on the other hand, she was back in Lake Elsinore and within range of the Los Angeles area if she so wished. She had lived here before. She was a day's drive from the San Francisco Bay Area, and a day's drive from her parents' house.

She could still taste Joey on her lips. The tears in those brown eyes. The feeling of his soft slender little body against her own. He vowed to call her, as long as she got to call him first by the time she had been settled in with Bill there at the house.

All of her art supplies with her. All of her clothes with her. She could still feel Zelda's embrace as well. She didn't want to leave it behind her, but she was sure that it was only for that year. A year felt like forever in those terms however.

But she signed on the dotted regardless of her fears and her reluctance.

No sooner had she added a little loop at the bottom of the “y” in her last name of Shelley when he lifted the page for her again.

“And there,” he said with a point to the bottom of the page. Sam sighed through her nose and she did it right then and there. Marla sniffled but Sam knew it was from the dryness all around them.

“Excellent!” he declared and he returned to the house with the clipboard tucked under his arm. Sam and Marla glanced at one another; the former noticed the look of bewilderment upon her face.

“What's the matter?” Sam asked her, to which Marla leaned closer to her face so they could keep it between the both of them.

“There was just something off about that,” she replied. “Don't you think so?”

“How so?”

“I dunno. Just—kind of—off. Like something about that didn't sit too well with me.”

“Come inside and make yourselves at home,” Bill called from the front door again.

“In my case, for the time being,” Marla added as the two of them walked on inside of the spacious foyer; to the right stood a carpeted stairwell which led up to the second and third floors up above. Before them was the foyer which led to the kitchen and to the left stood the vast but warm lit dining room with a long table. Bill himself had gone off somewhere inside of that house.

“This place is like a mansion,” Sam noted.

“Yeah. Definitely not something you see on a teacher's salary, either. Especially an adjunct collegiate professor, too.” Marla looked over at her again. “See what I mean when I say there's just something off about this whole thing?”

“Sort of. We'll have to see more of it soon enough to come to a conclusion, though.”

Bill then returned to the two of them with a glass of dark liquid in each hand.

“Iced tea for my guest and—my mentee,” he declared. He then ran his fingers through his blond hair and his face lit up. “By the way, did you get those letters of recommendation signed and sealed, Marla?”

“Yeah...” she replied with a bit of hesitance. “Belinda and I got it all done in like April, two months early.” He turned his attention to the small table right next to him, and she chuckled right then. “It was funny. We were sitting in the library doing the rest of them and she was like 'I dunno if I can do the rest of these joint, Marla.' And I was like, 'don't tell you haven't written letters of recommendation before, Bel!' And she goes, 'I have, just not with another person.' And I told her, 'well, it's not like we're screwing each other, Bel—just gotta write them up real quick by the template. Nothing to it.' Took us all day, but still!”

Sam chuckled at that, but Bill was silent the whole entire time she talked about that. Instead, he kept his attention fixed on the sheet of paper under his fingers.

“So you looking over what I have to do while I'm out here?” Sam asked him as she sipped on her iced tea.

“Yeah—quite a bit you have to do.”

“Well, can I at least see it?”

“Not with Marla here,” he pointed out with a raise of his head, to which Sam frowned at that.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I told her about my senior project when it was going down this past school year,” Marla recalled, and he raised his eyebrows at her.

“Seriously.”

“Yeah. What's—what's wrong with that?”

He nibbled on his bottom lip, curt.

“When does your flight leave, Marla?”

“Well, I was thinking of getting Sam settled in here and then taking her out to dinner down the hill.”

“There's hardly any time for that,” he said with a straight face.

“Yes, there is.”

“Yeah, she's taking the red eye, Bill,” Sam assured him. “It's gonna be fine.”

“You're not working, are you?” he asked Marla with a slight raise of an eyebrow. She knitted her eyebrows together at that.

“Why does that matter?”

“You don't have any money.”

“I have some. Not a lot. I'm expecting my grant some time this week which will cover my rent. And I am looking for a job, too.” Marla gaped at him. “You—do realize this, right? Like, I'm not a free loader, right?”

“Never said you were,” he pointed out.

“But you're implying it, though,” Marla pointed out.

“Oh, Miss Taylor, you couldn't be further from the truth.”

“No, that's exactly what you're implying here. You see me here with Sam like I'm some kind of free loader. Well, I'm here to help her move in with you.”

“Once again, you couldn't be further from the truth. She's not moving in with me—she's staying here with me.”

“Yes, she's moving in with you!” Marla insisted.

“Don't miss that flight,” he told her in a singsong tone.

Sam and Marla glanced at one another, puzzled. “What flight?” the former asked him.

“The next one. Before we left the airport, I noticed that the next one to New York leaves in about one hour. You want to find work, don't you, Miss Taylor?”

“Well, yeah. But I still want to help her, though. And there will be more flights, too. I hope.”

“Yeah, I don't think there's a red eye tonight.” He showed her a thin lipped smile, and Marla shifted her weight in that spot on the floor. Sam looked over at her with her mouth slightly parted. Without another moment's hesitation, Marla drank down the iced tea in four large gulps. She lowered the glass and showed her tongue to Sam. The grimace on Marla's face made her realize that the iced tea was terrible.

“Don't miss that flight,” he told her in a singsong tone. Marla then turned to Sam with tears in her eyes. This whole entire time, she believed that Aurora was her best friend, but Marla had taken that crown from her in the past several months as they moved in together and attended school together. She even helped her dye her hair! Marla threw her arms around her and held her close. Sam had her chin rested upon her shoulder, just like how she embraced Joey.

Marla held back a bit to say something right into her ear.

“If you need anything at all, call me,” she said to her in a low voice, “or Bel. We can't do much—especially her because she went up to Albany last week—but we both can be shoulders to cry on, though.”

“Or Zelda,” Sam suggested.

“Oh, yeah, Zelda will definitely be happy to hear your voice. Anything at all. Rain or shine, day or night, doesn't matter. Call one of us if you need anything at all.”

“Okay.” Marla embraced her again.

“I love you,” she whispered into her ear.

“I love you, too,” Sam whispered back.

Marla squeezed her a little bit before she let her go and then she walked on out of there. The last time Sam would be seeing Marla and that pink stripe upon her head; indeed, Sam sniffled and she brushed away a tear as Marla climbed into the rental car. She stood there in the doorway to see her off; before she started up the car, Marla turned her head into her direction and formed a heart shape with both hands over her chest. Sam set her glass of iced tea down on the floor next to her feet and she returned the favor: even from the doorway, she could see the tears in her friend's eyes.

She wasn't ready to let her go as of yet. But Marla returned to the steering wheel and she started up the car.

Sam saw her off up the street, and she even stayed there for a couple more minutes after Marla turned the corner and disappeared behind the trees.

A brand new chapter, at least for the time being. Sam knew she would be back in New York some day. When that some day came was another question, however.

“Alright, Miss Shelley,” Bill started, still in a curt tone. She fetched up another sigh and she picked up the glass of iced tea from the floor, and she took a sip from it. She winced at the overly sweet taste and the fact that he hadn't used fresh tea at all. The pale, washed out beige color was right in her face after all.

Sam turned around and there, on either side of Bill, stood two little girls. The same two little towheaded blonde twin girls she remembered from that photograph in his office back at the school. The girl on the right had a big blue ribbon bow that tied up her blonde hair upon the crown of her head, while the one on the left had a birthmark shaped like a crescent moon on her cheek.

“Oh!” she said as she held the glass closer to her chest.

“Yes.” He set a hand on either of their shoulders.

“You must be Matilda and Cassandra,” she started in a friendly tone.

“Mattie and Cassie,” he corrected her. “Mattie to the right here with the bow in her hair, and Cassie to the left with the birthmark on her face.”

“Mattie and Cassie, pardon me,” she said.

“Are you our mommy now?” Mattie asked her with her finger up to her lip.

Sam stopped.

“Why would I be your mommy?” she asked her, confused.

“Daddy said he was bringing home a new mommy,” Mattie replied, and Sam knitted her eyebrows together at that.

And then it dawned on her. Marla's hunches were right. She looked up at Bill, who never changed his expression from a cold smile. Sam shook her head.

“While you are out here with me,” he began in a low voice, “you must help me raise these two girls given their birth mother is not around. You must pose as my new wife.”

“Wait. You're telling me—part of the assignment is to feign marriage? That sounds so illegal.”

“It actually isn't. And it's not part of the assignment, either—this is what it is. Remember part of the paperwork I made you sign when we first got here? The one that was tucked under that piece of paper as you were conversing with Marla?”

“Those two pieces of paper on the clipboard? Those two thing you made me sign while—she and I were talking—and when we first got here?” Sam gaped at him. He had duped her, and now she was out there in California, with no escape. She was now responsible for raising Matilda and Cassandra alongside him.

She should have listened to those gut feelings while he told her about it in his office back in New York. She should have listened to her own intuition, in how the whole thing left her unsettled.

“What're you going to do for the school, though?” she demanded. “What're you going to do for money?”

“I was in an adjunct position, Miss Shelley,” he explained, “those positions are expendable and that school is understaffed, too. When they're abandoned, they find a way to fill it in. As for money—don't worry about it. I'm still on the payroll there and have been, even after they—fired—me. They are so incompetent that they didn't even take me off the payroll.” That word of which he mouthed.

She balled her free hand into a fist, but it was apparent that he didn't care. Not even in the very least. And this was a side to him that she hadn't seen before, at least not when she was at the school. Or perhaps it was because every time she saw him took place at the school, thus he had to hide this side to him.

“Welcome home,” he told her with a cold smile and a sinister tone to his voice. She grimaced at that as he stepped out of there and into the hallway. “Your room is upstairs, remember. By the way.”

Sam fumed at him as he led those two girls out of there. She had no clue who she was more furious at, herself for having fallen into his trap, or Bill for being so insidious with it all. But the only thing she could do was go up to the loft on the third floor, where Marla had helped move her things to.

She turned to the stairwell beneath her and she looked down at the glass of awful iced tea. Silence downstairs, which meant he wouldn't hear her.

“You—fucking asshole,” she blurted out. “You fucking scumbag! You mother fucker!” She chucked the glass down to the bottom of the stairs and it shattered against the wall, right next to his room no less. He was out of range at that point, and all Sam could do was drop down to the edge of the bed with her face buried in her hands.

She wasn't ready to be married yet, not with Joey not knowing about it. She lay back on the bed when the tears welled up even more. He had fooled her. He had fooled her!

She left everything behind only for him to fool her into it!

And indeed, those finalistic thoughts weren't so finalistic after all. She was officially married to him, and Matilda and Cassandra were her stepdaughters from that point onward. Nothing she could do about it at that point.

She rolled over onto her side and buried her face into the top cover on the bed. She didn't want to be seen, even with Bill out of the room.

* * * * *

And thus, she found herself at the shore of the small lake before her, and she wondered where things had gone wrong. The glassy waters were nothing like the lake north of Syracuse, or one of the Finger Lakes for that matter.

The whole ordeal left her mind a complete mess. Her heart torn into separate pieces. She came to the conclusion that those three years in which she lived in New York were her perceived peak. Never going back to those days ever again after this.

She wanted Joey but she also wanted Alex, especially with her being so close to the San Francisco Bay Area at that point. But at the same time, she couldn't entirely put the blame on Bill. He wanted her out there for a reason and her studious nature at school and the fact she always came like clockwork made her appeal to him in the vein of a mother. If anything, it was her fault that she didn't ask more questions.

But also at the same time, however, he led her into it all. He led her on. He made her believe that those two girls were in good hands with their birth mother, but apparently, he had better things to do for himself. She gazed on at the photographs of Joey and Alex in her fingers.

“So much for standing up for myself,” she muttered as she gazed on at their faces nestled in between her fingers. “I need to get the hell out of here. I need to get out of here and figure out how to null it.”

She was alone at that point, anyway, which meant she could in fact call Marla. The inspiration had run dry a bit on that hot afternoon anyway; thus she closed her journal and she climbed off of the rock and began back up the pathway to the house. One of the things she had up in her room was a large bookcase, and one of the books on the shelves was Wuthering Heights. She would have to read that book at some point in the future, or perhaps she could do it that evening after she made the phone call back to the apartment in Hell's Kitchen.

“What the—actual fuck,” Marla sputtered; Sam could hear the fury in her voice. “What do you mean you're legally married to him?”

“I'm legally married to him,” Sam said in a low voice as she sat there on the edge of her bed with the cordless in her ear. “Remember those two things he made me sign when you and I were out on the sidewalk?”

“Yeah?”

“The first thing was a nuptial agreement. The other thing I signed was a prenup, too, because—this is a big house and he's got his fingers in some pies, too. Because I'm here with nothing now.” She folded her right arm across her chest and sighed through her nose. “You were right, Marla. There was something off about the whole thing. The big house, the hidden papers he made me sign... it was all in plain sight, really. Like that—fucking trash iced tea he made for us.”

“Well, if I'm honest, here was nothing we could do at that point, though. We were already there and you've really got no way back, either, especially now. And yeah, that iced tea was horrible. Probably the worst I've ever had in my life.”

“How's Bel doing?” Sam asked.

“She's loving Albany right now. She told me she could probably get me a job up there, but—who knows, really. And I don't really want to leave Hell's Kitchen, you know? I was born here and I grew up here. For me, a city girl, to be upstate, even with my other best friend—it just—it's hard.”

“Right, right. It'd be cool, though. You know I was wanting an escape from New York for a bit, but sometimes a mere change of pace is all you need. It's why I was so eager to leave the Bronx and move in with you in Hell's Kitchen.”

“And New York's a big city, too. If you can't find something here, something is wrong.”

Sam glanced down at the floor boards underneath her. She knew that those mountains got cold in the winter time, and the cold would come for them soon enough: she foresaw those bare wooden boards feeling as cold as ice at some point during those months.

“Genie misses you, by the way,” Marla told her.

“God, I miss her, too. How's she doing?”

“She's right here next to me on the couch getting pets. She's also purring, like loudly. You know, that big loud contented purr she likes to do with us. Last night, she curled up behind my legs and never moved at all. It wasn't even that cold last night, either.”

Sam sighed through her nose. All those days in which the two of them returned home and Genie always ran up to them with a loud contented purr from inside of her throat, and her black fur as soft as ever. She always seemed to get softer with each and every day they both stepped through the door.

“Also, Aurora finally—literally finally—gave birth to her babies,” Marla added with a clearing of her throat.

“Wait.” Sam stopped right in her tracks and she shuffled her feet right underneath her at the sound of that. “Babies? Babies, are you serious? She had more than one?”

“Yeah, twins. Two girls—half Korean half—whatever the hell Emile is. I forget their names, though, like Aurora told me this morning but I wasn't properly paying attention. I kept thinking, you know—it's about time. Really, it's about time, too, she was getting massive that last week, and they were big, too. And this whole entire time I thought she was due in the middle of June, but the dumb idiot Emile was about a month off. Can't even do math right.”

“Oh, my god!” Sam brought a hand to her mouth.

“Yeah, I took a Polaroid of her literally moments before her water broke. She posed for me and it looked like she ate two of the biggest watermelons you could find at the supermarket. She was huge, Sam. Just gargantuan. If and when I get to see you again, I'll show you because I told Frankie about it, because they hadn't seen her in months, either. And he was like 'no way!' I went to their place just the other day to see how things were going and it's absolute chaos over there, like I left after not even five minutes. Neither of them were prepared for a family of four. And they want more, too! She told me she loves being pregnant and she can't wait to get knocked up again and again. It's just crazy.”

She chuckled and then she fell silent again for a moment. Sam knew what was on her mind right then.

“I have no idea what I'm going to do, Sam,” she confessed to her in a near whisper. “I mean, it's barely August, and I finally got my grant in the mail, too. But I'm sure you know. Grants don't last forever.”

“Oh, yeah, and school's about to start again soon, too. Did you find a job, though?”

“Not yet. Like I said Bel might find me something but I'm not holding my breath, though. I might just go work at the school, who knows, really.”

And then Sam remembered what he told her. “Yes, go work at the school and tell someone that Bill doesn't work there anymore. If nothing, take his place so he loses money.”

“I'd have to get my teaching credential, though.”

“Yes, but they're understaffed, though. If they lack people, they've got to take you. At least that's what he told me about adjunct positions. He also got fired some time ago but stayed on the payroll. I'm guessing he just saved like hell and he was able to afford this house and why he made me sign a prenup, too. If you go to work there, maybe you can point it out to someone there. Like 'hey, Bill hasn't worked here in some time, why is he still on the payroll?' And you can not only go to work there but you can inadvertently take his money, too.”

Marla fell silent again, and that time for a whole entire minute.

“Are you there, Marla?” Sam asked in a small voice.

“Never left,” Marla replied. “I'm putting my shoes on. I will run down there if I have to.”

Sam held the cordless in between her shoulder and the side of her face, and she clapped her hands at that.

“Oh, my god, thank you so much!”

“Hey, you're my best friend, my roommate, and my fellow artist. At this point in our friendship, Sam, I will literally take a bullet for you. And—I'm a New York girl to boot, too. I'm not gonna let any slippery mother fucker screw over you like that.”

Sam clasped a hand to her brow and she pinched her eyes shut to hold back the tears of joy. To think it wasn't that long ago she wanted Charlie for herself out of spite to Marla, but now her support of her fellow female artists had come to fruition even more so now than ever.

“But wait, isn't the school closed, though?” Sam stopped right then.

“Not today, no. It's Monday. Campus closes at eight and it's five thirty right now. It's almost dinner time for most of the counselors there so I gotta hustle.”

“Oh, yeah, that's right. And Matilda and Cassandra started elementary school already.”

“Shit. Started school right in the middle of summer, that sucks. When we were in school, Bel and I didn't even start until around Labor Day.”

“Yeah, me, too. Oh, and by the sound of it, he's using those girls, too. For all I know, they haven't even seen their mom. Like right after you left, they came out and had this blank look on their face like they were spooked.”

“Oh my fucking god,” Marla groaned, and a soft rustling emerged on her end. “Yeah, I'm gonna get my ass down there right now.”

“Thank you, Marla. Thank you so much!”

“Talk to you soon—” Marla vowed, and then she hung up right there. Sam wiped away another tear from her eye. As long as Joey didn't find out about this, then she would be fine. She pictured Marla running as fast as she could down the block to the school, with her jet black hair streamed behind her, that pink stripe strong and high to indicate her speed. She pictured her catching someone at the door as well; even though Bill had nudged her a bit there at the house the other day, she knew that Marla could convince someone there. Belinda persisted with stained glass, even though it fell through with Sam, but she persisted anyway.

These New York girls knew how to get it done when it came to a good friend.

She bowed her head and sighed through her nose.

She didn't feel like drawing. Even though there wasn't hardly anything to eat in the pantry downstairs, she was hungry. But if nothing more, she had to head into town for a quick errand to the supermarket about three blocks from there. She knew she had to make a call to Eric and Testament's fan club to say that she had changed addresses, but first things were first however.

She then remembered that they had put out that new album, The New Order, back in the beginning of May, and he announced it to her on her birthday as well. She thought about how Aurora made Alex's birthday all about herself all the while. That felt different to her however, because Eric announced the album to her for being a loyal part of their fan club. Aurora's announcement came with everyone crowding around her while Alex ate his cake right there next to her.

She slipped on her shoes, and picked up her purse, and headed back outside to the California sun as it dried out the trees and everything else around her even more. It was warm but at least the heat waves had held off for the time being. Her dark hair waved behind her head in the gentle breeze; even though it could be far worse with the warmth, the sun's intense rays bore down upon the side of her head and her shoulder to where she swore she dried out with the pines around her.

And she knew that she had to hurry back home soon enough in time for Mattie and Cassie to return home. She figured it would be best to grab some snacks for those girls along the way as she stepped into the cool market: she had technically become their mom now, after all.

She found herself a bottle of lemonade and a pre-wrapped sandwich from the freezer, and two bags of chips from the rack, all for her. She knew that she would be up for another dismal dinner with Bill at the helm of the table, but she hadn't eaten since the girls left for school that morning.

Sam finally fetched a basket from the front of the market given she was finding so much food already, for herself and for the two of them. He could starve for all she cared, especially since Marla was about to take his money in the most roundabout way possible. She returned to the snack aisle at the far end there, and at the far end stood a tall man with long wavy black hair down to his waist. He had a fresh tattoo of a spider web and another one of a skull on his left shoulder, but she recognized him from the far end of the aisle as he looked on at all the chips and the jars of salsa. After her experience with Stormtroopers of Death and Anthrax, she knew that when an album dropped, they headed out on tour in order to promote it, so to see him there felt like a dream of sorts.

“Chuck?” she said aloud, and he lifted his head and turned in the opposite direction to the coolers on the far wall there.

He then turned to her with a puzzled look on his face.

“Hey, Chuck!” Sam called out, and he wheeled around for a look back at her. He nodded at her and flashed her a smile. She hurried over to him and he extended an arm to her.

“Hey, there's our girl,” he declared as she came within earshot. “Little Sammich.” She put both arms around him.

“What's going on?” she asked him with a peer up into his face. “I thought you guys were on tour!”

“We're on break right now,” he explained. “We go back out in a couple of weeks with our pals from Overkill, though.” His expression then turned serious. “You have a different address now, that's right.”

“Yeah.”

“You got anything to write on? I'll run it by Eric when I see him in a bit.”

“Not on me right at the moment, no. I just came here for some things real quick.”

“Do you have anything to write with?” he asked her.

“Yes! I have a couple of pens in my purse.”

“Okay. When we get up front, I'll find something to write on.” He turned his attention to the jars of salsa on the shelf behind her. “What salsa do you think I should get? The one with corn and black beans, or the straight up tomato?”

“Corn and black beans. Sounds heartier.”

“Agreed.” He nodded at her and took a jar off of the shelf, and she giggled.

“What?”

“You just look funny taking salsa off of the shelf there and asking me about it.”

“Why? 'Cause of the tattoos and the hair?” Chuck ran his fingers through his wavy hair at that and showed her a little smile, complete with little apple cheeks as well. Sam kept on giggling at that, and then he led her back to the front of the market.

“Are you done, by the way?” he asked her.

“Um—” She turned to the shelf at the end there, and she took a couple of bags of cheese crackers for the girls. She had no idea what those girls liked, but it was a start from that point onward.

“Okay,” she said, and that brought a laugh out of him. They reached the first line and Chuck stepped back and put out one arm to beckon her in first.

“Why, thank you, Mr. Gentleman,” she told him, and she began to check out there in front of him. Once she had it all paid for with some of what money she had in her wallet, she stepped off to the side and awaited him at the wall. The sun beat down on the back of her head and she knew that school had to be out at any given moment.

“By the way, you got a couple of pieces of paper nearby?” Chuck asked the fluffy haired cashier, who searched about the spot for one. And then she handed a pair of small white sheets of paper to him. Once he thanked her, he handed one of them to Sam, who then used her free hand to take out her pen from her purse. For a moment, she had forgotten her new address but then she wrote it down with a bit of speed.

She also wrote “the big house by the lake” right next to it in parentheses; and she handed it over to Chuck, who had written down an unfamiliar number on that other piece of paper.

“That's our management's number,” he told her as he handed over the paper, and she exchanged with him.

“The big house by the lake,” she said, and he chuckled at that note.

“I should also give you my number, too, seeing as this is my neck of the woods,” he added as he scribbled another number that she didn't recognize, and then he handed it to her. “Remember, if you need anything, call me. Or call Tiff, or Eric, or any one of us. We'll come for you. Anything you want. You're not just our first member of the fan club, but you're a friend to us now.”

“That's hell of a long drive, though,” she pointed out. “It's like the times Joey would drive from upstate down to New York City.”

“It's alright—really, it's alright, Sam. We're all from California, we know this whole entire place like the backs of our hands. And people here do it all the time, driving from the San Francisco Bay Area to Los Angeles, and for work, too.”

The line inched ahead and Sam bowed closer to the door. Chuck was right behind her the whole entire time as she headed outside to the small square parking lot. He put his sunglasses back on and then turned to her. Right there, with the sun on the side of his face, he actually resembled to a true Native American chief, even without a headdress upon his head.

“In fact, you know what?” he started again.

“What's that?” she asked as she held her groceries down near her knees.

“Our friends Death Angel are playing a show down here some time next week in promo for their new album. Tiff and I'll come get you and we'll go see them together. The three of us and—I think Alex is gonna be with us, too. I'll have to ask him.”

“Okay!” Her face lit up at the sound of Alex's name. “Um—what time is it gonna be?”

“Seven o'clock. I think? That's what Mark told me.” She thought about Aurora and her encounter with Mark before her wedding. Like a distant memory at that point, especially with her there, three thousand miles away, clear across the country.

“House by the lake you said?” he asked her.

“Yeah. It's three stories and literally down by the water, too. You'll know it when you see it.”

“Okay.”

She threw her arms around him and he returned the favor.

“There will be more hugs in the future,” he vowed to her. Without another word, they parted ways and she doubled back down the street to the house in question.

With every step along the way, therein lay one thing she didn't understand with Bill and his status at the school, and how he found his way to convince the dean and the higher faculty that Sam had come with him. Perhaps he fooled them along the way as well.

Marla helped move the desk into that third floor, which meant that no matter what happened over the course of the next year or so, she could continue on with her art. All the time in the world without the girls nearby, and without Bill at the helm as well. All the art she could imagine for herself as she strode in through that heavy glass front door and into the vacant foyer. The girls still hadn't returned home, but she could leave the crackers in their bedroom however.

Sam padded up the stairs to the loft with her own food. Perhaps when Marla had a new job at the school, and Bill was released from payroll, she could in fact find her way back to school and back to New York in the end. That is, if Marla did in fact land a job there and Bill did in fact tell the truth to her. If nothing, Sam would relish her time alone and there by the lake, and in a place in which she had lived at no less.

“I'm pretty much done with school anyway,” she muttered to herself. Then again, there had to be a better venture out of there, even with those two little girls nearby. They weren't even her children, but she had to do something for them. Before she took her spot back on the edge of the bed, something stopped her right in her tracks.

She brought her attention to the desk on the far side of the room, to that one drawer.

She opened the drawer and still at the bottom was that piece of rice paper.

He was nearby her for real from that point onward. Alex was no longer a mere scrawl on a sheet of paper, but a mere day's drive.

If nothing else, Testament would serve as her escape as she smiled at his scribbled name for a moment before she closed the drawer.

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dopescotlandwarrior · 4 years ago

Text

Sinners & Saints-Chapter 5

Thanks to @statell for your help and guidance

Previous chapters at AO3

Chapter Five

Jamie walked his newly planted fields and saw green shoots coming up in every direction. He prayed for a good harvest this year. Not because he was poor or starving, he just wanted to win at something this year. He answered his cell phone and stood up straight, listening intently.

“Are you sure it’s Casper? I’ll leave within the hour and meet you in Paris.”

Jamie felt exhilarated and ran back to the house and into the shower. Casper had come out of retirement and stolen a painting from a private gallery. He did the same thing at a London gallery the previous weekend. It seemed a bit low end but at the very least, it would buy him more time. He got packed and headed for the airport.

Claire sat in her office at the University, staring into gray space. Her pencil tapped absently and when Geillis called to her she jumped.

“Calm yerself, Claire. I had hoped you could settle down a bit, especially with your gorgeous high-security apartment, and it’s been five months without word from that snake Randall. But yer still very unhappy. Why?”

Claire looked up at Geillis and shook her head, saying she didn’t sleep much the night before and not to worry. She packed up and went home for even more quiet time with her gray thoughts and more time to worry she was losing her mind. Jamie lived in her head now, always with her, always heartbroken because of what she did. She didn’t think he would ever speak to her again, and if he did, what would she say? Looking at the clock she wanted to scream because it was only seven o’clock. That was the worst part of missing Jamie, an hour took forever to go by so the torture never ended.

Claire grabbed some lined paper and a pen to see just what she would say to Jamie. Maybe getting it all out is what she needed to start feeling better. She could burn the letter after it was written.

Jamie poured over the reports and studied the crime scene photos of what were now three thefts. Something was wrong, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. He spent two full days checking his contacts in the black market, but no one knew the fence for this art, no one knew anything. The last guy he spoke to said someone told him a Monet would be in play soon, but he didn’t know which one. Jamie thanked him and promised the standard reward if the information was used to apprehend Casper.

Jamie sat on the same bench he shared with Claire six months ago and he let himself remember her smile and whisky brown eyes. She was playful and sexy, and he believed she had feelings for him. He shook his head and opened the newspaper. Flipping pages to the art section he scanned the ads and bam, there it was. A mid-range gallery hosting a private collection of Monet the following weekend. This, it seemed, was Casper’s new normal. Private showings and small galleries. Jamie had a good feeling about the location, and they had one week to set the scene to catch Casper.

There was one piece of evidence left by Casper that wasn’t shared with the world. It was how they identified him as the thief. Casper took great pains to keep the art intact, unlike many who pull the canvas from the frame basically ripping it out. Casper used some kind of tool to pop the nails that held the canvas in the frame. Whatever this tool was left distinct marks on the wood, a half-moon indentation. It was all they had so it was a guarded secret.

Claire pulled another piece of paper, the fourth piece, and continued writing a letter she would never send. Her feelings opened up to her like a blooming flower and she let it flow thinking the answer to her continuous sadness would reveal itself so she could fix it. When she was ready to end the letter and had said all there was to say, she wrote, ’I have never shared this much of me with anyone and I hope it cures my broken heart. I can summarize these four pages by saying I love you, Jamie, with all my heart, I love you.’

Claire sat up and looked at the paper. The words I love you seemed to jump off the page and she just stared at them. Before she could stop herself she sent a text to Jamie, ‘I love you, please forgive me. Claire” Send.

She didn’t expect to hear from him but hoped this would give her some closure. She went to bed.

Jamie stared at his phone and felt his heart ramming in his chest. Those words were the absolute last he expected to see, six months after they parted. He wouldn’t be returning the text, but as he fell asleep he said out loud, “I love you too Claire.”

The Monet show was one day away, and Jamie called Javier to ask about the gallery. He seemed genuinely happy he called and suggested they meet for lunch and he would answer any questions he could. Seeing the older man’s happy face was bittersweet for Jamie. They met at a sidewalk cafe and Jamie told him about the show. He asked about the gallery, if there were hidden entrances, a second vault, a basement, or structural abnormalities. Javier answered what he could and asked Jamie who it was they were closing in on.

“Casper.”

Javier almost choked on his coffee, “Casper you say? Well, that is wonderful, I hope you get him.”

The men talked a bit about sports and Jamie thanked Javier for his help and then bit him goodbye.

Claire came home early and saw a coded message from Javier. Once Tom deciphered the message, she couldn’t believe her eyes. ‘Lunch with Jamie, he is preparing to arrest Casper tomorrow on a tip about a Monet. Needless to say, I was very surprised but not worried because you are in Chicago, right?’ Claire held the Chicago Tribune in front of her chest and took a selfie that she sent to Javier. She needed some air.

Jamie and his team had installed close circuit tv monitors in the gallery office and extra cameras throughout the exhibit. They scrutinized each visitor until their eyes were blurry. Jamie noticed a man standing in front of one of the pictures for a very long time. When he moved away the picture was still there, but Jamie’s gut was telling him the guy wasn’t normal. He radioed to his men near the door and described the man as he started running. The man was already being led out of the gallery when Jamie got to him. This was surprising since he would expect a man to fight harder for his freedom. The art thief had switched the painting with a reproduction and was arrested. His pockets were searched and a small Leatherman multitool was handed to Jamie. It was a link to Casper he thought, and a billion other people.

Later that afternoon, Jamie questioned the suspect who knew all the details of the last three crimes but was confused about the others.

“Tell me, sir, why did you rip the Rembrandt canvas out of the frame? Was someone coming?”

“I don’t remember, probably.”

Jamie made a sound of disgust, “if you intend to impersonate someone, sir, at least get the details straight. You are not Casper, nor could you ever be. You’re not smart enough.”

Jamie left the suspect handcuffed to the table and left. The pressure from his employers had let up with the newly revived Casper chase but now they would learn it was a copycat crime and his nightmares would start again.

“Yes, sir. It was a copycat, sir.”

“This is not good news for us or you Mister Fraser. We gave you an additional six months and you failed to fulfill your end of our bargain. I’m sorry Mister Fraser, it is out of my hands. The court will be notified of your failure to abide, sadly our agreement will be nullified.”

Jamie put the phone down and walked outside for some air. All of his tomorrows suddenly vanished and the nightmare of his captivity came back in living color. He was terrified. Not of monsters or torture, but of loneliness, desolation, no hope of escape. Jamie realized he left his phone at the office and jogged back before he lost that too.

Once back at his hotel, the phone vibrated an incoming text and Jamie’s heart sank, they don’t fool around, he thought. He looked with disbelief at the text message. ‘Come to Greece Jamie, please give me a chance to fix the hurt I caused. Two weeks on a yacht, just you and me going from one island to another. My heart aches to be near you. We can spend the first day making rules we are comfortable with. Claire.’

Jamie held his phone while the heartbreak over missed opportunities crushed him. “I love you too, Sassenach. Forget about me and find your happiness.” No text was returned, instead, Jamie got back to his reports and the grief settled into his bones.

Claire had battled herself for days over sending the text. The semester was over and she was getting out of Chicago for two weeks at least. She owned a yacht that was moored in Greece and the open water always made her feel better. For days Claire waited to hear back from Jaime, but no text came. This was the second time she extended an olive branch, leaving herself vulnerable, and he did not make contact. He was lost to her forever she concluded, and try as she might, the tears came, her legs buckled, and she sobbed into a gray pillow on her gray couch in her gray apartment, like her heart would never mend.

Jamie spent three days closing his case on Casper and the successful arrests made during the past year. He checked out of the hotel and headed for the airport. He considered calling Javier, but he wasn’t strong enough to show a brave face. Javier reminded Jamie of his own father in many ways and he didn’t want the reality of who and what he was to be known. Not to anyone in her world. Her perfect, sparkling world would be repelled by him. Like a muddy pig running through a fancy white living room. Jamie swiped at his eyes in the taxi and tried to stop thinking about it. His phone buzzed for email and he brought it up.

Good afternoon, Mister Fraser.

We have ironed out the details of your return and would like to ask for your complete cooperation. Our agreement is not to be known outside of the agency and we want you to extract yourself slowly to avoid anyone looking for you or filing reports that you are missing. You will return to us as quiet as possible. I do hope you agree, the alternative is rather brutal.

I understand you have a small farm in Scotland and will need time to sell it and conclude any other business such as liquidating assets and the like. We are offering a four to six-week window and ask that you keep us informed.

Any questions you can reach out to this address and I will receive the message.

Jamie paid the taxi driver who looked at him with sympathy and told him life will be brighter tomorrow. He wiped at his face and nodded. Sorry mister, wrong about that, no sun where I’m going, no love, no hope, no redemption, he thought.

When Claire landed in Athens, she spent half of the first day getting reacquainted with the captain and his girlfriend who lived on the ship. There were living quarters connected to the bridge and they were happy there, living on a luxury yacht waiting to be called to duty. She and Maia made three trips to the grocery store to stock food for a two-week journey.

Claire walked down the long dock with her arms full of last-minute purchases. She could feel one of the bags slipping through her arm and she felt sweat drip down the side of her face from the effort.

“Here, let me help you with that.” The man rescued the slipping bag and took all the others. Her subconscious smelled him and sent a cascade of neurotransmitters through her body that felt glorious and tense at the same time. She looked up at his face and just stared at his icy blue eyes and crooked smile.

“You invited me, remember Sassenach?” He asked the question nervously as he could not read the shock on her face.

“And here you are,” was her breathy response.

Jamie wanted to drop the bags and crush her to him. She was like the gift of air to a suffocating man.

Claire was so overwhelmed it took a few seconds to see the man that had stolen her heart was right in front of her. She pulled his head down and kissed him with all the pent up passion and loneliness of the past six months. Someone pulled the bags out of Jamie’s arms and he wrapped her up and held her to him. The kiss was a surrender to love, an invitation to leave the chrysalis of loneliness and fly into a world of their making. When she finally pulled away from him, she was the definition of happiness.

“It is so good to see you, Jamie.”

“You just restarted my dead heart Sassenach, thank you for that.”

He kissed her again and as time passed for the rest of the world, for them it didn’t exist. Jamie heard the musical sound of the Greek language and looked up at the biggest boat he had ever seen up close. Two beautiful people were on the top deck waving and laughing, beckoning them on board. He heard Claire laughing as she waved back.

“Do we get on that then?”

Claire was giggling, “we do, come on I’ll show you around.”

Jamie was astounded at the size and luxury of the yacht, three bedrooms, two decks, a large living area with a huge flatscreen, phones, and a bar. The galley had two refrigerators and a chest freezer, two ovens, microwaves, and large food preparation counters. The opulence was staggering and if not for the beautiful girl walking in front of him he would have looked closer. When they found the back deck, Claire pulled his mouth to hers and they were lost in love.

“Time for trunks or something more comfortable.”

She led him back to the master bedroom and helped him put his clothes away, noticing he packed for any occasion. She unbuttoned her shirt and Jamie watched her with interest as she pulled off her cut-off shorts to reveal the tiniest bikini, bright melon colored against her tanned skin. I will meet you on deck. Maia has been cooking since yesterday, so I promise you won’t starve. She looked at him and wanted to pinch herself in case she was dreaming. He was here, with her, he came.

Claire handed Jamie a cold glass of champagne and offered flatbread and several kinds of dip that were made from scratch while they chatted at the bar. The sexual energy was palpable, and Claire looked out at the ocean to think about something other than the mere twelve inches of space between them.

“My God, I haven’t noticed how blue the water is until now, I can’t remember the last time I saw blue.”

There was so much to discuss but every sentence fell stunted, unexplored because both were captivated with the other.

Claire picked up a ringing phone at the bar and told the captain they were ready to go. She smiled at Jamie and promised open ocean and sunshine for the next six hours.

“This is my first launch, you want to see it from the front deck?”

Jamie watched her mouth and nodded yes.

They got comfortable and sipped champagne as the captain eased the vessel away from the dock and toward the open ocean. It wasn’t long before the huge engines pushed the boat forward to cruising speed and Maia appeared with the cold bottle of champagne to refill their glasses.

“Maia, what do you have on?”

Maia was a Greek beauty with all the attributes this country was known for. Large brown eyes, a wide smile, and flowing hair to her waist. She looked down at her clothes and shrugged her shoulders,

“Uniform.”

Claire rubbed the highly starched shirt sleeve between her fingers and noticed the ill-fitting shorts. This would not do, she thought.

“You have been in cut-offs or a swimsuit since I arrived. Unless you love that uniform, I want you to be comfortable. Please, get that off.”

Maia thanked her and left them alone.

“I think we left the dip on back deck. Let’s go find it.”

Jamie noticed her voice was quiet and nervous sounding. When they walked to the other deck Claire closed the sliding glass door and locked it. The glass was black and Jamie wondered if it blocked the view from the other side. Claire led him to a lounge with a comfortable mattress and pillows to aide whatever ailed you. She walked back to the bar removing her button-down shirt revealing her exposed butt cheeks. She looked naked from behind and Jamie almost choked on his tongue. Her skin was already bronzed with a bit of sunburn on her cheeks and shoulders. She brought the tray of bread and dip and laid next to Jamie on the large lounge.

He took in every gorgeous inch of her and ran his hand down her hip and leg. He wanted to touch everything and tried to hold himself back.

“I promised we would go over the ground rules first thing.” She ran her hand across his massive chest and down his arm. When he saw her ramming heart pulsing in her neck, he let it go and pulled her on top of him to smother her with kisses. In his delirious mind, he decided this was enough, to have her body on his and her tongue in his mouth. When she broke the kiss, he chased her mouth as she sat up and straddled him. He watched her reach behind and pull the strings of her bikini top dropping it on the floor. She never took her eyes off his until he pulled her down and kissed her.

Their bodies were covered in sweat that made contact difficult, causing them to overheat or slide off each other. Claire stretched her arm until her fingertips touched the bridge phone.

“Darius, were you kidding about sea spray …ahhh…on the back deck when you dropped speed. Okay, do that please.”

She dropped the phone and used that arm to pull on the string holding Jamie’s trunks on. They slowed enough for the wake to slap the sides of the boat and lovely, cool, sea spray brought their temperature down for more vigorous activity. Jamie ran his tongue from her waist to breast and sucked a nipple while caressing the other. She was losing her mind and asked him to pound into her which he did in short order, gasping when he filled her. Claire felt the throbbing, almost painfully. She begged him not to stop, she was about to come. His next two strokes pressed into her and he twisted his hips. That did it. He held her and watched her face register the euphoria, he had never loved her more. When she pressed his butt, he pumped into her soft wetness until he stiffened and his body convulsed as he emptied himself into her.

They kissed and found their favorite resting position to snuggle and nap the afternoon away. Claire called the bridge and asked Darius to set whatever cruising speed he wanted, and the boat lurched forward.

Later, Jamie felt a cool breeze on his stomach and opened his eyes to a breathtaking sunset.

“Sassenach, sweetheart, you must see this beautiful sky.” Claire sat up and declared it the best sunset she had ever seen. What finally drove them inside was starvation and Maia served them a beautiful meal of lobster bisque, steak, and several Greek sides that were delicious but unknown to them.

Later they cuddled under a quilt on the top deck and let the heavens entertain them with shooting stars streaking across a black sky with billions of stars as a backdrop.

“It’s important to me that you really know who I am, how I got this way, how I could screw up so bad in Paris last Christmas. Would you mind?”

“Please Sassenach, there is nothing I’d like more.”

Claire turned on a battery-operated light and handed him her four-page burn letter. She couldn’t bring herself to burn it because it was all she had to remember him by. It was shoved into her wallet and now it was in Jamie’s hands. She felt self-conscious and rolled away to leave him to his reading. He caught her hand and pulled her back, “not without you love.”

He read every line and then, to her surprise, started at the first line and read it again.

“Jesus, lass, I hardly know what to say. Completely alone at five years old except for a man who dragged you from one archaeological dig to another. He wasn’t there for you emotionally, I see that, I also see how you slip easily into emotionless relationships. And why I didn’t hear from you for six months. It makes sense now, so many things. Come here, sweetheart.”

Jamie hugged Claire and pulled her to him. She was so grateful he read her letter, and then read it again. She hoped he would have more faith in her this time because now she knew how much she loved him.

“What is happening with Frank Sassenach?”

Claire was quiet just a little too long while she considered telling Jamie the truth. If she didn’t, the letter meant nothing and he still couldn’t trust her. She reached for her phone and launched her gallery.

“This is my new apartment that Javier rented for me, and that is all my new furniture. He arranged everything from the lease to filling the apartment with furniture, kitchen stuff, even clothes. The reason he had to do all this is because…”

Claire swiped to the next picture of her destroyed apartment showing various rooms and angles. Then she swiped again, and Jamie’s intake of air was loud enough for the sea creatures to hear. He grabbed her phone and sat up, studying the picture of her face after being knocked out.

“No, no, no, no, no, my God, how did this happen, who did this? Oh my God Claire, this is sickening.”

He stood up and walked the deck around their bed under the stars. He kept looking at the picture as she told him exactly what happened. When she was finished, he pulled her from her sitting position down on the mattress and covered her. He spoke into her ear, telling her she was loved and protected, and Frank or anyone else would never touch her in anger again. His kisses were love affirming becoming heated and passionate causing her to pant.

Claire was trying to get his shirt off and panting in his ear when the voice of reason took over in his head. You will love her, tell her you will always be there for her, make her feel safe, and then break her heart like everyone else in her life. The lovemaking came to a crashing halt and Jamie looked like he had been kicked in the head.

“Sassenach, I…I’m sorry love. I’m too much in my head, I can’t right now. I’m sorry.”

“You are here in the flesh Jamie. You took a leap of faith and came on this trip with me. Your hands are still warm, and your heart is still open. That’s what I want. There is time for us to find our way.

He hugged her for over a minute, trying to come to terms with his reality. He had, at the most, six weeks of freedom left, and he needed to find a way to tell her. Claire suggested a hot shower and sleep and he agreed.

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bythebigcoolingtower · 4 years ago

Photo

Eye on Springfield - An Interview with Raymie Muzquiz

Since working on eighteen episodes of seasons two and three of the Simpsons, Raymie Muzquiz has enjoyed a strong, thirty plus years career in the animation industry, including directing eight episodes of Futurama’s second run. Here, Raymie talks about his spell on both shows, his other projects and the industry itself.

Let’s start at the start, how did you get into animation and end up at Klasky-Csupo?

In 1988-89, I was working for a movie trailer company. I was a production assistant and then a post coordinator for about 2 years. I learned a lot about film post production and worked on a flatbed editor, dubbing machines, etc. (all pre-digital). However, it was nonetheless a miserable, unartistic, poorly-paying job that laid bare all those awful “Swimming With Sharks”, fear-and-loathing tropes of the movie business. My boss was a horror. He’d yell at me about the dressing in his salad, or the variety of bread on the sandwich. I was his presumed personal assistant to deride. Yet he would shamelessly “lick the boots” of celebs and execs higher up the food chain. To this day, I cannot watch movie trailers. On the rare trip to a theater, I sit in the lobby and have my wife text me when the feature starts.

During this awful period I would look daily through the trades for another job. One day in the Hollywood Reporter there was an ad that included a picture of Marge (I think). Klasky-Csupo (just blocks from my apartment!) was looking to staff for Season 2 of The Simpsons. Since I storyboarded all my student films and some action sequences in live-action low-budget features at Roger Corman’s Concorde/New Horizons in the late 80’s. I applied for a storyboard position. What happened next gave me whiplash. I was given a test. Hours after turning the in the test I hired as a staff storyboard artist to start two weeks hence and immediately given a freelance assignment.

How did I get this plum position with zero experience? This requires some context. The Simpsons was an unexpected TV-animation phoenix rising from the ashes of a poverty-row industry. It is little exaggeration to say that the TV animation talent pool (as opposed to feature animation) consisted largely of old, alcoholic and broken-spirited artists doing Saturday-morning hack-work, subsuming their talent to low budgets and low cel counts. The necessary talent were simply nonexistent for this new, hip renaissance. The doors opened to the young, the students and the inexperienced like me; someone who didn’t go to art school nor drew for a living. It was a singular event for me. I was ignorant that there was even a difference between animation and live action storyboards. I was even naive about my drawing ability. Imagine my reaction when I saw trained artists draw in a professional environment. It blew my mind! My only saving grace was that as a live-action film graduate, I knew film language. I could stage without “crossing the line”. Scenes “cut” together and “hooked up” and I was staging in depth rather than in the traditional “proscenium” cartoon style. My acting was restrained, not broad or cartoony.

I did my first storyboard freelance while still at the trailer company. It was for Jim Reardon; his first directing assignment: Itchy & Scratchy & Marge in 1989.

Can you explain the work you did on the Simpsons?

Everybody probably knows what storyboarding is, so I’ll keep it short. It’s the visualisation of the script/story. It’s TV animation’s biggest step from script to screen. You are staging the characters in space and acting them out and breaking it up into separate scenes that informs the entire rest of the process. Design, layout, key posing, action and timing build off the storyboard.

When you were assigned to work on the show what were your thoughts? It was a phenomenon by that point.

The first season’s episodes of the Simpsons were being re-runned to death. I remember doubting if they’d successfully make more before the buzz died off. When I was hired I couldn’t believe my luck. The Simpsons was THE hip show of the moment. To actually be a creative team member on something fresh and original AND get paid more than beggar’s wages was like winning the lottery.

How closely did you work with the directors and writers, what kind of notes and feedback did you receive?

When I arrived for my first meeting, Mark Kirkland and Jim Reardon were crowded in a small room with folding tables, right off of reception. I believe they were both directing for the first time. Although I was already hired to work in-house, I had to give two weeks to my current, satanic employer, so I was assigned work as a freelancer. It was to board an act of Itchy & Scratchy & Marge by its director, Jim Reardon. Little did I know what I was getting into.

I never had to draw so much in my life! My drawing hand (left) was killing me in those early months. I had to develop a callous on the middle finger. They gave me the “radio-play;” an audio cassette of the recorded dialog to draw to and tons of model sheets.

I remember being overwhelmed by the volume. And you had to draw in these tiny boxes of the formatted storyboard page. I didn’t have that kind of discipline (I never did: I eventually developed a style of drawing on blank pages, then fielding and formatting them onto a page. Sometimes I scaled my drawings down on the xerox machine. I also drew on post-its (the greatest invention in animation after cels) and taped them onto the formatted sheet.

As this was freelance, I actually only met with Jim twice: Once for the hand-out and then again to show him my roughs. I vaguely remember him asking for changes that I thought were off-show (I’d seen all extant episodes multiple times on TV by then). Plus this was my first time and really had no expectations of what the process was.

But--he was the director--I addressed his notes and turned in the storyboard to the receptionist without further feedback. This almost became my undoing. In future, I would know the director should go over the storyboard and decide if it was ready, needed further revision or even just check the “bookkeeping”; the placement of dialog, notes and scene and page numbering before releasing it to the producers (all the Executives at Gracie Films across town). However--for whatever reason--this didn’t happen. It went directly from reception to Gracie. And evidently the executives didn’t react well. I was ignorant of all of this for years; until Mark Kirkland told me what happened...

The Executives were displeased with the storyboard and demanded to know what happened. Someone blamed it on the new guy (me!). So it was decided I had to be fired (before I even started my first day on staff)!

Did I get thrown under the bus? I can’t say. I wasn’t there. I am only relating events second hand.

Anyway, Mark Kirkland, who shared the room with Jim Reardon and was present during my meetings came to my rescue (again, completely unbeknownst to me). He vouched for my character and said I was worthy of rescue and rather than firing me, I could work with him.

So I have Mark to thank for my career. If I was fired, it would have been crushing and I think it’s safe to say I would never have become the artist I’ve become in the thirty plus years of my career.

What was the pressure like working on the show and at the studios during that time?

Because of my lack of experience, I found it difficult judging deadlines and the necessary labor (and just pencil mileage) to succeed. Plus I was traumatised by my previous job; I was conditioned to fear punishment and humiliation at anytime for something I did or didn’t do.

The climate at Klasky/Csupo couldn’t be more starkly different; so egalitarian! Everyone was socialising and goofing around. Gabor Csupo couldn’t be a more laid-back boss! Long lunches with side-trips for comic books and toys! Nerf guns in the hall. I shared a tiny room with two other board artists, Peter Avanzino and Steve Moore. They would both have to vacate the room for me to reach my desk in the far corner. We bantered and laughed more than worked. Celebrities would drop by (Most memorable was meeting Frank Zappa). There were events always going on; bowling, screenings and parties. And yet, a ton of thought and drawing was necessary; especially for me. I worried I couldn’t work as fast as other artists. I often had to work nights and weekends to meet my deadlines. However, there always were other artists doing the same thing; they may have been more experienced than me, but they were young and not so disciplined; so I was never alone. Plus, you never knew how off the mark your roughs could be and after a meeting with the director and Brad Bird, you might suddenly be looking at a ton of revision work. I also remember that Brad was busy weekdays and meetings could sometimes only be done on Saturdays. I simply had a lot to learn and time to put in to build my proficiency. And Brad Bird was very important influence in those days: I could be nervous and exhausted preparing for a meeting with him, but he’d so infect you with his enthusiasm and creative vision that you’d end up re-doing the whole thing but be excited about doing it. He emphasized the cinematic aspects and empowered us to be bold and push the limits of traditional animation staging.

You worked on some of the show’s early classics, could you tell from your position how the episodes would come out?

My next episode for Jim Reardon was “When Flanders Failed”. Because of the kerfuffle of the first episode I did for him, I was anxious to be as professional and impressive as possible. I thought the act I did showed improvement. However, the episode seemed to languish at some point (after animation?) and word got around that it was a bust and wouldn’t reach air. My memory is hazy about this, but I was bummed at the time; thinking my working relationship with Jim was snake-bit.

A season later, it eventually did air. I’m not giving a very good account of this, sorry.

“Flaming Moe’s” was an episode I was excited about. I remember Brad Bird suggesting some very exciting staging that turned my head around. Especially the part where Homer ends up--“Phantom of the Opera-ish”--in the rafters. I think that was a turning point for me; I was going to be a Brad disciple and determined to push the staging from then on.

“Stark Raving Dad”, is memorable to me, but not for a good reason. It was one of the last episodes I worked on; only doing an act. I remember being scandalized that Michael Jackson was the subject of the episode. Being a Simpsons purist, I believed that the show existed in a parallel universe and celebrities were parodied for laughs; it was too hip to be a shill for celebrity. There was no Arnold Swarzenegger, there was McBain. There was no Hal Fishman (our local channel 5 anchor), there was Kent Brockman. Dr. Hibbert was a parody of Bill Cosby. Mayor Quimby was a parody of Ted Kennedy. Even Nick Riviera was supposed to be Gabor Csupo! Having Michael Jackson exist in this universe and embodied in a sympathetic character (rather than a target of ridicule) was seriously “jumping the shark” in my opinion. I believed the show had done the unthinkable and it would prove fatal to the series.

Of course I was wrong. The Simpsons goes on like a perpetual motion machine. But I couldn’t abide watching this wise and subversive show trample over its principles to star-fuck. Now of course, which celebrity HASN’T been on the Simpsons. As you may well know, “Stark Raving Dad” has been pulled from the series since the premiere of the HBO documentary “Leaving Neverland”, giving some credence to my long ago objection: sometimes it bites you on the ass.

“Black Widower” was my swan song. I remember meeting Kelsey Grammer at the table read and being mesmerized by his voice. He sounded just like Orson Welles. The act I boarded included Bob and Selma’s honeymoon. I wanted to give the staging a Hitchcockian influence with deep-focus, Z-axis compositions (like looking out of the fireplace, across the gas burner to Selma and Bob) and my first-ever use of DX (double exposed) shadows to provide menace. I thought that was my best work of the series.

One of my favourite early episodes is ‘Homer at the Bat’ which you storyboarded. What are your recollections on working on it? Did you get any specific notes when it came to the players?

“Homer” was my third “at bat” (pardon the pun) with Jim. He’s a baseball fan as I am, but he also PLAYED Chicago-Style Softball (baseball with a huge, soft ball). I’m a baseball fan too, but I felt I’d be exposed a dilettante due to my terminal lack of athleticism. I was assigned all three acts of the show as well! I really had to be on my game (again, pardon) and not miss any of the references. I reluctantly took him up on his offer playing in one of the Chicago-Style games one Saturday in Burbank. It was a sacrifice as I had to work weekends to keep up with the workload of this episode. I went with a fellow board artist, who’ll remain unnamed (to remain friends).

It went terribly. At bat, I whiffed three pitches in a row, and Jim kept pitching more and more out of pity. I missed them all. He finally had to tell me to just give the bat to the next guy. In the outfield, I stunk just as badly. The piece-de-resistance was when my fellow board artist was at bat and swung hard on a pitch. He missed the ball AND dislocated his knee. I ran to him as he plopped down in agony onto home plate with his knee, shin and foot pointed in the wrong direction. “If my leg stays like this much longer, I think I’m gonna start crying,” he said through the pain. After a terribly long moment, his shin and foot rotated snapped back into place. We hobbled off the field as Jim and his pals resumed the game. Could things have gone any worse? I was certain that Jim had no faith in me by that time. If so, he never said it. He was a laconic guy.

I worked on it a hundred years ago so I don’t feel the pride I objectively should. The episode went against The Cosby Show and beat it in the ratings! There’s even an exhibit in The Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown, that I wasn’t aware of until I went there. No artist other than Matt is mentioned. It’s all about the writers and the players who voiced the show.

I still have the storyboards of Jose Canseco in the bathtub with Ms. Krabappel that Jose objected to and we had to cut. I’ll post them someday.

How do you reflect on your time working on the show? Do you ever watch those seasons and episodes back?

See below for details; but no. I haven’t watched the episodes I worked on or those seasons for decades. I haven’t watched any episodes after the 3rd season at all. I did see the movie.

The relationship between Klasky-Csupo and Gracie Films finished at the end of the third season, when Gracie decided to move production to Film Roman, what was your view of that situation?

With the handwriting on the wall that Fox might pull The Simpsons from Klasky-Csupo, the in-house producer Sherry Gunther countered by getting all us artists to sign a document tying us exclusively to Klasky-Csupo in an effort to block Fox access to the crew. That gambit didn’t dissuade Fox. They pulled the show anyway and took it to Film Roman. At the time, I wanted desperately to follow the show, but naively thought I couldn’t because I was bound by Sherry’s contract. Virtually everyone left Klasky-Csupo for Film Roman anyways; contract be damned.

The studio became a ghost town. I stayed, distressed that I had to work on Rugrats. However, I eventually concluded that being torn away from The Simpsons was the best thing for my creative growth. Wherein The Simpsons was written so well, closely supervised and finding its stride, The Rugrats scripts were mediocre and the gags not funny. Rugrats was a vacuum to fill and I was empowered to add gags and exercise Gabor’s mandate to really push the staging into warped and low-angled baby POVs that defined the series. It lacked the regimentation of The Simpsons and I exposed to all the other processes in making cartoons. On the Chanukah special I directed, I timed the animation, I even helped direct the voice talent and supervise animatic and final edit.

The Simpsons, like many prime-time animated shows, are dominated by writer/producers who closely control the creative aspects and the artists are more or less staying in their lanes.

After the Simpsons you were assigned to work on ‘Duckman’ where you directed eight episodes, what was the step up to direction like?

I didn’t go directly to Duckman. There was a period of boarding on Rugrats and assistant directing on two Edith-Ann specials for ABC. It was a sad time, something like being in purgatory, but one which I believe was necessary in retrospect.

Speaking of being in purgatory, here’s an anecdote. Klasky-Csupo was a bunch of empty rooms after the Simpsons left. I was working on Edith Ann one day and Gabor was walking a tour of potential clients through. I showed them what I was doing and then Gabor directed them to the next room; opening a door to usher them in, various large and small auto parts suddenly tumbled noisily out onto the floor. A car bumper, pieces of trim, a fender and hub-caps.

You may ask why auto parts were in there? I’ll tell you: When Rich Moore worked there, his office overlooked the corner of Highland and Fountain avenues. Over time, he and his crew witnessed a lot of auto collisions on that corner. They would go and retrieve the parts left behind and hang them on the wall. Rich obviously left without taking his collection and somebody decided to hide them all in this room. Suffice to say, it didn’t look professional and I felt terrible for Gabor at that moment.

When I did become director, there was many moments of panic. I was used to storyboarding to my personal standard and quality that defined my aesthetic. Paradoxically, being a director meant losing close control. I had to depend on clearly communicating to the storyboard artists, quickly learning you can only tell artists so much before they “top-off” and forget what you said. No one took notes! It was all by memory! I always took notes as a board artist. A good board artist makes a director look good. There are far more mediocre storyboard artists than good ones; mainly because the good ones are promoted to directors (I feel the quality has improved over time). And I had to deal with freelancers for the first time. They are the guys that fill-in when there’s not enough staff artists. These people were usually moonlighting for extra money and end up storyboarding your show in the style of the show they were working on during the day. There just wasn’t enough time in the schedule to fix everything without working crazy hours. The Simpsons had layout. So storyboards didn’t have to be so precise and if something wasn’t staged right or acting out in storyboard, you could work with a layout artist in shorthand to correct it. Virtually my entire career has been absent layouts. They are very rare for TV nowadays. This makes the storyboard all the more important. The bar must be high; we call them “layout storyboards”; they need to be closer to model and the acting must be spot on.

Animation timing was also something I had to get control of; At first, Duckman didn’t have a supervising timing director, who could maintain the quality and the timing aesthetics particular to the show. It was up to the director to check timing. I had almost no experience and it was a new show. No one person had the answers. I could review the timer’s work (so often a dreaded freelancer) and I could see it wasn’t at all right and I’d wholesale erase it, but then I panicked that I might have done more damage than good; suddenly in over my head. It took time, but I got it.

I believe that the director who masters his x-sheets is true master of his show. I could add quality and personal aesthetics in a new dimension.

Does you background as a storyboard artist influence the way in which you direct?

Absolutely. In animation history, there were directors who didn’t storyboard or even draw. There were a few of these “dinosaurs” on Rugrats. They sat and read the paper when we boarded their shows. But because of the overseas process of animation and the loss of layouts here at home, if you are going to direct at all, you have to be comfortable drawing a detailed, informed layout storyboard. It is literally the blueprint of your show.

That said, I had to mature as a director who storyboarded. It was insane to try and board all my episodes personally, though directors will put some work aside for themselves, especially if its a sequence that would be too hard to delegate to another artist. If a sequence involves a new character, location or prop integral to the story, it may not be designed yet, so I’ll take it on and “feel it out;” designing as I board.

I had to learn how to be a good delegator and a clear communicator. I pitch sequences to the board artist before they begin and give them roughs of designs, poses or staging I think is important for the sequence. From my boarding experience, I don’t like directors who don’t tell you what they want until after you’ve drawn the storyboard. That wastes time and effort. And morale. I want the artists to know my take and hopefully that will inform the storyboard they do. I also know from my board experience that you should balance criticism with praise. Communicate what you like about how they do this and that before you go through critiquing the parts that aren’t working. Ultimately, you want to help the board artists be successful in storyboarding it their way, not my way. If it works, don’t change it just because it isn’t the way you’d do it. Lean into and support what they’ve done.

‘Duckman’ had a cavalcade of guest stars throughout the shows run, did you ever get to meet any of them, and if so, do you have a favourite encounter?

I was always of two minds regarding using live-action stars for animation. Yeah, it’s fun to meet them and some like Jason Alexander can knock-it-out-of-the-park, but sometimes this kind of “stunt casting” backfires. In my first episode, we used Crispin Glover in a stunt role as a crazed maniac with only one line. He showed up brandishing an eight inch hunting knife acting like a REAL maniac. Maybe it was method acting, but we were scared of him and got him in and out as fast as we could. His delivery didn’t work for the line and it spoiled the joke in my opinion, but it remained in the episode. If we used one of the legion of professional voice actors available, we could have worked with them for the perfect “voice” and delivery and nailed it.

We also used Teri Garr for an episode (not one I was directing) and I attended because I was a huge fan of hers. I got to see her behind the mike as she looked over her pages and said acidly, “This isn’t exactly Tolstoy, is it.” That is the opposite attitude you should have when you’re hired. She was soon pitching underwear afterwards...obviously not Tolstoy either.

So I’ll say it again: using celebrities can bite you on the ass.

Performances aside, I certainly did enjoy meeting legends. Carl Reiner played a priest in Noir Gang. Mind you we recorded in a small studio that was in the back of the Rugrats building that was essentially a cavernous storage room. Ed Asner looked visibly uncomfortable when we huddled around him in there. I’ll never forget the look on Marina Sirtis’ face when she arrived to record an episode. Me and a couple of other guys were laying in wait in this sketchy storage area eating our lunches. She was concerned: “is this the right place?” I felt like a lech and stopped going to records that I didn’t have to be at.

Overall, if the celebrity you’ve cast for a voice roll has theater experience, you are more likely to get a good vocal performance. Especially musical theater experience. They are more aware of their voice and have the tools. This goes for Jason and others like Tim Curry and Bebe Neuwirth; all great voice talent to have behind the mic.

You worked on the second run of Futurama, had you been a fan of the original seasons?

No. I didn’t watch the show before. I had to catch up and learn the “canon” when I was hired.

How did you get involved in working on Futurama?

The animating studio, Rough Draft, was something of a clique. They didn’t just hire “anybody” and unlike most studios, they maintain a staff of lifers who usually have the choice positions. I knew Peter Avanzino from our Simpsons days doing storyboards together, so he vouched for me. I was hired to direct on the 2nd season of Drawn Together. So they had a taste of what they could expect from me. I was no longer an unknown quantity when Futurama came around.

One of the eight episodes you directed was, ‘The Mutants are Revolting’, the shows hundredth episode. How special was it to work on such a landmark episode?

It had the most visibility of my episodes, at least internally. They made T-shirts and some publicity art and even the script had a nicer cover. But it was the episode with the most headaches. The scope of the story was huge with multiple set pieces. The opening newsreel, movie in a movie of the Land-Titanic, the asteroid delivery, the party at Planet Express, the riot in the sewers and the flood and “parting of the red sea” climax all required a ton of designs and characters; plus more hand-drawn and CG effects. That’s a lot to manage and marshall for a TV show. Most episodes don’t require the director to do this kind of heavy lifting. I find that when a show demands this much visually, the story ends up being more superficial, gag driven and episodic feeling. Such is the case for this episode. It was visually pumped up because it was representing the 100th episode; meaning I was saddled with managing lots of logistics rather than the usual character-based comedy and emotion of say, Tip of The Zoidberg, which is a relationship story that--as a director--I feel I give more time to flourish and shine with.

‘The Mutants are Revolting’ features some fantastic animation, most notably a brief sequence of Bender standing perfectly still as the Planet Express ship moves around him. Can you explain the challenges of a sequence like that?

That’s a good, insightful question. A shot like this shows off the resources Rough Draft has that aren’t available at just any other studio doing TV animation. The interior of the Planet Express Ship was built and animated in CG. At it’s gimbal point was a CG version of a stationary Bender; locked to field, but who’s feet move with the CG ship. Once the CG elements were approved, they were printed out as wire frame drawings printed onto pegged paper. My Assistant Director drew key poses of the characters on a separate layer in register with the CG print outs, old school on a light box animation disc. This all was sent to our overseas studio Rough Draft Korea for inbetweening and color of the characters only. That came back as an alpha-channeled digital file and layered over the CG animation in our digital compositing department.

Scott Vanzo runs the department and directs all the CG animation effects. I can’t remember who exactly built the interior of the PE ship and animated it, so I’ll rely on IMDb: Don Kim and Jason Plapp. But all the guys in the digital department do tremendous work and allowed us to fine tune a lot of animation (that doesn’t have CG in it); giving us the ability that raises the quality and takes the curse off of overseas animation limitations.

‘The Tip of the Zoidberg’ was nominated for a Primetime Emmy, how proud were you of that achievement and the episode itself?

The episode was one of my favorites; it was character focused and elaborating on canon so a director couldn’t ask for more. As for the Emmy nomination, it’s one of those show business awards that I realized early I can’t get emotionally vested in. The Futurama guys have a formula for figuring out which episode will be submitted. I think it has something to do with each writer getting a shot at the statue. And then from then on it’s just politics.

You’ve also done work on ‘Disenchantment’, giving you the distinction of having worked on all three of Matt Groening’s shows. What’s your relationship like with him?

I can’t help but laugh at this question. I’ve run into him twice out in public over the years and he didn’t recognize me. Once at the Moscow Cat Circus! But that humbling fact aside, he’s a genuinely nice, funny person devoid of pretence and he’s said some very complementary things about my work. However, it’s all business. Like virtually all primetime shows, he’s with the writers at their separate production office. Animation production takes place in a different geographical location. My face time is limited to usually 2-3 meeting points in a show’s schedule. Anything in between are fielded via emails routed through coordinators and assistants.

As well as short form animation you’ve been involved with several feature length productions, including ‘The Rugrats Movie’ and ‘Despicable Me’, what are the key differences between long from and short form animated projects?

I don’t think I’ve ever had a purely feature production experience. The Rugrats Movie(s) were spin-offs from TV series so some processes were grandfathered in from TV production. Despicable Me was truly off-the-wall in that the storyboard artists were working remotely from literally all over the world. No one met each other. I met with Chris Renaud once. I was not allowed to see the entire script, only pages here and there. It was called “Evil Me” at the time. I was truly working in the dark and ultimately, they didn’t use anything I drew. Which to me seemed par-for-the-course: this was one harebrained, inefficient, right-hand-doesn’t-know-what-the-left-hand-is-doing way to make a show. Again, I predicted it would fail. Again, I was wrong.

At the time I was working on Despicable Me, Gru looked like Snape from Harry Potter and there were no minions yet, just an “Igor” kind of 2nd banana that was a shorter version of the final Gru design.

So my takeaway from those experiences is that I prefer TV production. You don’t have the luxury of a feature schedule, but there is less time for executives to get replaced, sundry monkey-business and creatives pulling the rug out from under you. However, TV is catching up in those regards. See below.

Do you have a scene or episode you’re particularly proud of working on?

I feel fulfilled and proud of directing and being supervising producer on Hey Arnold: The Jungle Movie. I was empowered to work in every aspect of the process and benefit from my experience to make it the smoothest running ship and happiest crew ever. Only at the very end did the executives get into overdrive meddling. But it ran well and looked good. It may not be as funny as my prime time stuff, but I think we elevated the material across the board; writing, design, animation quality. And it was a project put in mothballs 15 years before being resurrected. So it completes me in a way.

Ultimately, I believe work is about relationships and quality of life. The shows where you were empowered and respected and not overworked due to inefficiency are the shows I’m proud to work on. As Jim Duffy would always say, “It’s only a cartoon.”

Often sequences are cut or revised before broadcast. Do you have any favourites that didn’t make it in?

If I had, I’ve forgotten them.

What are the biggest changes you’ve seen in the industry over your time and what do you think the next big change will be?

The trend seems to be as I get better and more efficient at my job, creators and writers (especially in streaming prime-time) are becoming more entitled, indecisive, mecurial and demanding. As processes have evolved in digital technology, we’ve opened the door for those in power indulging in more rewrites, revisions, reviews, etc. Despite the technical advancements, animation remains expensive and time intensive and good artists (especially in TV) have to work intelligently and diligently on tight schedules to produce funny, inspired, detail-oriented work. Rewrites and revisions burn out artists and make us feel like office machines and though our overlords pay for the last minute re-dos, they are often throwing out higher quality work for patchwork revisions that lower the overall quality of a show.

Who inspired you as a young animator and who do you look to now?

Ironically, I never saw myself becoming an animator. I did do some stop-motion on Super 8 as a kid. But that was because I didn’t have access to peers to act and help. What inspired me were live action directors with strong, individual styles: Orson Welles, Stanley Kubrick, Peter Greenaway and Terry Gilliam. I think of these guys in essence as “live-action-animation directors”. The stylization in their sequence planning, shot selection and composition as well as how production design integrates in their storytelling reminds me of how background design and art direction naturally occur in animation production.

I’m sure there are new visionaries out there, but I’ve become so disenchanted with modern cinema, I rarely see new movies anymore. I find streaming TV much more interesting. Current movies strike me as self-consciously mannered and hyperactive. I find it endlessly fascinating looking back into cinema history before movies had to begin with three or four production company logos whooshing noisily about.

What advice would you give to people looking to break into the animation industry?

I’ve seen an improvement in the college educated animation students over the years. They seem to be of a higher intellectual standard than before. They aren’t as thrown by the rigors of schedule and they ALL can draw circles around me.

Be original in your own work, but also be a craftsman (as opposed to purely an artist) who can take criticism neutrally and have the tools to fit in the grand scheme of a show that might challenge your personal aesthetics.

Denis Sanders, a directing teacher I had in college said the director’s job is to be “an expert at all things”. In animation, that translates into intellegently knowing what to draw. If a character is looking under the hood of a car, know what an internal combustion engine looks like and what reasonable pieces you can have your character toss out of said engine. The distributor, the carburettor. Find and use reference! Go that extra step and inform your work with the texture of reality.

Don’t regurgitate old tropes. A trite example of what I’m talking about: If a character is peeking at another, avoid the obvious keyhole in the door trope. Keyholes aren’t in doors anymore. It’s been a cliche from the beginning of cinema. Rather, crack the door open, slide your cellphone under the door, look through a window or punch a hole in the door and look in. Like I said, this is a trite example, but making non-obvious choices rather than knee-jerk non-choices makes cartoons fresh and funnier.

What animated shows do you currently watch and what’s your opinion on the current state of animation?

It’s a terrible admission, but I’m not watching anything in animation. There’s a lot of animation that seems to be just writer-driven, animated live-action sit-coms. There isn’t a reason for them to be animated. Those are the kind of jobs I get offered a lot. It seems like a more trouble than it’s worth.

Who are some young animators you think we should be looking out for?

Gosh, I don’t know.

What projects are you currently working on?

I’m productively unemployed at the moment.

Where can people follow you on social media?

I only do tumblr: mashymilkiesinc.tumblr.com

#The Simpsons #Futurama #Eye on Springfield #Raymie Muzquiz #Not tall or wide

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shy-violet-soul · 4 years ago

Text

The Things We Don’t Ask For

Summary: I’ve lived my life standing on my own two feet. It doesn’t occur to me to ask for anything. But, just because I carry it well doesn’t mean my burdens aren’t heavy.

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x Reader

Warnings: a wee bit of angst, a whole lot of fluff

Word count: 2,000 ish

A/N: this is pure selfish daydreaming. Introvert that I am, I miss hugs and casual affectionate touches during this time of keeping my dear ones safe. This one goes out to all of us who fight the good fight every day, all on our own.

A/N 2: A very huge and very appreciative thank you hugs to the amazing @thesassywallflower for beta-ing this for me. Your feedback is so valued! Also, I’m experimenting with a different writing style inspired by the incredible @nacho-bucky . Thank you for giving this a read, and for sharing your art with us.

This is a work of fiction. Please do not copy my work without my written consent.

Original pic credit to owner. Very bad editing by me due to boredom.

I’m tired.

My body sinks like a broken anchor. My joints sit heavy, fatigue tiding into my limbs in mild aches. I feel the waves only distantly, the strain a susurrus I’m used to. When my brain is busy, navigating the gyres and currents of my day, I don’t notice it. But now, with idleness sudden and loud in my head, I feel every creak as I settle into the depths of a ridiculously comfortable sofa.

[[More]]

Comforting sounds of putzing from the kitchen snap me back from tempting, drowsy depths. The friendly click click click of claws on the floor tug a smile free as a happy black snout plops on my leg.

“Hey, there, Bobby!” The pup’s silky black ears are magic, siphoning stress right out of my fingertips as I happily scritch and stroke. My smile swells wider as the goodest good boy groans before he leaps up next to me. Canine kisses catch me chin to cheek, loosing giggles from me as I turn only enough to keep the black Cocker Spaniel from licking my mouth or eyeball.

“Oh, my Lord! Bobby, leave that poor girl alone!” Warmth waves into my chest in the wake of that deep voice, and Bobby laps half in my nose because I’m following my smile up, up into his blue eyes. The freedom I give myself now to dive deep into his gaze still nearly takes my breath.

Settled comfortably in a leather chair, a cup of chai steamed cheer in spice-scented whisps at my elbow as I organized my work. Pattern and pink highlighter on the table, I let the in-progress baby blanket cascade in velvet folds under my hands. Dangling earbud cords hung an invisible ‘do not disturb’ sign. The magpie chatter of my Monday through Friday left me wrung out and empty of words by week’s end, and the only conversation I often felt up to was my chai order and a passing smile. I craved the silent slide of needles and yarn, letting them disconnect my brain so I could refill my words.

Sunshine lighting the work in my lap, I snuggled happily into the cracked leather and let the clatter and whistle fade behind the soothing cello notes of my Piano Guys station. Stitches whiled away a half hour before movement caught the corner of my eye. Without looking up, I spied dark navy jeans and men’s black boots. Just above, long fingered hands cradled a leather-bound notebook, a paperback, and a steaming mug. With a quick glance, I watched him look about the seating area. I recognized the downcast eyes and tucked-in chin of a fellow chit chat dodger. Unwilling to invite conversation but empathetic to his plight, I shifted my cup-and-saucered treat to the side and slid my pattern beside me. Silent permission to sit in peace. Leather toes pointed my way, paused, then tucked themselves beneath the table. Another steaming cup joined mine, and I heard the squeak of leather over the piano in my ears as he accepted the comfort of my corner.

Studiously avoiding his gaze and clinging to my quiet, I kept on. An hour and three more carefully knitted rows later, I rolled my head around and back, cracking the tiny joints before I held the work up in front of me. Fuschia, tangerine, and blush wove together into a lacy blanket, perfect for my neighbor’s baby girl due in a few months. Plenty of time to finish the half-done work. My pride still crinkling my eyes, I scooted the work safely away from the needle ends and paused in mid-reach for my long-cold chai.

My corner mate sat transfixed, chin resting on his hand as his book and notebook sat ignored in his lap. When he caught my glance, he straightened up and smiled. The brilliance of his blue eyes set me blinking, like I’d looked up at the bright summer sky after too many dim hours indoors. He gestured towards the blanket and I obligingly pulled my earbuds free, a fleeting lance of recognition prodding at me as he sat forward.

“I’m sorry to bother you, but this is quite stunning. Did you do all that yourself?”

“Thank you. I did.”

As if he couldn’t stop himself, he gingerly fingered the end of the blanket. “My word, that is soft. I had no idea they made yarn like this. Is this to be a blanket?”

“Yes, a baby blanket. It’s velvet yarn. I didn’t know they made it, either, I found it by accident.”

“A baby blanket? Am I to offer you congratulations?”

“No, it’s for my neighbor. She and her husband and daughter are expecting a baby girl.”

He introduced himself a few moments later, and I let him think I didn’t know who he was. Before I knew it, an hour went by, then two. Never once did I scrooge over my lost quiet, because it never felt lost. Instead, I found myself seen like I’d never been before. Something butterflied in my belly at a man’s undivided attention. New, alien, I ignored it as I treated him with friendliness, courtesy.

I figured Master Thomas Hiddleston got precious little of the last.

A chance chat turned into a hoped-for encounter as Tom adorably lurked about the coffee shop, fingers crossed for my return the next Saturday. Lunch, a few dinners, and a host of text messages later, and I bemusedly refused the idea that this man was dating me.

And yet, weeks later, I’m sitting on his couch. As he breezes a kiss to me, my lips tingle and the same butterflies swirl up in my belly. He places a tray on the coffee table, urging Bobby to settle as he hunts the remote. My gaze lands on the tray, and my buoyed spirit bobbles.

Cheerfully stacked planks of vanilla, strawberry, and chocolate wafer cookies, and I can already taste the sugared crumbs of my favorite treat on my fingers. Rose and cardamom brume curling above a cup unveil my favorite tea, from a shop over 2 hours away. Fragments of conversation that I had innocently tossed, casual detritus on a course I didn’t know he charted.

“Alright now, darling, I found that film you mentioned. The one with Emma Samms and Denis Lawson. I’d no idea he was in this film. I remember watching ‘Bleak House’ on BBC, I thought his performance…” As he lifts a DVD case aloft, his words become a distant, burbled fog. I sharply swallow down the sudden wind wave of tears at the repeated realization I still cannot grasp.

He sees me.

I’ve built my life without a lighthouse. Journeyed contentedly under the steam of an unheard sonar, the pings of a heartbeat happy on its own. My compass crafted carefully, each tear-salt rusted edge a hard-won victory over a map blanked by friendly coupled flocks. I waved them off, bittersweet when unanswered amid their own journeys. Never seen. Never bothered. Never asking.

But he sees me.

The truth of it all at once overwhelms and undercuts me. Swelling, then sinking, I feel as if my broken-anchor body cracks, sloughing off coats of salty red as oxygen leaves me. Faintly, Tom’s voice distinguishes back into words as I secretly flounder before him.

“...found it on some obscure website aptly called ‘eCrater’. I’ll have to return to it and see what other titles they may have in...love, are you alright?”

Two sets of puppy dog eyes regard me now, and the warmth of his hand on mine cuts loose a sob. Horror chases after it, and I dive to hide in my lap. So used to being unseen, the suddenness of the tender focus spotlighting me has me cold and quaking.

Even as I sink, though, a mooring. His bulk steadies before me as he kneels. His warmth settles about me as he wraps me up in strength, unfamiliar in the lending. A hundred hushed comforts croon into my ears, and every attempt I make to seize onto some control slips away with each endearment.

“Oh, darling! Love, what’s wrong? Has something happened? It’s alright, it’s okay, I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

Exhausted, enraptured, I let myself drift. The scent of his soap zephyrs through me, the drag of his long fingers against my scalp a drug I drag in deep and greedily. So blissfully, brokenly free am I in that moment, I don’t resist when his warm hands urge my salt-fogged gaze up to his.

“What is it? What can I do?” he implores.

The words cast off before I can stop them.

“You’re so nice.”

Confusion crinkles a line between his brows as he strokes my hair behind my ear.

“This a problem? My being nice?”

A watery chuckle croaks from me. How to make him understand? Fear of looking pathetic closes my throat with anxiety, but when he presses a kiss to my forehead, the warmth of it shuts my eyes. His clear affection for me - me - tides through and through, and the hungerings I’ve hidden for a lifetime are helpless but to rise and meet him. Fear and freedom tremble in my fingers as I raise them to trace his brow, his cheek, settling hesitant against his jaw.

“No, not a problem. I’m just...not used to being remembered.”

His concerned gaze softens now, the heaviness of worry lightening.

“My darling girl. You’d best become accustomed to me remembering you.” Caring strokes right through me from his fingertips along my face, and dizzying heat pours in from his kiss on mine. Fresh tears sting salty beneath my eyes as I feel his heart beat beneath my hands. The giddying swirls in my belly from the slight drag of his lips against me, the clutch of his arms in my esurient hands. This receiving, this giving, this freedom is a siren call I’ve never dreamed of.

“Now - we are going - to enjoy this film,” Tom starts, kisses dashing his words and dotting my face. “We are going - to drink - our tea, you are going to devour the biscuits, and I,” and his voice drowns me in its sudden depth, “may just devour you.”

The dizzy butterflies unleash a delirious giggle from my middle. The rasp of his calloused thumbs sweeping away my tears brings on a fresh wave. But they sparkle in the trying sunshine of my smile.

Tom growls playfully under my chin before moving to get the movie started, then groans when he turns back to see Bobby has taken his spot beside me. Puppy whimpers and gentle scolds filter in with the opening sequence of a 90s British whodunit story, tugging my smile wider. As Tom settles in beside me, shyness struggles amid the butterflies.

“Can we snuggle?” I whisper the request, my newfound surety soft as sand, but still solid enough to hold me. Tom answers me with outstretched arms and a smile bright enough to turn the tide. I dive in, nestle down, clasp him close.

Unseen, I feel his smile against my forehead. Unbothered, the movements of him shifting us to lay down hardly register. Unasking, we luxuriate in the quiet affection of soft touches and contented sighs.

And my broken-anchor body drifts away.

#shy vy writes #the things we don’t ask for #tom hiddleston fanfiction #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston

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mortuarybees · 5 years ago

Note

oh I just sent you an ask and then realized that you answered my question in a previous ask, so ignore me. (Though I do have another question about them getting married or at least choosing to be committed to each other forever). Thank you for this AU though!

THIS GOT LONG I’M SORRY. The chef suggests that this be paired with Mitski’s cover of Let’s Get Married, which actually invented the institution of marriage.

It looks like this:

It’s a balmy Sunday in April, 2014, and Aziraphale’s hands are clasped before him, forehead pressed to his knuckles. He’s nervous; he shouldn’t be, he knows, but he is. The pew is hard and uncomfortable, unforgiving–Crowley would laugh at that, and even as he smiles, the thought makes his stomach clench.

The service ended a while ago, but he likes to remain, reading through the echoing chatter until everyone has gone and he can have a word alone with Her. Praying in a room full of others feels obscene and vulnerable, like leaving the front door open for the neighbors to peak in.

Please, please, please, he thinks. He doesn’t know how long he’s been here, praying, knows that if today is the day, he needs to go home before Crowley gets irritable and worried, but he wants to feel certain, the way Crowley had been.

(It looks like this:

Aziraphale likes gold. Loves gold; he grew up in an ancient and wealthy family, with so much money they’re casual about it, crystals dripping from chandeliers and fine tableware so old it belongs in a museum, and he won’t admit it–not now, especially–but he misses the elegance, the luxuries, misses a wardrobe full of Harris tweed and Burberry and Liberty’s. He likes gold, he would want gold, and Crowley is helpless to do anything but give him what he wants.)

It’s been a long time, Aziraphale thinks. He’s getting older–I’m getting older–he only gets one life. He’s the restless kind, what if he says no?

He asked first, he reminds himself, and then counters it by pointing out that last time, it didn’t mean much, to him. No, that isn’t fair, it meant something, but it wasn’t binding.

He doesn’t need to bind himself to you, he tells himself. He’s committed in every way he can. He’s never been the restless sort when it comes to us.

I’m overthinking this, he thinks, bemused, and as if God agrees with him, he hears the door behind him open, and Crowley’s relieved voice boom, echoing in the empty church and certainly disturbing the bad-humored priest, “Christ, there you are. I thought maybe the Rapture came and the rest of London was too godless to notice.”

Thank you, he prays. Amen. He turns around and smiles. “Crowley, dear. Would you like to sit?”

“Best not,” Crowley says, stopping at the end of the pew Aziraphale occupies. “Surprised I haven’t burst into flames yet, don’t want to push my luck getting comfortable.” He looks around and points at a painting of Saint Sebastian, posed in a rather un-agonized manner. “That why you come here all the time? An excuse to gawk at younger men?”

“Crowley,” he scolds, getting to his feet. He ducks his head to hide his smile and puts his hands in his pockets, toying with the small velvet box inside. “Please, dear, keep from blaspheming inside the church. Besides, you’re far better looking.”

“Damn right,” Crowley huffs, and he takes his arm possessively when he exits the pew, pulling tight against his side. He looks beautiful in the mid-morning light, hazy and soft, hair loose around his face, the stained glass painting colors on his pale face when he squints up at it as they leave. The face of John is mirrored perfectly in the lenses of his dark glasses for just a moment, and Aziraphale wishes he’d ever really tried his hand at art, just to immortalize in rich oil paint the rainbow of light on his face, the Beloved Disciple in his eyes, the swipes of glitter across his cheekbones, the black lace top under his leather jacket, pierced a million times over with all manner of pins over the years; he thinks if he wasn’t at peace before, this picture does it.

“You’re beautiful, darling,” he murmurs when it’s ended, when Crowley tilts his chin down, curls his lip against whatever blasphemy he was certainly thinking and it’s just him again. Just them, and God as far away as She always feels.

“I was kidding, angel,” he says, thumb stroking a reassuring line down his coat sleeve. “Ogle some guy all–” he gestures, quite theatrically– “shot up with arrows if you like. He’s dead, I’m not. I win.”

(It looks like this:

It’s 2000, and Crowley and Aziraphale arrived in London six months prior, alone and uncertain, refugees on a foreign shore. They both grew up in rural villages–wildly different experiences; Aziraphale’s family had an estate and he attended some posh boarding school on the moors, Crowley slept on a bus bench on more than one occasion–and the city is new and frightening and exciting. It seemed like the place for two young queer men to go, newly anointed adults forging a life together.

Aziraphale likes it, Crowley knows he does, he likes the museums, he likes the beautiful old buildings and the British Library, he likes taking walks in the park, and he likes having a home of their own, a home with Crowley. He tells him everyday, a comment here or there with a soft smile. But he’s wounded and mourning; he misses his family, and his new way of life is a bit of a shock. He won’t admit that it hurts, just sniffs and insists he knew it was coming, but Crowley knows him better that that. He loves London, but he can’t help but see the life he’s lost in every crevice of the life he’s found.

Crowley doesn’t believe in divine providence, but if he did, this would be the surest evidence of it: on his way home to their shithole of a flat with his first paycheck in his pocket, he passes the window of an antiques store, and sees it in the window. It catches the afternoon light perfectly and shines gold against the black velvet display; it’s a clunky old-fashioned sort of ring, with angel wings forming the band. Crowley has been thinking hard about this for years now, and it’s absolutely perfect.)

The sunlight outside comes weakly through the clouds, pale but just bright enough to avoid dreariness. Crowley relaxes once they step from the church steps and onto the sidewalk; his first boyfriend broke up with him with a vague and plausibly-deniable note in a cheap bible left on Crowley’s front porch when he returned home from a summer church camp, and Aziraphale thinks he’s always been afraid in the back of his mind that Aziraphale is going to come home from church someday and do the same thing, though he’s never said as much.

“I brought the rolled oats for the ducks,” Crowley says. “Figured we ought to stop in, since we missed last week. Otherwise they might mutiny.”

“Of course, dear,” Aziraphale says, and that had been his plan, but it’s all becoming so terribly real and sudden, isn’t it? He could wait just a little longer–

No, he can’t. They’ve waited long enough.

(It looks like this:

Crowley, ever-charming, talks the proprietor of the antiques shop into setting the ring aside for him. She’s suspicious of him, with his sibilant S and the pins on his leather jacket, but he’s wearing his work uniform, a perfectly respectable red polo shirt and black slacks, and he gives her a down payment and a long and terribly touching story about his college sweetheart that’s mostly true, apart from the gender of the lover in question.

The truth is, there are some things which can be easily done without, and some things that can’t. Aziraphale prefers fancy vintages from significant years and miraculous rains in the French countryside, but a £5 bottle from Sainsbury’s won’t ruin New Years. They can buy store brand cereal, the eggs discounted because one of them has been cracked, they can throw Aziraphale’s fancy embroidered throw over the pullout and hang richly dyed moth-eaten curtains from the theater department’s dumpster and pretend it’s the Hotel d’Alsace. But there are some things that must be done right, some things that cannot be done without, and he’s convinced that this is one of them. He could as easily propose with a plastic ring from the coin machine at their favorite bar, but Aziraphale is going to love this ring; even if he says no, pats Crowley on the cheek and says, “How romantic of you dear boy, but that’s not really what’s done, is it?” he’s still going to love it.

He’s secretive and vague about the extra hours and side gigs he takes on to make the payments. Aziraphale notices, he knows he does, he knows him too well not to, and he’s curious and a little alarmed, but he felt bad enough lying about where part of his first paycheck went without having to do it again every month when he stops in to make a payment on the ring.

It takes six months, but she finally hands it over, along with a comment about how she’s thought about it and she thinks it’s really rather noble, what he’s doing, and he best keep to it, best not break this poor girl’s heart, she’s read about people like him, giving it a go with nice girls for a couple years and then skipping out, sticking them with kids and a broken life. He rolls his eyes and says he’ll pass the message along to his boyfriend after he proposes, and saunters out, a skip in his step. It’s perfect; he’ll still wear it every day and admire it on his hand the way Crowley admires it now in the sun, and even if he says no–well, that would be a fine consolation prize.)

There is a bench they’ve been coming to for fifteen years now, so habitually the ducks flock to them when they arrive, flicking oats into the water. Crowley is catching him up on the fight he missed while he was out (the walls are thin and the neighbors provide endless entertainment with their incessant and bafflingly banal bickering; it’s a proper extended universe, their family disputes, and the mother-in-law is visiting, so it’s been an exciting weekend), and Aziraphale is trying to listen, he really is, even though he insists eavesdropping and gossiping aren’t especially neighborly–“oh, come off it, angel, you know they’ve got their ears pressed to the wall when we fight, not to mention when we–” “Crowley!”–but he cant focus on anything but the weight in his pocket.

He’s been putting money away for a year now, ever since legislation to legalize it was introduced last July. He’d known it would take some time to pass, but if they were willing to propose it, it would be soon.

“Alright, what’ve you got squirreled away, huh?” Crowley demands, the dozenth time in a few short minutes his hand has gone to his pocket to ensure it’s still there. “I’m hungry. Was so worried you’d gone off and joined some cultish offshoot I couldn’t eat. Well, a more cultish offshoot. Is the Catholic church an offshoot? Suppose it must be, not like Jesus named a pope–”

“It’s not food, dear,” Aziraphale says, sighing. “And he did, he gave Saint Peter the keys to Heaven and he was bishop of Rome. Blasphemous old serpent.”

“I’m sure they all say that,” Crowley says, waving a hand. He eyes him curiously, flicking a rolled oat so it hits a duck in the head. “What is it then?”

Aziraphale’s heart thuds chaotically in his chest. “Crowley, dearest,” he says, turning to face him. He takes his hand in his, desperate for the anchor, the reassurance. “I love you.”

“Love you too, angel,” Crowley says, looking alarmed. “Are you alright?”

“You love me,” Aziraphale repeats, both wishing desperately he could see Crowley’s eyes, search them, and desperately glad that he can’t. Crowley’s bare eyes are so terribly expressive, the sight of them so intimate, he couldn’t bear it.

“‘Course I do,” he says, with conviction. “More than anything. What’s this about?”

“Crowley, my love,” he says hoarsely, and he kneels on one knee, still clinging to his hand.

(It looks like this:

It’s October in 2000, and it’s been raining like the coming of the second flood for days. Crowley stands at the window, biting his lip and scowling at it, sick of it and about to start refreshing himself on the principles of chaos magic in a bid to end it.

“Crowley, dear, you’re making me nervous,” Aziraphale grumbles from the sofa. He loves a nice rainy day, loves curling up against Crowley with a cup of tea and a book or one of those awful television shows with the flouncy costumes and overwrought acting, but even he is growing tired of being stuck inside all day and getting soaked to the bone on his way to work. “Come sit down, would you?”

“I’m busy,” Crowley mutters.

“You don’t look busy,” Aziraphale says. “It looks like you think you can scowl the rain into submission.”

“Works on the plants,” Crowley tells him, and he knows Aziraphale is rolling his eyes without having to look. He’s half a mind to do away with his idea all together, just do it right here in their cramped little studio, when quite suddenly, the rain lets up to a light mist. He stares at it, jaw slack, for several long moments. When it doesn’t start pick up again, he shouts, “Let’s go for a walk.”

“A walk?” Aziraphale frowns. “In this?”

“It’s just misting and we haven’t gone out properly in days,” Crowley says eagerly. “C'mon, get dressed, I want to go to the park.” He won’t have time to get dressed properly, doesn’t want to risk the return of the storm–which is a crying shame, he had such an outfit planned–but he yanks the pants he knows make his ass look the best out of their dresser and a deep purple blouse with lace around the cuffs Aziraphale once said made him look very royal, stripping out of his pajamas and hopping into them as quickly as he can.

“The park?” Aziraphale puts his book aside. “Well, I suppose I would rather fancy a stroll, stretch my legs–”

“Excellent!” Crowley throws him a horrible pair of houndstooth slacks and the first button down he sees. “Get dressed.”

“Crowley–”

“Dressed!”

“These don’t even match!”

“I don’t care! Get dressed!” He darts to their vanity, staring wild-eyed at his reflection. Eyeliner is smudged raccoon-like around his eyes, but his sunglasses will cover that. He picks up a brush and yanks it violently through his hair. His eyes dart to Aziraphale, taking his sweet time picking out a new button down. “Dressed! Dressed, c'mon!”

“I’m getting there,” he mutters, waving lazily at him. “What do you think, green or white, dear?”

“You look best in blue,” Crowley tells him. He pulls his hair back, then lets it fall again, then pulls the front back and secures it a few pins and a comb he knows Aziraphale likes. He spins around to see Aziraphale quite leisurely buttoning up his shirt. “If you don’t hurry, I’m leaving without you.”

Aziraphale rolls his eyes, but his fingers quicken, and he sits down to tie his oxfords. Crowley hurries to join him, shoving his feet in his boots and lacing them up as quickly as he can. The moment they’re both done, he yanks him up, hauling him to the door, shrugging his leather jacket on and tossing Aziraphale his blazer. “Wait, I’ve got to get my bag–”

“You don’t need your bag,” Crowley insists, and reaches into his pocket to make sure the ring is there.

Aziraphale frets the whole way to the park about how it’s bound to start pouring again any moment, and Crowley rushed him so much he forgot to bring an umbrella, they’re going to get drenched, they forgot bread for the ducks–unaware as they were that one ought not feed a duck bread, for its own sake–and St. James’ Park is positively sodden and it’ll take ages for his wool socks to dry out. Crowley doesn’t care; he links their arms and slogs bravely on to their usual spot, grateful that the heavy rain has cleared it out. The only other people around are a mother and child, some ways off, enjoying the brief respite.

“Angel, I’ve got something to ask you,” he says urgently, and he wrenches his sunglasses off–wait, he forgot, the eyeliner–he slides them back on, then takes them off again; he knows how Aziraphale likes to see his eyes.

“Yes?” Aziraphale looks confused and alarmed, he doesn’t like surprises or irregular reactions. He jumps to the worst every time, starts overthinking every twitch of Crowley’s face, and Crowley loves him, the anxious prat.

“I love you,” he says. “Do you love me?”

“I love you more than words can say, darling, what’s going on?” His eyes search Crowley’s face, his brow furrowed.

“Do you–” he swallows hard. They’ve never talked about this, not really. “You don’t think this is–y'know, a sin, right?” It feels so awkward in his mouth, his tone not weighty enough. The truth is, he’s never really seen what all the fuss was about, why so many other queer people struggled so much to reconcile their lives with the Church. The Church rejected him, so he rejected the Church, and he hasn’t looked back. But it means something to Aziraphale. He doesn’t know if he struggles with it still, but it means something to him. It means a lot to him.

“Oh, Crowley, dear,” he says, his eyes clearing. He touches his cheek, so gently Crowley could scream. “Of course not. This could never be a sin, I’ve been reading–”

Crowley can’t help but bark out a laugh. “Of course you have,” he says, beaming at him. “Of course you have. What have you been reading, angel?”

“Well, Montefiore’s ‘Jesus, the Revelation of God’ points out that Christ’s early life–”

“Flaming homosexual, Jesus was, then?” Crowley asks, unable to smother his unhinged grin, and Aziraphale isn’t sure what he’s so giddy about, but it seems like he can’t help but smile back, a little uncertainly.

“There was John, of course, the Beloved Disciple, and there’s a rather interesting idea about the Wedding at Cana, which is of course in some ideas thought of as a symbolic marriage of Christ to the church, and some–there’s this beautiful German print, of Jesus and John at the wedding, I’ll have to show you–some have suggested that it’s also a more literal marriage between Jesus and John–”

“Christ, angel, you’ll marry me, won’t you?” Crowley breathes, and he kneels.

Aziraphale blinks at him, brow furrowed, his mind clearly trying to catch up to this sudden switch in the topic of conversation. It’s always hard to interrupt one of his rambling little speeches, he gets so invested in them, but Crowley will just have to make it up to him later, let him lecture above him well into the night about apocryphal writings and stained glass and this print or that; right now, he just need to be engaged to this ridiculous man. “Er, what?”

“Marry me,” he says. He had a whole proposal planned, but he’s forgotten it, and it was stupid, anyway. “Marry me, I–” he fumbles in his pocket, pulls the ring out of the little felt bag the proprietor put it in and holds it up like an offering. “I have a ring. Will you marry me, Aziraphale?”

“Are you–” Aziraphale’s eyes are getting wide, his breath coming fast. “Crowley, you’re not joking about this, are you?”

“Why the fuck would I joke about this?” Crowley snaps. “Look, see, I got a ring and everything. Do you like it?”

“Crowley–” Aziraphale gasps, a wet and rough sound. “I–I suppose it would be legal, technically, but I–Crowley, you know how I feel about, about–what do you mean–”

“It’s not legal, I know, but neither is buggery, technically, just can’t be prosecuted, but that’s never stopped us,” he says. He knows, he knows how Aziraphale feels about playing to his assigned gender, even when it’s convenient. “Look, it’s not like Jesus and John had a marriage license, is it?”

And Aziraphale starts crying.)

“Angel,” Crowley says, staring down at him. “The hell are you doing?”

“Ah,” Aziraphale releases his hand to pull the small velvet box out of his pocket, opens it carefully, precisely, and holds it out to him. “Crowley, my dearest, will you marry me?”

“We’re already married, angel,” Crowley whispers, and as if unconsciously, his thumb strokes the tattoo on his left ring finger.

“Well, certainly,” he says. “But it’s legal now, and I know that what the state has to say doesn’t matter much, but you know–well, you remember how it can be, without something legal. Something on paper,. And you don’t have a ring.”

“I have better than a ring,” Crowley says, but his eyes are glittering, fixed on the little black ring in the box, a band of silver around it.

Aziraphale swallows hard. “Crowley, I would really quite like to marry you, officially, dear, if you’ll have me.”

“If I’ll–I swear to somebody, angel, you’re the stupidest genius I’ve ever met,” he swears. “Of course I’ll marry you, you idiot, I–what the fuck does the ring say, Aziraphale?”

He smiles, can’t help but be pleased that he’s noticed. On the inside, in his own hand writing, is You Make Me Live, Dearest, in deference to the song Crowley has, on many occasions, blasted so loud their neighbors have pounded on the wall, practically shouting the lyrics at Aziraphale, hauling him, laughing, into terrible dancing that usually ends up knocking something over. Aziraphale takes a deep breath, and sings very quietly, and off-key, voice wavering (he hasn’t sang since his second puberty; he had a lovely voice, before, he was in a choir, but he hasn’t quite gotten the hang of it since), “Oh, you make me live, whenever this world is cruel to me–”

Crowley grabs him by his lapels and hauls him up into a hungry kiss, passersby be damned.

(It looks like this:

Aziraphale is crying, his face in his hands, and Crowley is frozen on his knees, all his giddy joy slowly leaving him, a hollow humiliation replacing it.

“Angel,” he says, hating how his voice cracks. “Angel, I’m sorry, you don’t have to say yes–you can keep the ring, I want you to have the ring–I won’t–I won’t leave, if you say no–unless you want me to, obviously–” Shit, shit, shit, he didn’t fuck up that bad, did he–

Aziraphale drops his hands, startled, and stares at him. “Why on earth would I want that?” he asks, and he goes to his knees on the wet concrete, pulling the ridiculous handkerchief that matches his ridiculous bow tie from his breast pocket, dabs at his eyes, wipes his nose, and puts it in his pocket with a deep breath. “I never–I never thought this would be possible, the way I wanted it,” he says at last. “I never even–considered it, really, I wished, perhaps, but I never–” he stops, and he stares at Crowley with such warmth and love it settles him, a little. He’s not going to turn him out, and that’s really all that matters.

“I just thought, I know you wouldn’t want to do it…officially, so it might not be legal, but maybe–you and me, we could say some vows,” he says. “If you wanted. If you don’t, that’s fine,” and his voice, the goddamn traitor, cracks again on the word.

“Oh, dear, I haven’t said yes, have I?” Aziraphale says, and he smiles, a watery thing, puts his hand on Crowley’s wrist. “Yes, darling, I’d love nothing more than to marry you, I really wouldn’t.”

“Oh,” he says, and a smile begins to form. “Oh. That’s–great, then.”

“You ridiculous thing,” Aziraphale says, beaming, and he throws his arms around him, pressing a soft kiss to his neck. He can feel his lashes flutter against the soft skin there, the slide of warm tears, his breath ghosting across the fine hairs, and he shivers.

“Hey,” he says, nudging him. “Hey. Did you see the ring?”

Aziraphale laughs, leaning back onto his haunches, and wipes at his eyes. “The ring?”

“Yeah, the ring,” Crowley says, waving it about. He thinks it looks even more impressive in the washed-out grey light, shining like a second sun.

“Crowley,” he whispers, seeming to really truly notice it for the first time. “Where–where did you get this?” His hands hover around it, reverent, as if he’s afraid to touch it.

“An antiques shop,” he says proudly. “Give me your hand.”

“How did you afford it?” he asks wonderingly, and he lets Crowley take his hand in his, slide it onto his finger, smiles at his little sigh of relief when it fits.

“Saved up,” he says. “That’s, er. What I’ve been doing, going out.”

“I was curious,” Aziraphale says, and his eyes well up again. “Oh, darling, all this time, you’ve been working?”

“Wanted you to have the best,” he says. “Look, see, they’re angel wings.” He runs a finger around the band, beaming at it. “You like it?”

“Crowley, my dear, I love it more than I can say,” he says fervently, and he puts a hand on his cheek again, leans in to give him a chaste, brief kiss. “Let’s go home,” he suggests. “I’ll thank you properly.”

Crowley leaps to his feet, bringing Aziraphale with him, and they don’t quite run to the bus stop, but it’s a very close thing, giggling like drunk teenagers sneaking out late, laughter peeling through the park when Crowley’s poorly laced boots send them tumbling, arms linked, into the grass.)

It looks like this:

It’s 2000, and it’s 2014, and they run home from the bus stop in a sudden downpour of rain, having forgotten umbrellas, absent-minded and distracted by more important things. A leather jacket is shed onto the floor, a tweed coat thrown in the vague direction of a coat rack; Crowley throws Aziraphale’s suspenders off his shoulders with pleased gusto, a tie, belt, shirts, hit the floor with abandon, sunglasses are placed very delicately somewhere safe. Crowley pulls at Aziraphale’s binder insistently, in 2000, yanks his white undershirt over his head in 2014; oxfords and combat boots are tossed and hit the walls and floor; they stumble over their pants as they try to take them off without stopping, without taking their hands off each other for even a moment, and the old bed creaks when they tumble onto it. The headboard cracks against the wall, knocks the crucifix loose, and the thud is followed by shaking laughter overtaken by gasps, and cries, and fervent declarations, hands clasped, mouths sliding inelegantly together. I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you; and they’re both thinking with desperate and delighted devotion, my husband, my husband, my husband.

#Sorry This Is So Long #i got carried away #look i had to fit in two proposals #thank you for asking im love human au #henry speaks #ineffable husbands #good omens #human au #Anonymous #can you tell i was raised protestant and very much not catholic #apologies to my catholic friends for any errors on that front #hi im henry a gay christian and very emotional about it #henry writes

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lsbaird · 4 years ago

Text

The Devil’s Luck - Chapter One Preview!

A day late but hopefully not a dollar short! It was a deliberate delay, I think we could all use the distraction today, and if I’m looking at post notes I won’t be reloading the news. (Allow me a small interjection: Please please please go vote if you’re eligible. It is without a doubt the most important thing you can do today, and possibly this year. Already voted? Thank you!) Now let’s hunker down and hope for the best. I plan to make soup and play Hades, myself. But you get to remember today as the day you met your new favorite murderer: Etienne of the Order of the Crimson Seal.

Etienne Vynae Na'Gammon had endured considerable discomfort in the course of his long and shadowy career. He had spent long nights navigating steep and icy rooftops, he had waited out the tides while clinging to pilings beneath the city's piers, and on one (far too memorable) occasion he had traveled down the canals in an olive barrel. In his crowning achievement he had even covered himself in plaster and posed—quite successfully and for several hours—as a garden statue in the middle of a widely-attended soiree. Many was the time he had been out and about the Order's business during the bleakest winter gale, when decent people shuttered their windows and were cozy in their beds. And yet, for all his ordeals, he had never encountered anything as devilishly uncomfortable as a single hour in this accursed carriage.

As if to punctuate the thought, the carriage hit a yet another canyon in the road, and Etienne pitched forward with a barely-contained oath. He’d been travelling now for four days, and he estimated he had spent at least a quarter of the journey suspended in mid-air inside the carriage, rattled around like the bead in a baby's rattle. He landed with a jolt and a groan as the wheels surmounted the crater and plunged gamely towards another. Then again, Etienne mused, maybe it’s not the carriage that’s to blame. Easting roads were not meant for lowland carriages, or for lowland assassins.

Massaging his side as he eased back onto the seat, Etienne drew back the curtain and peered out. A muddy, piney smell unfamiliar to the city-dweller seeped around the glass and crawled boldly into his nostrils. The light was fading fast, but even if it had been noon under the bluest sky, there would still be very little to see outside. Easting's countryside was naked under heaven, the bare bones of her hills clad only in the brief modesty of heather.

The sight of that vast nothingness, rolling interminably into the deepening dusk, made Etienne feel as exposed as a sinner's soul on the cold pan of St. Justicia's scale. There were no havens, no hiding-places on those moors, only sparse bursts of trees here and there, and those were already leaf-bare. The isolation of it struck an unfamiliar chord of loneliness within Etienne. He was sworn to do his duty for the sake of humanity in the broadest sense, but he enjoyed his own company best and had no great love for his fellow man. Under close examination he found most of them to be extremely irritating. Still, in Ivanis City, he knew how easy it was to be invisible in the crowd, he knew how to lose himself among the rooftops and canals. The city was no mere backdrop, it was a fundamental part of his art. If he could transform himself into a blade of grass or a gorse bush, he might have felt equally at home in Easting.

Even worse, his disguise was made to attract the eyes of others, to make him a focus of attention rather than to avoid it. Which was well and good for a distraction when distraction was called for, and quickly shed for comfortable anonymity. But there would be no shedding it now, not for some time. Ephaseus had said that the challenge would be a good thing for Etienne, and make him more well-rounded in his craft.

Etienne was as well-rounded as corsetry could make him, and so far, it had done very little for either his craft or his mood. For one thing, there was something off about the fit. Etienne could not understand the difficulty. The corset had been custom made for him, and had fit perfectly three years ago when he’d poisoned the Viscount of Brinesgreene at a dinner party. But then, that was only for one evening, and his victim was dead before the soup course was finished. It was simply a matter of having to wear it longer and while traveling, Etienne concluded, and there was no other reason (certainly not a reason in the form of numerous ginger biscuits), that it did not fit now. True, the stays of the garment were sterner than fashion demanded, as Etienne's slim steel throwing blades were sheathed between the whalebone, and most ladies already possessed at least a semblance of the curves that Etienne's corset was forcing upon him, but he couldn’t quite fathom the cause. Bad luck, that was all.

The carriage shuddered again, knocking Etienne's forehead against the glass and then sending him in a heap of rumpled skirts to the carriage floor, and this time he indulged in some heartfelt profanity. The carriage slowed, and for a moment he thought his outburst had actually reached the ears of the coachman. But a quick glance outside revealed the first man-made structure Etienne had seen for miles: thorny black iron gates looming up out of the darkness. They had reached the edge of Chancelion.

The gate was lodged in the low hummock of some feudal earthworks that had once enclosed the property, which years ago had been the ancestral seat of some forgotten and long-dissolute noble line. It was Chancelion now, named so by Lord Evern Reichwyn decades ago when he won the whole pile in a game of hazard, and took a fancy to the marble cats perched on the gate. That was the first of Lord Reichwyn’s two legendary card games, a tale still told even as far away as Ivanis City. The second game was even more famous… and had not gone quite so well.

“Miss Elsa Lenoir,” the coachman said, as the gatekeeper approached the twin pools of light cast by the carriage lanterns.

The gatekeeper lifted his shaggy eyebrows and cast a fleeting glance to the window of the carriage. He was too interested in getting back to his warm apartment in the gate to stand and stare for long, however, and Etienne, in his guise as a lady of quality, stared gravely forward into the middle distance without taking note of him. The gatekeeper attended to his duty, the carriage wheels rolled onto the blissful smoothness of fresh gravel, and Etienne's mission at last unfolded before him in shades of greenish gray.

Now in the distance he could see the black shadows of trees, the timber hills a dark stain on the edge of the pale moor. The wind carried their soughing along with the low, aching cry of a wolf. Etienne frowned at the thought of wolves prowling the countryside. An extra factor to consider, without a doubt. When he was obliged at last to make his escape, he decided he would do so on the fastest horse he could steal.

“Almost there, ma'am,” the coachman called back, startling Etienne from his unpleasant reverie on snapping wolf-jaws. “Less than 'alf a mile.”

Etienne steeled himself to his task. There was a difficult task between him and his freedom, and his frequent trips to the carriage floor had knocked his wig askew. A few minutes' maintenance restored the glossy black curls to their proper places on his shoulders, some repeated pinching forced maidenly color back into his cheeks. His kohl would have to do as it was; Etienne was skilled at the art, but did not trust himself with anything so delicate inside the dark, rattling carriage. A brief inspection in the small hand-mirror pinned to his skirts presented him as a passable version of the portrait miniature Ephaseus had painted, with the exception of the peeved expression. Etienne forced his eyebrows up to get rid of the frown line between them.

The lady-to-be of Chancelion would be fatigued from the trip, and perhaps a little anxious, but she would be excited to meet her future husband for the first time. And who could blame her? Lord Freyton Reichwyn Landry was a bastard, and only recently had he been tracked down as the heir to his great-uncle's property. But he was young, handsome, beloved by his tenants, and fabulously rich. Elsa, on the other hand, had a bloodline that was beyond reproach, but she was a pauper and an orphan, dependent on her wealthy city relations for her room and board. She had little for her dowry save her name, and a ruined family castle that stood derelict and bat-infested in a part of Easting even more remote than Chancelion. Elsa needed a rich husband to save her an endless string of aunts, and Lord Reichwyn needed nothing save for a bit of blue blood to improve his standing among the gentry.

As a match it was absolutely ideal, save for the trifling detail that Etienne was not Elsa Lenoir, and he was determined to murder his bridegroom before the week was out.

One can't have everything in an arranged marriage, Etienne thought, with a dark chuckle, and checked his glass again. He couldn’t help feeling that he was a bit of a step-up on the original. He much resembled the real Elsa Lenoir—who had been selected as much for that reason as for her suitability—with the exception, Etienne presumed, of murderous intent. She was presently socked away with a pious spinster Aunt in the city. Etienne had seen her on a few occasions and knew her well enough, but their social circles did not often overlap. She spent her days attending only the most respectable soirees and the most moral theatre, and would probably be teaching embroidery at a convent school long before word of her ill-fated engagement ever reached the city. It would no doubt be the most mysterious puzzle of what Etienne suspected would be a thoroughly dull life.

The Order had, of course, considered completely inventing a bride from whole cloth, but an unknown woman of mysterious origin would attract the curiosity of the whole district. But a real and boring one, with a family name everyone has heard somewhere, would be no more than a passing novelty, at least for long enough to serve the Order’s purposes. Etienne tugged his glove further up his arm, though his tattooed wrist was well-concealed by kid leather. When this was done, no trace would be found. Not of the ersatz Elsa, or of her doomed bridegroom. They would fade into the legend as a footnote of that second card game, and only the Order would know the truth of it.

An inviting light glowed beyond the curtains, and Etienne felt the first, long-belated tingling of anticipation for his task. He had no love of killing for its own sake, but he was a man of principles, and he took his craft very seriously. The disposal of his betrothed was only the final flourish in a long, precise dance. First, he would win over the butler, with the charm of a noble lady that had been so wanting (so Lord Reichwyn's letters had said) in Chancelion. From there it was a simple step-by-step acquisition of the hearts of the whole household, and Etienne knew full well that once you had the confidence of the domestics, the rest was as easy as filching cakes from an open pantry. And once the business was done, Elsa would vanish like the mirage she was.

The coachman cooed a relieved noise to his horses, the wheels slowed, and Etienne took a deep breath. Elsa had arrived. The curtain was rising, and he affected an air of weariness mingled just so with trepidation, and a tiny sprinkle of glowing excitement. It was a combination sure to win the affection of Lord Reichwyn's butler the moment the kind old soul opened the door. But when he stepped out of the carriage and onto his stage, Etienne got his first unpleasant surprise of the evening.

There was no kindly old butler there, ready to have his heart melted by the gentle beauty of his new mistress. There wasn't even a crotchety retainer whose heart couldn't be melted even if it was dropped into a forge. No, there in the rain at the folding steps of the coach was none other than Lord Freyton Reichwyn Landry himself, the Scion of Chancelion, as though he was no better than the footman. He was clear-eyed and handsome in a friendly, effortless way as he held out a warm cloak for his bride-to-be, and he wore a look of concerned relief that was unfairly earnest.

This, Etienne thought, with a sudden and grim foreboding, is going to be difficult.

“Here you are at last!” Lord Reichwyn exclaimed, as though Etienne was a favorite sister who had spent too long at the county fair, and not a young noblewoman he had never met. “I've been worried sick—mind the puddle, there—all afternoon. Beastly weather for travel, and no mistake. The streams are all in full flood, and Alfred's horse-cart lost an axel in the mud today. I was afraid you'd meet worse trouble out on the moors after dark. I was just getting ready to go out after you myself.”

“It was a bit trying,” Etienne admitted, keeping his voice in the warm middle tones that he had decided best suited the demure Miss Lenoir. “But I felt it best to press on, since I… didn't wish to wait any longer to get here,” Etienne finished, at last. It was a weak reason, but he hoped girlish excitement could excuse it. Etienne was no expert on girlish excitement; his usual feminine persona was much more the quiet and murdery type. He thought it probably felt sort of like having to sneeze, but being startled halfway and not managing to get it out. He felt that way now, itchy and tingly in his spine, but he blamed the corset.

Etienne blamed lots of things on the corset.

“The bridge at Keeston washed away,” Lord Reichwyn continued, bundling Etienne up into the cloak and drawing the fur collar snugly around his shoulders. “You only must have just made it across before the river took it down.” His bride-to-be secured, Freyton leaned up into the carriage and emerged with Etienne's small personal case in his hand. “Have you no other luggage, my lady?” he asked, looking around the empty compartment in confusion, as though there was a large trunk of dresses hiding somewhere and he'd missed it on the first pass.

Etienne fiddled with a glass-eyed ermine head on the cloak. “It's to come along later, along with my waiting maid.”

“They will both have to wait, I’m afraid,” Lord Reichwyn said, shaking his head as he shut up the carriage. “With Keeston-bridge gone, we won't be able to get a carriage from the Highroad until they can do repairs.”

Good work, Bruin, Etienne thought. Aloud, he made only a soft noise of concern, one that was eclipsed as his betrothed offered the coachman a room above the carriage house until the roads were passable again.

“Here,” Lord Reichwyn said, on turning around and finding his bride-to-be still staring pensively after the retreating coach. “Let's get inside before—”

With a sudden crackle of thunder, the drizzle became a downpour, and a deluge of icy rain poured down on them like a baptismal cataract. The curl in Lord Reichwyn's blond queue vanished in an instant, and the lace on the modest neckline of Etienne's gown lost all its starch as he struggled to get the hood of the cloak up over his wig. Lord Reichwyn took Etienne's elbow and towed him along towards the house. “Quickly now, my lady!”

They fled, skirting the puddles in the rutted gravel of the drive, and scrambling up the broad steps of the house. Once inside the ebony-paneled foyer, they shook rainwater off their clothes and last got a good look at one another.

“Your painter does not do you justice, my lady,” Lord Reichwyn said, with such wondering admiration that it could not be anything but honest. Etienne was thinking something along the same lines. The painter of Lord Reichwyn's portrait miniature had prettified him to city standards, obscuring the clean line of his jaw and falsely darkening the pale sweep of his lashes. His dripping hair and flushed face only enhanced his appearance as a prime sample of healthy Easting stock, a soft-spoken, broad-handed hero suitable for a syrupy novel by some love-starved city countess. Etienne, however, had not been so fortunate. He caught a glimpse of his own reflection in the dim hall mirror behind Lord Reichwyn, and found that instead of a quivering maiden in the blush of first love, the rain had turned him into a drowned badger in a soggy dress.

“You must jest, my lord,” he said, aghast. The careful pile of Lady Elsa's black curls had been plastered straight down against his face; all that remained of their former glory were limp twists at the end, dribbling rainwater down his cloak. His carefully applied kohl was smudged around his eyes, and the chill had swiped an unbecoming streak of red across his nose. The real Lady Elsa would have dropped dead of shame at being seen in such condition.

“I assure you, I don't,” his paramour replied, with a perfect bow that contrasted sharply with the spreading puddle of rainwater around his boots. “But please, you must call me Frey. I insist.”

At that moment the gruff old butler at last made his appearance on the scene, far too late for Etienne's carefully composed introduction. Considering the old man's pace, Etienne supposed he must have left the servant's quarters sometime early the day before. “Your rooms are prepared, my Lady,” he wheezed. “Will you be wanting some late supper?”

Etienne leaned on the elaborate newel post of the main staircase with an air of great weariness that was not entirely concocted. “I fear the journey has left me far too fatigued,” he breathed, fluttering his lashes a little. “I'm not at all used to such hard travel.” Frey, his attentive affianced, was at his side in a second.

“It must have been a dreadful journey, lady. You needn't make light of it. Easting is already bitter this time of year.” Frey placed an arm under Etienne's but kept a concerned, formal distance; common though his blood was, he would not impose himself on a lady's person.

Bastard, Etienne thought, uncharitably. If only Frey had been a repulsive cad right off the bat, with a leer in his eyes and groping hands, it would have been easier. Etienne knew this mission would be a challenge, his master had told him so. But Frey, so far, was the nicest fellow Etienne had met in the whole damn week. That took Etienne's task beyond a mere challenge and into farcical territory. Ephaseus, safe and warm back at Marlyon House in Ivanis City, was probably chortling into his tea at the thought of the whole lark.

“Lady?” Frey prompted, perhaps concerned by the audible gritting of Etienne's teeth, “are you quite sure you're well?”

“Ah, forgive me.” Etienne clutched Lord Reichwyn's arm with both hands, and struggled to inject a measure of gratitude into his smile. “You are too kind, sir.”

“Nonsense, I should have sent you straight up to bed at once, not made you stand around in wet things. You’ll catch your death.” Frey turned to his butler, who stood waiting attentively in his dusty black velvets, and plucked the candelabra from his hands. “Tobias, be a good man and have the cook send up some of her excellent potato soup and a pot of tea for Miss Lenoir. And none of you are to disturb her until she's rested.”

“At once, my lord,” Tobias bowed, and crept off to the kitchen at a snail's pace. Etienne would be lucky to get his supper before breakfast-time.

“It's only a short way,” Frey said, helping his lady up the stairs, his boots making damp prints on the thick carpet. “I've given you the tapestry room. It's a bit smaller than the traditional best guest room, but that's on the other side of the house and cold as a crypt.”

Etienne, getting a bit more into his role, answered in a plaintive sigh. “Oh, I would be happy with a hay bale in the barn now, my lord!”

Frey laughed as they came up onto the first-floor landing, and it was a friendly, open-handed sound. “I hope my hospitality is not so poor! And you must call me Frey. Everyone does. Except the servants, of course. One simply cannot make them listen to reason. But I haven't given up hope yet! Here we are.”

He opened a heavy rosewood door, and bowed his lady into her chamber. Etienne entered, and tried not to flinch. The room was furnished in an Easting show of wealth and luxury, which was, to Etienne’s taste, an eye-stabbing explosion of colors and textures. The bed, a vast antique fortress of carved oak large enough to sleep a family of bears, was stuffed to the brim with eiderdown, the pillows barely held in check by the red velvet bed-curtains. Only fragments of the parquet floor were visible under its coating of vivid rugs, and old-fashioned tapestries covered the walls, concealing the simple wood paneling. There were no less than six mirrors, each one encrusted with more gilt flourishes than the last, each reflecting the bright tapestries in a dizzying whirl. Etienne tried to imagine sleeping in such a cacophony of patterns and hues, and thought he'd rest better in the belly of a bagpipe.

Frey was undeterred as he surveyed the room. “Looks like Toby has a fire going, good. You should dry out thoroughly before retiring. It's so easy to catch a chill here. Will the room suit you?”

Etienne eyed an ostentatious gold cherub that was looming with ominous pudginess over the red and green enameled washbasin. “I'm sure I shall feel right at home,” he demurred.

“I do hope so,” Frey said, fervently. “It's a lovely view of the gardens in daylight, and—and I can't tell you how glad I am you're here at last.” He paused, and seemed to forget what else he was going to say, his pale blue eyes going soft as he looked at his future bride.

Etienne's scalp prickled under his wig; he wasn't quite prepared for this scene yet. Fortunately, he was spared further ardor by Tobias appearing with a tea-cart and her ladyship's minimal luggage, and Frey remembered how to speak.

“If you need anything at all, don't hesitate to ask,” he said, as his servant carefully removed the lids from the platters and laid out the silver. “Breakfast is at nine if you want to come down to the dining room, but if you wish to sleep longer, just ring for a servant when you're ready. I took the liberty of supplying your wardrobe with a few things, so I hope the delay of your trunks will not prove too troublesome. Shall I send one of the house maids to assist you?”

“I think I will be fine on my own.” Etienne held out his hand, and it was promptly accepted. “I'll have a little supper and then retire at once. Thank you for your kindness, my lord.”

Tobias discreetly withdrew as the lord of the manor bowed over Etienne's hand. “Frey,” he whispered in reminder, and brushed his lips over Etienne's gloved knuckles. His eyes met those of his presumed lady's, and the moment not only dragged, it dragged as though it had been lashed behind a team of mules and taken through the city square to the gallows. Etienne at last summoned a dismissive smile, Frey wished his lady good night, and the Lord of Chancelion hurried from the room as though pursued.

The latch clicked, and Etienne collapsed into a chair so appalling it would have sent the minister of the royal household screaming into the hills. Damn, if it wasn't as bad a start as he had ever done, Etienne thought dourly, peeling off his wet gloves. It was worse than the olive incident, and Etienne didn't even think that was possible. A lucky thing his lover was so smitten. Etienne could probably have turned up in jackboots and a beard without losing any of his betrothed's affections.

Damp skirts and the smell of hot soup forced him up again, and with a last suspicious glare at the cherub, he hurried to get himself undressed. All his clothes, including the corset, had been altered so that he could get in and out of them without help, and in doing so a few liberties had been taken with current city fashion. He had been worried that his slightly outdated stomacher and downright pious neckline might attract too much notice. He had no such concerns now. Etienne kicked off his petticoats and scowled at his loud bedchamber. This household wouldn't recognize good taste even if it was indecently assaulted by it in an alley.

The clock on his mantelpiece chimed ten o'clock and Etienne settled in the hideous armchair to eat his dinner, relaxing a little for the first time in the whole interminable journey. He only required a day or two to of reconnaissance, after which he could tiptoe down the corridor and murder his fiancée.

Mood considerably brighter at the prospect, he attended to his supper with pleasure.

#the devil's luck #l.s. baird #indie publishing #queer lit #coming soon

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papermoonloveslucy · 3 years ago

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TOP OF MY HEAD: WAX OF BALL

May 16, 1964

Last summer I was engaged to write a one-hour special comedy program starring this glamorous bouquet of names: Jack Benny, Danny Thomas, Garry Moore, Lucille Ball, Andy Griffith, and Phil Silvers. (1)

I am not going to single out any certain name, but one of these stars gave me plenty of trouble. If I play my cards right, I may never have to write for her again.

These six television personalities are all under the sponsorship of one advertiser and appear weekly for separate products in their own respective half hour niches. To herald the opening of a new season a week before their first shows appeared. General Foods gathered them all together into one huge bowl to serve up a mighty chef's salad. It was only natural that some ham should have slithered in.

It was at once discernible to the writers that to accommodate this array of disparate talent the script concept would have to include two important factors. One, a plot in which they would all be concerned. Two, jokes distributed in equal portions among the six performers. Give one comedian, working with a group of other comedians, fewer lines than the others and you have an actor on your hands who, as rehearsals go along, sinks lower than the second f in Schrafft's. (2)

The plot we came up with was a simple and workable one. Five of our stars see a news item in Variety that General Foods has just hired Phil Silvers to do a new half-hour show.

"It is rumored," says our Variety story, "that General Foods may drop one of the other five." If that sounds contrived, it was. We put a piece of paper into the typewriter and contrived it. I don't quite know what critics mean when they write that a story line was contrived. I like to think it was conceived. We certainly went through enough labor to bring it into the world.

In due course an outline in some depth was written and presented to the advertising agency, and there was joy in all the cubicles up at Benton and Bowles. They phoned to say they had engaged as producer a man from the theater with a long list of distinguished plays he had nurtured through their out-of-town tryouts to Broadway successes—Leland Hayward. Mr. Hayward and I were to make the trip to the West Coast and articulate our outline to the stars. Which we did, to unanimous approval. The agency men were quite pleased, and at lunch Ed Ebel, vice-president of General Foods, insisted I have a second dessert.

Then back we came and the script was written. You know that line about everything being fine at the theater until the curtain went up? In the purified vernacular of television, all heck broke loose. Miss Ball found it highly incompatible with her public image to pretend that she would worry about losing her job to Phil Silvers because everybody knows she is president of Desilu Productions. She wanted a slight change—the script to state explicitly that she is president of Desilu and she wasn't worried.

Well, this played hell with our premise —excuse it, I'm getting steamed up now. We watered the plot down to "although Miss Ball was president of Desilu and was not worried about losing her job she would pretend to have some concern for the other stars who might lose their jobs and she would help get rid of Mr. Silvers." Some of the enchantment of doing the show was now slipping away. But it got worse. My good friend Jack Benny, when he saw the changes, reminded us that everybody knows he's quite wealthy and he wouldn't be worried about losing his job either. To keep it from spreading through the cast, Mr. Hayward explained that they were playing the parts of people about to lose their jobs—a crisis with which viewers can all identify.

The point was finally made and the script went into rehearsal. Word came back to us from the Coast that Miss Ball, who evidently wasn't finding it very rewarding laugh-wise to be the public image of president of Desilu, had ordered other changes into the script— among them a scene with Mr. Silvers known in burlesque as "Again I Turn" (3) —ending with the pie-in-the-face bit, in which the president of Desilu pretended to be an old scrubwoman.

After the show went on the air I heard to my sorrow that some viewers found this scene quite hilarious. This I can attribute to only one unfortunate thing—Miss Ball happens to be one of the country's most talented and prolific comediennes.

The other Sunday night Miss Ball appeared in an hour show with Bob Hope. (4) She played, of all things, the president of Desilu. Also, she was an actress for Desilu. She appeared in one scene as the actress trying on a top hat, white tie, and tails.

"This is what I wear in the magic act, isn't it?" she asked the tailor. "Where are the tricks?"

"In the suit," he replied, as the public image of the Desilu president went off gaily to a board of directors' meeting.

Well, if there was a message in a television program, this was it. No sooner had she arrived at the meeting than she removed the top hat, and there, nestling in the hutch of all that red hair, was a rabbit. Desilu stockholders will please not assume that this is her public image.

Also, the very next night the president of Desilu appeared in her usual weekly show. (5) The premise: "Lucy takes a job as a summons server to earn vacation money."

~ GOODMAN ACE

Goodman Ace (1899-1982) was born as Goodman Aiskowitz, aka "Goody" (as he was known to friends) had a low-key, literate drollery and softly tart way of tweaking trends and pretenses made him one of the most sought after writers in radio and television from the 1930s through the 1960s. In 1957 and 1959 he was Emmy nominated for writing “The Perry Como Show.” He and his wife Jane had a long-lasting radio breakfast show called “Easy Aces” that transferred to television in 1949 - where it lasted just six months. As per his desires, “General Foods Opening Night” was the first and last time he collaborated with Lucille Ball.

This article appeared in the May 16, 1964 issue of Saturday Review, a weekly literary magazine published from 1920 to 1986. Norman Cousins was the editor from 1940 to 1971. It was described as "a compendium of reportage, essays and criticism about current events, education, science, travel, the arts and other topics."

FOOTNOTES TO HISTORY

(1) The TV special that Goodman Ace was employed to write was titled “Opening Night” airing September 23, 1963 on CBS starring Phil Silvers (“The New Phil Silvers Show”), Lucille Ball (“The Lucy Show”), Jack Benny (“The Jack Benny Program”), Andy Griffith (“The Andy Griffith Show”), Danny Thomas (“Make Room for Daddy”), and Garry Moore (”I’ve Got A Secret”).

(2) Schrafft’s was a chain of moderately priced New York restaurants which often attracted ladies who were out for shopping trips. It was one of the first restaurants to allow un-escorted females on a routine basis. In 1981, the Boston-based candy company that owned the chain ceased operations, leaving just a few remaining restaurants in private hands. Schrafft’s was mentioned in “Lucy Does the Tango” (ILL S6;E20) and ““Housewarming” (ILL S6;E23).

Ace writes "sinks lower than the second f in Schrafft’s”. This is a reference to the company’s distinctive logo.

(3) The vaudeville routine is most commonly known as “Slowly I Turned” or “Slowly I Turn” or even “Martha”, but not “Again I Turn,” as Goodman writes. Perhaps this mistake is intentional to show his displeasure of the age-old vaudeville routine being inserted into his script - or perhaps not. Lucille Ball had performed “Slowly I Turned” as Lucy Ricardo on “The Ballet” (ILL S1;E9) opposite Buffo the Clown (Frank J. Scannell) in 1952. This time, Lucy takes the role of the clown, and Phil Silvers is the one with the kind face. For plot purposes, Lucille is dressed as a charwoman.

(4) The show Goodman Ace is referring to was titled “Mr. and Mrs.” aka “The Lucille Ball Comedy Hour” and was aired on April 19, 1964. As he points out, the premise has Lucille Ball playing ‘Herself’ as the head of a studio named Consolidated Pictures (not Desilu). Like the real-life Ball, she also has a popular TV show in which she plays a wacky redhead named Bonnie Blakely (not Lucy Carmichael).

(5) Ace is referring to “Lucy is a Process Server” (TLS S2;E27) aired on April 20, 1964, in which Ball plays Lucy Carmichael, a single mother of two who takes a second job as a process server to make enough money to go on vacation with her best friend and roommate Viv (Vivian Vance). Her first summons must be served to Mr. Mooney.

Original 1964 article by Goodman Ace, transcribed verbatim. Footnotes by Michael T. Mooney.

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rejectclone · 4 years ago

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I’ve been meaning to update the mini bios for my OCs, it took me some time to try to condense their core aspects and backstory stuff into smaller paragraphs but I’m finally done!

NAME: Jared Clements

AGE: 28

GENDER: Male

SEXUALITY: Bisexual

RACE: White (is of Hispanic descent)

OCCUPATION: Detective/Deputy

ALIGNMENT: Chaotic Good

SHORT BIO: Who was once one of the greatest detectives in Neo York City’s police branches, now a shattered former shell of himself after the Incident. Physically and emotionally mauled from the explosion that killed his partners and his reputation, he now ruminates at the station, plotting for his revenge against the criminal organization that led to his fall. Formerly known to be the most kind and upbeat member of the station, he has become cold and callous to everyone, but the new recruit might pull him from his self-imposed darkness.....

NAME: Devon Cox

AGE: 25

GENDER: Male

SEXUALITY: Straight

RACE: ‘White’/Ambiguous (HEAVILY mixed, but he identifies mostly with being Italian)

OCCUPATION: Trainee Officer, former illegal bloodsport boxer

ALIGNMENT: Neutral Good

SHORT BIO: The bastard son of a seedy bookie and a mother who clearly did not take good care of herself, along with being the only mute member of his family, he was deemed a unwanted child. Eventually, his parent’s actions caught up to them one night out, and as they were slaughtered, their son was left alone at home. Soon adopted by his uncle on his father’s side, he was essentially forced to ‘repay the debt’ by becoming a bloodsport fighter, regardless if he wanted to do it or not. As a adult, the illegal ring has fallen due to on-going corruption, he is now again left alone as his corrupt uncle got hauled off to prison. Left to his own devices and lamenting his actions, he now wants to pave his own path by repaying his own debts by joining the NYPD. Unknown to his new coworkers, he has spilled blood numerous times and won’t hesitate to do what must be done in some situations.....

NAME: B055 M4N

AGE: 24 in 4027 (BEFORE DEATH) 80 in 4083 (POST RESURRECTION)

GENDER: Male

SEXUALITY: Straight

RACE: White

OCCUPATION: Lieutenant

ALIGNMENT: Lawful Neutral

SHORT BIO: He was supposed to be the next gleaming star in the NYPD’s legacy of lieutenants, all from the same bloodline spanning across decades...... until he was assassinated at his induction ceremony in front of the general public. Ironically, his fate was not sealed there, as a week before his induction, he was coaxed into signing up for a ‘organ donation program’, to a incredibly specific experimental medicine company. He never expected his corpse to be used in a unethical program to create a supercomputer, devised of a human consciousness instead of a AI, to ensure that it will have a good stance on logical proceedings of organization and the law, and will not suffer from conflicts of interest. Unfortunately for him, the total conversion to a machine was semi-successful, as they could only resurrect his head...... Now doomed to be a severed head in a jar filled with PFC and the inability to speak (well, at least without using text-to-speech), he has been forcibly instated to be the permanent boss of the station. His true appearance is a facade to essentially everyone, as the ‘higher-ups’ creates false non-existent lieutenants to be instated every few years to keep the act going, except a very select few know of his current situation.

NAME: Lydia Hall

AGE: 25

GENDER: Female

SEXUALITY: Lesbian

RACE: White

OCCUPATION: Psychiatrist, uses ‘personal nurse’ as a cover

ALIGNMENT: True Neutral

BIO: She is considered to be one of the ‘greatest’ newer psychiatrists to ever grace the continental US, but nobody expected her to suddenly disappear off the face of the earth, upon getting a ‘promotion’ one day. Unknown to almost everyone, she was coerced into the psychological monitoring of one of the company’s most experimental projects, the undead severed head turned database at the local NYPD station. His previous care taker had to be laid off due to ‘concerns’, and thus she now must monitor him on a near daily basis, cleaning out his tank, making sure he is still sane, and to just stay there to entertain him basically. She never expected her career to be basically reduced to a personal nurse, and yet here she is. Unfortunately for her, the true nightmare unfolds when a certain hazmat wearing being stumbles into the picture.

NAME: Lawrence Grey

AGE: 47

GENDER: Male

SEXUALITY: Straight

RACE: White

OCCUPATION: Geneticist

ALIGNMENT: Neutral Evil

BIO: A famed scientist who has been working for ages for a experimental medicine company. He was renown for his research in advancing certain projects, some more well received than others however. A overall stoic man, his coworkers reluctantly follow his command, never fully knowing what he thinks of them. Dedicated to his work, the higher-ups gave him access to a incredibly hidden cloning program, regardless if he wanted to work there or not. Not wanting to bond to his ‘projects’, he continued his intimidating aura, until one of them in particular piqued his interest. It would have been better if the clone never showed any promise however, as the impeding transport to another lab will lead to his escape, and his ‘father’s’ coma.....

NAME: [REDACTED]

AGE: [REDACTED]

GENDER: [REDACTED]

SEXUALITY: [REDACTED]

RACE: [REDACTED]

OCCUPATION: [REDACTED]

ALIGNMENT: [REDACTED]

BIO: ……………… he wasn’t meant for this world. The forced byproduct of a illegal cloning procedure, made to be a rejected failure on purpose. As for why? The higher-ups of the organization believed that the more malformed and sickly the clones are, the higher the chance they might carry new genes that can cure said sicknesses. The #439th clone to be made, he seemed to be another waste of flesh and blood. If it wasn’t for his ‘caretaker’, he would’ve been euthanized after a month. Desperate to ‘spare’ this subject, the caretaker demanded him to be transferred to another laboratory base, as rumors began to spread that the project has been leaked to shareholders. That fateful night, he was given a technologically advanced hazmat suit to conceal his inhuman appearance, and was shipped off to his new ‘home’. Alas, as fate would have it, the hovervan he was in along with his ‘father’, crashed, leaving him to wonder aimlessly in the pouring rain, hiding in a alleyway until he was spotted by two odd looking officers, trying to close-off the crash site. He was taken in to the station, where somebody claimed it was his ‘son’. Taken up to the lieutenant’s office, much to the confusion of many, this clone will blend into daily happenings of the station.

NAME: Ren Nakamura

AGE: 22

GENDER: Male

SEXUALITY: Robosexual

RACE: Japanese

OCCUPATION: Future heir to the head of a crime syndicate, doubles as a criminal lawyer as a cover

ALIGNMENT: Lawful Neutral/Evil

BIO: The next in line to his family’s criminal syndicate legacy, he is reluctant at first, but must come to terms to what he must do. Raised up to be cold and unrelenting towards his underlings and other syndicate bosses, he will never back down from a fight, always striving to be on top. However, nobody really expected him to come up with a plan to undermine other syndicates, by actually studying criminal law and becoming a legitimate defense attorney in order to coax his clients into exposing future plans (in which he will immediately inform his father of...). Recently he was assigned a personal body guard, who has a ‘unique’ physical composition and will surely make a great hitman. The two of them go along quite well, considering their popular opposites in personality.

NAME: Deangelo Moore

AGE: 25

GENDER: MALE

SEXUALITY: Gay

RACE: German-American

OCCUPATION: Cybernetic hitman, uses ‘criminal lawyer’ as a cover

ALIGNMENT: Lawful Evil

SHORT BIO: Neither fully man nor machine, this once respected art dealer has gone fully into the seedy underbelly of Neo York. As a escapee convict test subject from a experimental ‘liquid metal’ cyborg program, he is a con man on the run, until as fate would have it, he was accepted as a personal ‘body guard’ for one of his former clients’s son. With no real home to go to anymore as his public reputation has been disgraced, he now gleefully takes in stride that he is a ‘ghost’ among the populous, a potentially unstoppable killing machine who is only curbed by his greed and urge to be respected by other powerful beings. His former life now gone, he now works for his employer as if they were blood relatives, and even agreed to do a surreal operation, to directly siphon information from other rival ‘organizations’ by acting.........as public criminal lawyers who defend them..........

NAME: ‘John’ (he was never properly named by any of the scientists, so he named himself. His ACTUAL name is Specimen - 1257)

AGE: 21

GENDER: Male

SEXUALITY: Straight, but questioning

RACE: Literally nothing

OCCUPATION: Chemist, radiobiologist

ALIGNMENT: True Neutral

BIO: After two nuclear wars ravaged the Earth, odd things will happen to all sorts of life. This is one of them, a human who has the unfortunate pleasure of having their physical composition be mainly nuclear radiation. Much about his early past is kept under wraps by the US government, who sent him away as a infant to a remote chemical research base in Alaska, in fear of him being the next nuclear detonation. Left without proper social interaction and is just seen as a genetic anomaly, it left him with a warped view of life. With incredibly poor socialization skills but a surprisingly large scientific intellect, he has been reduced to hidden-away lab worker, who’s aware of essentially being a captive but is shocking content with it. After all, if he were to be released, the genral public wouldn’t take too kindly to a mannequin-like being with stark white skin and exposed green goo leaking out of his facial orifices, with a near constant glowing aura.

NAME: ‘Mark’ (he was never properly named, and this is just a name given to him by ‘John’. His ACTUAL name is Specimen 1258)

AGE: 21

GENDER: Male

SEXUALITY: Literally doesn’t care at all

RACE: Literally Nothing

OCCUPATION: Convict, former hitman

ALIGNMENT: Chaotic Evil

BIO: What’s more strange than one severely irradiated human being with physical nuclear radiation as flesh and blood? His red colored doppelgänger. With a past even more shrouded in mystery, this ‘man’ seems to originate from the wastes, the former parts of the US that were scarred from the previous two wars. Claiming to be the next step in human evolution, he is incredibly cruel and harsh, and when introducing himself to the criminal underworld as the ‘best’ hitman, he was severely feared by many. Even other rival hitmen who genetically or cybernetically augmented themselves saw him as a legitimate threat to themselves, as after all, he’s a actual living biohazard. They all chipped in together to pin him against who they believe is true my IMMUNE to him, another ungodly hitman with a liquid metal composition. The plan worked, as letting him just step foot into NYC triggered radiation alarms, thus exposing him to the government for the very first time. After a short stint at a supermax prison, he was given a deal: stop irradiating the guards and convicts, and we’ll move you to a more private place where you can do basically almost anything you want. The place in question? A remote research base in Alaska.....

#also I’m now making sideblog for all of this stuff now!!#my ocs #jared clements #devon cox #B055 M4N #lydia hall #lawrence grey #[REDACTED]#ren nakamura #deangelo moore #‘john’#‘mark’#vinyl scratching

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popculturebuffet · 4 years ago

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Hickman’s X-Men One Year In: Part 2: The Dawn of X

And we’re onto part 2. Since it took me a while to talk about Hickman’s Series outside of Giant-Size and the setup here, that’s in part one if your curious, I split this little retrospective into two parts, with this part here talking about the rest of the books. This isn’t to say they aren’t great, many of them are, it was just easier to do this as a two parter so with HIckman himself out of the way how did his hand picked batch of talented writers handle the lofty status quo he set up?Find out under the cut. Pax Krakoa baby.

Mauraders Okay just to get this out of the way this is my second faviorite x-book running, after X-Men itself and it often equals it and far and away the best tile of the run and restored my faith in Gerry Duggan. Duggan is not a bad writer and I blame the messy finish of his otherwise awesome guardians run with infnity wars on marvel trying to cram other characters into it and then a weird mash up idea that while cool, kept the guardians out of their own damn event and from confrting a now mad gamora, but that and deadpool made me forget the guy is a good writer and can do great things. Maruaders however won me back to him with intrest. A unique concept, the x-men as pirates helping ferry goods to krakoan allied states and ferry trapped mutants from hostile ones, is fucking awesome. The only thing missing is nightcrawler and it’s clear hickman has other plans, though I still feel he shoudl’ve been on the boat as he has both the relation to kitty pryde and pirate pedgree that fit in perfectly. Speaking of kitty after years of writers misusing her due to having a crush on her as a kid and shoving her into half baked romances with peter quill and her ex peter rasptuin, the latter failing so badly that marvel pulled the plug on their wedding because fans clearly didn’t want it, and battling my own reluctance ot see her front and center again, Duggan makes good use of her again: Kitty is given the unique hook of the portals not working for her and no one, even her old friend Doug after he gets back, being able to figure out WHY. Though I do hope Doug does show up here and explain it more, as him being kitty’s best friend once is rarely brought up since he got back and it’s silly it hasn’t been. But rather than take this on the chin Kitty strikes up a crew consisting of big sister Storm, first class graduate x-man, badass gay and kitty’s friend and ex iceman, bishop who reluctantly joins as her bishop more on that in a second and the best of them by a mile: Pyro. The original, finally brought back and given some intresting backstory: he was the first mutant brought back and felt good about it..t ill he realized that despite sacrificing himself to save a, if your familiar with the various cartoons this will be baffling but trust me, reformed senator kelly as Pyro himself was dying from the legacy virus, only to find out they did him first because they considered him expendable basically and naturally was upset over that, drunk a bunch of the liquor kitty smuggled in, for logan naturally, and passed out and then joined in on the rescue mission that formed the team because why not and stayed because it was a great offer. Speaking of offers with a new purpose, Kitty accepted her old enemy Emma Frost’s offer to be red queen, which includes a seat on krakoa’s council and was basically emma’s way of saying fuck you to her old cohort who she was forced to bring back on to handle the seedier side of Krakoa’s dealings via his underworld connections, sebastian shaw. Emma is the fincical backbone of krakoa, having the shipping connections to get the flowers in and out and now having kitty to handle the stuff she can’t and do some of the shipping, as well as again tell Sebastian, who naturally wants both gone and is pissy at Emma being so far ahead of him, wants gone. And while he’s seemingly succeded with kitty I not only have every expectation that while ressuection is failing to work on her she’ll be back, but that trying to murder one of the most beloved x-men whose consdiered family to among others three of krakoa’s captains, bishop after this series, four of their council, five if you include Doug whose best friends with both his left arm which is also a deadly space robot and the very place they live on. The only reason he’s not going to die 80 times in increasingily horrifying ways is because the five can’t take on that kind of workload and one murderous ass beating from half of krakoa and krakoa itself is close enough.

Emma is easily one of the books best parts, being written back as she should: An anti hero who while quick with a cutting quip, truly cares for her charges, and mutantkind as a whole and has grown from the monster she started as or even the kind of person who’d use a therapy session from a desperate man having issues opening up emotionally after apocalypse used his body as a rental car to convince him to fuck her. And yes that’s how things started with Scott and Emma and yes it’s really fucked up and yes the story treats it as such, though I still wish Scott would get actual therapy, but as Linkara recently pointed out in his House of M Review the Marvel and DC universes weirdly lack therapists for the most part and thus it was left on my mind the last two weeks.. and yes I know DC tried but when your final product at trying to serious tackle mental health is heroes in crisis.. I award you no points and god have mercy on your soul. But while Emma and Kitty get the lions share of the focus the rest of the group is enjoyable, well done and intresting, if not given many arcs to themselves, but still have enough character moments to counterballance that. The standout of the rest of the crew is easily Pyro, taken from “why is he still dead despite being super popular and used in a heavy role in X2 that’s garnered fans of that version to this day and bafflement he became a foot note in the next movie and used in every adaptation” to fun side character with a skull on his face and a love of booze and setting things on fire. He’s finally given the respect he deserves sorta and while I hope more is delved into his ressurection angst, he’s a ton of fun and it again makes me wonder why it took 20+ years to bring him back, but i’m glad the right person did it. The rest of the crew are fun with Bishop being another standout. That being said part of the reason there isn’t a lot of focus is simply because in additoin to our brave crew the book is juggling a LOT of characters.. the morlocks and calisto, both given a proper treatment after wya too long, jumbo carnation a minor character from morrisons run who was introduced in the same issue he died is emma’s designer, shinobi shaw and christian frost, the latter I question why a main relative of one of marvel’s a-list mutants who was one of marvel’s earlier gay characters hasn’t been used in a big way till now but no time like the present, Sebastian and the people he shares his big bad spot with Homines Verde aka those tweens who ran the hellfire club during jason aaron’s run because the man is nuts and who I only seemd to liked, brillinatly revamped as a racist replacemnt for the hellfire club and so far a clever threat. The book is just stuffed iwth good characters, beautiful art, and a great tone that combines spectacular humor with really good story and worldbuilding. It’s also a nice contrast to hickman’s stuff: don’t get me wrong I love hickman’s writing style but it’s nice to have something JUST as good.. but with a cheerier tone and less weariness to it, while still not lacking weight. I can’t wait to see where this goes.. it’s a pirates life for me.

Excalibur: Like most of the dawn of X-Line outside of fallen angels, more on that in a minute and even then that had an intresting new directoin for betsy braddock, I was pumped for this one. A team I loved: While I struggled to find a run I loved with Claremont’s run having Brian Braddock be a raging dick whose terrible to his girlfriend and gets away with cheating on her and Claremont not really bothering to explain Saturnyne or other characters and their history with Brian well to us yanks who never had the chance to read those tales.. though why stories by alan moore and chris claremont haven’t been republished properly or in epic collections is beyond me. Warren Ellis, who I now loathe for being a scheming weasel who treated women like garbage, had a decent run with plenty of warlock, in a weird phase where he thought he was doug, Moira and Wolfsbane stuff I loved.. but also had 30-40 something pete wisdom shacking up with 18 year old at most kitty pryde, with Pete at the time being basically Warren Ellis badass self insert character, and given recent revelations i’m pretty sure he damn well knew kitty was just 18 and even if he didn’t having his own fanfic character deflower her is just all kinds of EWWWWWW. He also had Colossus, fresh of being a villian for a while for understandable reasons, nearly beat pete into a coma in a jealous rage over the ex.. the ex he dated while she was still a minor, and left because HE , and editorial, was uncomfortable with it for damn obvious reasons. I can see why fans like to see her as bisexual and pair her with Illiayna.. I mean why the fuck not? They have better chemistry than most of he hetrosexual intrests and are paried because of that and not because the writer wanted to make out iwth kitty as a teenager and forgot “oh yeah she’s fictional and i’m 40!” Christ thank god for Gerry Duggan. But yeah moving on from that I was still pumped as a magical x-men book with Besty Braddock now captain freaking britan, and apocalypse on the roster. And rictor and jubille? nad rouge and gambit I guess.. I don’t knokw if they fit but whatever. Sign me up. The actual result is a mixed back. I do like Tini Howard’s work here to a point: Betsy gets good character stuff and theres actually good tension from the fact that the new captain britan is no longer primarily a british ctizen, and the book brought back a character I felt marvel needed to do more with: Jamie. if you don’t know, Jamie is betsy and brian’s, her brother and the former captain britian, older brother who went insane due to his powers and thus just goes around in his underwear convinced reality isn’t real and he can do what he wants and the tension with Jamie refusing to have anything to do with his brother for no good reason is really good. Rictor and Apocalypse are likewise good sensable additons: Rictor turns out to be a natural to being a druid which is a nice twist and makes sense given when he lost his powers the biggest issue with that was loosing touch with earth after having a connection to it be a vital part of him for years. Apocalypse as an ominus chess master slowly securing magic for mutantkind with some goal we’re about to get answers to is really investing and adds a layer to his character, that much like doctor doom he’s as much sorecer as he is scinetest and given the guy’s immortal, it dosen’t feel like it was pulled out of nowhere. The problem is the other half of the cast.. dosen’t really work. I fucking love Jubilee, a faviroite of mine as an xman despite not being a huge 90′s x-men cartoon fan, just feels kinda shoe horned in. Her son becomes a dragon and she worries about him constantly, but her worrying about her son possibly not being a mutant on mutant land could be done in any other x-book, and fraknly I feel her personality would fit better with the maruaders, and it’d be intresting to see kitty and her on the same team since both really haven’t interacted. Here she just feels like “well tini wanted jubilee and no one else did soooo I made her son a dragon to justify getting her”. I feel more could be done and hope Tini has better plans for her. Rouge is one of my faviorte x-men and All New X Factor and Kelly Thompsons work with him and Rouge made me like Gambit again, and I DO love their marriage and it was a way better idea than the one Guggenhiem had planned.. but while the idea of Rouge being reborn is intresting and all, she still dosen’t really get to do much and like Jubilee just feels weirldy out of place while Remy has that plus he’s annoying, as while he’s the only one rightfully supscious of apocalypse he also won’t shut the fuck up about it for five minutes. Ig et where he’s coming from but it dosen’t make him less annoying. These aren’t bad characters, but sof ar they just feel weirdly out of place in a magic based book and unlike Rictor tini hasn’t made any of htem but Rouge feel in place.

That being said I could ignore that more.. but the villians are also week. So far at least, as the return of Satyurne has given the book it’s first good antagonist.. but what I feel drags the book down the most from it’s potential is the bad guys; Morgan Le Fay is the first antaognist, being mad at apocalypse’s intrusions and corrputing Brian.. but her motives are just so boring: She wants power and to rule, she hates mutants... while “hates mutants” is a qualifier for every other antagonist so far, she just feels bland.. Tini just dosen’t make her feel like a good antagonist and it’s a shame as mutant hater or not she’s something DIFFRENT from the throngs of mutant hating conspiracies, mostly from russia in the other books... she’s just so bland it dosen’t work. And after her is Cullen Bloodstone who as far as I can tell is written out of character.. haven’t read his book but I had both a friend confirm it and having read his marvel wiki entry, it just seems like an odd turn to have him be a racist asshole. But even with all my problems and underwhelm here.. I still WANT the book to get from okay to amazing, and feel it genuinely has the potetial. I’ve seen books sharply improve after a rough first arc, Duggan himself showed me that with his Guardians run. Sometimes it just takes time for something to truly blossom and I have a feeling even with my issues, with x of swords coming up howard’s going to flip it all on it’s head and leave me standing there gasping like a moron. I have hope for that. And if nothing else the book is at least UNIQUE. And not in a trainwreck way: by giving mutants a piece of the magic pie and having them tackle far weirder threats, it’s at least doing something new and it probably lands for other people if not me, and if nothing else it does brian 80 times better than the claremont run did. not a high bar but I do like the character and it’s nice to see him take such an intresting path, and the same goes for Betsy. Tini’s still got magic to do, and I have a feeling it’s going to take me by storm very soon.

Fallen Angels: Now for the other half of the coin as it were. Some fans weren’t happy about Betsy getting her old body back, and yes Psylocke wasn’t orignally asian but a white british woman bodyswapped iwth a japanese assasian and yes that’s as ludicrious and unteitonally offensive as it sounds, because horrible implications of said Body Swap or not, Psylocke was one of the few asian superheros of note. So to compromise , Hickman and co decided to split the diffrence: Betsy would come back and get a rank up to captain britan, while Kwannon, said assasian, would take over as Psylocke. Hence Excalibur above and fallen angels here and I was excited about it. The Body Swap thing went on a decade too long and this way fans got the character they knew as Psylocke in another book while the face they recognized would finally get some fleshing out. I was excited about that and while probably the least excited about this book of the intitial 5, it did have an intresting lead, two characters I did like (Kid Cable I grant was only under hickman who turned him from that brat version of cable who killed the one I really love to a good character in his own right), and an intresting antagonist in a sentient machine. In practice it was okay. The best I can say is that writer Brian Hill DOES do a great job taking a mostly minor x-character and really fleshing her out and making her engaging and Kwannon’s quest to save her daughter is really compelling.. but the premise of those who don’t fit with krakoa dosen’t work with the roster given. Laura Kinney is not only sticking with the x-23 name after dropping the wolverine mantle for no reason previously, something Hickman fixed as soon as he realized how fans felt for her apperance in the main book, while Cable feels nothing like the far more fun version from Hickman’s X-Men and later Duggan’s Cable. Add in Husk and Bling who do deserve to be on a team but feel out of place here, and it just.. is okay. The book has an intresting angagonist and a great lead, but just dosen’t work as a team book and would’ve been better off being JUST about kwannon herself, who is far and away the best part about the book and i’m glad she got fleshed out. Not TERRIBLE but nothing special and it’s a shame given the antagonist, whose name I can’t even remember at this point, is intresting and ties into mutantkind’s greatest enmies being man and machine accoridng to house and powers.. basically a decent concep twith a flawed execution. Maybe hill’ sbatman and hte outisders run is better. I need to get on that. That being said the premise and idea is so far being done well in Hellions which we’ll get to, even if I’m being cautious really getting into the book with Zeb Wells track record. But more on that in a bit.

X-Force: Time to make noise, bad guys leave us no choice.. you know the rest. But yeah X-force. The concept here grabbed me, having X-Force rather than just be the black ops squad but be literal black ops for krakoa, was really great and fit the brave new world.. what worried me was the writer, Benjamin Percy. Now a lot of x-fans probably knew him from the much beloved “Wolverine: The Long Night” podcast, which i’ve heard is utterly fantastic as is it’s followup.. but I hadn’t heard it, and had only heard of Percy from DC comics where under his belt was an okay teen titans run and a not very good and politcally unsubtle green arrow book. And i’m not against politics in comics it just wasn’t done at all well there and the “oliver queen looses hif ourture due to a shadowy conspiracy thing” was already done better by jeff lemire. So yeah I was going to give this a chance but figured like those books it’d start strong and then peter out. I. Was. Wronnnnggg. X-Force is easily one of the best of the dawn of x and uses said premise well. It started a bit roughly, mostly becasue the first arc idnd’t make clear x-force didn’t exist yet but was a great origin story: a squad of military commandos working for a shadowy consirtum who become x-force’s big bad, plunge onto Krakoa and massacre a bunch of mutantas and assinate charles xavier. He comes back, though it’s trickier for obvious reasons, but it’s clear from this, and from wolverine and kid omega’s sucessful investigation and finding domino, that this can’t go on and thus X-Forces is formed; The intellegence and black ops arm of Krakoa and the one arm of it’s goverment exempt from the ‘dont’ kill humans rule”. What followed was nearly a years worth of fast paced adventures with good character stuff: Wolverine is in his element, kid omega, while I had my doubts due to quinten being way overused , turned out to be a perfect choice basically being a more compitent teenage sterling archer, cocky and loving this but also really good at his job, while Domino gets a great arc dealing with her trauma over her mutalation and having some of her power stolen by the shadowy masked dickheads while Colossus deals with his trauma over what went down when he rescued some Russian mutants, with the book slowly building up new threats and towards a showdown with Russia, something that’s also been built up by conflicts in Wolverine and Mauraders, which again makes the world of x feel more like an actual world instead a bunch of comics in one cast herd. Jean Grey is good for intellegence, though by now seems to have noped out as she couldn’t take the toll, it’s not for everyone and most notably after 5 or 6 years of being treated worse and worse and written worse and worse and becoming a bigger and bigger piece of shit Beast is FINALLY put in the right spot: his darker turns aren’t ignored but he’s back to being an actually intellegent hero as X-force’s director, still a bit greasy but now for good reason and without a god complex or some such bullshit and with a tiny bit of his humor back. Not much else to say really, X-Force is well paced, enjoyable and gritty, getting the spirit of the team at it’s best down right while doing something fresh with it.

New Mutants (Ed Brisson) Last one, New Mutants is the odd duck of the dawn of x line in terms of how it was launched. Fallen Angels ended up being a mini series both due to Hill being busy and it’s cast being needed elsewhere but will presmibly get a follow up later, but it’s not the ONLY mini series in the line with Fantastic four/x-men, the giant sized one shots and now Empyre: X-Men all debuting in wave 2. New Mutants however is the first book to change writers and said writer STARTED in the middle of hickman’s run, partly due to scheduling delays but even before that it was partly by design and those issues haven’t been collected yet, with hickman’s short run being collected first. So you have a run that builds off what Hickman started but with it’s own ideas that started insidei t and suprisingly it .. really works. While I do think there are better books in the line Brisson’s new mutants is enjoyable, combining humor and character work. New Mutants focuses on the sextant, which was first brought up in hickman’s run, the series of habitats for younger mutants on krakoa that the new mutants look out for, and while the original new mutants are in space, Armor decides to try and bring some old friends in to join in paradise with the help of Glob Herman, that big pink guy with a visable skeleton and eyes, and Maxine and Manon, who in the tradition of layla miller were created for an event and not great htere but turned out amazing under the right writer.. who I think also wrote that event but whatever, a pair of empaths and telepaths who have trouble grasping the right ethics for using their powers. The four go to get one of my faviorite x-men back: BEAK! I missed him even if he’s weirdly suddenly repowered. Beak and his wife Angel only haven’t joiend in with their kids because his dad’s sick, and things soon escalate when a bunch of criminals try holding them all hostage and it’s up to boom boom, bored since everyone left her alone, to save the day! After that we deal with Magik rangling them and the team’s new mission statment: not wanting ot mess up again like she did with beak, who did join them but not without loosing his dad and then his memory of his dad thanks to the twins misguided efforts, Armor still wants to try welcoming new mutants in with the vetrans help, and thus we have our puprose: focusing both on how these younger mutant 20 somethigns of various ages from early to late work together to make a better world nad help their own get back to this world. it’s intresting.. I’m not in love with it like mauraders or x-force, but it’s still pretty good and their first big foe so far, DoX, a blog that well.. doxes mutants that haven’t arrived yet, seems to be intresting. Not much to say just pretty good and and better at mixing comedy and character stuff, and getting the cast right. Ed Brisson had already proven himself on old man logan, but this cements him as one of the hottest new x-writers around and i’m glad he was given a book here. He’s also succeded in making me actually like Glob Herman so that’s a plus.

Fantastic Four/X-Men The first title of wave 2 and easily one of the best, right up there with mauraders nad probably JUSST behind it and ONLY because i’ts a mini series, giving the X-Men their first real step into the rest of hte marvel universe. Sure the 4 had cameoed in the first issue and there’s been mentions of krakoa in other books and one off issues but mostly Krakoa really hadn’t impacted anything.. but that first issue also set things up with Scott’s conversation with Sue Richards

Yeah and in case those who haven’t been aware of what’s going on with the FF lately and either remember franklin as a 6-11 year old or wondered why the hell he was suddenly a teen when they read this crossover, it’s actually simple; At the end of secret wars the Richards family was put on a bus, also so marvel could shove the ff as a proper team out the door due to the whole fox rights thing, and when Dan Slott had brought them back.. and cleverly had more time pass for the richards than for the 616 proper, so he could age Franklin up to his late teens and Valeria up to her early ones, allowing the richards children to actually age since Franklin’s age always had to stay vauge due to marvel’s vage and wobbly time scale. This way they get both consitant ages and more agency. But the return also came with a price as Franklin, who if you didn’t know is so powerful he can create whole universe and shape the sturcture of the universe, had his powers break saving his family, and thus since he came back, he’s onlyg got so much of them left in the tank before they run out entirely, and it’s been an issue for him in Slott’s run as he worries about being the normal human in a fantastic family and comes to a head here, though rather than Hickman himself, who as mentioned last time has a marvelous track record with the family or FF series writer dan slott Hickman choose a wild card for this, though had both Hickman and Slott’s permission to do whatever he wanted: Chip Zdarsky, a modern marvel for marvel who’d writtne the four in marvel two in one but for some reason didn’t get the main book and this book makes me hope whenever Dan Slott bows out he gets his turn and while this is his first x-men work, Zdarsky proves he’s just as good here as is in most of his work on Howard the Duck, Jughead and Star Lord.. a weird selection I know but all classics.

With this power outage, Franklin is worried his dad is, at least subconciously, not really trying to help him and to make matters worse teh x-men show up to offer their help.. and Franklin his birthright. The arguments made by both sides are great and I will be covering the series in full soon but in a nutshell the four dont’ want to give up their son/nephew, Reed dosen’t trust Xavier and feels he wants to use his son’s powers while the x-men feel it’s franlin’s choice and he’s old enough to make it, he belongs with them and he’ll be safer there. It also works because Franklin understandably isn’t swayed by either as neither is reallyt alking to him more at him, especially his parents .. and only tries the gate when Kitty Pryde, the two bonded back in the 80s and a young franklin stopped her from comitting suicide long story but really moving, is the only one to tell him it’s his choice. This dosen’t go quite well though since Reed Richards, father of the year, decided to make a device to mask his son’s mutant gene and no one, including his own family, is happy about htis. Naturally Franklin, with Val’s help, runs away.. and then as if it couldn’t get worse DOOM shows up wanting to help so now it’s a three way dance between them for hte fate of franklin. The series has gorgeous art form the dodsons a really damn compelling story and great setup for further stories for both lines and feels like the best of both franchises. It’s the x-men’s first huge impact on the rest of the marvel universe,a nd it feels like it with the ending showing that and showing this might not be the last time both sides crossover. It’s everything you could want from a crossover and i’m only being so brief because I want to review it soon as a huge fan of both groups. Easily one of the best x-men stories of the line and one of the best stories for both groups period.

Wolverine: We’re onto the final two, and Percy’s second book and the first solo.. and it’s logan again! Makes sense though: Wolverine only just came back from the dead, and while both is daughter and alternate future self carried the woverline banner for him, the original hasn’t gotten his own ongoing in some time. And so far.. it’s pretty good> the first issues a bit messy due to it’s lenght, but overall the book is intresting and has Logan graple with being the best at waht he does and if he can be better or if he deserves paradise while also delivering a compelling solo mission teaming Wolverine up with a federal agent who resents mutants. it also does some good world building, explaning why Krakoan drugs have things like wait lists (they want to control production closely both to avoid having the flower taken away and for quality control), and expanding the russia subplot while using Dracula of all people as a major antagonist, which is clever especailly since this isn’t his first rodeo with the x-men. Just a fun book wiht loads of promise.

Hellions: NOt much to say here as it’s hard to judge after two issues, buti f nothing else this series brought back the delightfully batshit Nanny, who just with last weeks issue offered to nurse Greycrow (who had his name changed from scalphunter because of course marvel did why wouldn’t they) and falling down. It combines humor with an odd but well thought out cast and makes Alex Summers intresting without making everyone else assholes, a hard but earned feet. If it continues to be good.. I dunno, especially since i haven’t been impressed by any of zeb wells other works especially his new mutants run, good god that one’s am ess, but so far he’s winning me over with a clever concept and roster full of deep cuts. Final Thoughts: I won’t be covering Empyre: X_men, though I did enjoy it and i’l save that one for next time. For now this has been a hell of a year of x-men comics, with even the weaker books still having something intresting and none being outright terribule and only one had a bad grasp on some of it’s cast and for a line this big and expansive, that’s a gold medal achivment. After YEARS of stasis the x-men have finally risen again better, bolder and stranger than ever. IS every book A+ gold star etc etc, no, but what’s important.. is that it’s all DECENT. There’s enough standout books to make it work but as i’ve made clear what isn’t the best of the best is still good or decent. There’s nothing bad, no one phoning it in or not giving an effort, everyone is trying thier hardest and succeding on SOME level even if not completely and that.. that’s truly amazing and I look forward to more of it as this line continues. Pax Krakoa and hopefully i’ll see you again.

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