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mariacallous · 2 years ago

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Scores of books go into print in Iran every year. Data from 2018 puts the number of published titles at 102,691, positioning Iran as one of the top 10 nations with the most books released annually. The figures have slightly fluctuated ever since, but Iran has remained loyal to its publishing bonanza.

A tradition of translating literature from English, as well as other European languages, into Persian has long animated Iran’s cultural scene, accounting for the lion’s share of Iranians’ reading preferences. Some of the country’s most celebrated intellectuals rose to fame courtesy of their translation work, which the middle-class treasures as a bridge to the rest of the world, facilitated by elites who understand the nuances of exotic cultures and interpret them for the inhabitants of a hermit kingdom.

As different realms of artistic practice continue to be constrained by the hard-line conservative administration of President Ebrahim Raisi and independent artists find themselves hard-pressed to subsist under heightened levels of fear and inhibition, Iran’s vibrant tradition of literature translation is becoming the collateral damage of a retrograde cultural agenda. For a government that is overtly opposed to anything that resembles the relics of the modern world, clamping down on translated books that showcase the best of Western literature appears entirely justified.

The introduction of some of the finest translated classic literature predates the Islamic Republic. Still, the translation of contemporary U.S., British, and other European novels and nonfiction into Persian gained currency following the 1997 ascent of the reform-minded President Mohammad Khatami, who ventured to reverse the country’s self-inflicted isolation and initiated a fresh national introspection on the relatively alien concepts of press freedom and civil liberties. Along with dozens of progressive newspapers that were issued licenses to operate, new publishing houses were founded that specialized in translated literature.

After years of cultural strangulation in which newspapers, books, music, and other forms of artistic expression languished, the birth of a nascent reform movement meant Iranians were afforded propitious opportunities to explore the outside world. International travel became trendy, and many families started sending their children to language institutions to prime them for educational programs overseas. At the same time, literary translators provided enchanting insights into Western life by making the masterpieces of U.S. and European literature accessible to Iranian readers.

As the rules on vetting cultural products were eased and censorship mutated into subtle forms, young, middle-class Iranians gained better access to the works of writers such as Margaret Atwood, Raymond Carver, Doris Lessing, Toni Morrison, Harold Pinter, J. D. Salinger, and Kurt Vonnegut, and exposures that were previously unthinkable were made possible piecemeal. The internet had not yet evolved into a dominant mode of communication, and people were still circumscribed in their ability to broaden their global experiences. The translated books would give them a glimpse of what distinct cultures and lifestyles looked like, especially regarding mundane particulars.

The year Khatami was elected president, no more than 2,450 titles out of a total of 14,386 books published were works of translation. When his presidential term expired in 2005, nearly 39,000 books were published, and 9,146 of them were translations. The significant rise in the number of translated books signaled that literary practitioners were orienting Iranian readers to the best of world literature and also that the market was receptive to that sort of output.

That doesn’t mean that every work of Western literature could be translated and published freely, though, or that those that survived the purgatory of censorship at the Ministry of Culture and Islamic Guidance were faithful, verbatim reproductions.

First, with Iran being an outlier of the 1886 Berne Convention on copyright, most books are translated in Iran without the authors’ and primary publishers’ permission, at times spawning international disputes.

Translated works were also plagued by bowdlerization. During the various stages of translation and preparation, any passage construed as having a political message that could be potentially unfavorable to the government was typically expunged preemptively by translators or eventually omitted by the stern reviewers based at the culture ministry, and the erotic innuendos that are fixtures of many novels were hardly ever tolerated. It was thus common to see poorly sanitized and redacted translations of Nobel Prize-winning books and other literary masterpieces for sale at bookstores and seasonal exhibitions.

Yet the window of cultural familiarization was open wider than it had been since immediately after the revolution, catapulting a number of prolific translators to national acclaim. Reading translated books came to be seen as a mark of intellectual sophistication and refinement. In cozy cafes in Tehran and other large cities, some of which had emerged as literary hangouts, passionate young people, including female university students, discussed the latest U.S. and European literature they had read, both as a departure from the vicissitudes of life and to flaunt their artistic know-how.

A career in translation soon became so esteemed that Iranian publishers featured the names of translators on the book covers with the same font size and stature as the authors, and usually included brief biographical blurbs of the translators somewhere on the back cover or before the preamble. However, translation work never matured into a profitable enterprise. Book circulations are notoriously low, and some titles are printed in as few as 1,000 copies. And despite near-universal adult literacy, which the government says stands at 97 percent (UNESCO puts it at 85.5 percent), reading is not ubiquitous across generations. This kept translators’ financial prospects within bounds.

With the advent of the internet and social media, the reliance on translated books as the primary conduit of learning about what lies beyond the national boundaries was challenged and supplanted with new availabilities, but the books didn’t lose their luster. Indeed, reading translated literature continues to be an emblem of enlightenment and cosmopolitan, pro-Western attitudes.

This is largely why resistance to translation has been a hallmark of the cultural policies of the various conservative, hard-line administrations that have been in power on and off since 1979—including the current government of Raisi.

Censorship has been the most effective tool used by hard-line administrations to sideline translation and stymie the intimate cultural connections that Iranians could have forged with unfamiliar Western cultures, even when those bonds were solely cognitive and cerebral. At times, translators complained that entire paragraphs or even chapters were eliminated from their drafts, often convincing them to withdraw the manuscripts in favor of their own reputation or that of their publishers.

Conservative administrations also often teamed up with like-minded publishers, earmarking substantial funds to purchase their books written by Iranian authors en masse, both as an economic stimulus and to proselytize a specific cultural and political viewpoint. The outcome was that in a barely competitive book market, publishers that primarily produced translated works were inevitably marginalized.

Since coming to power in August 2021, the Raisi government has been defined by its Orwellian aversion to civil liberties, women’s rights, and artistic expression. And translated literature has not been spared. Although no official road map has been announced on curtailing translation, it’s clear that the administration and its allies have been quietly working to thwart Western literature from influencing Iranian hearts and minds.

According to local media reports, in the three-month period ending on Sept. 22, 2022, a total of 1,431 translated books were published in Iran—a 37 percent decline compared to the summer of 2021, when 2,258 works of translation were printed over the same three-month period. In the first three months of the current Persian calendar year, 5,713 translated books have been released, while the number stood at 7,936 for the corresponding period last year, suggesting a steep decrease.

The administration doesn’t have the means to directly outlaw the translation of Western literature, though it’s likely it would have done so if it did have a legal mandate. But its top officials don’t shy away from publicly lamenting the notion of translation as something morally reprehensible.

Raisi explicitly told publishers at a recent book exhibit in Tehran that translated works should not be allowed to “overtake” domestically written books, and his minister of culture, Mohammad Mehdi Esmaili, said last year that “a stack of translated work has captured the minds and spirit of our children” and that this situation should change so that books written about the “rich Iranian, Islamic culture” become the focus of attention. He didn’t forget to mention that the “ideals and norms of the Islamic Revolution” should be preserved by the members of the book supervisory committee, which is in charge of ideologically screening manuscripts before they can be circulated.

During the 34th Tehran International Book Fair that wrapped up in May, books by Iranian authors were sold with a special discount of 25 percent, while translated books were offered with just a 15 percent price cut.

One of the members of the policymaking committee at the 2021 edition of the book fair, the country’s largest cultural event sponsored by the Ministry of Culture and usually visited in person by the supreme leader, is on the record saying the prevalence of translated books can bring about “cultural invasion.”

He also argued that subscribing to the international copyright convention and translating treatises into Persian after securing permission from Western publishing houses is “extremely dangerous and illogical.” He didn’t elaborate on why Iran complying with its copyright obligations would be dangerous, but it is probably the case that, in the thinking of the Islamic Republic authorities, upholding copyright would necessitate refusing to arbitrarily abridge or alter the content of the books, and this is something they won’t acquiesce to.

Mohammad Hosseini, the vice president for parliamentary affairs and a former culture minister under former President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, said in April that the translation of written texts from other languages during the Qajar and Pahlavi eras induced “infatuation, alienation, and Westernization” among Iranians. In a conference dedicated to what is billed as the “reverse translation movement,” he gloated about the government’s plans to have the books of Iranian authors translated into the world’s most commonly spoken languages. He claimed that “from China to the United States and from Russia to Africa,” people around the world are curious to read the works of Iranian writers and intellectuals, which is why the government is going to invest in encouraging ��reverse translation” as opposed to financing the translation of Western literature into Persian.

It’s not a bad idea to promote books by Iranian writers and make them available to readers internationally. But as long as they are merely works of a religious nature or otherwise ideologically charged materials that the government wishes to popularize, rather than the best works of modern Iranian literature, the reverse translation campaign will remain a lost cause.

Many young Iranians are still avid fans of Western literature, and however determined the Islamic Republic is in monopolizing the public’s media diet and cultural interests, most no longer wish to adhere to the government-mandated way of seeing things. A silent crackdown on translation may deprive some Iranians of the chance to access what their counterparts are reading elsewhere in the world, but it is hardly practical to cordon off a population that has never lost its appetite for international connectivity.

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ruecrownblorbos · 4 months ago

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what sort of music would the characters listen to?

i think oscar would like the clash, depeche mode, and talking heads.

charlie isn't a huge music fan but she'd like tracy chapman and fleetwood mac.

i'm not too sure for other characters... florence likes classical music as she is a pianist. tuesday would probably listen to the smiths. margaret would LOVE the ronettes. nellie would like jazz!

#oscar chen #charlie button #tuesday bannister #florence applewhite #margaret bannister #nellie sheridan #the kochanowski record #q

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earaercircular · 1 year ago

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Used clothing summer

L.K.Markey

Bulky, second-hand and as unpretentious as possible - this style is worn in trendy German districts as an alternative to mainstream fashion. But nowadays you sometimes have to spend a lot of money on it.

For her: the perfectly level pants

What actually determines what is good taste and what is not? Spoiler: Not on Instagram, and certainly not by people doing anything with TV. And actually not at art fairs either, because there are always a lot of excited wannabes buzzing around. But one thing is still striking there: the really rich collectors no longer carry designer handbags, instead the galleries can hardly keep up with the production of give-away cotton bags. One could almost think that it is now officially embarrassing to be seen in anything that comes from the mass production of the two large luxury groups LVMH[1] and Kering[2], no matter how much the industry can ramble on about Quiet Luxury[3].

Quiet Luxury

It is the so-called luxury itself that is incredibly boring, and designer labels are only for people who dream of a better life in the pedestrian zone. The hipsters of this world have known this for a long time and have been going for extreme vintage for years, i.e.: colourfully printed eighties aviator silk anorak with selected unchosen dad sneakers. That's why there has been a lot of confusion lately when you were out and about somewhere in the provinces: was that a hipster or someone who really didn't care about his impact? The British label LF Markey[4] also delivers this musty second-hand shop look: with the perfect trouser cut, for example, which is made very precisely to make it completely irrelevant. Conclusion: distinction remains exhausting, but at least smells new now.

For him: shaggy zeitgeist

The appearance of people in trendy districts has become increasingly difficult to interpret in recent years. In any case, today you can no longer tell whether someone simply lives in very precarious circumstances or whether what they are wearing was imported from Japanese hipster labels at great expense. Recycled, oversized, crossover and retro trends implode together on young bodies, rarely resulting in anything that fits the classic ideal of beauty - but that's mostly the way with youth culture. What is new is that this used-clothing-normcore-chic can now cost a lot of money and still serves as an alternative to boring show-off chic with the usual glitter brands. Young people today who want to signal creativity and good taste beyond the mainstream wear one of the labels whose shops are concentrated in London's Lamb's Conduit Street[5], for example, namely Folk[6] and Oliver Spencer[7], also Margaret Howell[8], Nigel Cabourn[9] or the Munich label A Kind of Guise[10] serves these needs.

Folk

Roughly speaking: artisanal fashion with good fabrics and inner values that is not as boring as the merino sweater from Italy. In the Folk collection of this autumn it looks like the picture - a mix of materials and patterns that you have to look at very carefully: Is the guy just out of the recording studio or from an exchange year in Kabul? Furthermore, the suspicion persists that you could also get all the components of this look from dad's wardrobe. But that's not what the zeitgeist is about, of course.

Source

Max Scharnigg und Julia Werner, Altkleidersommer, in Süddeutsche Zeitung, 11-08-2023, https://www.sueddeutsche.de/stil/mode-stil-stilkritik-london-hipster-1.6115784

[1] LVMH Moët Hennessy Louis Vuitton commonly known as LVMH, is a French multinational holding and conglomerate specializing in luxury goods, headquartered in Paris. The company was formed in 1987 through the merger of fashion house Louis Vuitton (founded in 1854) with Moët Hennessy, which was established following the 1971 merger between the champagne producer Moët & Chandon (founded in 1743) and the cognac producer Hennessy (founded in 1765). In 2023, with a valuation of $500 billion, LVMH became the most valuable company in Europe.

[2] A global Luxury group owned by the Pinault family, Kering manages the development of a series of renowned Houses in Fashion, Leather Goods, Jewelry and Watches: Gucci, Saint Laurent, Bottega Veneta, Balenciaga, Alexander McQueen, Brioni, Boucheron, Pomellato, Dodo, Qeelin, Ulysse Nardin, Girard-Perregaux, as well as Kering Eyewear. Luxury Group Kering | Kering | Kering

[3] During fashion weeks one can see that collections are becoming more and more wearable and that trend will continue in 2023, in the form of 'quiet luxury'. In general, 'quiet luxury' refers to ways of dressing that subtly hint at luxury, in the form of materials, cuts and unobtrusive logos. We are seeing a return to a more understated approach to luxury, with the style of brands such as The Row, Tod's, Bottega Veneta, Jil Sander and Khaite at the helm. Do not confuse subdued with minimalism, because quiet luxury is expressed in large silhouettes and fine fabrics, albeit in subdued colours. https://www.harpersbazaar.com/nl/mode-juwelen/a43450842/quiet-luxury-trend/

[4] L.F.Markey is a collection of modern, feminine women’s clothing, inspired by workwear and utility. We are known for our use of bold and bright fabrics as well as our core selection of denim pieces. Namesake and ex-Burberry designer, Louise Markey graduated from the Masters course at Central Saint Martins. Prompted by her passion for traditional bleus de travail and artist’s smocks, L.FMarkey was born. L.F.Markey is renowned for its contemporary variations of workwear staple pieces, including signature boilersuits, chore coats, dungarees, work pants, and jeans. https://lfmarkey.com/pages/about-2019

[5] Lamb's Conduit Street is a street in Holborn in the West End of London. The street takes its name from Lambs Conduit, originally known as the Holborn Conduit, a dam across a tributary of the River Fleet.

[6] https://www.folkclothing.com/?_atid=qL25JeOAc8tCGOmsNJp2IOS2Epp5im

[7] https://oliverspencer.co.uk/

[8] https://www.margarethowell.co.uk/autumn-winter-2023-collection

[9] https://www.cabourn.com/en-be/pages/about-nigel-cabourn

[10] https://akindofguise.com/about/

#second hand clothes #zeitgeist

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thatscarletflycatcher · 5 months ago

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I'm sorry if I gave the impression that it was a good movie stricto sensu XD It is a good movie in terms of what a Hallmark movie is. They put a lot of care in incorporating elements that would make sense for the black cast choice -the use of portraiture, for example, and of color in costuming (though, certainly, some numbers weren't bold or interesting but just plain ugly, and one of Elinor's dresses didn't even close on her), which considering the levels of *gestures vaguely* given to Bridgerton and Persuasion 2022 is a lot.

At several points it also deviated from copying from 95 and 08 (and 08 also stole undignifiedly from 95), which I wished they had done more, because several of those choices were so interesting? For example, they remembered that Elinor draws and paints, and made a point of Edward giving Elinor a present that would be useful for her craft and mode of expression -something that makes more sense than his promising to send Margaret an atlas from his BIL's home, or giving her a book on botany (and they also had Elinor drawing Edward's portrait, an idea that has so much potential but remained for the most part untouched -1981 has it as a mere visual easter egg).

The characterization of Edward is a huge point in its favor in my eyes, because it cuts ties with Hugh Grant's adorkable characterization (and Dan Stevens' personality transplant) to favor something that Edward has in the book, an ironic sense of humor.

There's also the established contrast between Willoughby and Edward -done super awkwardly as supertext, but something that other adaptations ignore in favor of the Brandon-Willoughby opposition. And then there's also having Marianne incite a declaration of feelings on Brandon (and enough restraint not to have her propose herself!) which I feel matches their respective personalities in the book, and Brandon's aprehension about their age difference, plus the way in which the telling of their engagement and marriage in the book centers Marianne (she does not "accept a proposal" but "gives her hand").

These are all things that raise this version in my rating quite significantly, even if a lot of the acting is downright bad (and in that I include both Willoughby and Brandon as charisma black holes), painfully rushed interpretation of some scenes, and general lack of subtlety, and all the choices that do not land (such as the weird semi-redemption of John Dashwood to make up for cutting out the Palmers).

Basically, bottom line, in a hand-to-hand combat with Persuasion 2022, it gives the latter, with all its pretentions of modernization, inclusiveness and "cinema" a very severe beating, despite being a tv movie from a channel known for its triteness and low-effort output. That doesn't mean it is going to compete with very well established Austen classics, but in the current state of affairs, it definitely exceeds expectations.

Okay so Edward was the best part of the movie. Elinor was also good, Brandon was decent, Sir John and Mrs. Jennings and even John Dashwood were a delight. Everyone else felt a little… off? Like, the acting wasn’t very good. Maybe they weren’t really Brits? because the voices didn’t sound quite right. Also the costumes were… Wow. Something Else.

I’m not sure how I felt about this movie. I didn’t have the highest expectations, but quite a few people’s comments had me thinking it’d be uh. better.

#sense and sensibility 2024 #Jane Austen

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passionate-reply · 3 years ago

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Depeche Mode’s early work is a bit rough around the edges--or, perhaps, a little too smooth, and syrupy-sweet. But in 1983, they finally put their classic lineup together, adding Alan Wilder to the team for their third LP, Construction Time Again. It’s arguably their first great work, as well as their most political, and the closest they came to fully embracing an “Industrial” sound. (Full transcript below the break!)

Welcome to Passionate Reply, and welcome to Great Albums! In this installment, I’ll be discussing the third album released by Depeche Mode, and the first one to feature their classic lineup: 1983’s Construction Time Again.

While today, Depeche Mode are best known for their string of successes spanning from the mid-80s to the early 90s, the band was first formed in 1981--the first musical project of Vince Clarke, who would go on to more acclaim as a member of synth-pop duos Yazoo and Erasure. Though Clarke left Depeche Mode after their first album, Speak & Spell, their follow-up as a trio, 1982’s A Broken Frame, was largely an attempt to duplicate the brighter and often more upbeat sound of their debut. It wasn’t until the addition of a new fourth member, Alan Wilder, that the group’s more recognizable sound would start to coalesce.

Music: “Get the Balance Right”

The first track to include contributions from Wilder, “Get the Balance Right” is a bit of a “transitional fossil” in the group’s career. It is perhaps the first Depeche Mode single to feel like a “proper” Depeche Mode single, with a gloomy atmosphere, a needling synth riff, and lyrics that describe the struggle to be seen as a respectable member of society. Well, if you listen closely, anyway--it’s also perfectly possible to take the injunction to “get the balance right” as an invitation to dance without missing a beat. At the end of the day, another part of sounding like a classic Depeche Mode tune is achieving that kind of accessibility and broad appeal, winning the admiration of many listeners who are otherwise not typical “Depeche Mode types.” Though “Get the Balance Right” was released as a non-album single, it would largely prefigure the sound of the LP that followed it, Construction Time Again.

Music: “Everything Counts”

Peaking at #6 in the singles charts, “Everything Counts” was swallowed even more readily by mainstream audiences, and would be tied with “See You” as the most successful single the group had released thus far. The 1980s were, of course, an era noted for the brazen advancement of rightism, and the political moves of Margaret Thatcher laid the groundwork for a number of increasingly politically-conscious pop hits. That said, many of the most successful of these opted to portray the lives of the rich and powerful in a glamorous and pseudo-aspirational mode, hiding behind irony in a fashion that made their works appear subversive and inoffensive at the same time. It’s thanks to this kind of double-dipping that we can still hear the Pet Shop Boys’ “Opportunities” in television advertisements. The elegiac “Everything Counts,” however, is not that kind of song. If anything, it might be a bit too on-the-nose for its own good, with its frightful description of “grabbing hands” bearing a closer resemblance to Dr. Seuss’s The Lorax than Madonna’s “Material Girl.” Perhaps there are some occasions in which it’s better to be too direct than not direct enough? That aside though, “Everything Counts” is also a track which is sonically rather similar to “Get the Balance Right.” Other tracks on Construction Time Again would push those boundaries further, such as “Pipeline.”

Music: “Pipeline”

Where “Everything Counts” is more of a top-level critique of capitalism, disparaging the executive who sponsors atrocities “with a suntan and a grin,” “Pipeline” looks at the same sorts of problems from the bottom up, adopting the persona of the worker who is exploited to build the titular pipeline. But this, of course, is far from the most interesting thing to say about “Pipeline”! This track stands out for its anemic soundscape, consisting of little more than a repetitive mechanical hum that functions as a drone, some vaguely melodic metallic tinkling, and, of course, the commanding voice of frontman Dave Gahan. The use of more sophisticated music synthesisers, with the capability of sampling such real-world noise and turning it into music, was one of the biggest innovations instigated by the aforementioned Alan Wilder, and while it textures most tracks on the album to a degree, it’s certainly the most noteworthy on “Pipeline”. I’d also be remiss not to mention the admitted influence of pioneering industrial acts like Einstuerzende Neubauten, who would become Depeche Mode’s labelmates on Mute Records. While there are many diehard rivetheads who will disavow any comparison between Depeche Mode and industrial music proper, their shared DNA is undeniable, and I don’t think the fact that Depeche Mode were able to translate some of these ideas into music that also had mass appeal should be held as some kind of strike against them. As desolate as “Pipeline” may be, something else worth noting about the album is that it isn't without a sense of hope. After being taken through the condemnations of tracks like “Pipeline” and “Everything Counts,” we end on the somewhat reassuring track “...And Then.”

Music: “...And Then”

Like many acts collocated somewhere in the goth or industrial spheres, Depeche Mode are preceded by a reputation of producing “depressing” music. There is some truth to this, of course, but I think what makes Depeche Mode as interesting (and popular) as they are is that there’s usually a glimmer of light in their work somewhere--the crack that lets the light in, to paraphrase the late Leonard Cohen. “...And Then”, with its vision of a better tomorrow created by children who might learn from the mistakes of the past, serves as a light at the end of the tunnel for the entire album, a break in the clouds created by the rest of its tracks. But at the same time, the track is not itself as cheerful as that description might imply--it’s still in a minor key, of course. The lyrics, as well, seem to show cracks of darkness in its prevailing optimism: the suggestion that people of the future couldn’t do any worse than those of the past certainly paints our current world as an especially bleak one, and the notion of “putting it all down and starting again” might be taken to imply an unquiet, perhaps even apocalyptic, end to the current order. Another thing that casts a shadow over “...And Then” is the opening track of the album, and its arguable corresponding bookend, “Love, In Itself.”

Music: “Love, In Itself”

At first listen, “Love, In Itself” seems almost strikingly similar to “...And Then”, at least from a musical standpoint. They have a similar sort of plodding, stately tempo that gives them a kind of dour gravity. Whenever I get one of these songs stuck in my head, it tends to get mixed up into the other along the way. Lyrically, however, the two seem to make opposite arguments: whereas “...And Then” seems to believe in the goodness of humankind and trusts that people in the future will correct our world’s mistakes, “Love, In Itself” can be taken to suggest the opposite, i.e. that “love” and other such positive feelings are not enough to create a better world. But that’s a very contextual reading of the text--outside of the context of the album, “Love, In Itself” seems unrelated to the problems with capitalism, and sounds more like an age-old lament of a dejected lover, swearing off their search for another relationship and proclaiming their disillusionment with the concept of romantic love. It seems likely that this quality may be why “Love, In Itself” was chosen as the album’s second and final single--even though the heavy-handed “Everything Counts” doesn’t seem to have been held back from success by its subject matter.

Perhaps the first thing one notices about the cover of Construction Time Again is its use of colour: the saturated blue of the sky contrasts with the orange-ish skin of the figure, and this pairing of complementary colours does a lot to create visual interest. Besides just looking striking, the sense of dichotomy between figure and background also underscores the idea of man and nature as forces in opposition to one another, who have become mortal foes in the ongoing depredation of the Earth’s resources for short-term human gain. While the worker figure is clearly engaged in the act of swinging his hammer, there is actually nothing in front of him that it seems logical to hit. Rather, a trick of perspective makes it seem that he is knocking on the mountain in the background, perhaps cutting it down to size. This is another element of the idea of man vs. nature, of course, but also perhaps an ironic expression of it, one that implies that in his struggle to conquer the natural world, man is limited in his sight, and doesn’t truly understand what he is doing. After all, the mountain is not really being stricken! It’s also worth noting that the figure is wearing an impractical, and perhaps sexualized, version of work attire, which exposes the side contour of his pectorals as well as the muscles of his upper arms, and adds a subtle eroticism to the image. His face is largely covered, partly by his arm and partly by shadow, which seems to make the image recall other familiar pseudo-anonymous homoerotic portrayals of men under the male gaze, such as those of the graphic artist Tom of Finland. Or perhaps it’s merely a suggestion of the effacement of identity suffered by the exploited worker?

The title “Construction Time Again” is taken from the opening lines of the aforementioned track “Pipeline.” While the announcement of “construction time” points quite directly to the album’s themes of post-industrial capitalist life and the struggle of the working man, I think the most interesting word in the title is actually “again.” The idea that it is construction time again puts emphasis on the constant grind of labour, and its tight grip on the timeframes by which we live our lives. We work again and again and again, tediously, until it wears us down. We get a brief respite from work, but soon enough, our intrusive alarm clocks remind us that it is construction time, again.

While Construction Time Again is, in many ways, the first true Depeche Mode album, it wouldn’t be the one that truly kick-started the peak of their international success. That honour would go to their 1984 follow-up, Some Great Reward. While this album would largely feature similar instrumentation to Construction Time Again, with tinkling samples and metallic percussion, it also mostly abandoned the more intense and overt political themes of its predecessor, in favour of more emphasis on the time-honoured topics of sex and romance--which would, of course, help them become so successful in the mainstream. Still, it seems doubtful they would have ever gotten here if it weren’t for Construction Time Again starting them on the path that it did--after all, their famous hit “People Are People” isn’t too far off from the simple and pointed grievances of “Everything Counts.”

Music: “People Are People”

My personal favourite track on Construction Time Again is “Two Minute Warning.” Another common political topic in music of this era is, of course, the Cold War, and the ever-present fear of a nuclear holocaust. “Two Minute Warning” is a song on this theme that feels like a worthy follow-up to the earlier Depeche Mode tracks that dealt with the same subject, “Tora! Tora! Tora!” and “Leave In Silence,” but it’s got more of a stark, mournful tone suffused with inevitability, and less of the heightened emotional drama of these earlier works. That’s everything for today, thanks for listening!

Music: “Two Minute Warning”

#music #album review #album reviews #great albums #depeche mode

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the-brambled-way · 4 years ago

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Ancient Greek Divination Recommended Reading

Books:

Greek Divination by W.R. Halliday

The Oracles of the Ancient World: A Complete Guide by Trevor Curnow

The Seer in Ancient Greece by Michael Flower

The Ancient Oracles: Making the Gods Speak by Richard Stoneman

The Interpretation of Dreams & Portents in Antiquity by Naphtali Lewis

Worlds Full of Signs: Ancient Greek Divination in Context by Kim Beerden

Ancient Greek Divination by Sarah Iles Johnston

Mantike: Studies in Ancient Divination by Sarah Iles Johnston

Divination and Prediction in Early China and Ancient Greece by Lisa Raphals

Neo-Assyrian and Greek Divination in War by Krzysztof Ulanowski

Omens and Oracles: Divination in Ancient Greece by Matthew Dillon

The Seer and the City by Margaret Foster

The Oracles of Apollo: Practical Ancient Greek Divination for Today by John Opsopaus

Divination as Science: A Workshop on Divination Conducted during the 60th Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale, Warsaw, 2014 Edited by Jeanette C. Fincke

Oracle Bones Divination: The Greek I Ching by Kostas Dervenis

Ancient Divination and Experience edited by Lindsay G. Driediger-Murphy and Esther Eidinow

Chapters in Books:

Chapter 9: Animals in ancient Greek divination from Animals in Ancient Greek Religion by Julia Kindt

Chapter 4: Divination from Arcana Mundi edited by Georg Luck

Chapter 6: Dreams and Divination in Magical Ritual from Magika Hiera edited by Christopher A. Faraone and Dirk Obbink

Articles and Essays:

Mapping the Entrails: The Practice of Greek Hepatoscopy by Derek Collins

Greek States and Greek Oracles by Robert Parker

Self as other: distanciation and reflexivity in ancient Greek divination by Esther Eidinow

A Feeling for the Future: Ancient Greek Divination and Embodied Cognition by Esther Eidinow

Greek divination from an Amerindian perspective: Reconsidering “nature” in mantike by Tomás Bartoletti

Independent Diviners in Classical Greece (5th and 4th centuries B.C.): A Study by Louise Gaukroger

Ancient Greek Futures: Diminishing uncertainties by means of divination by Kim Beerden

Divination, Royalty and Insecurity in Classical Sparta by Anton Powell

A Cognitive History of Divination in Ancient Greece by Peter T. Struck

Divination and human nature: a cognitive history of intuition in classical antiquity by Peter T. Struck

Seeking advice from Zeus at Dodona by Robert Parker

Body marks – birthmarks. Body divination in ancient literature and iconography by Veronique Dasen

Modes of Prophecy, or Modern Arguments in Support of the Ancient Approach by Yulia Ustinova

#hellenic polytheism #ancient greek divination #divination #recommended reading

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classicmarvelera · 4 years ago

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Celebrating Women of Marvel

* Ruth Atkinson a.k.a. Ruth Atkinson Ford, R. Atkinson - artist, Fiction House, Timely Comics (Co-Creator of Millie the Model & Patsy Walker), Lev Gleason Publications

* Violet Barclay - Timely/Atlas Comics inker

* Linda Fite - writer, The Cat (Marvel Comics)

* Marie Severin - prolific EC and Marvel Comics artist

* Sana Amanat - editor, Ms. Marvel (Marvel)

* Samm Barnes - Marvel Comics writer

* June Brigman - artist and co-creator, Power Pack (Marvel Comics); final artist Brenda Starr, Reporter comic strip (1995-2011)

* Sarah Byam - writer, Black Canary (DC Comics), Mode Extreme (Marvel/Razorline)

* Bobbie Chase - Marvel Comics editor

* Amanda Conner - artist, The Pro (Image Comics), Disney's Gargoyles (Marvel Comics)

* Kelly Sue DeConnick - writer, Captain Marvel (Marvel Comics), Avengers Assemble (Marvel Comics)

* Rachel Dodson - inker, Marvel and DC

* Jo Duffy a.k.a. Mary Jo Duffy - writer and Marvel Comics editor

* Robin Furth - plotter, The Dark Tower: The Gunslinger Born (Marvel Comics)

* Shaenon K. Garrity - writer, Marvel Comics' Marvel Holiday Special

* Carol Kalish - executive, Marvel Comics

* Elaine Lee - writer, Vamps (DC Comics), Saint Sinner (Marvel/Razorline)

* Marjorie Liu - writer, X-23, Black Widow, Dark Wolverine, NYX, Astonishing X-Men (Marvel Comics)

* Cynthia Martin - artist for (among others) Marvel Comics's Star Wars

* Laura Martin - colorist, Planetary (DC Comics/WildStorm), Astonishing X-Men (Marvel Comics), Ruse (CrossGen)

* Adriana Melo - artist, Ms. Marvel (Marvel Comics)

* Mindy Newell - writer/editor, Marvel, DC, and First

* Ann Nocenti - writer, Daredevil (Marvel Comics)

* Sonia Oback - colorist, "Uncanny X-Men", "X-23: Target X" (Marvel Comics)

* Glynis Oliver - colorist, X-Men (Marvel Comics)

* Sara Pichelli - artist, Ultimate Comics: Spider-Man, Guardians of the Galaxy (Marvel Comics)

* Tamora Pierce - writer, Marvel Comics' White Tiger

* Erica Schultz - writer, “Daredevil Annual” 2018, "Revenge: The Secret Origin of Emily Thorne" (Marvel Comics)

* Louise Simonson a.k.a. Louise Jones - Marvel Comics editor; Writer and co-creator, Power Pack (Marvel Comics);

* Mary Skrenes - writer and co-creator, Omega the Unknown (Marvel Comics)

* Christina Strain - colorist, Runaways and Spider-Man Loves Mary Jane (all Marvel Comics)

* Margaret Stohl - writer, Mighty Captain Marvel, Life of Captain Marvel, Spider-Man Noir (Marvel)

* Laurie S. Sutton - writer and editor, DC Comics and Marvel Comics

* G. Willow Wilson - writer, Cairo (Vertigo), Ms. Marvel (Marvel)

* Kim Yale - writer/editor, DC Comics, Marvel Comics, First Comics, and Warp Graphics

The readers and fans of Classic Marvel Era thank you for your contributions to the House of Ideas. For us, you are The Real Superhero Women

#classic marvel era #classic marvel art #marvel comics #classic marvel comics #marvel 80th anniversary #women of marvel #international women’s day #women in comics

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once-upon-a-pirate-ship · 4 years ago

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it would kill me (if you didn't know)

I know. Trust me, I know. But I've been working on my novel, and when this fic slapped me in the face last night, I just went with it. And so should you.

Neverland AU - canon divergence for somewhere in 3a

(Blatant disregard of canon to follow--don't make me rewatch the show, please)

They saved Henry but all got separated in the process, and when they finally made it back to the ship, Emma realized that they were down a man. She's just gonna have to save him.

This features some pretty awesome Emma/David bonding, too.

This is a classic 'Killian's been taken while saving them and now he's being tortured and Emma isn't gonna stand for it' fic. I've read them all, and I just needed more. POV switches 3rd person between Killian and the others.

Thanks in advance for accepting the sidestepping of canon that I love to do.

Rated M for language and violence

length: 5k+

Read it on ao3

In retrospect, it wasn’t the greatest plan he’d ever had. But it also wasn’t the worst. Well, it could hardly even be called a plan, really, given that the consideration for it occurred in approximately three seconds, but he was hardly going to worry about it now. There were other things to worry about.

The thing that Killian Jones, pirate captain of the Jolly Roger and unofficial Neverland guide to Swan (and the others), needed to be worried about was the little demon child Peter fucking Pan who stood over him with that stupid evil smirk on his lips.

“Seems like you’ve finally lost, pirate,” Pan spat, but the amusement in his tone only sharpened the anger in his eyes.

Killian’s gaze flickered from the child to the grove in the distance, and when he saw not a trace of the others, he returned his attention to Pan. “Aye, I suppose so,” he said, his voice rough though calm and certain.

Pan’s brow furrowed. “Really? No witty remark? No promise to skin me alive?” he taunted. “You’ve changed your tune, Hook.”

He resisted rolling his eyes, instead gripping his wounded shoulder a little tighter. The arrow wasn’t poisoned—he’d have felt it working by now—but it wasn’t helping his predicament at all. Neither was the sizeable gash on his abdomen that Felix had been kind enough to gift him when he’d been distracted.

“Have I?” Killian asked. “I wonder what you’ll do with me now,” he added dryly. He knew. Oh, he knew.

Pan’s eyes flashed, and in an instant he was crouching towards Killian, his hand grasping the protruding arrow. “Now, I get to have my fun,” he declared with a cruel twist of his lips and an even crueler twist of the arrow.

But Killian Jones was no stranger to pain. They were intimately acquainted. That’s how he grit his teeth and buried it until nothing but a tiny grunt sounded from deep within his throat. Pan wouldn’t consider his torture much fun if he didn’t scream in agony, so he would keep playing until Killian could fight it no longer. And he’d let him. Because egging him on would make him lash out, and ensuring him of Swan’s victory would put her and the lad in danger. Pan had spent his time since their arrival playing games with them, distracting them from the important things they’d come there to do. It was only fair that Killian would return the favor.

So the demon could pull out all his toys, could whip him and carve into his flesh, could burn him until his skin was blackened ash, but nothing would stop Killian Jones from protecting his loved ones. And gods above, he loved Emma Swan.

All she wanted to know was how the fuck this happened. Their plan had been so perfect that even she couldn’t doubt it, but somehow the winds had shifted or their luck had run out or her luck had run out, and when they returned to the Jolly Rodger and the groups had reunited, they’d been down a man. Down a captain.

Neal, for all his talk of fighting for her, didn’t seem to mind not fighting for something that she actually cared about. He was running for president of the Let’s Leave the Pirate Here Club, and that wasn’t exactly a great way to get into her good graces, though that would’ve been hard enough as it was.

Regina, predictably, prioritized Henry to a fault—Emma was always for prioritizing her son, but not when it came to sacrificing her values or her morals or whatever, fine, she just didn’t want to sacrifice him. Henry was okay, he was safe, and they could take precautions to ensure that he would stay that way, but Regina just didn’t care or didn’t think it was worth it. A good option for Neal’s vice president.

In all her silent canvassing of the group’s feelings regarding Operation Save Hook (Henry was asleep, okay? He could come up with a better name when he woke up), Emma blatantly ignored Gold. For obvious reasons.

Tink was mostly for saving him, but not confident enough in any plan she could offer to make it stick. She’d tried to sway Regina, but that had been less than successful.

Then it was her parents. And, for once, they weren’t in total agreement.

Mary Margaret was sympathetic, to be sure, but not enough. She wasn’t in the Let’s Leave the Pirate Here Club, but she was Queen of Save My Kid and Her Kid Kingdom, so that was that.

But David—that’s what had caught her attention.

When they’d first discovered Hook’s absence and began discussing their options, Emma had held back and held her breath, unwilling to reveal her hand without knowing where the others stood. She’d gone into full Observant Mode, and that’s when she saw David, her father, and his reaction.

His face stiffened, an automatic move to hide his feelings, but Emma saw through it, even when Mary Margaret didn’t (or didn’t want to see it). It was a set jaw, a twitching lip that was almost a frown, tensed shoulders that eventually gave way to firmly crossed arms because apparently, Emma had gotten her Observant Mode from her father, and that’s what he was doing.

A few minutes into the conversation had nothing decided, but Emma shifted her stance, and her father looked her way. Their eyes locked, and while the others continued their pathetic excuse for a rescue discussion, father and daughter exchanged practically imperceptible nods, and then they were allies.

It’s what gave her the strength to step forward at last and disregard whatever half-assed ‘it’s too late’ speech Neal had been giving with a pointed clearing of her throat.

“David and I will go back for him while you guys get the ship ready,” Emma announced. Regina did that haughty half-step back that meant something between ‘I don’t care’ and ‘do whatever you want,’ and Mary Margaret’s only response was to look questioningly at her husband. Tinker Bell gave an enthusiastic nod of approval before busying herself with some bit of the rigging she may or may not have actually understood how to work.

Neal, however, was predictably Neal. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Ems,” he said, that stupid nickname that he had no fucking right to use.

Emma’s head turned slowly to her ex, regarding him with the coldest gaze she’d ever offered anyone. Regina had some competition as head of the Looks That Could Kill Committee. “Hm, okay. Well, you don’t have to think it’s a good idea, because you’re staying here.”

“Emma—”

“There’s no discussion, Neal. No discussion from anyone, but especially from you. You have no right to talk, or interfere, and you especially have no right to argue against saving the man who is the reason your own son is alive and safe now.”

Mary Margaret was staring at her when she turned away from him, her eyes wide and openly confused, but she said nothing. David, however, had his eyes cutting into Neal, narrowed and calculating and damn, he was putting pieces together and he wasn’t liking the picture.

“Ready?” Emma asked her father.

He forced himself to look away. “Just have to grab one thing,” he told her, shaking his head at something Mary Margaret had said before he disappeared below.

Neal had huffed away after Emma’s little scolding, and he pouted at the exact opposite end from where his father pouted. Regina looked disinterested and mildly irritated, but when Emma glanced at her, she nodded towards Gold with a raised eyebrow.

Emma’s lips curled in something like a grateful smile, and she passed her bewildered mother on her way to the Dark One.

“You have something,” Emma said as soon as she stood in front of him. “Something to get Pan.”

“I do, Miss Swan,” he replied, that stupid tone that told her he had tricks up those stupid sleeves of his.

She hummed. “No, there’s no deal this time. No price. I’m done with games. So you can either give it to me, or I can take it from you.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Take it from me?” he asked, entirely amused by the concept.

“I’m done with your shit, Crocodile. You can play Dark One with me all you want, but we both know it’s just easier to just hand it over.”

He glared at her for a long moment, but eventually he cracked, and he glanced at his son who looked out at the water and away from them both. “Fine. But only because I’ve no use for it anyway.”

She took the box he offered, resisting the urge to mutter, ‘yes, that’s why,’ as he explained how it worked. When he’d finished, she offered him a simple but genuine “thank you,” before joining her father once more.

“Here,” David said, passing her another cutlass, one she hadn’t seen before. “You need a new weapon,” he added.

“And I’m borrowing…”

“Hook’s. An extra,” he said. “Figured he wouldn’t mind.”

“Right,” she mumbled, taking it with a frown and securing it quickly. “Well then, let’s go.”

For all his talk of being intimately acquainted with pain, Killian Jones was doing a piss-poor job of hiding it. The cracks in his resolve were starting to widen, and when hums and grunts became groans and low growls, he knew it was only a matter of time before Pan started to truly have his fun.

He’d been more clever this time around, to be sure. It had to have been at least a century since Killian had gotten cozy with the demon’s knife (or arrowhead, or branding iron, or whatever particular weapon he’d chosen to use that time), but Pan had certainly honed his skills quite a bit since then.

But Killian was sure that Swan had taken her lad and the others far away by now, and the knowledge that he’d helped her, that he’d kept his word, allowed him the strength he needed to keep the screams from coming.

For a while.

Pan, though, had used a trick on him he’d never experienced, and the shock alone was enough to get it working for a little while.

That trick came in the form of her, of Emma Swan, and the name had fallen from his lips like a prayer, hope that he’d never felt before rising like a rushing tide in his chest, and she’d smiled at him, a radiant, lovely thing that he’d never imagined could’ve been gifted solely for him, useless pirate that he was.

But then she’d started talking, and he knew it was a trick (tides always come back, because when there’s a rise, there’s also a fall). Not at first, he’d give Pan that, because it was easy enough to believe that the smile hadn’t been for him, that she resented him, that she hadn’t meant to save him, that they were better off without him. It wasn’t what she said that tipped him off, it was how she said it. Because Killian Jones had studied her since the moment she uncovered his pathetic hide in that pile of bodies, and he knew her—more than she knew herself, to her dismay—and he could read her. She was an open book, after all.

When her eyes didn’t burn like he knew they should’ve when she spoke of anger and hatred, he knew. When her lips didn’t quirk in that one specific way when she mentioned abandoning him, he knew. And then she spoke about her parents and Baelfire, and it was all wrong, because Emma Swan had walls, and even Neverland wasn’t enough to break them down so quickly.

Wherever she was, Emma Swan wasn’t about to run into her parents’ arms and live happily ever after with them and her True Love, because she wasn’t there yet. He knew her. He knew how hard it was for her to open up to him, someone who understood her from such shared experiences, and that wasn’t something she could just overlook as soon as she returned home. They’d hurt her—here, in Neverland, with assumptions and confessions and automatic behaviors, but also before. And if she did wish to ride off into the sunset with Baelfire, Neal, it wasn’t going to happen right away, because Killian had watched her while she shifted away from Neal when he’d moved towards her. He’d seen the way she recoiled at his touch, how she’d narrowed those jade eyes at his words, how she didn’t trust him, not anymore.

No, the Emma Swan that stood before his beaten and bruised body was a copy, and a bad one. When she hadn’t achieved her goal, she disappeared, and Pan took her place, and though he knew the demon was mocking him and prodding him with insults and hoping they’d smash the last of his resolve, he wasn’t ready to give in just yet.

Killian Jones was waiting for something. He just couldn’t figure out what it was.

“What’d he do?”

Emma faltered, the blade missing the piece of jungle shit in her path she’d been trying to cut down. “What? Who?”

“Neal,” her father said, clearing the vines for her before they continued on.

“Oh,” she sounded, pulling her lips together as she considered what to say. He’d noticed it before, and she knew that. He wasn’t stupid, nor was he as hope-prone and naive as Mary Margaret could often be. And they had another few miles to go, at least. “He left,” she said.

David stopped, a hand on her arm that was more than just an attempt to stop her from walking, too. “He left you?” he asked, his eyes somehow tight with rage and tender with something she wanted to dub dad-ness, because no one had ever looked at her like that before.

Emma huffed, because now was definitely not the time for Feelings, now was the time to rescue a goddamn pirate from whatever the hell Peter fucking Pan was doing to him. “He set me up to take the fall for his crime and let me go to prison instead. I didn’t find out I was pregnant until I was already in jail.”

David blinked once, twice, and then his expression was consumed by dad-anger (because it was just a different brand of anger that she’d also never seen before). “Emma—”

“It was a long time ago, dad.” They both started at the name, dad, because she’d never really used it before. A few times she’d said it, but it was something she’d had to force, a correction or a pointed joke, sometimes a near-death thing, but this was different. Authentic. Slightly heartbreaking.

“We don’t have time for this,” she muttered as she turned away, but neither was surprised, and even her dad wasn’t hurt, because Emma had her walls, and that was okay, because she’d needed them to survive this long. And if he had to put in a little time and effort to help take them down, that didn’t bother him one bit.

“I was kinda surprised that you wanted to come,” she said after a while, unable to bear the tense atmosphere any longer.

David gave her a half-smile, slicing another thicket (because they’d grown over since they’d returned to the ship. Fuck Neverland, honestly). “He did save my life, you know. And he was saving Henry when an arrow hit him—before your mother and I got separated from the group. I wasn’t about to leave him for dead after he took an arrow for my grandson.”

Emma froze, nearly dropping the cutlass that wasn’t hers. “He saved Henry?”

Her father’s eyebrows furrowed. “I thought you knew that,” he said. “So why are you so eager to help him? If you didn’t know.”

Her lips parted only to press together firmly, and when she spoke, they both knew it wasn’t a lie, but it also wasn’t the whole truth. “Because I don’t leave people behind. And even without the arrow, he still saved Henry. He brought us here.”

David studied her for a moment, and these pieces were coming together faster now, and quite suddenly, the picture made a lot of sense. “He came back.”

“For Henry. And Neal,” she replied.

“And you.”

She couldn’t deny it, and he knew that. But it surprised him that he didn’t mind it as much as he had before. Emma’s walls, no matter how much he wished he could change it, were in part because of him and Snow. They saved her, yes, but they abandoned her when they did it. And Neal had likely been the cause of the other fortress that surrounded her, because he’d abandoned her, too.

So if the pirate had gained her trust and her respect because he hadn’t abandoned her, then that was good. David had seen plenty of love and devotion in his life, but he’d never seen loyalty like the kind that burned in Captain Hook. Centuries in search of revenge for the one he’d loved and lost. That wasn’t the man who would turn around and abandon her the second the opportunity arose.

No, without him or the pirate realizing it, he’d pretty much gained his blessing. Because David knew damn well that if the roles were reversed, not even if Emma herself were in danger, but if Hook were here in his place and someone she loved was being tortured, there’s no one he would trust more than Captain Hook to help her. Neal had barely batted an eye. But he was apparently quite skilled at leaving people to rot.

David was just beginning to contemplate how to handle that particular situation when the screams started.

He took his daughter’s hand, meeting her huge and watery eyes, and they ran.

He’d held on so long, but it was worth it. It was worth it. No, she was worth it. Emma Swan was worth it.

Emma. Emma. Emma.

Her name became a mantra, a song in his head to fill the space between screams.

Killian Jones had loved Milah. He never doubted that, and his love for another didn’t negate it, either. He wasn’t sure what made his love for Emma Swan sharper, deeper, but it was just different. His working theory was that they’d both loved before, both been hurt before, both lingered in something that was slightly less than pure. Whatever had happened with Baelfire couldn’t have been perfect, because it hurt her. And she’d been so young when she’d had Henry. Milah wasn’t faultless, either. Ironically enough, that point was proven by Baelfire.

Killian had spoken to her about it for hours. She’d spun tales of rescuing the lad, taking him from his pathetic father and bringing him aboard, but it never happened. It wasn’t until Henry was taken from Swan that he realized the downfall of his Milah. He’d known it, truly, but nothing would have stopped Swan from getting back her son, and it should’ve been the same with Milah.

For a moment, the pain of his guilt overwhelmed the pain of Pan’s lash that sliced into his back.

But that was what made his love for Emma Swan different.

Try something new, darling. It’s called trust.

Be a part of something.

Too bad he’d never have the chance to explain it all to her.

Emma had seen so much in her life. So much pain, so much ugliness—it had made her start to believe that there was really nothing else. But then Henry showed up at her door, and things changed.

Now, standing in her hiding place with her father, she was forced to watch as the demon child inflicted brutal and unrelenting torture to Captain Hook—no, no, he wasn’t Hook anymore. Not after this. He was Killian Jones, and she was going to save him.

She just couldn’t jump in and do it. Not without a plan.

Once they’d decided who was the distraction and who was taking the box, they were ready, but she wasn’t. Each scream pierced her heart, and by this point, the tears were just a permanent fixture that neither of them acknowledged. You couldn’t listen to that kind of pain and not feel it down to your goddamn soul. And she knew that as much as it hurt to hear it, Killian was hurting a thousand times worse while he endured it.

It had only been hours, maybe, but she’d never seen a person look so broken and not be actually dead, and it felt like her fault. Because maybe if she’d been strong and reasonable enough to let go of Henry’s hand for even a second, she would’ve realized that he wasn’t at her side like he was supposed to be. Sure, they’d all been separated into groups that slowly returned to the ship, but she should’ve known. She should’ve been there. He shouldn’t have been here.

None of that mattered now. It was time to save him, and then she could worry about everything else.

Her father kissed her forehead, brushing her tears with his thumbs and offering her a reassuring nod that said we’ve got this, and then he disappeared to play his part. When she stepped into the clearing, she was much more confident than she had any right to be.

“Pan.”

The kid snapped to attention, whirling around to look at her. “Really? You’ve come to rescue the pirate?”

His words, his face, his stupid grin pissed her the fuck off, but what really sold it, the thing that solidified everything for her was the sight of Killian’s hook tucked into Peter Pan’s pocket like it was a fucking souvenir.

“Well, you know what they say about us hero types,” Emma stalled, keeping herself from glancing at Killian where he lay in the dirt. “We don’t leave anyone behind. We come back for everyone. It’s just in our nature.” She had no idea what she was actually saying, she was just talking, just waiting until her father got into place.

“I’m afraid I can’t let you take the pirate, Emma. He’s mine, you see,” Pan told her, and she thought that he’d never looked less than a child with the straight-up evil in his eyes and the weapon in his hand.

She folded her arms across her chest, pulling on strength she didn’t have. “Hm, no, I don’t think he is,” she said, letting some of her anger seep into her voice. “He’s a pirate, sure, but you and I both know that he’s pretty determined about that good form nonsense, and he made me a promise, you know,” Emma continued. “He told me he’d see to it that Henry gets home safely. He can’t do that if he’s here.”

Pan’s shoulders shifted as his chest puffed out, and he wanted something. “How about this,” he said, “the pirate in exchange for your son.”

Emma scoffed. “As I told the Dark One earlier, I’m done playing games. No deals. I’m leaving this island with my son and my pirate and everyone else, and that’s it. You lose, kid.”

Peter Pan grinned, and if she hadn’t just seen David out of the corner of her eye, she would’ve been terrified. “How’s that? I’m not going to let you leave with Henry or the pirate, no matter how much you’re convinced I’m going to,” he said, almost petulant.

“Sorry, I should’ve been clearer,” Emma smiled, “I should’ve mentioned the part about you being captured. Whoops. Too late.”

Emma surged forward, snatching the hook just before Pan was sucked into Pandora’s box from David’s outstretched hand. Neither he nor Emma hesitated for a second before they rushed to Killian where he was no more than a pile of cuts and bruises on the ground, stripped of his coat and his vest and his bravado.

David rolled him onto his side carefully, shooting her a concerned look when he didn’t even flinch.

The hook fell from her grasp and onto the ground beside them. “Killian?” Emma said softly, her hand reaching out to ghost across his sweaty forehead. If she didn’t see the rise and fall of his chest in time with the shuddering breaths he took, she would’ve been certain he was dead, because anyone else would’ve been dead.

“Emma, I have no idea how we’re going to move him when he’s like this,” her father told her, and if he were someone else, that would’ve meant that they’d run out of options, but hope was the family motto.

Emma pushed out a breath, bringing her hands back to her face, running them over her hair and locking a few fingers around her necklace. “Alright, okay, lemme think,” she said, but of course that was when her brain turned to absolute mush.

Time, nonexistent here though it was, was marked with Killian’s shaky breaths, and several minutes passed before David spoke. “Emma…” he began, and when she looked at him, that family motto was shining in his eyes. “Emma, you have magic. You can heal him.”

“I—” I can’t, she wanted to say. But it didn’t matter that she’d never done it, that she had no idea how to, because she’d do it. She’d do anything to save this stupid, ridiculous, insufferable, amazing pirate. He promised that he’d win her heart, and she wasn’t about to lose him right when she finally had a chance to let him.

“How?” she asked, hoping—yes, Emma Swan did things like hope now—he’d know something helpful.

David hesitated, as if he were gathering everything he’d ever learned about magic. “Okay, your magic is about emotion, right?” At her nod, he continued, “Well, that’s good, because you’re feeling a lot of things right now. You want to help him, to heal him, so maybe think about why?”

Emma chuckled, and it was a watery thing, but she wiped the dampness from her cheeks. “I don’t think I’ve cried this much since…I have no idea when,” she confessed.

David met her gaze, taking her hand and giving it a squeeze. “Use it.”

She took a breath, her eyes slamming shut so she could focus, but her hand didn’t leave her father’s.

Why was she crying now, this much, after everything? She wasn’t a crier (you couldn’t be in the system that long and still be a crier), so what had changed? All at once, she knew.

Captain Hook is what changed. Killian Jones had towered her walls, and now she was crying over him. Because she felt things. Things with a capital ‘t,’ and it was the first time in her life that she was finally, truly letting herself feel Things, the first time she honestly wanted to. There hadn’t really been a choice with Neal. He was just there, and that’s why she’d loved him. She was young, and he offered her this tiny piece of security and she’d latched onto it, and that was it. It wasn’t even about him, not really, not when she broke it down like that. Everything she felt for Killian Jones was about him.

Right from the start, he’d terrified her, because he could see right through her walls like they were made of glass. He read her because he already spoke the fucking language, but she hadn’t let herself understand that piece until later. But how many times had she been standing beside her family (she had that now), knowing that things were off or just not feeling right because they didn’t quite get it—but then she’d looked over and he’d been watching her because he got it. He knew. And he came back.

Killian Jones had never abandoned her. Well, there was that one time he locked her in a cell, but that was only because she’d just chained him up on the top of a beanstalk and it was honestly only fair, so that was different. Every moment when she waited for him to race off while in Neverland, when leaving her to her fate would’ve been the smart and easy thing to do, he’d proven her wrong (but she wasn’t really wrong, because she didn’t really believe it. She’d trusted him right from the start, and each time he didn’t leave her was somehow both totally surprising and totally predictable).

But it wasn’t just that. It was everything she saw in him when he thought no one was looking. The shadows that crossed his face when they ran into something familiar, the hesitance when offered assistance by anyone, the mysteriously filled waterskins that appeared by her bedroll after his watch. Everything he did for her and her family was a promise that he was no longer a villain—that maybe he’d never actually been one—and she could doubt everyone else (except for Henry), but she couldn’t doubt Killian Jones.

She was falling for him. Hard. She probably already would’ve fallen if she’d let herself, especially if she’d gone with her gut at the top of that beanstalk and trusted him, so she wasn’t about to let him die.

Emma raised her free hand, feeling all of her Feelings and thinking all of the Things, and she healed him, because she needed to. She felt the warmth that radiated from her palm, and when her eyes flickered open, there was a brilliant light that washed over his face and followed the path of her hand as she hovered along his body. The cuts shrank, sealing themselves while the blood seeped back into his skin, and when his breaths were no longer labored, she knew he was healed.

Her father gave her a proud smile (it was watery, too), but their attention was quickly brought back to the groaning pirate.

Killian’s eyes took several fluttering blinks before they focused correctly, and when he spoke, it was no more than a disoriented grunt. “Swan?”

“We’re here,” she said, releasing David’s hand to take Killian’s. “We trapped Pan, Henry’s safe on the Jolly Roger, and now all we need is for you to take us home.”

His eyes were stormy when he looked up at her, and his rough palm lined up with her soft one, and for a single, fleeting moment, it was as if he’d never felt pain in his life. The warmth, the ease, the life he felt holding Emma Swan’s hand made him briefly forget the hours of torture from Pan, and for what may have honestly been the first time in his life, Killian Jones felt safe.

There were many questions that he needed to ask, ones he hadn’t had the chance to think of with his present exhaustion, but he pushed them aside, because she was smiling that smile, the one he’d never imagined could be directed and him, and it lacked the tightness that Pan’s version had. Where Pan’s version had pranced around words, the real Swan was straight to the point and not flowery about anything. But what was most comforting about this Swan was that even though her smile was warm and lovely and nothing like he’d ever seen on her lips, he could see her walls hidden in her gaze, that lingering hesitance, and he knew. She’d come back for him.

“Think you can walk?” David asked him, and it almost made the pirate jump (centuries of always being on his guard, always prepared and aware of his surroundings, and Emma Swan gave him one smile and held his only hand and that was enough to block out the rest of the realm).

Killian nodded, and with some careful maneuvering by Swan and her father, he was upright. He wavered slightly��blood loss, he reasoned, because Emma had definitely healed him with her magic, but there was only so much magic could do—but they secured both of his arms without delay.

“Oh,” Emma paused, bending down to grab his hook. “Thought you’d want this back,” she added with a smile that was almost sheepish.

It was the way she held it that made him lightheaded (not at all related to the blood loss). Her hand was wrapped around the metal like it was nothing but also everything. She didn’t fear it, didn’t scrunch her nose at it—the way she held it was like the way she held his hand: a part of him, something she couldn’t quite bring herself to let go of.

“Thank you, Emma,” he murmured, and all three of them knew it wasn’t just for returning the hook. He gestured for her to attach it, and after a glance of confirmation, she did. And he couldn’t help but feel whole.

#once upon a time fanfiction #ouat fanfic #captain swan #captain swan fanfic #cs ff #captain swan fic #ao3 #Neverland fic #ouat neverland #this is me avoiding my novel and my other actual wip

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jkflesh · 4 years ago

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REGIS “THE FLOOR WILL RISE” out now

Featuring ambient guitar contribution from Justin K. Broadrick on “Dithiramb (Live Extract 2)” — NB: blurb below is incorrect!

Blue vinyl

Digital download

“For our money the weirdest and most satisfying Regis record in a while, featuring stripped, slow, highly atmospheric & muscular productions that were recorded as part of that mad 'Let The Night Return’ feature film (Regis, performing more or less alone in a 2000 year old, empty Greek amphitheatre) here rendered in brilliant monochrome including contributions from Justin Broadrick, Ann Margaret Hogan and the music school chorus of Corfu. Trust, it’s a killer.

There’s something brutally bare and demented about this one, opening with the simmering choral drone ‘Epidaurus’ fizzing with whirring industrial components and rumbling subs, before 'Calling Down a Curse’ extends to terrifying dimensions with an intoxicating Ugandan Methods style percussive backbone and a slowed down voiceover by filmmaker Vasileios Trigkas, to our ears sounding like Burial as if rendered by Conny Plank as a kind of alternate version to his still entirely unclassifiable ‘Biomutanten’.

'The Blind Departing’ is a slow headmelter, all industrial synths and exposed percussion, every hi hat and kickdrum separated and pristine, like the toughest, most angular sort of bare-boned warehouse chugger slowed to a crawl. If you shut yr eyes you can almost imagine Alan Wilder and Martin Gore hitting sheets of metal with a mallet on that crazy old Depeche Mode footage that’s knocking about - played at half speed.

Perhaps best of all is the closing 'Temporary Thing’, featuring Regis, Anni Hogan and Justin Broadrick taking on a cover version of the Lou Reed classic, here extended to HD and sounding fucking ridiculously good. It's one of the most sought-after pieces of the Regis puzzle, finally available on vinyl here for the first time.”

#regis #justin broadrick #anni hogan #karl o'connor

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emmakillianfan · 4 years ago

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A Christmas Story for You

To @whimsicallyenchantedrose for Christmas. While I haven’t had as much time for it as I had hoped, I hope you are having a wonderful Christmas and enjoy this little story that kind of got away from me. Merry Christmas and a very happy new year to you!

Due to illness and post graduate studies I’m a bit rusty on the fanfiction story writing, but I hope you enjoy it. I have loved the opportunity to be your secret santa. As I said from the beginning, I’m a big fan of your writing.

Getting to Know You at Christmas

Emma Swan hated to mingle at these social events her parents held each year as a welcome to the holiday season. Her mother easily socialized with people, remembering names and details of each person’s life in the coastal town of Storybrooke, Maine. Her father was just as gregarious, shaking hands and clapping older gentlemen on the back as the mused over details of long-ago exchanges and funny occurrences that she never quite could understand. She liked people, even had friends. But there was something missing for her from the conversations and laughter that seemed to lift over the swell of Christmas carols and the flashes of lights from the tree and cameras snapping shots of huddled groups of friends, family, and compatriots.

“Your mother is worried about you,” Ruby Lucas-Gale said with a knowing smile as Emma reached for another mini pizza and shoved it in whole. “You don’t look happy.”

Keeping her lips sealed, Emma shot her friend a plastered smile and shrug.

“You could at least move away from the bar. She’s going to think this is a re-do of last year’s party where you went to bed with a bottle of tequila under each arm after telling everyone that you were sleeping until the new year.”

“I should have kept that promise,” Emma groused, giving a slight wave when her mother looked at her pleadingly. “I could have avoided the Christmas Karaoke party at Victor’s, the cookie exchange at your grandmother’s, and let’s not forget the pot luck at Regina and Robin’s where I was shamed for bringing your grandmother’s frozen lasagna as my contribution. Not only had Regina made one, but I didn’t even realize it was still frozen.”

“You brought a pie too,” Ruby reminded her. “I don’t remember anyone noting that was store bought.”

“I ate it in the car working up the nerve to go inside because my mother set me up on a date. Who does that? Blind dates on Christmas?”

“She means well,” Ruby added consolingly, patting her hands down her red dress that seemed to creep up her toned thighs each time she moved. “And Graham was…”

Emma held up one hand in protest. “Don’t defend him. First he was your ex. He was nice but a little or more than a little too intense with his whole getting back to nature and communing with animals thing. My mother has horrible taste in men for me. For a woman who believes in fairy tales and calls my father her prince charming, I don’t think she would survive a day on Tinder.” It had been the long running commentary at the parties that somewhere in the crowd was there to be set up with Emma. Some who did not partake in the dancing or singing along around the piano would try to guess who it was going to be this year. Bets were currently on about a gawky man with a green tie who was currently chatting up Zelena Mills in the corner.

“Just remember she means well.” Linking arms with Emma, Ruby pulled her friend out onto the makeshift dance floor and began to sway her hips to the beat of a modern Christmas tune that Emma knew was by some current pop singer. “So I’m guessing your next date is in here somewhere. Where oh where could he be?”

“You are annoying,” Emma pouted, folding her arms over her chest yet still swaying a bit to the up-tempo beat. “I thought you had money that guy in the green tie.” He was the typical type her mother would love to see her date. She could hear the school teacher turned public servant now telling her how she just knew he was the kind of guy she would love to get to know.

“Possibility,” Ruby said, tapping her bright red lips in mock thoughtfulness. “What about Archie?” He’s been hanging around over in that corner in a conversation with Regina and Robin for a little bit now. Seems to look over here every once in a while.”

“Everyone is looking at you, Ruby,” Emma hissed in exasperation. You are showing more skin that is advisable with the temperature and you’re currently bumping and grinding to Christmas tunes.”

“Maybe he’s setting up some pre-marital counseling for them. Okay…one of the guys from the mines? Leroy?”

“That’s a tad incestuous since they are practically my uncles.” Emma scanned the crowd to see her father and mother in conversation over by the French doors leading out to the patio that had been sprayed with twinkle lights and that included a new audio system he had spent the day fiddling with as her younger brother tried out the microphones in his own rendition of some sort of heavy metal meets classic rock rendition of Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer. He was just 14 and still at that awkward stage, suffering the embarrassment of parents who doted and friends who loved to point that out to him. Her own son idolized him though. “I’m thinking he’s a no show. My mom is in her plotting mode. Look at the way she’s talking to my dad.”

Sure enough her parents were furtively whispering, her mother holding up a hand to hide her mouth as though nobody would notice. It would be debated for years to come which of the two women noticed him first though. A slender, tall man with piercing blue eyes and sardonic smile seemed to rush up to her parents and hug them in turn. Even though Emma couldn’t make out the words, her father gave the man his double shoulder clap before spinning him about to the crowd and pointing out a few people.

“Maybe him,” Ruby said, lifting onto the balls of her feet even higher than her shoes allowed and balancing herself against Emma. “He’s a hottie.”

“Doubtful,” Emma noted, swinging her gaze across the room to the man in the green tie who was now eating a banana and doing nothing for his resemblance to a simian creature as Ruby had declared. “I don’t have that sort of luck. My mother doesn’t…” She never got to finish the sentence when she noted who had just entered the party and made a line straight toward greeting her parents. Neal…the once love of her life turned affection into weapons and her self confidence into a puddle of what if. She was better now, but the sight of him seemed to jangle her nerves in a way that made her doubt her recovery. They managed to co-parent their son with little trouble, but he wasn’t one she wanted to see socially. The fact he always had a date on his arm just added to her discomfort.

Ruby was one of the few people who understood. Twirling her in the direction of the mystery man who was now noshing on a few of the crisp veggies without bothering to dip them into the various sauces, Ruby leaned in and whispered loudly in Emma’s ear. “Don’t question it. Just go introduce yourself. It’ll be less awkward that way.”

Emma would forever question the logic in that, but for the moment felt her feet begin to move one after the other and in no time she was standing in front of him. His eyes were even more striking up close and she caught a whiff of his cologne that was a spicey scent that she would later blame for her mouth watering and her words feeling like they slid off her tongue without regard to custom or reason.

“Emma,” she said by way of invitation. Her smile was a little forced and her hand held out in mid air a beat too long as he shoved a celery stick in his mouth and raised his own in greeting. “I guess my parents probably told you that.”

“Your parents?” he repeated, the smiled he was giving her lifted higher on the right side of his face as did his right eyebrow. He seemed to be surprised by her, almost as if he was not expecting the conversation. That irritated her a bit.

She gave a wave over her shoulder to where they stood by the fireplace. “Mary Margaret and David. The Nolans. You were just talking to them.”

“Aye, David and my older brother went to school together back in the day. They invited me to…”

She brushed off his explanation. “No, I get it. It’s so them. They don’t think I have any skills in that area at all. Apparently, they have given up on finding someone local.” She shrugged and when he seemed he wasn’t going to answer, she reached across and grabbed a carrot stick. Placing it in her mouth she made a face and immediately removed it. “Rabbit food.”

“You do know how to flatter man, love. I’m not sure I would want to be just one of the multitudes.” His smile was wider as he watched her, his questions about her easy and slick as she tried to explain that her parents were young when she was born and waited nearly two decades before their miracle child was born. He seemed to know nothing about her, which was odd for a set up. Maybe he was just being polite.

“So you’re not from around here,” she asked when he paused to take a drink. Even over the rim of the cup his eyebrows raised again. “I’m the sheriff. I sort of notice things like accents. I do sort of like accents like yours. Different than other guys around here.”

“Boston by way of London,” Killian answered. “And you, love? Always a resident of this seafaring town?”

“Most all my life,” she admitted, leaving out a few pit stops along the way. “Mom probably told you that the best place to take me for a dinner date is Granny’s. She loves it there, plus Granny will spy on us and give her updates every few minutes. I’m more into this Italian place near the docks. Awesome seafood and pasta. And their lasagna isn’t frozen. It’s more date like, I think. You know, checked table clothes, drippy candles, wine, and all that.”

“A classic romantic?” he asked, clearly amused.

“Well, I mean if we have to go out, it makes sense to go someplace like that.” She held out her hand and gestured to his phone. “I’ll give you my number in case mom hasn’t already. A date is a date, but might as well get a good meal out of it.”

“By all means,” he said, handing her the latest device on the market. She noted that he did everything with his right hand, his left staying next to his side and covered in a black glove. She was about to mention it when she heard her father’s voice and laughter.

“You’ve met our Emma,” David said, joining the duo at the table and placing one hand under Emma’s elbow. “Our daughter can be a bit blunt. I hope she hasn’t insulted you or made you change your mind.”

“Dad,” Emma said, swatting him playfully.

“She’s been absolutely brilliant,” Killian answered, shoving his phone in his pocket. “By the way, love, name’s Killian Jones. I don’t believe I properly introduced myself.”

David nodded knowingly. “Killian is here to work with your mother on her bid for the mayor’s office. He’s a wiz when it comes to all things in local politics. Very highly recommended.”

“Work for mom?” Emma asked weakly, trying to ignore the not quite so humble smile that played about Killian’s mouth. “You mean he’s not…”

“Of course, Regina is taking time off to plan her wedding and then get settled into married life. She recommended Killian to run your mom’s campaign since Archie is considering and Mal has already announced. Anyway, it is good you met. Killian’s going to need to talk to you about your role in promoting our family. Maybe you can meet up at Granny’s later this week.” David glanced around the room and gripped his daughter’s arm harder. “I wanted to introduce you to someone I met when I was buying supplies for the farm. His name is Walsh.”

Emma stammered a bit, her face turning pink as Killian continued to hold that smile that showed both bemusement and cockiness. “Walsh…”

“Go ahead, love,” Killian said. “We’ll finish our conversation at this Granny’s or perhaps you might like the atmosphere.”

Emma was sure that her face was bright red as his eyebrows lifted up and down in a way that made her wonder just what lascivious thoughts were rolling around in that head of his. She felt those blue eyes on her as her father made another excuse and led her over to the man in the green tie who was smiling nervously at her and oblivious to her discomfort and not so secret looks over at Killian Jones.

She nodded appropriately and even asked a few questions about Walsh and his furniture design business. Her own rental was outfitted with castoffs and hand me downs that had seemed comfortable and worn at the time. He was telling her why it was important to have pieces that spoke of her uniqueness and character. At least that was what she heard on the occasions she bothered to listen and didn’t internalize the flinches and groans as her parents introduced Killian Jones to every person in the room. She wasn’t pleased to see most of the single women giggling and flashing him flirtatious smiles that he easily returned. There was no need to be jealous, but still the emotion was creeping up her spine as she watched him actually kiss Ruby’s hand like something out of a novel.

“I could show you sometime,” Walsh interrupted. She jumped at being caught unaware and repeated the words back to him in hopes of making some sense of the situation. “My shop. I have some really beautiful pieces I think you would like.”

“Well, if I am ever in the market,” she said, realizing that he was holding out a business card with his personal number written on the back. “Have you met August and his father Marco. They do some of the most beautiful woodwork you have ever seen. Come on, I’ll introduce you.”

~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~

“We were right about the monkey guy,” Ruby said defeatedly, kicking off her shoes and reclining on the bed in Emma’s childhood bedroom. The room didn’t quite do justice to the angsty teen she had been, but still boasted teen idol posters of boy bands and even the dollhouse brought by Santa one year. “But that other guy was cute and quite the charmer. Even I was about to hit on him. I had such high hopes for your mother.”

Emma flinched as she unclipped her hair and left it to fall around her shoulders in soft waves. “Yeah, so he’s not my set up of the year. Yet I asked him out, sort of. I don’t know. I made a fool out of myself.”

“He didn’t seem too offended,” Ruby suggested. “I mean I was distracted once Dorothy agreed to dance but every time I looked in his direction he was looking in yours. And I might add that was pretty often.”

“Right, he was probably trying to figure out what was wrong with me.” Emma was about to bemoan her embarrassed state a little more when her phone dinged out one and then another text message. She reached over to grab it and groaned with the realization. It was Killian. Ruby immediately wanted to know what he had to say and proceeded to inspect the picture he sent just in case Emma was confused if he was the guy in the green tie or not.

“Emma, you might have had a rough start, but he’s hot. And he’s clearly interested. Why else would he text?” Passing the phone back, she shrugged. “And let’s face it, you and commitment aren’t that strong of allies. He’s from out of town. Mary Margaret said he travels all over to do these little campaigns. I’m seeing excellent fling material.”

The text was taunting her, a coy comment about Italian restaurants and then a reminder of who he was with the picture. “I should answer him. I mean it would be rude not to answer, right?”

“Your mother would say not to be rude to anyone, but I’m telling you there is no reason to be rude to that guy.” Ruby reached over and grabbed a 10 year old magazine from the table, clearly bored with the conversation. “But I mean it is up to you. Text him. Don’t text him. Your choice.” Ruby flipped the pages casually, bringing up what dresses Regina was going to want them to wear at her wedding. She insisted that red wouldn’t be that garish at a Christmas event. It wasn’t until Emma refused to correct her that Ruby even looked over cautiously. “You haven’t texted him?”

“I was thinking about it.”

“You like him, don’t you?” Ruby propped herself onto one elbow. “It’s written all over your face.”

Emma shoved the phone back in her bag and let her head loll against the mattress as she sat cross legged on the floor. She rarely was in this room now, but somehow it felt comfortable and almost nostalgic to discuss dating and boys with her friend just down the hall from her parents. At least she wasn’t practicing writing his name with hers or anything like that. “I don’t get crushes.”

“You’re much too tough for that.”

Emma wasn’t exactly wrong about her aversion to crushes. She was in her twenties and already sheriff of the small coastal town. She wore practical boots or sneakers more than heels and her long hair had not seen princess curls in months. This event at her parents was the first time she’d worn a dress except to church. “If I did, and I’m not saying I do, what difference does it make. I’m a grown woman, mother of a 10 year old, and I have a career. I’m hardly going to make cootie catchers and see if his name comes up after saying some horrible rhyme.”

Ruby nodded thoughtfully and went back to the magazine. “Not to mention horribly ugly and boring. I don’t know how I put up with you.”

“You are going to pay for that one, Ruby,” Emma laughed, tossing a pillow and joining in as Ruby cackled with laughter. They were both laughing so hard that Emma barely heard the familiar chirp of her phone ringing. Holding up a hand to silence her friend, she shushed her and reached for it. She only hoped she sounded less winded than she felt as she said her own name and waited for the response.

“I hope I didn’t call to late,” a male English accent sounded on the other end. Even without seeing him in person, she could already picture that bemused smirk and light in his eyes. “I meant to check back with you, love, but time got away from me and then you were gone.”

“Oh um…good…I mean great…I mean you didn’t call too late,” Emma gestured wildly at her friend who was making choking signs in response to her word vomit. “But why did you call?”

“Well, love, you did give me your number,” he reminded her. “I tried texting, but didn’t get a response. I thought perhaps you were screening, but I had to give it a shot. I was hoping you might have a bit of time for me tomorrow – breakfast perhaps? I know you said you preferred that little Italian place, but I have never known such an establishment to be open very early. Perhaps that Granny’s, you spoke of? We could save the Italian place for our dinner date. I have been craving some ravioli lately.”

“Date?” Emma stammered, ignoring the way that Ruby looked ready to pounce. “I…”

“You did sort of ask me out and I must say it was a masterful way to do so. I would love to accompany you for dinner, Emma. But first we have a bit of business to discuss about your mother’s campaign. Breakfast then? 8 a.m.? Granny’s?”

“I’ll be there,” she answered dully as he spoke politely for a moment about thanking her for her time.

~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~

Emma’s father had not gotten the memo that she was going out for breakfast, as he was flipping pancakes onto a large plate as she descended the stairs, handed her son his permission slip for the field trip, and dodged the family’s collie that seemed to be underfoot. Her mother showed no signs of worry as she sipped her morning coffee and reminded Emma to wear a scarf and hat as she consoled her husband that there were not too many pancakes and Emma wouldn’t have eaten them all anyway.

She pulled her yellow bug up in front of the diner, taking the last of the spots at 8:05 a.m. That was early for her and not a big worry that she was late for meeting with Killian. That was until she walked in, kicked a bit of the snow off her boots (the black ones with a heel that were in her old closet and could not be described as practical – don’t judge), and spied Killian at one of the booths talking to Tink. The bubbly blonde was petite and perfect, a face and voice like a cherub in a painting. Every year she had the solo at the church choir’s Christmas Eve performance and every year people wiped away tears at her beautiful rendition. She didn’t look very angelic as she perched on the edge of her seat and leaned forward to talk animatedly with Killian. Her smile flashing at him and even an occasional stroke of his arm with her hand to emphasize a point. Even in the 90 seconds she had been standing there kicking her boots and unwinding the mile long scarf from her mother, she had watched the waitress stop by and lean across the table to give Killian quite the view down her shirt.

Ruby must have noticed too, as she left her spot behind the counter and fluffed Emma’s hair with an encouraging nod and a teasing note that Emma was wearing lip gloss. Spinning her with one hand on her shoulder, Ruby sort of nudged her in the direction of the booth with a hissed reminder to smile.

“Killian,” Emma said, ignoring the pout from Tink, whose real name was Isabella but didn’t want to be confused with the town librarian, Belle, “sorry I’m late.”

“Don’t trouble yourself, love,” he said, scooting out to stand as she arrived. “I was going over a few notes for the kick off and Tink here was catching me up on some of the ideocracies that make small town politics so fun.”

Emma flashed a quick smile at her childhood friend, watching her slink out of the booth and tell Killian she was in the town directory if he wanted to call. He did not follow her with his eyes as she sashayed toward the door, nor did he smirk like Emma wanted to do when Ruby called after Tink to tell her that she still owed for her morning tea. It wasn’t that she disliked Tink, but there was that feeling that made her feel ill when she saw her flirting with Killian.

He gestured for her to sit down a simple glance toward the counter sent the waitress scrambling to bring them menus and take their orders. Or maybe it was just his order, as he had to call her back to get Emma’s. Despite his seemingly healthy eating style the night before, he matched her order of a hot chocolate with whipped cream and cinnamon. Granny had even fancied it up with chocolate shavings.

His questions were easy at first, wanting to know about her childhood and then her job. While a few were personal, he did not seem to be prying. She even managed to ask him a few and he offered some answers of his own without objecting too loudly and then quickly getting them back on track. She learned of his naval experience that paid for his education and how he had become involved in the campaigns and politics of small cities and his love of the ocean and aged rum.

“So is your position as sheriff an elected one?” he asked, casually resting back in the vinyl seat across from her.

She was taking two sips to his one when she noticed the way he smiled as he watched her. Instinctively she raised her hand up to swipe at the whipped cream that might have gathered on her nose but found none. “What?” she asked in exasperation. “Did I make a mess?”

“No, I am simply enjoying watching you share your experiences as sheriff. Your passion for it shines on your face, love.”

She knew she was probably blushing and rolled her fork through the home fries as a distraction.

~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~

For the next few days they saw each other often. There was the announcement of her mother’s candidacy where she helped place signage. She ran into him when she went to inspect a license of one of the vendors at the skating rink and ended up sharing a drink and conversation. While pondering which type of creamer to buy, he popped up out of no where and offered a suggestion. He was even there when the church choir had a rehearsal, claiming he was talking to some potential volunteers. He did apologize for that when the choir director called Emma out for missing two of her cues in a row because she was watching him, in the words of Regina, make doe eyes at her and silently flirt.

In the mean time, her mother had been talking up Walsh’s skills in design and potential as a date for Emma. There was now a gaping hole in the living room at the farm house where her mother was having him design a custom entertainment center. Her brother was already complaining that the television on the floor was not the greatest idea. Emma tried to explain Walsh wasn’t her type, but her mother wasn’t hearing it and was asking when she was seeing him again. Given that she had not saved his number and had mutually agreed with him that they weren’t really each other’s type it seemed unlikely. However, Mary Margaret was so cutely sure she had done well this year that Emma hadn’t the heart to tell her.

One morning over doughnuts at the station her mother read the speech Killian had written for her campaign and asked her daughter for feedback. Emma offered a few remarks as the woman adjusted the clutter on her father’s desk.

“I think he’s handsome,” her mother said at one point. “Kinda has that mysterious look to him.”

“Who?” Emma asked distractedly. “Dad?”

It was the pronoun game.

“No, I was talking about…” The phone ringing cut off what Emma was sure was a pep talk about Walsh. The conversation was left unfinished as Emma went to investigate the case of the missing trash can lids. Spoiler: some of the kids were using them for sledding.

It was a full two days later before she saw Killian again. Granted he had texted a few times and called her “by accident” when he claimed he had meant to call her mother to discuss strategy. He was humming a tune and scrolling through his tablet when she and her son, Henry, spotted him inside the library. Apparently, he had set up shop in the corner and had everything but a receptionist there to greet visitors. Her son, who had heard his name a few times from his grandparents, pointed him out in a totally obvious way that made Emma want to crawl under the table. Somehow she managed to take a few steps closer and do more than the wave she originally planned.

“Nice office,” she said of the table he had commandeered. “Quiet I guess.”

“It has it’s perks,” he offered. “I was heading over to talk to your father. He said he would be at the station this afternoon. I take it you are not?”

“Short break to get my son home before I go back to face the files on my desk.” She knew her son was already done checking out his three books and would be joining them any second. She only hoped he would not blurt out an inappropriate question. She was about to send up a silent prayer when she noted that the glove Killian normally wore on his left hand was off and a synthetic material prosthetic was in its place. Before she could say anything, he looked down at the hand as though surprised by it and shrugged.

“Naval accident, an accident.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t realize,” she said not sure what else to say about it. It was clearly an old injury and hardly one she had a blame in causing.

“Tis an old pain,” he told her. “Most days I don’t really think of it.”

She nodded, glancing at her son who was still in conversation with Belle. “Does that mean you are getting more comfortable with me?” She instantly regretted saying that, as it came off a little weak.

“You do seem to put me at ease, love.” He winked at her and leaned a little to the left as her son ran up beside her. “You, lad, must be Henry. Your grandparents tell me you are quite the author.”

Henry nodded enthusiastically and continued the conversation for a few more beats, nearly forgetting his mother was there. Even a comment from another patron, Will, that Killian was clearly trying to get to the mother through the son, went unnoticed by all but Emma who stood taller and tried to let it slide. Killian was quite the conversationalist, observantly noting that Henry was holding a book on piracy along the New England states. That really got them going until Emma reminded Henry that she needed to drop him off at home to meet the tutor and get back to work.

That was how she ended up with Killian sitting in her living room and then the two of them walking side by side back to the station to interview her father. He opened doors for her, asked her less probing questions, and complimented the way she handled one of the boys known for getting into trouble with a stern look and warning. She was starting to feel natural about it all when he stopped short at the wreath decorated double doors and scratched behind his ear.

“I was wondering, love,” he said, shifting his eyes to the door and back to her again. “Rather I was hoping you might…well, bloody hell, I was hoping to ask you on that date. I gather you weren’t aware of who I was or why I was here when you sort of asked me.”

“I thought you were the guy my parents set me up with this year. It wasn’t my finest moment.”

He smiled nervously, his lips tight and his eyes again darting to the doors. She realized he was looking to see if her father was lurking. “It was rather adorable actually and I was thinking…”

She closed her eyes as he searched for the words, something she was sure he rarely did in his life. He always seemed to know the perfect thing to say and the perfect way to say it. “Killian, you don’t have to…”

“And if I want to?”

“Then maybe we could meet up tomorrow evening? Or wait no…tomorrow is the winter carnival for the kids at the orphanage and I am hosting the movie portion. Maybe Thursday…no Henry’s got his soccer game. I would say Friday but I’ve got choir practice and Saturday is mom’s campaign rally.” She truly looked sorry about her schedule as she shifted from one foot to the other.

“Busy lass,” he muttered. “I suppose we’ll have to consider another time. Or by chance are you free this evening?”

Biting down on her lip, she closed her eyes briefly. “I want to say yes, but my father is in there and I’d rather not mention this to him. And given that my son is likely to either eat potato chips and chocolate milk for dinner, stay up past bedtime for video games or inappropriate movies, or worst yet burn the place down in an attempt to see what he can melt in the oven, I’m thinking I need a back up babysitting plan that doesn’t include my parents.”

“Rather not hear the I told you so? Or are you hoping to keep me your little secret?”

“My parents are a little on the enthusiastic side when it comes to my love life.” She tilted her head back for a moment and then made eye contact again. “I have a plan, but you have to swear to me that we won’t be going to Granny’s or any place else they would be spotted.”

He assured her that paper napkins weren’t on the menu. “I have no issue with being circumspect, love. Trust me, I can plan an evening for us.”

If she didn’t trust him, she didn’t show it as he ushered her inside and greeted David. His cheeks were a little red from the cold and she knew hers were too. However, David never seemed to notice their conversation outside. She saw him pulling out his notes when she spoke up and asked David if Henry could perhaps have dinner with them. She managed to ask nonchalantly, simply a scheduling glitch.

“Any particular reason,” David asked, barely hiding his smile.

“I’m going out,” she answered vaguely, crossing her denim clad legs and pulling a stack of files into her lap. “Did you see Leroy’s file? I need to check about his court date.”

“Haven’t seen it. Anyone I know?” He was trying to watch her in the reflection of his computer screen, sneaking a few knowing looks at Killian who was flipping casually through his notebook.

“Oh you know,” she said, pausing to look at a document, “that guy from your party.” She didn’t want to lie to her dad, but she could tell he was not going to let up. It was one thing to have her father believe it was Walsh but another to flat out tell him that.

Killian seemed to understand, interrupting the awkwardness with a cheeky smile. “Since Emma appears to be on a deadline and you’ll be entertaining the lad this evening, it sounds like we need to get through these questions to prepare your wife’s talking points. Let’s start with the most obvious. You have a role that is second in command here at the station and in the community. How does that work with you effectively reporting to your own daughter?”

Emma let out a little sigh and as her father droned on about how proud he was of her, she shot Killian a grateful look. Her father seemed to take pride in both his work and how well she did her job, showing him pictures of celebrations after tough cases were solved and the commendations she had gotten from the governor. Most grown children worry that they aren’t successful enough or are somehow a disappointment to their parents. Emma didn’t have that worry when David Nolan talked about her.

He was still talking about how well Emma had worked with Regina who was stepping down to concentrate on her new life when Emma slipped out to change. Neither he nor Killian seemed to notice that she almost spoke up twice to tell Killian that maybe tonight wasn’t the best timing. Then she reminded herself of Ruby’s advice. He was a nice and more than good looking man. He didn’t even live here. So what if she went out with him. It was just fun.

She repeated that to herself as she went to her car to head home and change. That is until the realization hit that she didn’t really have anything to wear. A trip to one clothing store in town would rouse suspicion and the tailor was a friend of her mother’s. There was only one place to go.

~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~

“No leather, no spiked heels, no red, no plunging necklines, and I would preferably like to sit down without flashing everyone in town,” Emma said as Ruby dove into the bowels of her closet up above Granny’s. The woman had squealed, hugged Emma, and asked if certain parts had been shaved or waxed. Emma assured her that was not an issue and that she just needed something that didn’t have the capacity for her shoulder or hip holster. Ruby had of course said she had just the thing.

With no sign of her wardrobe addition, Emma looked at her phone and two unread texts.

Killian: Your father is in search of your old scouting badges. I feel like we should have code words. Perhaps not. Meet me at the docks at 7?

She answered quickly, not wanting Ruby to interfere with the response that would probably be inappropriate. A quick see you then and an internally debated smiley emoji would have to suffice. The next message was from her mother.

Mom: David says you have a date. Very exciting. When you come by to pick Henry up, I want to hear all about it. I’ll wait up.

Her mother was going to be an issue. She loved the eternal optimist that was her mother, a woman who had more than her fair share of darkness, including losing two parents early in life, but rose above it to see the good in people. Wasn’t that what Emma was doing. She was seeing the good in Killian despite the voices inside that said this was a bad idea. Well, she could rationalize it that way. Her mother truly wanted a happily ever after for her daughter, something even Emma couldn’t disagree with in scheme of things. The fact that her mother even believed in such things was pretty amazing.

Ruby emerged with a black dress that looked more like a set of random strips all stitched together. Beneath it was a red dress that flared out and looked more appropriate for dancing. And beneath that was a soft mauve frock with a full skirt and wrapped bodice. She knew that was the one she wanted to wear, but knowing Ruby she had to at least try the others. Half an hour later she was wearing the lighter colored dress, matching nude heels, and her hair was what her friend called casually curled.

She was standing with her arms crossed for warmth at the docks at 7:01 when Killian emerged from one of the sailboats with a single red rose in his hands. “Apparently,” he said, steadily walking the gang plank despite the swell of the waves that had her not quite sure if she was standing still or not, “it is nearly impossible to procure just a rose this time of year. You almost ended up with a pot of poinsettias.”

“It’s beautiful,” she remarked. “You didn’t have to go to the trouble.”

He assured her that it was no trouble and that she was beautiful herself. Below deck he had a small table set with real dishes and flatware, a bottle of wine and containers of pastas and sauces from the Italian restaurant she had mentioned. The only thing, he mused, was that he could not do the candles since such items were not really safe on a boat.

“Confession time,” he said, clinking his glass with hers. “I borrowed the boat. I don’t have one here in Storybrooke.”

“I knew that,” she admitted. “It’s my uncle Leroy’s boat.”

“Short man, scruffy looking, kind of grumpy?”

“Always grumpy, yes. It’s nice of you though. Not too many prying eyes.”

He took a sip and pondered that for a moment. “I take it that you would prefer to keep things clandestine just in case. I am also guessing that you gave the information to your friend Ruby just in case I turn out to be a murderer.”

“I can take care of myself.” She squared her shoulders off.

“Aye, I believe you can, love.”

The rest of the meal passed with pleasant conversation and only a few awkward pauses that were usually filled before it got to be too much. Killian had even brought along a set of speakers to stream music allowing them to dance. It was a tough that even Emma thought was sweet as his arms were around her in a way that she admitted fit. She wasn’t sure how much life was left in his phone or when the clouds that had been building all day would open up with snow, but time seemed to stand still as they swayed. Her eyes closed and her head resting against his right shoulder. He lifted their entwined hands and softly kissed hers. She was glad her eyes were closed and her head nestled against his chest.

She could feel his breathing change and his hold feeling tense. Her name came out as a whisper from him. She lifted her head and found his eyes searching hers. “Emma? I would very much like to kiss you.”

“I’m not sure you can handle that,” she teased in just as soft of a voice. Yet she closed the space between them and let him close the rest. Their lips touching softly at first and then with more passion. Her hands gripped at his shirt, pulling him toward her and his hand hovered at her hair before threading through it with a sort of awe she had never experienced.

They might have stayed like that for a while had the siren of her dad’s cruiser not shattered the cold and quiet night. Maybe they should have stayed below deck, ignored her father’s presence on the docks. However, that plan faded as his footsteps grew closer and she knew, just knew that someone had spotted them on Leroy’s boat and reported it. Resigned to the fate that her father was about to find out who her date was with and probably have an opinion about it, she took a step back and turned to climb up into the cold. While he said nothing, Killian placed his own jacket, a worn leather one, over her shoulders. It was a gentlemanly gesture and one that shouldn’t surprise her.

“Dad?” she asked, holding one hand over her eyes to shield it from the giant flakes falling silently from the sky. “Did something…”

Her father looked startled and even a little embarrassed to see her there. His breathing was normalizing when Killian emerged too, which sent his eyes wide and his gasp of surprise sharpening. “I didn’t realize…”

“Everything okay, mate?” Killian asked. His dark colored shirt and black vest offered little warmth against the plummeting temperatures. However, he did not indicate it by shivering or otherwise complaining.

“Sure…I mean I was just answering a call about someone attempting to break in cars when I saw Emma’s bug. Someone said they thought they saw the suspect run this way and…”

Emma gave her father a nod, taking a deep breath to switch back into her role as sheriff. “Any description?”

Her father’s eyes drifted to where Killian’s hand was covering hers and giving it a slight squeeze of reassurance. They narrowed and his voice faltered as he answered, “light colored hair, red sweatshirt, about 5’9”, thin.”

“Sounds like a juvenile,” Emma assessed. “I’m assuming we don’t have any camera visuals. Last time we investigated over here the cameras were malfunctioning and I haven’t noticed…”

“Emma,” her father said, his boots shuffling a little on the worn planks of the dock that were beginning to be covered in snow. “You don’t have to…I mean…You’re on a date…I guess you are.”

“Well, yeah,” she said, glancing at Killian who seemed to be enjoying the moment. Suddenly she felt the urge to clear up the misconceptions she had caused. “I didn’t mean to…” She cleared her throat. “I know you probably thought I meant I was seeing that Walsh guy.”

“Your mother’s buying an entertainment center from him,” David answered with confusion. “It’s not my business who…but where is Walsh?” He did manage to lower the flashlight and seem less ominous there on the docks, but still had his hand on his hip and was rocking backwards as he waited for explanations.

“I’m not really sure. I haven’t exactly seen him since the party.” Emma glanced at Killian who was standing closer to her than she realized. That wasn’t exactly unpleasant as a prospect. “Killian and I…”

“You and Killian,” he father parroted with the confusion that it hadn’t dawned on him. “You and Killian what?”

Killian gave her hand another squeeze and took a step forward as though offering himself as tribute. “Aye, mate. I do fancy your daughter and she and I have been spending time together.”

Blinking back at them, David appeared to running through the occasions he had seen them together and attempting to digest this information. “So the conversation about intentions toward Emma should be delivered to you and not Walsh?” It was too dark to know for sure, but Emma thought he looked a little disappointed.

She reminded him that there was a potential thief on the loose and he assured her he had it under control and to go back to her date. Killian just sort of shrugged and offered his analysis that it wasn’t that much of a secret after all. They talked a bit longer, took a slow walk toward her car, and both hopped in with him saying he would walk to Granny’s after she was safely at her parents with her son.

“That’s ridiculous,” she said, speeding up the wipers against the snow. “I can drop you off. No need for you to freeze.”

He looked toward her in the dark car and gave her a soft smile. “Your father is bound to have told your mother about our date, love. I know you had hoped to keep it secret. I only wanted to offer my services should you want them to fend off her disappointment and concern.” He jumped when she placed her hand over his prosthetic.

“I didn’t mean for it to be a secret. I guess I just don’t want to disappoint them with another failed attempt at matchmaking. My mother has to be ready to give up by now.”

“Perhaps,” he said thoughtfully, “she might have to give up anyway. If we were to date, surely she would not attempt to replace me each year.” Her hand jerked away fast, something he noticed. “I hoped you might want…”

She sighed, turning her car off the coastal road to the one that led toward town. “Killian, I am the one who originally asked you out. Even if that was a misunderstanding. I had fun. I enjoy spending time with you. But…”

“But?”

“But we live in two different cities. The special election is going to be over next month. What kind of relationship can we have when you’ll be off on your next job and I’ll still be here? I’m not 18 and free to wander around after you. I have a job, parents, a son, and responsibilities.”

“We could…”

“Killian, I like you. I like spending time with you, but I’m not interested in starting a go no where or long distance relationship. I want more than a pen pal. Think about it. You do too.” The driveway of the farmhouse was coming into sight and then disappeared as she passed it. “I’ll take you back to Granny’s. No sense in talking to my mother about this. We’ll just say it was a one time thing.”

“As you wish.” His voice was quiet, deep, and almost wistful.

~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~

As the holidays grew nearer, Emma’s parents and Killian went into campaign overdrive. There were photoshoots of the whole family on the farm. Her mother even managed to sneak in a few candid shots of Emma and Killian. Speaking of Mary Margaret, she was only mildly disappointed at Emma’s secret that she was not seeing Walsh. That was quickly erased as she said she had considered setting her daughter up with Killian, but was quickly dissuaded when her internal voice said her daughter would object. Nobody corrected her on it.

For his part, Killian worked hard and would try to sneak in time with Emma. They shared a few lunches, walked around the farm discussing a few strategies, and shopped together for a present for her parents. He sat with them on Christmas Eve when Emma performed with the choir for mass, looking just as in awe and proud as her parents did. He even joined them for the evening meal on Christmas, leaving behind a gift for Emma rather than making a big deal of her opening it in front of everyone.

As the wreathes were removed and the snow seemed not as white, the election day finally drew close and Killian was even more of a fixture. He was constantly showing up with a new tactic and shoving his client in front of cameras to announce a proposed initiative. Everything from illiteracy to hunger would be addressed by Mary Margaret Nolan for mayor. When election day arrived, more than 60% of the voters chose her and he beamed proudly from the sidelines. Most people noticed the hug shared between Emma and Killian, but it seemed to be just part of the celebration. It went so long into the night that nobody really saw the two of them saying goodbye the next morning.

“I wish it was different,” she admitted, folding her arms over her chest. “I’m sorry.”

“Perhaps someday, love. After all, nothing stays the same.”

She watched as the Uber driver loaded his bags and Killian reluctantly slid into the backseat. Their eyes were locked and the unsaid words hung in the air. She wasn’t sure she even breathed again until she was pulling up in front of her parents’ house. Her father was flipping pancakes, but her mother was at the doorway even as she dragged up the steps of the front porch.

“I like him,” her mother said. “He’s a good man.”

“Yeah,” Emma agreed, accepting the hug and hurrying in before the next gust of wind. “I just…I don’t want this every time we see each other. I don’t want to miss him and have the constant feel like a clock is counting down the hours.”

“I know, Emma. And that is very practical, but if you…”

Emma didn’t wait for her mom to finish the statement before greeting her father and asking about setting the table. It wouldn’t be the last time that her mother brought him up. She would over the next few months, mentioning seeing him at some event or another. Emma never asked, but her mother would always update her on his well being. It wasn’t that Emma didn’t know. He still called. He texted. When he was in the area he would invite her to dinner or to an event. She occasionally went but always told herself it was just casual. He never tried to kiss her again and she never sat herself too close to him, despite Ruby’s advice to do so.

A book he had mentioned to her once said of the protagonist and her lover turned best friend, “they would continue to call and write until eventually they were just acquaintances and no longer a real part of each other’s lives.” That’s what Emma resigned herself to when he didn’t answer her text or voicemail inviting him to her parents’ annual party. He’d been pretty scarce for the past few weeks. Their conversations short and usually interrupted by something or someone. She once even heard a female voice in the background and wondered if he was seeing someone. That idea hurt more than she wanted to admit.

She wore red to her parents’ party, her hair hanging loose and the smile on her face tense and unyielding. She was sipping on champagne and watching as Regina and Robin twirled around the room still in bliss nearly a year after their wedding. Walsh was there too, dancing with Zelena and inking a new design deal with Marco. Neal had brought Tink as his date, which made Emma roll her eyes. And her parents were at their prime greeting and hugging all of those in attendance.

“Emma,” her mother called out when a few more guests were greeted. “Come here. I want you to say hello to someone.”

Ruby gave her a sympathetic look as Emma begrudgingly dragged her feet over to where her parents were standing. And there he stood, Killian in a freshly pressed suit with a wide smile on his face as she approached. Her mother was giddy as she mockingly introduced them. “Emma, you remember my old campaign manager, Killian, right? Well, he was in town getting settled because his new job at the governor’s office starts next month. I was thinking that he might be just the kind of guy you’d like to get to know.”

#csss #csss2020 #Captain Swan

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DECEMBER 2020 RELEASES - Coming soon to Warner Archive!

TEX AVERY SCREWBALL CLASSICS - VOLUME 2 New 2020 1080p HD Masters from 4k Scans of Preservation Elements Run Time: 149:00 Subtitles: English SDH Audio Specs: DTS HD-Master Audio 2.0 - English Aspect Ratio: 4x3, 1.37:1 Full Frame Product Color: COLOR Disc Configuration: BD 50 Special Feature: Documentary "Tex Avery: King of Cartoons"

Welcome back for another three-ring circus of animated comedy from the legendary leader of cartoon fun – director Tex Avery. In the first ring, Avery serves up some of his finest one-shot creations: cartoons featuring cats who hate people, wacky cuckoo clocks, kooky cavemen and lovelorn French fleas. We also meet up again with Avery's attractive Red Riding Hood, a pair of amorous wolves and his durable all-around fall guy, Spike. The second ring is a showcase for Avery's ironically deadpan "Happy Hound": Droopy. This time, Droopy appears in a number of guises – each one funnier than the last. As bandleader "John Pettybone," he leads his jazz-playing fleas to the heights of canine stardom. Out West, as a homesteader and a sheepherder, he has his final showdowns with the Wolf. The third ring offers a whimsical glimpse into the future – or at least a future from the POV of the mid-20th century – with a plethora of zany postwar inventions. While none of the cartoons "of tomorrow" foresaw smartphones or Blu-ray players, these far-fetched contraptions, gadgets, houses and farms, televisions, and various modes of transportation could only come from the madcap mind of Avery and his MGM crew. Uncut, restored and remastered in High Definition for the first time, Tex Avery Screwball Classics Collection Volume 2 is another must-own collection from the master of hand-drawn mayhem.

This 21 cartoon collection includes:

1 LITTLE RURAL RIDING HOOD 2 THE CUCKOO CLOCK 3 MAGICAL MAESTRO 4 ONE CAB'S FAMILY 5 CAT THAT HATED PEOPLE 6 DOGGONE TIRED 7 THE FLEA CIRCUS 8 FIELD AND SCREAM 9 THE FIRST BAD MAN 10 OUT FOXED 11 DROOPY'S DOUBLE TROUBLE 12 THREE LITTLE PUPS 13 DRAGALONG DROOPY 14 HOMESTEADER DROOPY 15 DIXIELAND DROOPY 16 COUNTERFEIT CAT 17 VENTRILOQUIST CAT 18 HOUSE OF TOMORROW 19 CAR OF TOMORROW 20 TV OF TOMORROW 21 FARM OF TOMORROW

THE CURSE OF FRANKENSTEIN (1957) - 2 DISC SPECIAL EDITION New 2020 1080p HD Restoration Masters from 4K Scans of Preservation Separation Elements Run Time: 83:00 Subtitles: English SDH Audio Specs: DTS HD-Master Audio 2.0 - English Aspect Ratio: Disc One-1.85:1-16x9 Widescreen and 1.66:1-16x9 Widescreen Product Color: COLOR Disc Configuration: 2-BD 50 Special Features: New feature commentary by Screenwriter/Film Historian Steve Haberman and Filmmaker/Film Historian Constantine Nasr, Newly Remastered 1.37:1 Open Matte version of feature. New Featurettes include: The Resurrection Men: Hammer, Frankenstein and the Rebirth of the Horror Film, Hideous Progeny: The Curse of Frankenstein and the English Gothic Tradition, Torrents of Light: The Art of Jack Asher, Diabolus in Musica: James Bernard and the Sound of Hammer Horror, Original Theatrical Trailer (HD)

The first, and perhaps the best of the long-running series of horror films from the house of Hammer, Peter Cushing and Christopher Lee star in this landmark interpretation based on the famous Mary Shelley story. Baron Victor Frankenstein becomes friends with one of his teachers, Paul Krempe. At first, both men are fascinated by the potential of their re-animating experiments. Eventually, though, Krempe refuses to help with Frankenstein's human experiments. However, he is drawn back into the plot when Frankenstein's creature kills a member of the house staff. For its U.S. Blu-ray debut, Warner Archive is proud to present this deluxe 2 Disc Special Edition, featuring two theatrical aspect ratio presentations, meticulously remastered and restored from preservation separations, as well as bonus disc with the restoration presented in "open-matte" format, as was seen for years on television, plus four exciting new retrospective featurettes, an expert commentary, and the original theatrical trailer.

THE HARVEY GIRLS (1946) New 2020 1080p HD Restoration from 4K Scan of the Original Nitrate Technicolor Negatives Run Time: 102:00 Subtitles: English SDH Audio Specs: DTS HD-Master Audio 2.0 - English Aspect Ratio: 1.37:1 4x3 Full Frame Product Color: COLOR Disc Configuration: BD 50 Special Features: Feature-length audio commentary by Director George Sidney, Three Deleted Musical sequences: March of the Doagies, March of the Doagies (reprise), and My Intuition. Scoring stage sessions (audio only) featuring pre-recordings made for the film including the unused "Hayride". "On the Atchison, Topeka and the Santa Fe" Remixed in Stereo (HD), Original Theatrical Trailer (HD).

Judy Garland headlines The Harvey Girls, a joyous slice of Americana celebrating the "Harvey House" restaurants that brought extra helpings of civilization to the Old West. Famed M-G-M musical producer Arthur Freed brought together an impressive cast of talents for this box-office hit which features a delightful original score by composer Harry Warren and lyricist Johnny Mercer, who earned an Oscar for their On the Atchison, Topeka, and the Santa Fe as the Best Song of 1946. Garland once again shares the screen with her "Oz" co-star Ray Bolger, clowns with Virginia O'Brien, falls in love with leading man John Hodiak, and faces off against wicked saloon gal Angela Lansbury in one of the most entertaining and enduring musical classics to come from Metro's golden age, now fully restored to its original Technicolor luster for its Blu-ray debut.

HOLIDAY AFFAIR (1949) New 2020 1080p HD Master Run Time: 87:00 Subtitles: English SDH Audio Specs: DTS HD-Master Audio 2.0 - English Aspect Ratio: 1.37:1, 4x3 Full Frame Product Color: B&W Disc Configuration BD 25 Special Feature: Lux Radio Theater broadcast (12/18/50) with Robert Mitchum and Laraine Day, Original Theatrical Trailer

RKO's resident "bad boy" Robert Mitchum (Out of the Past) surprised audiences with his softer side in this classic Yule-themed romantic comedy. Mitchum portrays Steve Mason, a department-store clerk who loses his job, yet buys an electric train set for a child he scarcely knows. It must be Christmastime. Robert Mitchum and Janet Leigh are warmly matched in Holiday Affair, a seasonal favorite scripted by Isobel Lennart (later to adapt Mitchum's The Sundowners) and directed by Hope/Crosby "road movies" veteran Don Hartman.

MISTER ROBERTS (1955) New 2020 1080p HD Remaster from 4K Scan of Original Negative Run Time: 121:00 Subtitles: English SDH Audio Specs: DTS HD-Master Audio 5.1 – English Aspect Ratio: 2.55:1-16x9 LETTERBOX Product Color: COLOR Disc Configuration: BD 50 Special Features: Commentary by Jack Lemmon, Original Theatrical Trailer (HD)

The USS Reluctant carries cargo along World War II's forgotten Pacific seaways. Beyond the horizon, the real war passes its stir-crazy crew by. Mister Roberts, directed by John Ford and Mervyn LeRoy, is the classic story of men fighting to survive – not war's dangers, but its indignities. Henry Fonda's reprise of his Tony®-winning Broadway role returned him to movies after seven years away. Jack Lemmon won his first Academy Award® as hapless, lecherous Ensign Pulver. James Cagney's petty, scrappy Captain makes a fierce adversary. In his final film, William Powell makes world-weary Doc a sage for the ages. Mister Roberts has moments of unforgettable humor. But sadness tempers the comedy. No shot is fired. No blood is spilled. Yet Mister Roberts endures as one of our most truthful war sagas.

YOUNG MAN WITH A HORN (1950) New 2020 1080p HD Remaster from 4K Scan of Original Nitrate Elements Run Time: 112:00 Subtitles: English SDH Audio Specs: DTS HD-Master Audio 2.0 – English Aspect Ratio: 1.37:1 4x3 Full Frame Product Color: B&W Disc Configuration: BD 50 Special Features: Lux Radio Theater broadcast (3/3/52) with Kirk Douglas and Jo Stafford; Vintage WB Cartoons: HILLBLLY HARE (HD); HOMELESS HARE (HD) and HURDY GURDY HARE (HD); Original Theatrical Trailer (HD)

With a secondhand trumpet and the loving guidance of a brilliant bluesman, a lonely boy grows into manhood as a superb musician whose talent carries him from honky-tonks to posh supper clubs. But his desperate search for an elusive high note – trapped in his mind but impossible to play – starts him on a boozy downward slide. Charged with dynamic performances by Kirk Douglas (the title role), Doris Day, Lauren Bacall and Hoagy Carmichael, and pitch-perfect direction by Michael Curtiz (Casablanca), the film is a feast of hot, cool, moody jazz. Legendary Harry James dubbed Douglas' hornwork. Day brings another fine instrument – her voice – to four standards. Movie and music lovers will be glad to meet this Man.

THE SHOP AROUND THE CORNER (1940) New 2020 1080p HD Remaster Run Time: 99:00 Subtitles: English SDH Audio Specs: DTS HD-Master Audio 2.0 – English Aspect Ratio: 1.37:1. 4x3 Full Frame Product Color: B&W Disc Configuration: BD 50 Special Features: Vintage MGM promotional film: "The Miracle Of Sound"; Screen Guild Theater radio broadcast (9/29/40) with Margaret Sullavan, James Stewart and Frank Morgan; Lux Radio Theater broadcast (6/23/41) with Claudette Colbert and Don Ameche.

Ernst Lubitsch adds his unique style of directorial aplomb to this timeless love story that marked the third of Margaret Sullavan and James Stewart's four film appearances together. A 1936 play by Nikolaus Laszlo called "Perfumerie" was the basis for this timeless love story set in a Budapest shop. With a witty screenplay adaptation by Samson Raphaelson, Stewart and Sullavan play bickering gift-shop workers Alfred and Klara, unaware that they have fallen in love with each other as secret pen pals who only know their respective correspondents as "Dear Friend". The charm of the stars ably supported by a sterling supporting cast headed by Frank Morgan make this timeless classic one to enjoy over and over again. The story was later filmed as "In The Good Old Summertime" with Judy Garland and Van Johnson in 1949, and as "You've Got Mail" in 1998. It was also the basis of the 1963 Broadway musical favorite "She Loves Me". Beautifully remastered from protection film elements made right from the original nitrate negative, this new Blu-ray presentation of the original 1940 classic is a joy to behold

IT HAPPENED ON 5TH AVENUE (1947) New 2020 1080p HD Remaster from 4K Scan of Best Surviving Nitrate Elements Run Time: 115:00 Subtitles: English SDH Audio Specs: DTS HD-Master Audio 2.0 – English Aspect Ratio: 1.37:1. 4x3 Full Frame Product Color: B&W Disc Configuration: BD 50 Special Feature: Lux Radio Theater Broadcast (5/19/1947)

As he does every winter, hobo Aloysius T. McKeever (Victor Moore) moves in to a mansion on New York City's 5th Avenue while its owners are away for the winter and invites all his hobo friends in from the cold. But this Christmas, Mary O'Connor (Ann Harding) comes home unexpectedly after a quarrel with her boyfriend to find her house occupied by jovial street dwellers. To make matters even worse, her father (Charles Ruggles) disguises himself as a hobo to get an invitation to stay in his own home -- and keeps his identity secret in this perennial Christmas favorite about rediscovering family and the joy of being together. Don DeFore (Romance on the High Seas) and Gale Storm (My Little Margie) co-star as the young love interests in this first release from Allied Artists Productions.

THE 100: THE SEVENTH AND FINAL SEASON (2020) Run Time: 672 Minutes Subtitles: English SDH Audio Specs: TS HD-Master Audio 5.1 – English Aspect Ratio: 1.78:1. 16x9 Widescreen Product Color: COLOR Disc Configuration: 3 BD 50

The seventh and final season opens with our heroes picking up the pieces of the society they destroyed on Sanctum. Still reeling from her mother's death, Clarke (series star Eliza Taylor), perhaps more than anyone, feels the toll of years upon years of fighting and loss. The group soon finds that maintaining order among the competing factions is no easy feat, and one that has them questioning whether their commitment to doing better was worth the price. At the same time, our heroes must contend with new obstacles on a scale beyond any that they previously experienced as they unravel the mysteries of the Anomaly. What they encounter on this epic journey pushes them to their limits both physically and emotionally, challenging their long-held conceptions of family, love, and sacrifice. Ultimately, our heroes must answer for themselves what it means to truly live, and not just survive.

#Warner archive #Warner archive collection #blu-ray #physical media #December releases

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welllpthisishappening · 5 years ago

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Ice Time

Hello, hi, yes, hey there internet. You know what today is? In this mess of a world, today is an exceptional day because today is @optomisticgirl ‘s birthday. B is one of the kindest and most wonderful and talented people on this whole wide web, and you should all make sure to tell her that. Right now. Because it is B’s birthday, and because I love few things more than her love of Will Scarlet, here are about two-thousand words which include the following things:

An AU of an already massive AU, Will Scarlet dad-mode activated, snarky Killian, Will Scarlet best uncle in the universe-mode activated, babies, hockey legacy and the number thirteen.

----

“She’s too small.” “Too small?” “Yeah, I thought there’d be—I don’t know...more of her or something.” Will tilted his head, something that probably would have been a laugh if he weren’t so goddamn exhausted bubbling in the back of his throat. And Peggy didn’t blink. She kept staring straight at the kid in his arms, an appraising look, like she was taking stock of an infant and not all together impressed with what she’d found.

“More?” he echoed. “You want to expand on that?” Peggy shrugged. “I don’t know. Just something. Like she could do something.’ “She’s a baby, Jonesy. I’m fairly certain sleeping and laying here, while being almost questionably small, is more or less her prerogative.” “What?” “Haven’t got that far in vocab, huh? Don’t tell Mary Margaret that, she’ll start instructing you out of pure teacher-like need.” Peggy stuck her tongue out, Will’s laugh finally working its way out of him and he could still dimly make out Killian talking to Belle in the kitchen. They’d arrived at the apartment a few minutes before — laden down with team-branded merchandise and another tiny stick, Killian’s grin looking almost abnormally large when he held it out.

As if it was payment in kind for unwanted gifts of yore.

“When’s the last time you blinked?” Will asked Peggy, widening his eyes when she flinched at the question. “You’re going to do damage to your eyes that way and then how will we get on the ice?” “We can get on the ice?” “Is that not why you’re disappointed in the overall size and weight of Evie?” “I didn’t say anything about her weight,” Peggy argued, tugging her legs closer to her chest so she could rest her chin on her knees. And Will nearly cackled at that — even through the lack of sleep — Peggy’s expression turning so Emma-like that it was almost like being smacked in the face with family-type feelings and something about the future being now.

“No?” “No,” Peggy echoed. “I just—I mean, when’s she going to be able to skate?” “There’s not really a scouting report out on her yet, kid.” Peggy seemed to consider that for a moment, mouth twisting in thought and eyes going thin enough that they were barely more than slits. Will had to bite his lip. He was fairly certain his kid had fallen asleep and he wasn’t willing to chance that with even more outbursts of vaguely familial humor.

“Do you think she’ll want to skate?” “With you?” Will prompted knowingly.

“I don’t like when you do the mind-reading thing.” “Ah, but you make it very easy.” She stuck her tongue out again. “You’re getting predictable, Jonesy. Got to keep your opponent on his toes.” “How long does it take for babies to skate?” “Probably when they have some upper-body strength.” She huffed, wholly and obviously dissatisfied with the answer. Will bit the side of his tongue.

“Well, that’s dumb,” Peggy grumbled. “You think she can hold a stick?” “Absolutely not.” “But we brought her a stick.” “That’s because your dad thinks he’s way funnier than he actually is.”

“That’s not fair,” Killian objected, walking back into the living room with an arm slung around Belle’s shoulders and an equally knowing look on his face. “This is just tradition or something.” “Don’t be bitter,” Belle chided.

“Am I being bitter or am I presenting real and true facts?” “Having to add the precursor of real and true before your facts is not helping your cause.” “God, babe,” Will said, “the fact that you can even think the word precursor right now is stupid impressive.” Belle laughed softly, head falling to Killian’s arm. She might not have been capable of supporting much of her own weight either. And that probably shouldn’t have made something warm and wonderful explode in the general vicinity of Will’s heart, but he still was having a difficult time wrapping his head around the concept of a kid and a family and Peggy was doing that staring thing again.

“When did I start skating?” she asked.

“Not during infancy,” Will muttered.

Killian clicked his tongue. “Fairly close though.” “Stop presenting my kid with unreachable expectations, Cap.” “Should we be offended that we don’t think Evie can reach Jones Line level expectations?” Belle asked lightly, tugging on Killian’s shirt until he moved with her. So she could sit down. “Or that they aren’t higher?”

“Legacy and all that,” Killian added.

Will stuck his tongue out.

And Peggy didn’t laugh, so much as she exploded with nearly eight-year-old noise, a pointed finger and impossibly wide eyes and—

A crying baby.

Belle jumped up, reaching a hand out, like she’d be able to help from the other side of the living room, and Will wasn’t sure what he was saying, just mumbled syllables and quiet encouragements, back on his feet before he’d entirely realized he’d decided to stand. He swayed on the spot, Killian shifting back into Peggy’s space when her lower lip started to tremble.

“It’s ok, Jonesey,” Will said, eyes flitting her direction.

She sniffled.

“Evie doesn’t even have any hair.” “Yeah, well you’ve got enough for all of us combined. So, you win on that front.” “Don’t tell Emma that,” Killian warned. “She’ll take personal offense to the state of Peg’s braid.”

Peggy’s hand flew to her hand, more than a few strands already coming loose by virtue of her constantly flailing limbs. Belle’s head dropped, resting on the top of Killian’s, even as her shoulders started to shake. None of them were apparently good at controlling their laughter, it seemed.

That was kind of nice.

Super nice, even.

Maybe Will was the one who needed to work on his vocabulary.

“I bet she can skate,” Peggy announced. “She’s got to, right?”

There was enough conviction in her voice that Will stopped swaying immediately, tilting his head when he met Peggy’s gaze. Steady. Even. Decidedly Jones-esque. With a stubborn streak that ran several miles wide, on and off the ice, and Will didn't bother mentioning that.

Killian would probably bring them another stick if he did.

“Maybe you’ll be able to teach her some better trash talk than just sticking your tongue out, huh?” Will asked, careful not to let his voice shake. Belle sniffled that time.

He lifted his eyebrows when he didn’t get an immediate answer, the muscles in his neck starting to protest the angle he was keeping them in, but then—

“I’m a way better trash talker than MD is,” Peggy said. “Yeah, I can do that.” Will hummed. “I know you can. And maybe when she can lift her head on her own, we’ll get her on the ice with you, ok?” “Yeah, ok.” It took a little longer than that.

After more family skates and another Winter Classic, photos on a variety of websites and hanging in frames on more than one wall of Belle and Will’s apartment. But then there were tiny skates being bought and Emma offering to braid Evie’s hair because “seriously, I’m so good at it, it’s absurd,” and Will didn’t hold his breath when his kid got on the ice with Killian’s kid. He wasn’t really sure he was breathing at all, so he couldn’t possibly hoard any sort of air.

“You’ll pass out if you don’t get consistent oxygen to your brain,” Killian pointed out, dousing Will’s skates with snow when he stopped next to him.

“You suck at that.” “Breathing?” “Stopping.” “Eh, yeah, well, that might be true. But, uh—you don’t.” “Suck at stopping?” Will quipped.

“Don’t be an idiot. This is—” “—Honestly, if you tell me that you’re proud of me right now Cap, I’ll find a stick and check you.” Killian chuckled, bumping his shoulder against Will’s and neither one of them seemed all that inclined to skate. There was a deeper meaning to that. If Will thought about that too long he might cry and he couldn’t possibly cry before Belle did.

And she was way too busy holding Evie up, while Peggy skated backwards in front of them and both Ruby and Mary Margaret took a rather large album’s worth of pictures. Emma might have been recording it. Or sending video to Matt.

The specifics of it didn’t matter. It was all nice.

Super nice, even.

The best kind of nice possible.

“I won’t do that then,” Killian promised. “I don’t think I could hold up against a check at this point, honestly.” “Because you’re old.” “Exactly.” Will scoffed, not entirely prepared for such a quick agreement or the overall width of Killian’s smile, pride in every inch. Even without saying it out loud. “So who do you think scores more goals overall in their career? My kid or yours?” “I’ve got more kids to choose from.” “Well, that’s not fair.” “Isn’t it just?” Killian asked.

“You’re annoying, you know that?” “How come you didn’t bring one of our sticks out here?” “I didn’t think annoying would be a confusing word for you, but—” Will cut himself off, finally taking that deep breath his lungs desperately wanted. “Thanks for being here, Cap. For all of it.” “And I thought we agreed you weren’t going to be an idiot.”

His whole body slumped when he laughed again, blinking quickly so he didn’t do something totally embarrassing. And Killian’s smile didn’t change, but the hand that landed on Will’s shoulder was heavy in a comforting sort of way, like years and experiences and hockey sticks none of their kids were ever going to use.

There simply weren’t enough hours in the day.

“You think she’ll take your number when she makes it pro?” Killian asked. “Or, like at the Olympics?” “Olympics, huh?” “That legacy, Scarlet.” Will scoffed, not entirely surprised when Peggy slammed into his side. HIs hand fell to the top of her helmet automatically. “Something like that,” he agreed. “You want to bet?” “Obviously.” They came up with terms later, shaking on it with photographic evidence and several future NHL stars watching on FaceTime. And none of it really mattered, even more years later, both Killian and Will pacing in a suite, while Emma eyed them with an obvious air of amusement.

And Margaret Jones made her professional hockey debut with the number thirteen on her back.

“Tough luck, Cap,” Will muttered. “Guess you can only have so much legacy.” “Is that a verb in this situation?” Emma asked.

“I have no idea. Ask Mary Margaret.” “She’s taking pictures.” “There are professional people who do that,” Killian said, grunting softly when Evie crowded into his space. Her hair was in a braid.

Emma shrugged. “It’s important to her and she said she was going to text Rol updates. But in even more important news, I guess this means neither one of you guys get to win your weird bet because—oh, my God, wait a second.” “What?” She opened her mouth. And closed it. And—

“Oh,” Belle whispered, a few feet away.

“Took you guys long enough,” Evie muttered, tilting her head up when Killian glanced at her.

“What do you know?” “How to do math.”

If asked, Will would promise it did not take him another few seconds to understand. That would have been a lie. It took a few seconds and another round of not breathing, but then he was adding and gaping at the ice and it all clicked.

“Thirteen,” he said softly. “Like—” “—Seven and six,” Evie nodded. “It was my idea, so.” “So?” “So I think that means you won, right, Dad?” She rapped her knuckles on Killian’s shirt. “Right Uncle Killian?”

“Eh, I don’t know, kid,” Killian objected. “This is a new number and—” “—I’m willing to concede on overall niceness,” Will finished.

Killian’s lips twitched. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

“Deal.” Emma mumbled something that sounded a lot like idiots under her breath, a kiss to Killian’s cheek and the top of Evie's hair before she moved back to the front of the suite and Peggy was far better at stopping than any of them. She scored in the second period.

And Will wasn’t entirely surprised when he opened the door the next morning to find a box sitting outside. With a hockey stick inside.

From Peggy.

#cs ff #again the use of that tag is used liberally here #but emma and killian are together and making appearances so #blue line!will scarlet #was that the tag?#i should be better at tagging things #anyway #HAPPY BIRTHDAY B #YOU ARE WONDERFUL AND A DELIGHT AND I HOPE YOU HAVE THE BEST DAY AND YEAR AND LOTS OF GOOD EXCELLENT THINGS

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theparanormalperiodical · 5 years ago

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Paranormal Activity (2007) - The True Story Behind The Franchise, And The 5 Other Demonic Hauntings You Need To Know About

What does the election of Margaret Thatcher, the industrialisation of Europe, and a shitty found footage film have in common?

They all changed the world.

Sure, Paranormal Activity (2007) may have not brought about the socio-economic changes created by the Iron Lady, nor that of the Industrial Revolution.

But there’s doubt about it: it defined a new era of horror films.

“Whoa whoa whoa - what about The Blair Witch Project?”

Okay, fine, The Blair B*tch Project is an icon that I supernaturally-stan. But it was the chaotic web of films that made up the Paranormal Activity franchise that set off a new focus on real stories, on real hauntings we can see and hear and film and photograph.

Type ‘ghosts’ into YouTube. Go on, do it.

With enough 10 minute videos clogged with adverts, cheap jumpscares, and a nightvision overlay that would resurrect Paris Hilton’s career, these films tapped into what’s happening right here, right now.

Thanks to the rise of social media and the phones we use to update them, ‘evidence’ of the paranormal is now scattered across the internet. Paranormal Activity tapped into that, providing us innocent viewers with a terrifying movie that would span 5 more films.

(Oh, and it turns out another one is set for release in 2021! Which isn’t unnecessary at all. Nope. Definitely not unneeded.)

But what’s really scary isn’t the film itself.

Oh, no.

It’s the fact that it’s all based on true stories.

Today’s post is going to recap the Paranormal Activity films, explain the true stories of demonic hauntings it’s based on, and go through the 5 other demonic hauntings you need to know about.

Let’s get spooky.

First, Let’s Recap The Paranormal Activity Franchise

With 7 films under its belt (you can’t forget the spinoff set in Japan!), this saga takes a detour around the core of the franchise and the explanation of the activity.

The franchise centres around a coven of witches who sacrifice first born boys to demons in exchange for money and success. Some first born boys are also used to create a demonic army to protect the coven.

Most of the films follow one family who experiences the actions of the coven - The Midwives - firsthand. One of the two daughters is kidnapped by her grandmother, a member of the coven, and prepared for the day that she will fulfill her womanly duties:

That’s right, she’s gonna give birth to a demon.

And yes, you are invited to the baby shower!

The films start in the present with one of the daughters beginning to experience traces of paranormal activity which evolves into a full on demonic haunting. It is then revealed in scraps of conversation - and then embellished in later films - that weird paranormal stuff happened when they were kids.

We then jump back and forth between past ‘n present until the whole witchy-shebang is revealed.

Here’s the film-by-film summary:

Paranormal Activity: Katie and bae Micah witness paranormal activity in their home and decide to film the mysterious things that happen at night - less sex tape, more supernatural. The activity becomes more intense and is revealed to be demonic, focusing on Katie and eventually possessing her. She kills Micah in full demonic-mode, and goes missing.

Paranormal Activity 2: Katie’s sister, Kristi, and her family set up cameras in their house following a burglary (spoiler alert - it ain’t no burglary). Activity escalates, and the daughter of the family, Ali, works out that this is a demonic haunting and that humans made deals with demons by forfeiting the soul of a first born son. Kristi’s son, Hunter, is the first boy born in their family since the 1930s. Kristi is eventually possessed and subsequently exorcised to protect her and the family. They do this by passing the demon onto Katie by burning a photograph. Katie then rocks up in demonic-mode and kidnaps Hunter.

Paranormal Activity 3: Before Hunter was born, Katie gave some old videotapes to her sister, Kristi, which contains footage of their childhood - and the paranormal activity that occurred within it. The activity offers up strange symbols, invisible figures, and the emergence of the coven, The Midwives. Tobi the demon also rocks up for the first time. We also find out what the coven does and that their grandmother, Lois, is one of these witches. Their parents are killed, and Katie and Kristi are told to ‘get ready’.

Paranormal Activity 4: A new famalam are busy living a non-demonic life when a neighbour falls ill. The neighbour’s child, Wyatt (pssst - it’s Hunter! And the neighbour’s Katie omgggggg) goes to live with them. Their non-demonic life then becomes demonic. Spooky shenanigans ensue, we see the coven, Katie kills people… On reflection, this film didn’t need to be made. But oh well.

Paranormal Activity 5: The Marked Ones: Lovable high school grad, Jesse, is living his non-demonic life above his totally-demonic neighbour, Ana. Turns out she’s a witch in the coven. One of his classmates is also demonic, and is seen doing demonic shit as a result of Ana. It is then revealed that some first born sons are recruited into this demonic army. Jesse is one of them, and begins to exhibit strange behaviour - he has been ‘marked’. Jesse’s friend and rag-tag group of anti-demonic people investigate and rock up at witch-HQ. His friend is then chased into a door which is revealed to be a portal from which he goes into the kitchen of Katie and Micah. Katie screams and thinks he’s an intruder who Micah tackles. Katie then kills Micah - this is the last scene of the first Paranormal Activity.

Paranormal Activity 6: The Ghost Dimension: In this film we see snapshots of young Katie and Kristi being taught to unleash their demonicy powers, as well as a new family living on the property where they used to live. The young daughter, Leila is seen talking to and interacting with a dark figure. It is then discovered Leila was born on the same day as hunter, and that Leila has gone through a portal into another world. A priest attempts to cleanse the house, Tobi goes cray-cray and kills someone. Leila flees through the portal and the mother follows. They rock up at Katie and Kristi’s house and meet young Katie and Kristi. The mother is killed, and Leila and Tobi walk off into the sunset.

Confused?

Me too.

Sure, it is a thin plot that’s been stretched across far too many flicks, but it’s the frightening filler that really defines the franchise.

Doors moving, earthquakes, dark figures appearing and moving, footsteps seen and heard, strange symbols appearing....

It all ties together to make an iconic set of films.

Are they going to be remembered for being great?

No.

Do I care?

Hell to the nah!

But what I do care about is the true story the franchise is based on.

So, What Is The True Story Behind Paranormal Activity?

Okay, fine, I told a lie: they’re actually based on multiple stories of demonic and other paranormal hauntings.

Yes, that is worse.

I’ve dissected 3 components of the films that I’ve traced back to real paranormal theories and stories.

Demonic hauntings

Animal and children interaction with paranormal activity

And the coven

Let’s Start With The Demonic Hauntings

If there’s one thing that Paranormal Activity gets right, it’s the paranormal activity.

With minimal discussion of what the shit is actually going on - particularly in the first movie - it truly lives up to its name of just being pure spooks. Now, in case you’re new to this blog, you probably won’t be as versed as I am in everything-spooky.

*flips hair*

Things like objects and furniture moving are just a few components of paranormal activity, as is lights flickering, for example; this all features as the beginning of the films’ activity, similar to that of real cases of spirit and demonic hauntings.

But the films then go on to capture what makes hauntings truly demonic:

Growling noises, people in trances or acting strange, and aggressive supernatural activity - all build up to the inevitable possession of a character which happens in every single film.

And it hits possession like a nail on the head.

It follows historic theories closely, focusing only on female possession. According to medieval theories, women were more likely to be possessed as they were deemed weaker, and thus more vulnerable to demons and spirits wanting to control their bodies.

Young girls? Magnets for Satan.

So, given the centrality of the young girls to the film who are besties with and apparently shit out a demon via the vag, this is pretty accurate.

Which, you know, is fine, this is fine.

Another key component of the demonic haunting we need to discuss rocks up in the first film, setting alight the curiosity that had us humble viewers coming back to every following film:

It’s the burnt photo of Katie as a child.

Burnt photos - or just destroyed photos - figure as key milestones of a demonic haunting. And smashed photo frames, scratched pictures all feature in this franchise.

In the films, it is eventually deduced that the burnt photo is used to transfer a demon to someone else. That explains why later in the film, the demon goes on to possess Katie.

In terms of paranormal cases, photos being used for ritualistic purposes is well documented in cases of witchcraft. One example of this is from the mysterious death of Estefanía Gutiérrez Lázaro, a story immortalised in the horror hit, Veronica.

At one point during the real case of Estefania, her picture burns spontaneously in front of her family around the time of her death.

In fact, burning items in general is a classic ritual related to unleashing demons. Fancy getting rid of your Ouija board? Don’t burn it - as hell is, uh, hot, demons can be released. Or they’re trapped in the board itself and by destroying it, they can escape.

Burning is also used in invocation, a ritual used in demonolatry, the worship of demons.

Next Up Is The Interactions Between Animals, Children, And The Paranormal

All horror films tend to start with the same thing:

The doggo starts acting weird.

In The Conjuring, the dog dies. In The Woman In Black, the dog draws attention to the dark figure approaching Harry Potter Daniel Radcliffe. And in Paranormal Activity 2, the doggo barks at invisible figures and gets hurt by the demon.

Question is, does this actually happen?

Yep.

Apparently, dogs and cats are highly susceptible to the supernatural. With their proved heightened senses - and some folklore to back it up - animals are considered one of the first signs of something paranormal.

And kids?

It’s the same thing. Remember what I said about young girls being really vulnerable ‘cause all women are weak? Children were considered to be on that same level of ‘open-to-demon-ness’ as women, so it follows that they’d be equally aware of the paranormal.

Enter the imaginary friend, Tobi. You know - the demon.

Imaginary friends bulk out most creepypastas, as well as the true ghost stories littering the internet. So unfortunately, Tobi is far more common than we’d like to think.

Yay.

Let’s Talk About The Coven, The Midwives

The underlying plot of the films - aside from being about cupboards opening all by themselves - is about the puppet-like control of the family by The Midwives.

And there are 3 things which directly link to real cases of covens and witchcraft.

However, when I started my research, I immediately ran into a problem: covens worshipping demons they want to bring back to earth and take over the world aren’t exactly shouting about their activities.

There’s no Twitter account posting memes about kidnapping kids. There’s no YouTube channel devoted to altar hauls. And there’s no crowdfunding to raise money for the indoctrination of women as they sacrifice their kids to demons.

But I did want to pull apart a few things like the symbol of the Midwives, their obsession with first born boys, and the confusing plotline of time travel.

First, we have their motives for their worship and sacrifice: its to gain money and success. This is a well documented component of black magic and demonolatry, a motive we can trace back to concepts from the medieval era.

Next is the symbol.

Despite looking like they copied and pasted it from Harry Potter, symbols containing a triangle and circle frequent literature documenting witchcraft. Specifically, this symbol is close to that of Soloman’s Seal, or the Triple Tale.

The latter represents gates, or spiritual manifestations.

That’s pretty fecking close to the plot of the movie!

Following up from your next tramp stamp tat is their obsession with first born boys.

“It’s the patriarchy!”

Hell fucking yeah, it is.

These witches are seriously behind the times, and stick to biblical notions of magic, deducing their obsession from the value appointed to first born boys in the biblical era. This is especially true given that the sacrifice of a first born son often crops up or is referred to in this bestselling book.

Finally, we have to discuss the time travel.

The franchise ties all the films together by using time travel to…

Look, I have no fucking clue why or how or for what reason. But What I do know is that there are these portals that can take people back to key plot moments of extreme witchy-demony-stuff.

Take the first time we see one of these portals: during the 5th movie we see a character stuck in Witch-HQ, looking for a way to escape. He decides to go through a door covered in strange symbols cause that’s not gonna be witchy at all.

He walks through, and enters a kitchen. He then sees Katie, the lass from the first movie walk down the stairs, and scream for Micah, her boyfriend.

That’s right - we witness the moment she becomes possessed, suggesting the witches had some direct hand in that moment.

The circle is complete! I think, I don’t know, I’m still confused...

Unfortunately, these portals end the series. In the last film, a new family rock up in a house built on the property where the young girls kidnapped by the coven used to live, and the kid of the new family ends up time travelling to when they used to live there, even though that house burnt down.

“So, is it based on paranormal theories?”

No.

Sure, some witchcraft does mention travelling to other plains - see astral projection and Insidious - but, like my coven research, witches ain’t posting their time travels on insta.

That being said, I would love to see that classic hand holding/leading shot as a witch takes bae into another dimension...

Paranormal Activity may be the cinematic representative for a jumpscare-binge, but the film goes much deeper than a demon throwing a tantrum and slamming a door cause nobody understands him.

(Dammit, Tobi.)

Fact is, Paranormal Activity isn’t just ‘based on a true story’. It’s an accurate representation of a demonic haunting.

The 5 Demonic Haunted Houses You Need To Know About

Let me guess:

You’re currently hiding under a quilt and watching Gordon-Ramsay-Getting-Hella-Angry compilations on YouTube to try and calm down.

If so, you’re gonna want to stay under there - It’s time to discuss the other demonic hauntings that are similar to the Paranormal Activity franchise.

Uncomfortably similar, that is.

Fantastic.

#1 - The Demon House

Topping our list is a house which clearly fits the topic of this post by its name alone.

Bob Cranmer, former resident of this Pittsburgh house, claims he lived in a house that was haunted by a demon for 18 years. Why did he stay in this house for 18 years if this was in fact also home to a demon?

*shrug*

Either way, before a demon was cast out by an exorcism in the mid-noughties, the haunting manifested in hands pushing and slapping family members, you know, the usual escalation of violent attacks…

Oh, and Cranmer also saw blood dripping from the walls.

But it’s the backstory to the property that really makes things terrifying. It was discovered that the Demon House was built upon a site from which Native Americans were murdered by European settlers. On top of that, a builder cursed the land during construction.

Also, a former tenant of the house is believed to have been an illegal abortionist who performed hundreds of these operations in the house. Well, depending on what you believe, this supposedly brought forward a demon.

(It’s at this point that I would think “oh I should be neutral” but nah fuck that #prochoice)

Anyway.

According to Cranmer’s investigation - from which he even churned out a book on the house - the name of the demon is Moloch, a god mentioned in the Old Testament. By researching the old tenants of the house, he discovered that some were actually worshippers of this demon.

And considering Moloch’s love for child sacrifices, Cranmer connected some dots regarding the illegal abortionist that once lived there.

Regardless of my disagreements with this verdict, there is no doubt that this be a spooky house.

#2 - The Smurl Family House

You know shit’s spooky when Ed and Lorraine Warren rock up at your house.

For a period of 13 years, the Smurl family of Pennsylvania was tormented by a demon which smothered them with an abundance of supernatural activity.

Toilets flushing by themselves, electronic devices failing to work, and awful odours passing through the house was just a few components of the activity faced. This escalated into arguably more violent activity synonymous with demonic hauntings:

Claw marks appeared in various rooms, full bodied apparitions would appear over beds, and a demon they named ‘Old Hag’ became a permanent resident.

Whether ‘Old Hag’ was passing through walls, or sexually assaulting the human residents, there was no doubt that the Smurls were witnessing an intense level of activity.

50 exorcisms were used to cleanse the house, but to no avail; the assaults didn’t stop until the Smurls moved out, giving further evidence to support the skeptics that this demonic haunting was no haunting at all.

#3 - The Bean’s Family House

It’s the 1970s. We are in Baltimore, in a quiet suburb crammed full of all-american families.

Unfortunately, there was no Tracy Turnblad around to brighten up this ranch style house. This home was cursed with a negative energy that was soon determined to be the result of a demonic presence.

This demonic haunting manifested in cold hands touching and grabbing family members, reenacting all the ways someone could be murdered. It even transformed itself into a human draped in a black suit!

With fierce black eyes giving away its true identity, the demon was ascertained as the cause of the activity, and the Bean family fled in the 1980s.

Question is, what was the root of this demon?

The former residents claim it was extra-terrestrial contact, with strange pictures supporting their claims.

#4 - The Haunting of Latoya Ammons

There’s a ghost making your TV turn on and off… And then there’s mysterious occurrences so intense the local police are involved.

This case is the latter.

It all started in 2011, shortly after a small family moved into their new home in Indiana. Large black flies began to swarm their front porch, and the frequent sound of footsteps began to trouble the family.

Shadowy figures also began to emerge, and would become the centre of the haunting. Alongside this, Ammons claimed she also witnessed her daughter levitating above her bed, sparking the need for supernatural support. Mediums were called, and they deduced that 200 demons haunted their house.

Following an exorcism, the family decided to leave the house as it failed to rid the house of its paranormal residents. Not convinced? Here’s the iconic picture believed to show a demon standing at the window of the house:

#5 - The Sallie House

Considered one of the most famous haunted houses in the world, this home is the residence of a young girl named Sallie. Oh, and she’s dead. It is believed that she was a victim of a lobotomy in the early 20th century, and attacks any men who enter the house in vengeance of her doctor.

But what really made this house famous was the investigation by a TV crew who experienced scratches and bruises from unseen forces in real time. Such violent assaults are a trademark of demonic hauntings.

Other visitors have also cited apparitions, floating objects, and animal noises, confirming that this house features something that we simply cannot explain. .

When mediums rocked up to deduce the centre of this haunting, they determined that that little girl was a magnet for darker, demonic forces that have entered the house.

I told you - young girls are magnets for Satan.

So - what’s your verdict?

Do you think these houses are haunted?

And who’s ready for a sleepover in one of them?

(not me)

Be sure to let me know in a comment.

And don’t forget to hit follow for a spook every single day.

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