#what bow he got in the abstraction basement

[conchcreature]

Watching ragatha become yet another female character that people hate for doing a bad thing once that a male character has been doing daily:

[slashersins-abandoned]

tw : noncon

bubba sawyer x reader

The smell of death seems almost normal now . Stale air that keeps the metallic tang of blood hangs hot and musty in the basement where you sway on the meat hook . A few days ago it made you gag , now it clings to the sweat and dirt on your skin that seems to build up in layers , and you’ve come to accept it .

The sound of the metal door screeching and creaking open catches your attention . A chilling fear corses down you and makes the Texas heat a distance memory . Would you be next ? Slaughtered and cut up by the brutal butcher wearing a dead man’s face ? Somehow you muster the strength to try and escape , but with your wrist bound and caught between a hook , and your toes barely scrapping the concrete below it’s nearly impossible . The only thing you can end up doing for yourself is sway more in a mockery of how you’d been strung up .

Heavy footsteps sound the unavoidable arrival of the man you least want to see . And soon his large frame comes into view , his shadow engulfing you . He’s filthy . But then again , you both are right now . It makes you wonder if he ever knew what being clean was ? Maybe . His somewhat put together outfit - a pair of slacks , a button up shirt , a tie , and a filthy blood stained apron . It’s an odd combination , a mimicry of a some proper hillbilly gentleman . Though you refuse to look at his face . Even when he shoves a crackled bowl of water against your lips , the cool water heaven against your chapped lips .

You hate yourself for giving in , but the need for that reviving liquid on your too dry throat is too great for you to resist . And the happy noises that come from the man who seems to get closer show that it must be a good decision on your part . Maybe you’d live a little bit longer . Maybe long enough to hope .

All too soon you swallow down the last drop of the water offered , and you curse yourself for now savoring it more - who knows when your next taste of relief will come ? The thought isn’t a settling one . You try not to think about it . Instead your eyes move to the shuffling form of your captor .

He doesn’t talk . He’s never talked . Grunted , yes , something he babbled as if he were saying words , happy squeals , angry grunts . It was all so . . . confusing . Knowing what this man wanted , why he was keeping you , it was impossible . But still , you held your breath , hoping his hands wouldn’t move towards the weapon he’d brandished so easily the first time you saw him .

It’s as if he knows what you’re thinking . He moves towards the table where the heavy piece of machinery sits . All the sudden you’re too tense , too on edge , hyper vigilant as you hold your breath . Today’s the day , isn’t it ? You’d lived your last . You’ll end up cut in half and butchered just like your friends and this man will just be find and -

Seeming all too happy the hulking masked man sits down at the table . It’s only then you notice the items he’s placed alongside his chainsaw , and the sight of them do nothing to help you calm the sudden hammering of your heart . A new sharper chain , oil , and a few small tools . If you had any tears left to cry , they’d be streaming down your face and blinding your vision .

All too aware of your impending mutilation your eyes lock on his movements . Thick , fat , dirty fingers so easily working to get the old chain off . Chunks of meat and dried blood staining the worn down chain . How many bones had been sawed by those dull blades ? Would id be less painful to tie under the sharp teeth of a clean chain ? Or would it hurt the same as being torn into by the work worn saw ?

Suddenly your trembling , so focused on those fiddling fingers oiling and cleaning the now chainless saw that you don’t realize you’ve made noise . The fact the fingers have paused , bow tapping nervously doesn’t click in your mind . And when it does it causes your brow to furrow , eyes flickering to the masked man’s face - a mistake . The moment you take in the stolen face of another person you want to gag and throw up the water you’d only just had . But what’s worse is that you lock eyes with the behemoth of a man .

Dark swirling brown eyes . Ones that are too bright , too curious as he stares at you . It feels like an eternity but finally you pull your gaze away , glancing back to the weapon on the table . And those brown eyes follow your gaze . Thick fingers move back over the metal , then down lower , and lower until they’re resting against the plastic starter .

Never in your life had you felt your heart sink to your stomach so quickly . A soft “no” leaving your cracked lips . Another mistake , because the larger man wraps his fingers around the starter and starts to pull . In abstract horror you watch . One easy pull , like it was nothing to rev the motor . The heavy saw weightless in large hands and thick arms . A second one and the motor sings for a few se seconds before fluttering off . The third has your vision blinding , fear flooding your senses and making it hard to even bring air into your lungs .

The panic consumes you in such a way that the heavy steps of the large man coming closer don’t register in your ears . It’s not until you feel the metal of the saw vibrating against your thigh that you jolt back to reality , letting you a shocked sob . But pain never comes . There’s no tearing of flesh under vicious teeth . No searing hot pain as you’re torn in two . Instead just the shaky , loud hum of the motor and the chainless saw against your skin .

Confusion is an understatement . Why - What happened ? What was - An aborted attempt to shift away is made , only for the man who’s gotten closer to raise the tip of the saw up and towards -

“W - Wait ! Don -“ You try to speak , but the butcher has other ideas . The saw makes it way between your legs , rubbing over your clothed crotch .

The vibrations are so sudden and shocking that you choke on your words . In an attempt to get away your thighs all together , but it only seems to make it worse . An excited noise coming from the larger man as it moves closer and starts forcing his saw between them , forward and back forward and back . Those curious big brown eyes focused on how you squirm .

The movement makes you cry out . In panic , in shock , in some fucked up kind of forced arousal - you aren’t sure . And every reaction pulled from you only boldens the large Texan .

With a whimper you try to pull away , only to find the base of the saw pressed close to you , the vibrations so powerful that you can’t stop your body from coming undone . With a soft cry , and the steady obeisant grinding of the chainsaw against your sex , you cum .

Shame floods you , along with a strange relief . Not even the sound of the chainsaw dying and the loss of friction is enough to pull you from your sudden exhaustion . So much effort your body didn’t have pulled out of you by just a few unwanted touches . Yet you welcomed the warmth in your belly . It was something - proof that you were alive , some kind of final acceptance .

Hanging slack and panting , the larger man’s hands flutter over you . Chubby fingers smudging the dirt on your cheek with his own only for them to tentatively travel down to the mess in your shorts . The action pulls a gasp from you , and continues to make you squirm as he lets his hands explore . Cupping and rubbing , spreading the wet mess over you and making it seep further into the fabric keeping his rough padded fingers from your sensitive flesh .

It’s a relief when he pulls them away . Only for you to to go breathless when your shorts are roughly tugged down and you’re fully exposed . The air is hot , but feels freezing on your slick skin , not that you have time to think of it before there’s a leather nose shoved between your thighs . The curious babbles , happy squeals , and heavy sniffing sounds make you squirm away , but you only move against him more as he snorts softly .

A mouth soon follows the nose and a sobbed , “Please ! D -“ tears from your throat only to fall on deaf ears . A thick , too hot , too wet tongue glides over you dipping and lapping as fat lips suckle and teeth lightly scrape over your most sensitive place . He’s eating up your mess . The idea of it makes your belly do a flip - and at this point you don’t know if it’s good or bad . But it is maddening .

Those fat hands grips your thighs easily , spreading them as he continues his adventurous assault on you . The same dizzying warmth flooding you and when you twitch and leak , the pleased sounds from the man on his knees seems almost welcome .

“BUBBA ! GET UP HERE WE GOT VISITORS !”

Just as soon as it’d happened it was over . The large man - Bubba - stood towering over you , whipping the mess on his mask off his face with the back of a dirty man . Only to use the same one to pat the top of your head like one would a pet . Quicker than you’d like to have seen he puts on the fresh chain to his weapon and revs it up . The gleaming metal shining in the dull light of the basement .

As the man runs upstairs you whimper out . The sounds of screams filling your ears as you wonder just how long you had before you ended up on the table .

[marshmallowprotection]

Calluna

Pairing: Saeran Choi/Reader

Fairytale AU.

Description:

The Prince has been bound to the castle walls, and he’s never been able to leave from it. The only place that he has to escape to are the books that he reads and the garden that he’s allowed to venture into every evening. But, what happens when he encounters someone that has eyes that know a world unlike his own?

Inspired by a drawing by @sensetenou​

Chapter Index

Chapter One: Tumblr | AO3 Chapter Two: Tumblr | AO3 Chapter Three: Tumblr | AO3 Chapter Four: Tumblr | AO3 Chapter Five: Tumblr | AO3 Chapter Six: Tumblr | AO3 Chapter Seven: Tumblr | AO3 Chapter Eight: Tumblr | AO3 Chapter Nine: Tumblr | AO3 Chapter Ten: Tumblr | AO3 Chapter Eleven: Tumblr | AO3 Chapter Twelve: Tumblr | AO3 Chapter Thirteen: Tumblr | AO3 Chapter Fourteen: Tumblr | AO3 Chapter Fifteen: Here! | AO3

Chapter Fifteen

You were bound with shackles against your ankles, sitting at the side of the king’s throne as if you were his glorified pet. 

The former-queen had taken her time to clean you up and dress you up like some kind of doll. You were wearing all black, as to be expected of someone that would soon lose their life but Saeran had made it clear that you weren’t going to die. 

Nothing made sense, but you had no choice but to bite your tongue. You had your answer as to what would become of Saeran in due time and now, your only hope was that you would be spared the sight of his end, or by some miracle, whatever Jihyun planned to do was going to work. He knew your friend Zen, and Zen had wanted to rescue you. 

Zen’s reach couldn’t protect you, but you knew that he would be the only person to know with certainty that you weren’t Red Hood. He was the only person in the world that was on your side and for once, you wished that you had listened to him and left when you got the chance to run. It would have been the smart thing to do. 

Perhaps, if you had taken a boat to freedom across the sea long ago, things would be different than they were now. It was funny, you missed the sea and the open waters. Growing up, you had lived in a town by the sea someways away from the main center of the kingdom, and the water called to you as it called to adventure for many people. 

However, your parents had wanted you to stay in your studies and become a scholar. They would be disappointed to know that you had thrown all your studies away and saw where you were now, but it didn’t matter anymore. There was no changing this and there was no changing what was happening, no matter how much your heart told you to swat the crown from Saeran’s head.

You weren’t even sure if the effect of the crown would leave if it left his head. 

Magic was still this abstract construct where anything and everything cruel was a possibility. This witch who wanted to use her power for her gain would ensure that you didn’t understand what was happening enough to stop it. She may have admitted that she planned on killing everyone but that was not explaining how the magic worked. 

You were alone, save for the guards posted at the door to ensure that you didn’t get out of your chains and run. As if you had any tools to pick your lock and leave! Your fists clenched at the fabric of your sleeves tightly, grinding your teeth despite yourself as the frustration tore through you.

The amount of desperation that you felt was tried and true. 

The anticipation was meant to drive you mad. 

Saeran was miking the time with whatever he was doing because the sun had already started glow with the embers of the evening sun soon to set on the horizon and break away to the long night with no moon to enshroud the world; The only thing remaining for yourself and others stuck under the haze was a path of anguish. 

And here you were, trapped like a sacrificial lamb. 

There was nothing for you to do but ruminate and sit. Your mind wandered for quite some time as you grew used to the way that you were ignored and set aside, and the silence was far more welcoming than anything that you had dealt with thus far. You thought perhaps that your punishment was to sit here and wait, forever, for no one to come and see you. 

It was almost worst than being trapped in the basement. At least down there, you didn’t have to worry about anyone seeing you. It was dark and you could grow accustomed to the dark as you had with the chains that had bound you to Red Hood. It wasn’t about your comfort, no, you weren’t going to be given that anymore. 

The queen made that abundantly clear when she told you what you would be within the coming days and that was deceased. 

You weren’t sure how much time passed but eventually, the doors to the room opened and you were given the sight of Saeran. A crown set upon his brow and the black cape over his shoulders letting you know that he’d just returned from his business outdoors where the smog had started to overrun the grounds of the castle with the brewing guard. 

Gone were the flowers and sunshine, replaced with anger and smoke from the brimstone fire to burn you all alive. 

His eyes rested squarely on you as the sneer caught your eye. He was seemingly happy to see you caught in his trap next to the phone, beaming at the sight of the chains around your legs that kept you close to his side. He said nothing to you but he took his spot on the throne, resting his head in his hand as he gestured to the guard. 

“Send them in,” he ordered. 

Who?

Your answer was given to you sooner, rather than later, as you watched the guard bring in some very familiar faces from the dungeons. You knew them from your work with Red Hood, one by one, you took note of countless thieves that were in the same boat as you. They had no choice but to obey and to serve the crooked man. He had left them for dead, and whoever hadn’t been caught was now forced to… you knew they had been forced into the mindless army that the queen was creating and thanks to Red Hood, there was an endless supply of people who already meant nothing to many. 

These people would likely face the same fate as them, forced to be drones that would die for the queen that wanted to bend everyone to her will. 

If they didn’t get killed first as an example of what would happen against those that turned against her, then they would likely die on the fields of battle as those kingdoms tried to fight against the threat that would usurp them all. They all saw you as well, and you knew that they knew the truth. But, if any of them pitied you, they didn’t say. 

They wouldn’t tell the king that you weren’t Red Hood, either. 

There was a chance that many of them could stay in the grace of the true Red Hood if they didn’t bow their head to this. You were merely a puppet for them and there was nothing… no one that would stand up for you. You looked down at the floor the second that you knew that nobody was going to come to your side or defense. 

You accepted that. 

There was no fighting back against this disgraceful degradation. 

Saeran didn’t like that. The chains binding you to his side were tugged hard and you were forced against his side, a gasp leaving your lips as he gazed into your pathetic eyes. You had nothing to say because you were too stunned for words. 

“Pathetic, huh?” his voice called your attention. “I suppose you’ve all realized that your leader had submitted to my will. It wasn’t like they had any say in the matter, hahaha. Take this as a lesson, never dare turn against the crown or you’ll be strung up like my pretty pet here is. You’ll wish for death as mercy instead.” 

There was a resounding silence to his words. Nobody had anything to say in regards to that. They all knew well what he was saying and where they would be. The frenzied part of you almost wished that you were under a curse as well, the humiliation dragging against your pride and kicking you where it hurt the most. 

Saeran’s gaze never left yours. “Have you decided to plead for mercy? Come now, you’re amongst your fellow criminals and allies. Why don’t you show them how weak you truly are? Why don’t you let them know who it was that brought you to your knees?” 

And you were like a caged animal, pushed against the wall with nowhere to go as the bigger monster forced himself into your personal space for the kill. Despite yourself, you shivered because you felt his shaking excitement at your fears. A part of you wanted to believe it was the crown but another part of you had a feeling that this angry, vindictive side of him had always been there. 

Angry at the fate that the world had dealt him. 

Angry at what happened to Ray because he trusted others. 

Angry because he was fueled by the people around him. 

“Tell them,” he persisted. “Tell them what you did, Sparrow. Tell them how you tried to trick a crowned prince to steal everything he had and what it earned you. You know, go on, tell the story from your perspective! I’m sure you had a good laugh about it when your men at your side, laughing at the prince you tried to ensnare with your wiles.” 

You knew that fighting against his words was fruitless, but still, you hated the way that he looked at you like you were the source of the grief. It wasn’t you that had hurt him or trapped him here. It wasn’t you that perceived him to be a fool and took him for the trouble. It was you that had extended your hand to a lonely soul who wanted a friend, and it was you that wanted to protect him.

You were willing to throw your happiness away to ensure that Ray would live. 

You were not Red Hood. 

You were not a caged bird for anyone’s amusement. 

And if that resistance that existed within your spurned heart, Saeran could see it from the way that you looked at him. Opening your mouth, you could feel yourself about to say something that you knew would be something you’d regret in the coming hours, but the humiliation of everyone seeing you in such a miserable state. 

At least, you would have said something, if it wasn’t for the newcomer that was dragged into the room, a verbal lashing on his lips as he kicked against the constraints that he had been locked away in. It was a voice that made your eyes snap away from Saeran’s immediately, looking for the warm crimson orbs that had looked after you for years as a big brother. 

“If you think you can treat me like this, you’re sorely mistaken. I didn’t do anything, so you can unhand me! Do you think this is any way to run your damn kingdom’s guard? You’re all a damn disgrace to the guard.” 

“...!” 

“Ah, the White Devil,” the chuckle from your side was enough to warn you of something that no one was supposed to know. “It took some work to track him down but there was no way that I could let your right-hand man go without punishment. He’s been living in disguise as an actor for some time, but those features aren’t ones that he can hide.”

Your heart sank as you met Zen’s eyes. He saw you trapped and narrowed his eyes at the king. It was the same boy that you had told him about as far as he knew, and if anything, it confirmed that he had given you the wrong advice. Zen would do anything to protect you, you knew he would, and the only reason he had gotten caught was that Red Hood likely leaked his identity. 

He lashed out further against the guards, “How dare you,” he growled. “How dare you treat them like a filthy animal—”

Zen was forced onto the ground the more that he fought them, and before long, his head was pressed to the ground. He was exhausting himself and only making things worse for himself. Jihyun had told you that he wanted to rescue you, but there was no chance that even he could come and remove you from this gilded cage.

You wished that he would have run when he got the chance, it would have been better for him, “Zen, stop fighting them,” you pleaded. You reached out an arm to him but it would never see his side. “It’s not worth it!” 

“Yeah,” Saeran mocked the tone in your voice. “Stop fighting the guard, listen to your boss, and maybe I’ll spare you some pity for your crimes. Come now, it’s worth a shot. Surely you know how to act like a gentleman. You shouldn’t act so distasteful in front of your boss, Red Hood, or your king. It isn’t becoming of a man of your age.”

With his tantrums, he had no right to talk about anger problems. 

Zen’s fight slowly died down the longer that he was forced down, and when the fight in his arms had calmed down, he looked at Saeran. “That’s where you’re wrong. They’re not Red Hood,” he said. The clamor in the room had started to quiet down as you felt the man beside you tense with anger. “They have never been Red Hood. You should know this, king, or have that crown of yours sucked all of the power from your head?” 

“How dare you question my intelligence—” 

You were pleading with Zen silently to stop fighting. You cared about him but he didn’t have to throw his life on the line for yours. He had already done that when you were a child and you refused to let him suffer through something just because he wanted to protect you again. You were an adult now and this was your cross to carry. 

“I question your objectivity,” Zen corrected him with a scoff. “Doesn’t it strike you as odd that someone as young as them could kill a seasoned criminal and control his command? Not only that but convince everyone that they are him so easily. If Red Hood had been killed, then one of those that had much of his power would take that spot. You think a penniless sparrow could fight grown fighters with no injuries?” 

Zen was a slave to no one, not anymore, and you could see the fire in his eyes that spoke of a man that feared no higher power. 

“It seems to me like someone wants you to believe that it was the sparrow instead,” he continued as he met your gaze. “And, you’re far too angry and prideful to admit that you might have been wrong and you’ve committed to a lie that you’ve been told to believe.”

You could hear no sound in the mirror as Saeran rose from his chair. Nobody dared to make a sudden noise or movement as he approached Zen. The guard hoisted from the ground so that he would be forced to look into the mint eyes of an angry demon with nowhere to go but here in the pits of hell that he walked through.

“Filthy mutt,” he hissed. “If you value your miserable life then you’ll stop while you’re ahead and shut the hell up. I’ll string you up by the gallows and force the bird to watch as it happens, and it will be all their fault for not teaching you respect.” 

“If anyone should learn some respect, it’s the man lying right as he speaks to me about what he believes,” Zen spat with vigor.  “They cared about you with all their heart and you’ve repaid them by turning  against the only person in your life that wants to protect you from those that abuse your authority.” 

Silence. 

“If they cared about me as you claim, then they wouldn’t have tried to steal the crown that was meant for me, White Devil. Their true crime was lying to the crown. Theft is one thing, but toying with the hearts of others for your enjoyment is the ultimate crime. You know that. Liars are those that are the most shameful. Like yourself, conning the hearts of others to get what is it you want. I can only presume that they learned their deception from—”

“Stop!” your voice cut in before Zen could say anything in response. 

All eyes in the room snapped back in your direction as you allowed yourself to have the floor, and you ignored the looks of their emotions as your hands clenched at the fabric of the shirt.

 “It’s not worth it, Zen,” you said. “I’m already damned. Don’t throw away your life to protect me. I’m not a kid, I’m not helpless. Thank you for what you’ve done for me but please, I’m begging you, stop. Stop fighting, there is no hope left.” 

The misery in your heart told you there was no hope left. 

But, Zen refused to stop hoping for a brighter tomorrow. 

“You might have given up on your life, but I haven’t!” he said, looking at you with that fierceness he never lost. “You’re not Red Hood. Don’t take this lying down! You don’t have to pay for crimes that you never committed. Don’t let them push you around, this isn’t you. The [Y/N] I know would never wallow in pity or accept this humiliation!” 

The shame that washed over you forced you to bow your head to the floor. No matter what Zen said, you couldn’t let him suffer for you. That was why you swallowed the pooling fire instead and looked at Saeran, “Zen was never involved in any of this. Please, don’t punish him for my sins. It isn’t right. You can’t do that.” 

And Saeran just laughed in your face, “That’s where you’re wrong, Sparrow. Anyone that has had the misfortune of working with you will know the same fate in my eyes. As much as I love to hear you finally begging, I don’t think I’ll spare this one. He means a lot to you and that means he should pay for that sin with his life.”

This is the price of your sins, that voice echoed through your mind. You know what it feels like to be isolated and destroyed the same way that Ray was.

The laughter of the vindictive marionette king echoed in the chamber as wetness began to roll down your cheeks. 

“Don’t fall for it, [Y/N]!” You snapped your attention to Zen as he was being dragged out of the room to the dungeons. “That’s not who he is! Listen, don’t stop fighting! Never stop fighting for yourself up here!  You need to pluck the apple from the tree. Remember, as you did when I took you on your first assignment!” 

The… apple?

Your eyes widened. 

He was talking about the crown.

[tayerroos]

Patchwork Tales: Book 1

A “9" roleplay compendium.  Read on AO3 Chapter: 4 [First] [Back] [You Are Here] [Next] Warnings for this chapter: None

[raptorginger]

Stacks of Pretty Paper-ch 6

for @sofondabooks, mood board by @sofondabooks

When Ben awoke to find Rey gone, his first reaction was panic, primal and all consuming.  As he raced around his house, and it quickly became apparent that she was gone, that she had left without a word to him, the panic turned to burning anger.  He let out a frustrated snarl, feelings of hurt and betrayal coursing through his veins as he tugged at his hair, and stomped back upstairs to shower.

Walking back into his bedroom, he realized he should have showered downstairs.  Rey’s scent was everywhere.  Bergamot and lavender seemed to swirl thick in the air, a gentle reminder of the last several days.  Bed sheets, pillows, and comforters were still piled behind his chair and his bed was a mess of tangled linens.  Ben averted his eyes angrily and stalked to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.  Beneath all the anger, beneath the hurt, Ben tried to ignore the small flicker of concern.  He hoped she was alright.  He knew a bit about Omegas, much more now about one in particular, and if what he had read contained even a modicum of truth, Rey was no better off than he was, just in a different way.  Ben scrubbed his hair harshly, and tried to put the last several days behind him, but to no avail.

It was a couple of days before he was able to return to campus, and if the looks of fear from his students and even some of his colleagues were any indication, he probably should have taken a couple more leave days.  However, his home was no longer bearable.  No matter how many times he washed his bed linens or how hard he scrubbed the surfaces of his home, reminders of Rey seemed to linger, driving him crazy.  He’d tried emailing her, calling her office, but he got nothing in response.  His blood seemed to boil in anger as the days went on, and he knew he could no longer remain inside his home, his sanctuary, so he walked the mile and a half to campus.  Thankfully, autumn’s wind had picked up and helped clear his troubled mind a bit.  At least his students were probably in a good mood.  They’d gotten to miss their weekly three hour session after all.

As usual, the students and other professors milling around the campus that morning ignored him as he made his way to his office in the history building.  His neutral expression quickly turned into a scowl as he saw that his colleagues were trying to avoid his gaze until his back was to them as he walked down the hall to his office at the end.  Then, he felt them all, all their eyes on his back, heard heads poking out of office doors just to get a glimpse of him.  He wondered if it had spread around campus, how he hadn’t been able to control himself and his filthy Alpha hindbrain around the poor Omega librarian.  Ben sat and stared at the wall behind his desk for a long moment after he slammed his door shut.  Maybe he was just being paranoid.  No one knew or cared enough about him to know that he’d been with Rey.  After sighing disgustedly, he tugged his laptop out of his messenger bag and swallowed a feeling of dread as he opened his email and saw the triple digit next to his mail icon.  He bowed his head and dove in, quick to notice none of them were from the person he wanted to hear from most.

His morning and afternoon spent answering emails was actually almost pleasant.  He certainly felt like he’d accomplished something when the unread icon finally disappeared.  Glancing at the small digital clock he kept on his desk, Ben saw it was nearly 4:30PM.  Leaning back thoughtfully, he wondered if he’d be able to wheedle information out of Rey’s assistant.  Perhaps she simply hadn’t returned to campus yet.  Maybe Rey, like him, hadn’t checked her work email since she’d been out.  As Ben gathered his things and began to head out, his chest felt a modicum lighter than it did when he came in.  His feet seemed to have a mind of their own as he headed out of the quiet building.  Dusk was slowly coming, soft twilight colors of lavender and pink and orange painting the sky and lingering clouds like Monet.  The white limestone of the library seemed to absorb the colors, as if lit with an inner glow.  Ben quickened his pace as the hands on his watch ticked closer to 5:00PM.  While the library might be open all hours, the offices certainly weren’t.

He pushed through the revolving door quickly, nearly at a jog.  He had his foot poised over the first step of the impressive black marble staircase that ringed the four story atrium, ready to take the stairs two at a time, but a flash of blonde out of the corner of his eye stopped him.  He turned to the main circulation desk and saw a familiar face.  Rey’s assistant.  He was pretty sure Rey called her Kay...something.  He strode over, not bothering to hide the urgency in his step.  The woman had been there.  She had to be aware that something had happened between her boss and him.  The twitch of her mouth into something almost like a smirk confirmed his suspicions, but she was quick.  Her expression was once again passive and neutral as he approached the waist high desk.

“Good evening,” he intoned as pleasantly as he could.

The blonde tilted her head curiously.  “Good evening, Professor Solo,” she replied, her voice slightly amused.  “Can I help you?”

“I hope so, Miss…”

“Connix.  Kaydel Connix.”

“Miss Connix.  I need to speak with Miss Johnson.  Is she available?”  

Another amused twitch.  “May I ask what you need to speak with her about?”

Ben tried to think of something professional.  He clenched his jaw as he tried to recall something departmental that the library would be involved in.  It came to him after a few agonizing seconds.

“The Hamner Lecture.  I understand my department will be using the Tano Room for the upcoming talk, and I need to talk to Miss Johnson about some of the technical requirements.”

“The talk on the role of female spies on both sides of the Entruvia Conflict?  The one in three days?  The one you haven’t RSVP’d to, Professor Solo?”  Kaydel’s tone could not hide her amusement.

Shit.  “Yes, that one,” Ben mumbled, his tone one of embarrassment at having been caught in a lie.

Kaydel at least had the grace to regard him with something like sympathy rather than derision.  “Miss Johnson only just returned and isn’t seeing anyone while she’s busy catching up,” Kaydel offered apologetically.

“I see.  No exceptions?”

“No exceptions, Professor Solo.  I’m sorry.  Truly,” Kaydel murmured.

At a loss for words, Ben turned to leave, his legs feeling like they were filled with lead.

“Wait! Professor!” Kaydel called as he’d reached the middle of the pale marble floor, a sharp contrast to the black staircase.

Ben glanced over his shoulder and saw Kaydel gesturing frantically, looking quickly from left to right, as if checking to see that they were alone.  He approached the desk again curiously, leaning in close so she could whisper.  Kaydel slid something across the desk to him.  Looking down, Ben saw it was a key.

“What is this?”

“Rey...Miss Johnson, I mean, she’s really needs…,” the young woman began hesitantly.  “I know a little of how these things work.  She needs you.  At least to talk to her.  And I’m guessing you have some things to say to her.  She’ll be back around 9:00PM.  Please tell me I’m doing the right thing, Professor,” Kaydel whispered urgently, looking up at him with beseeching eyes.

Ben held the key tightly in his fist.  “You’re doing the right thing, Miss Connix.”

“Leave the key on the front desk when you leave.”

“I think I can manage that.  Thank you, Kaydel.”

Kaydel turned and disappeared into the small room behind the circulation desk.  Ben could see a few stacks and carts through the dimly lit doorway, slips of paper wafting in the draft Kaydel made as she moved to the back.  He turned at last and went down a narrow hallway toward a set of stairs that led to the basement.  The space was popular with students, as it was the only designated eating area in the building.  The space was mostly occupied by tables and chairs in odd groupings, perfect for study groups, a few ancient vending machines that served questionable coffee and snacks, and colorless threadbare carpeting.  Ben navigated past the few dark stacks of now outdated reference materials to the study carrels along the back wall.  Nudging open the door for one, he set his bag carefully on the scarred table’s surface and flicked on the small lamp bolted to the wall.  The bulb cast a surprisingly warm bright glow in the little space, and Ben quickly settled in for a few hours of silent work, his fingers flying rapidly over the laptop’s keys.

At promptly 9:00PM, Ben’s phone buzzed loudly on the table beside his hand.  He’d already packed up his laptop and research papers.  He piled the books he’d retrieved into a neat stack and left the carrel, quickly locating a reshelving cart and depositing the heavy load.  The basement was deathly silent, a slight mildew smell permeating the recycled air.  Rey’s office was only accessible from the main staircase, so Ben made his way back up to the atrium and began to slowly ascend the wide steps, mildew and stale air replaced with stone and the fresh smell of rain.  He could just make out the pitter patter of heavy droplets against the glass ceiling high above.  Raising his gaze, the sky above the glass was dark indigo, almost black through the abstract sculpture hung precariously from invisible wires.  Intricately placed spotlights made the contraption of gold and silver glitter and shine as it spun slowly in the air.  Ben held tight to the handrail as he stared at the thing, unable to take his eyes off the spinning orbs and bars.  It reminded him of some kind of old time science instrument, an astrolabe but in three dimensions.  

As he continued to climb, his gaze was wrenched from the art piece at an office door a few steps ahead.  Lavender.  Bergamot.  Faint, like the first time he’d scented her.  Delicate wisps of her floating in the air.  He approached the door quietly, almost timidly, turning the key in the lock as quietly as he could.  She very well might call security and have him thrown out.  He hoped not.  He hoped Kaydel was right.  He turned the knob, pushed the heavy door open quietly, and stepped in.  He closed it softly behind him and turned to face the room.  The sight that greeted him almost took his breath away.  

Only one floor lamp was lit, warm light illuminating one corner of the room.  Mood lighting, his dad and Uncle Lando would have called it with a chuckle.  Rey was sitting at a desk, facing away from the door, her head bent almost reverently over something in front of her.  Her hands were placed flat on either side of what she was looking at.  Her ankles were crossed beneath her chair, one black ballet flat dangling off her heel.  She wore another gauzy grey scarf around her neck, her warm chestnut hair twisted into a messy bun, held with a pencil of all things.  A knit sweater hung loosely around her shoulders, a pale sage green skirt draping off the sides of the chair.  As the door clicked shut behind him, Ben watched her shoulders straighten, her fingers curl into her palms.  He heard her inhale deeply, and he knew she knew he was there.

When she turned in her seat to face him, Ben felt a strange tug in his heart.  She was pale, her face weary from sleepless nights.  Her eyes were red rimmed.  Her lower lip trembled imperceptibly as she stared at him across the room.

“Ben,” she whispered.

He was at her side in an instant, holding her to the point between his chest and abdomen as best he could with her still seated.  Rey clutched at his shirt, breathing deeply.  Unhappy that he couldn’t cradle her head like he wanted, Ben pulled the pencil from her hair, her tresses falling around her shoulders haphazardly.  When her breathing calmed, Ben released her and pulled up a nearby chair, sitting himself as close to her as possible.  Rey’s fingers were twisting nervously in her lap, and she couldn’t seem to look at him.  Ben pried one of her hands from the other and held it in both of his, running his thumbs over her knuckles.

“Rey, look at me,” he commanded softly.  She slowly turned her hazel eyes to his, and Ben felt the tension in his chest ease a little.  There was no anger there.

“What happened, Rey?” he asked softly.

“I...I got...scared.”  It took her maybe five minutes to get out those four words, but Ben could wait.

“I said so many things.  I felt...so much.  I’m not used to that,” she finished quietly.

“Did I do something wrong?”

Rey’s lips parted in surprise, and she brought her free hand to his cheek, her fingers softly caressing.  She shook her head and added for emphasis, “No, Ben!”

After a moment, she continued, her thoughts unfiltered, halting, but true.  “I’m just so used to being alone.  Of wanting to be alone.  Or at least, I thought I wanted to.  I don’t like depending on other people, being so vulnerable, but it just happened.  I couldn’t control it.  I don’t know what I’m trying to say.”

Ben paused a moment before he said anything, trying to see the picture she was trying to paint him.  He understood, in a way, the terror of opening yourself up to someone.  Of intimacy.  “Do you think you were the only one terrified by what you felt or by what you said?  I have never in my life said the things I said to you to another person.  Much less felt the way I did.  The way I do,” he finished softly, almost in a whisper, as if he was afraid speaking the words out loud, giving them life, would somehow curse it.

His breath caught in his throat as Rey leaned towards him, her scent invading his nose.  She pressed her lips softly to his, lingering for only a moment before she began to pull away.

“No,” Ben croaked before he pulled her back to him, holding her tightly as he sought her mouth again.

[drbennasherman]

Being a good gift giver

When we talk about gift giving we often say, “It’s the thought that counts.” That’s trickier than it sounds. The nature and quality of the thought counts too.

There are thoughts that sound positive but may in fact prove to be bad guidance. Thoughts like, “I liked it, so she will.” Or, “It’s expensive, so it’s a good gift.” Or, “I’d like someone to do this for me.” Or, “My sister got this and loved it.”

There’s a great old comic strip in which Dennis the Menace is shopping for a Mother’s Day gift and buys his mom a baseball glove. He loves his mom; he loves baseball; so he figures she’d love a baseball glove. It’s not bad math, but it’s bad gift giving.

There is some good guidance to be found in “the thought that counts.” That’s when the thought isn’t about some abstract value, like price, or about what random people like, or what the giver likes. The thought that really counts is when it’s all, and only, about the recipient.

Don wanted to get Liza a 20th anniversary present that she’d love, one that would tell her how much he loved her. He wanted to be sure that he was getting the right thing, so he’d started polling other people for guidance. His partner at work had waxed poetic about the Coach handbag she was seeing on celebrities. His hairdresser was nearly drooling when she talked about the Jimmy Choos she’d been eyeing. His dad said you couldn’t go wrong with a savings bond. His sister said that jewelry was always a safe choice.

He’d started taking note of the things in Liza’s closet. There were several handbags in a corner on the floor, two of which said Coach. There were no Jimmy Choos as far as he could tell; but he noticed that, other than two pairs of heels, everything else was athletic wear. He was completely confident that his dad’s idea was a terrible one for an anniversary gift.

When she wasn’t around he looked in her jewelry box on the dresser. There wasn’t much in it; and he realized that she only ever wore her wedding ring and a pair of gold hoop earrings. The pearls he’d gotten her for her birthday last year were still there; and he didn’t remember ever seeing her wear them after that birthday dinner.

He thought about getting her a gift certificate to the trainer that he really liked, but he couldn’t remember her ever saying anything about wanting to work with a trainer.

He was coming up empty. He wanted the gift to be something she’d get really excited about.

He was about to call her sister to ask for ideas, but he had to be sure that she wasn’t in earshot. He started looking around to find out her whereabouts. He heard something in the basement, so he went to look.

He found her sitting on the floor in her workshop, cursing, surrounded by pieces of something and a whole bunch of tools. When she saw him she said, “Dammit, Don, I’ve lost my socket set again. How the heck does a socket set just wander off?” She laughed at herself and started scouring her workshop for the missing set. He’d seen this before. She was always misplacing her bits and pieces. He knew he’d be no help, since he knew nothing about tools and wouldn’t recognize a socket set if he tripped over it. So he wandered back upstairs.

It was at the top of the stairs when he had his epiphany. He made a bee-line to his computer and Google. He’d seen “Craftsman” on some of the things in her workshop, so he started searching with that word. He then found the word “workstation”.

Bingo! The top of the line Craftsman Workstation would be arriving in plenty of time for their anniversary.

The behemoth arrived and he had it safely stowed in the shed under a tarp. Recognizing the impossibility of gift wrapping it, he settled for the biggest red bow that he could find at Michael’s.

On the big day his brother helped him get it into her workshop before she got up. He hugged and kissed her good morning, wished her a happy anniversary, and directed her to the basement.

Her eyes got as big as saucers as she gasped at the sight. Then she started her happy dance, clapping her hands like a delighted child. She gave him a huge hug and then started pulling open every drawer. There were many drawers and many hugs.

It was not a conventional anniversary gift; and it wasn’t one that he’d enjoy. Nonetheless it was obviously a gift that was a thoughtful match to the recipient. That made it the perfect gift, one where the thought really did count.

[funtubeweb]

Watch Bone Mother, Dale Hayward & Sylvie Trouvé’s gothic animation

Dale Hayward and Sylvie Trouvé were thinking of putting a guest bedroom in their basement — but Baba Yaga had other ideas. And what Baba wants, Baba gets.

Bowing to her formidable powers, they found themselves transforming their basement into an animation set, a miniature studio where the mythic Slavic matriarch assumed a starring role in Bone Mother, awesome stop-motion now available online.

oehttps://https://ift.tt/2yDn7IX

 Together Hayward and Trouvé have amassed years of experience in commercial and independent animation — making ads for Nike and other major brands, animating TV series and features like Little Prince, and running their own company See Creature — but Bone Mother presented a whole new set of challenges and opportunities.

They sat me down at the kitchen table of the Montreal home they share with their two kids and told me how it all went down — a tale of vampires and newborns, a thousand 3D-printed heads and an enduring shared passion for stop motion.

Co-directed by Hayward and Trouvé, Bone Mother was produced by Jelena Popović and executive produced by Michael Fukushima for the NFB Animation Studio.

How did you guys get together?

Sylvie: We were both working at Cuppa Coffee Studios in Toronto, animating TV series. We’d see each other in passing, and then at one point I became his animation director and had to talk to him. No choice! We ended up getting together, something we tried to keep a secret for a year or so, which was kind of fun. Then Hothouse came along; a 3-month apprenticeship program for emerging Canadian filmmakers with the NFB’s English animation studio in Montreal. We realized that we loved filmmaking and Montréal so we decided to stay.

Dale: Moving was a whole process of re-adjustment. We’d just finished working in Toronto, where we’d been working on Celebrity Deathmatch, a MTV gorefest that got made on a crazy schedule. 16 episodes in three months. And at the same time I’d been doing tests for my hothouse film. So I was pretty pumped when I arrived at the NFB that first day, but I quickly realized that the Film Board runs at another pace.

Which edition of Hothouse was that?

Dale: It was 2007, so Hothouse 4. My film was Roy G Biv — totally abstract, working with paints. Sylvie did her own Hothouse film the following year.

Sylvie: Mine was called Orange, an abstract look at urban spaces. That film led me to working with the French animation studio, where I made another film called Reflection. My background is in photography; it was natural and exciting for me to combine animation with photography.

What was the appeal of Baba Yaga?

Dale: We’ve always liked anti-heroes and fantasy stories. I first heard Maura McHugh’s version of the Baba story on the horror podcast Pseudopod. Baba is usually portrayed as a dark character, an evil witch. But there are lessons to be learned from characters like that. She’s like that old uncle who terrifies you, but who you totally respect at the same time. It seems natural somehow that Vlad the Impaler has the audacity to walk through her door. It was fun to have a story with two villains. It gave us lots to play with.

Sylvie: For me it was the fact that she’s a woman in this world. So many mythic villains are men — Dracula, Frankenstein, and all those guys. And then there’s Baba Yaga. She’s not your typical witch. She commands respect. She meditates. I liked the idea of paying homage to powerful old ladies. Just because you’re getting old doesn’t mean you’re getting weak. And I like that she’s Dracula’s mother. We don’t think of Dracula having a mother.

Dale: Vampires are big in pop culture right now, and initially we thought it might be too commercial for the Film Board. This is not typical NFB animation. But we pitched it anyway and they went with it. Baba is the main character, but I think it’s nice bonus for audiences to learn that it’s also Dracula’s origin story.

How did end up you making the film in your basement?

Sylvie: That was our producer Jelena Popović’s idea. I was pregnant with Rémi at the time, and initially we thought we’d have the baby and then go back to the Film Board, with baby in tow, thinking, you know, that people love babies and it would be fine. But we already had a daughter and should’ve remembered that it’s not that easy. Then Jelena said, maybe you can do it at home. And the more we thought about it, the more it made sense. We thought we’d eventually go back to the Film Board, to get shots that needed more space, but once we set things up here, we realized that we could adapt and shoot pretty much everything here.

Dale: It was the only way to get it done. As tough as it was to go back and forth between filming and diapers, it allowed me to be with Rémi during his first months. He could be on set with us, and our daughter Zoé was able to get involved in the production. She liked bringing her friends over to show them the bone house and the skeletons. And we could be totally flexible with the schedule. I would set things up knowing that Sylvie would take over later, and vice versa.

Sylvie: I’m a morning person and Dale likes working at night, so he’d often work until midnight and then I’d start shooting at 5 am. It gave us a nice balance. When I had Zoé, I stayed home while Dale was out working, and I found that quite alienating. This time around it was different. And it’s nice to have an artistic project that gives you a break from baby life.

Did making it at home affect the look or feel of the film at all?

Sylvie: I don’t think so, but I laugh when I look at certain shots, knowing that I’m looking at a section of our basement ceiling or wall.

Dale: Yeah, I had to comp out the basement pot lights in some shots. But that’s what stop motion is all about, holding things up with post-it notes and duct tape, and making it all work. We used lots of simple materials – foam board, and blue, green and even pink screen that we found at the dollar store. It was essential to expanding the environment in postproduction, so you couldn’t tell it was shot in a small room.

Was 3D printing part of the plan from the get-go?

Dale: Yes, it was part of our original pitch. We knew the NFB was looking for innovation, and we’d been working with André Michaud on Little Prince, which used 3D printed faces. Stop motion is typically limited with the range of facial expression, and this was an opportunity to take it up a level, to try to create more expressive characters.

Sylvie: That’s where the 1500 faces come in. We wanted a full range of emotions in the characters – angry and mad, angry and sorrowful, and so on. We weren’t using high-end printers but in the end that kind of worked in our favour. We discovered the stepping in Baba’s face looked like wrinkles, an effect that worked well for her character, so we emphasized this as much as we could.

Dale: At the same time we wanted to keep a textured handcrafted look — to be able to see the thumbprints so to speak — so each face, each set of eyes, was painted individually. That took months to do and we were lucky to have Eve Lamoureux and Claire Brognez help us out. They were a great team. We also spent quite a bit of time researching 3D printing filaments until we finally found a part wood/part plastic blend that matched our environment and took well to watercolour paint.

In such a dark gothic story lighting is key.

Dale: The challenge was to keep it dark and have it look natural, not have that “day for night” look. Most of the interiors were lit with tiny LED lights, hot glued to armature wire. We wired them to jacks – and controlled them with DMX channels. In the original story Baba’s house speaks, and the LED lights became that voice. When they come on, you know the house is talking.

Sylvie: Fire is a major element too, and it’s Vlad who brings that into the story with his lamp. His technology invades Baba’s natural space.

Was there a clear division of labour?

Sylvie: I come from a photography so I focus on what’s under camera. Dale is better on the computer. I know my way around After Effects, Photoshop and other programs, but I’m not a tech person at heart, and he’s also better at rigging stuff. I like doing the sets and painting, thinking of the visual composition. He did the storyboard and designs. We both constantly worked on the story and the editing.

Dale: Experience has taught us to establish who’s responsible for what. Whenever we don’t, we get into trouble. But it’s still evolving, I’d say. When we look at the film now, we forget who did what shot. We were both so involved. Even if it was my hand animating the puppet, it was often her idea. People ask us, who makes the decisions? Well we both do.

Sylvie: It’s all about which idea works better and that’s a question of maturity I think. When you first start off, you think, “I made this and nobody is going to tell me otherwise.” But that attitude isn’t productive. We just listen to each other and see what works.

How did the soundtrack come together?

Above: Sylvie and Dale with composer Rebecca Foon.

Sylvie: Sacha Ratcliffe was the sound designer and she immediately got what we wanted — the house and its voice, the animal sounds, the atmosphere, everything. Her design brought everything to another level. And the NFB team was great: Geoff Mitchell, who did the recording; Karla Baumgardner, on Foley; Jean Paul Vialard, who did the mix. They all really know what they’re doing.

Dale: We had cut the film to temp music from Inception and other Hans Zimmer pieces, big momentous music, so we had a good sense of the music cues. Rebecca Foon created wonderfully atmospheric music. Recording the voices of Baba and Vlad was amazing. With Baba, we knew we wanted the rough voice an older actress, a smoker, Renée-Madeleine Le Guerrier was perfect. As soon as I heard her laugh, I knew she was Baba. And Rafael Petardi, with his deep voice like butter, was completely convincing at the vain Vlad.

Any other collaborators you want to mention? 

Dale: André Michaud was a huge help with tech stuff, particularly all our 3D printing issues. We’d worked with him in Little Prince and he’s always open to trying prototypes but he knows when to say something wasn’t working.

Sylvie: Jelena Popović, our producer, really helped us get a handle on the story. She’s from Eastern Europe originally so she was familiar with the Baba legends. And Eve Lamoureux-Cyr and Claire Brognez painted all those faces, a job that took four months. Noncedo Khumalo handled the eyes and most of the Maya modelling.

Dale: Another key collaborator was Nick Fairhead, a old friend from Toronto. He’s a post-production guy who’s worked on lots of high-end features, and he really raised the production values.

Any influences? Art or artists who feed your imagination?

Dale: One influence on this particular film is the comic book artist Mike Mignola and his Hellboy character. He’s got an awesome style that took a while to become accepted in the mainstream. He’s now one of the industry’s most unique voices.

Sylvie: When it comes to animation, the people at Laika are totally inspiring. I love the work of Rachelle Lambden, one of the only women there. We worked together at Cuppa Coffee for a while. She’s a powerful character animator.

Dale: And we just finished working with Regina Pessoa in Portugal. It was really inspiring to see how she integrates work into her country life style, finding a balance between work and community. That’s something we try to apply to our own situation.

Sylvie: We both like live action too. I grew up watching horror movies with my mom – Amityville, The Thing, The Shining, all the Stephen King stuff.

What’s next?

Sylvie: Right now we’re shooting another stop motion film in our basement — a much simpler project directed by José Luis Saturno. And Dale is interested in delving into live action.

Dale: We both really enjoy live action, and I’d love to make a feature that integrates stop motion into live action somehow. Technology is evolving quickly, the lines are getting blurred, and that’s exciting.

Sylvie: Now that we’ve finished Bone Mother, we’re coming back to See Creature, pushing it in new ways. We’ve always enjoyed creating animated sequences for documentaries, and I also have a idea for a series of mini-shorts – focussing on little illuminating life moments. Likes lots of people, we’re looking for a balance and interested in working on projects that are meaningful to us.

Artwork from Bone Mother will be exhibited at Toronto’s Liberty Arts Gallery, opening November 1 and on display a month, and Dale and Sylvie are giving a masterclass on the making of Bone Mother on Nov 4 at the 2018 edition of the TAAFI Conference in Toronto.

For more making-of photos, check out the Bone Mother instagram account.

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