#Fanny Ardent

[thishadoscarbuzz]

272 - 8 Women (Patreon Selects)

Our Patreon Selects series continues with another dive into French cinema! In 2002, director Francois Ozon delivered an actress bonanza with 8 Women, an homage of Douglas Sirk and Alfred Hitchcock that's also a musical and also murder mystery and also a celebration of the biggest French actresses of the moment. Set at Christmas, its titular ensemble tries to discover who among them has killed the family patriarch. Despite a solid run for France in the aughts with their Oscars submissions, Ozon's treacly affair did not make it to the Oscar ball.

This episode, we talk about Ozon's filmography and France's current difficulties nabbing an International Feature Oscar despite their stature in the race. We also talk about the career of Chris' fave Isabelle Huppert, the film as Harold They're Lesbians core, and our thoughts on The Taste of Things' chances this year.

Topics also include Frances Fisher's new cause celebre, Streep/Short dating rumors, and Madarin Oriental "I'm a fan" commercials.

The 2002 Academy Awards

Vulture Movies Fantasy League

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[moviesandmania]

AMERICAN STAR (2024) Review of Ian McShane killer thriller, plus trailer and release news

American Star is a 2024 thriller film about an assassin on a final assignment in Fuerteventura, Spain, to kill a man he has never met. When his target is delayed, he finds himself drawn to the island, people and a ghostly shipwreck. When the target returns, the world has shifted. Before everything was simple, now nothing is… Directed by Gonzalo López-Gallego (Apollo 18, The Hollow Point) from a…

[cultfaction]

American Star hits the UK this February!

Vertigo Releasing is delighted to share the new trailer and artwork for thriller American Star, which is coming to UK Cinemas & Digital Platforms (Curzon Home Cinema, Apple TV, Amazon, Sky Store, Virgin, YouTube, Rakuten, Microsoft) on 23rd February. Directed by Gonzalo López-Gallego (Apollo 18, The Hollow Point), the film, as its name suggests, boasts an all-star cast of Golden Globe…

[petermorwood]

"Naming of Parts" - a parody version.

I posted the original poem a couple of days ago, along with a link to it being read aloud, in part by poet Henry Reed himself.

The website where I found the reading has a section on parodies of Reed's poems, mostly variants of "Naming...", and this one fits in particularly well with Foodie Sunday posts.

I don't know anything about E. V. Milner - who has almost no internet presence - or even when the poem was written, though they seem to have been active in the 1960s.

I have a feeling, from various little clues, that the TV cook who "warms to her theme with ardent, unflagging exuberance" is a restrained (non-libellous) version of Fanny Cradock, a name most US readers and UK ones under A Certain Age probably won't recognise.

Those who do might draw in a sharp breath between their teeth, because her notorious mistreatment of subordinates, i.e. anyone not her, led to the abrupt collapse of her career and an article some years ago calling her "Gordon Ramsay in a frock". :-P

This article might help, and of course there's a Wikipedia entry.

On with the poem!

Baking of Tarts by E.V. Milner

Today we have Baking of Tarts. Yesterday We had Simple Salads. And a fortnight tomorrow We shall have How to Garnish Cod Cutlets. But today Today we have Baking of Tarts. The viewers Ogle their screens in a flurry of breathless excitement, For today we have Baking of Tarts. This is the plastic mixing bowl. And this Is the rolling-pin and the board, whose use you will see In a moment. And this is the transparent oven Which in your case you have not got. The speaker Warms to her theme with ardent, unflagging exuberance, Which in our case we have not got. This is the strawberry jam which is neatly extracted With a gentle thrust of the spoon. And please do not let me See anyone licking his fingers. It is perfectly easy If you have any jam in your pot. The viewers Are silent and motionless, never letting anyone see Any of them licking their fingers. And this you can see is the lard. The purpose of this Is to prevent the pastry from sticking. We can smear it Rapidly backwards and forwards: we call this Greasing the tin. And rapidly backwards and forwards The viewers are fumbling for biscuits and spilling their coffee: They call it ruining the carpet. They call it ruining the carpet. It is perfectly easy If your mind is attempting to cope with the cookery expert While your hands are engaged in juggling with saucers and plates And trying meanwhile to secure a reasonable share Of the cheese straws, which in our case we have not got: For today we have Baking of Tarts.

:->

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Hey, do you by chance have any dialog prompts for internet friends? Thanks!

Hi! This reminded me of how letters can sometimes be similar to how "internet friends" communicate. So here are some examples that may be used as prompts:

“Send me the words ‘Good night’ to put under my pillow.” —John Keats to Fanny Brawne

“To say I apologise just seems to be inadequate. Please write to me soon.” —Hughes to a ticked-off Lowell (similarly, internet friends may argue; one may apologise, sometimes beg for a response)

“I am lonely, Neal, alone, and always I am frightened. I need someone to love me and kiss me and sleep with me; I am only a child and have the mind of a child. . . . It is pure pity that I beg now, not comradeship or love or sympathy.” —Ginsberg to Neal Cassady (similarly, internet friends may confess their emotional turmoils)

“When you write my epitaph, you must say I was the loneliest person who ever lived.” —Robert Lowell, in his letter to Elizabeth Bishop, recalls this message to have been said by her

“Why are you alone in London, and when do you go to Salisbury? Do go there to cool your hands in the grey twilight of Gothic things, and come here whenever you like. It is a lovely place and lacks only you; but go to Salisbury first.” —Oscar Wilde to Lord Alred “Bosie” Douglas

“How can Death get at the Unborn, go back before birth and look at death. Or look at death though a coffeecup or sharpen your pencil on it, protect the chair against it, don’t destroy the chance of a boulder to life.” —Snyder to Ginsberg (similarly, internet friends may not always be coherent in their messages)

“Teaching is a groove, I have total freedom, and my poetry class is full of interesting hip young minds.” —Snyder to Ginsberg (similarly, internet friends may talk [or gossip] about their daily lives; so-and-so is “one of the meanest cats in Japan” -Snyder)

“My main psychic difficulty . . . is the usual oedipal entanglement . . . I have been homosexual for as long as I can remember.” —Ginsberg to Wilhelm Reich (similarly, internet friends may verbalise their internal conflicts)

“I ask you for violence, in the nonsense, and you, you give me grace, your light and your warmth. I’d like to paint you, but there are no colors, because there are so many, in my confusion, the tangible form of my great love.” —Frida Kahlo to Diego Rivera

“Ah, how good it was to hear your voice. It was so inadequate to try and tell you what it meant. Funny was that I couldn’t say je t’aime and je t’adore as I longed to do, but always remember that I am saying it, that I go to sleep thinking of you.” —Eleanor Roosevelt to Lorena Hickok

“My heart has often been too full to speak or take any notice I am sure you know I love you well enough to believe that I mind your sufferings nearly as much as I should my own...” —Emma Darwin to Charles Darwin

“I composed a beautiful letter to you in the sleepless nightmare hours of the night, and it has all gone: I just miss you, in a quite simple desperate human way.” —Vita Sackville-West to Virginia Woolf

“...you are lavish with little secondary loves, like that night in Thiviers when you loved that peasant walking downhill in the dark, whistling away, who turned out to be me.” —Jean-Paul Sartre to Simone de Beauvoir

“Think of me, sometimes, when the Alps and ocean divide us, –but they never will, unless you wish it.” —Lord Byron to Teresa Guiccioli

Notes on writing internet friends' dialogue (similar to how people write letters):

Example: "Words in Air: The Complete Correspondence between Elizabeth Bishop and Robert Lowell" — Similar to these poets, your characters may lead very different lives, which you can make apparent in their dialogue:

For instance, Bishop's letters contain ardent descriptions of Brazilian flora and fauna, affectionate accounts of her humble neighbors in Petrópolis, and wry gossip about her upper-class social circle in Rio; whilst Lowell updates her on his tumultuous life with wives #2 (Elizabeth Hardwick) and #3 (Caroline Blackwood) and on the stateside literary scene.

Despite differences, your characters may still remain friends. Example: Bishop and Lowell's politics differed. Yet both tactfully avoided debating politics, and remained fast friends. (While Lowell was very publicly protesting the Vietnam War, Bishop was socializing with Brazil’s leading conservative politicians.)

Write your character's dialogue in a descriptive way. Unless they are sending one another photos or videos, most internet friends would be very vivid in their description. Example: In Hughes' 1956 letters, he frequently reported encounters with animals in a descriptive way (usually including his own interpretations): he’s sitting in a valley reading when a wildcat comes along and starts “to stare me out—very offensive”; he’s walking across a field when he sees a “beautiful cow” alienating the affections of a calf from a jealous horse.

Sometimes internet friends tell each other mundane things, like their dreams: For instance, in his letters, Hughes recounts, and attempts to analyze one, often violent animal dream, after another.

Also found this article on The Psychology of Social Media, which you might find useful.

Sources: 1 2

Hope this helps with your writing. Do tag me, or send me a link. I'd love to read your work!

[doyouknowthisactor]

By "roles" I mean playing a different character, and in a different piece of media; someone playing one character across a franchise only counts as one thing for the purposes of this poll, as does playing multiple characters in one franchise/piece of media

Below are some of this actor's roles. Please only check after voting!

8 Women as Pierrette

Elizabeth as Mary of Guise

Confidentially Yours as Barbara Becker

Nathalie... as Catharine

More roles

[bethanydelleman]

In an AU where Lizzy accepts Darcy's first proposal (purely bc she thinks it will help her family) do you think Darcy would still change for the better if she confronted him with his faults after the wedding? Or was the shock of being rejected necessary for that?

Okay, so, here is the problem with most Elizabeth Accepts First Proposal Darcy AUs, Elizabeth morphs into The Little Mermaid or freaking Fanny Price and completely loses her ability to speak.

Like this is Elizabeth freaking Bennet! She is not silent about stuff! I'm writing one of these stories right now, and she accepts his proposal (the change being that she didn't meet the Colonel so she didn't work herself into a mini-frenzy pre-proposal) and then lays into him, because why not? He'll either prove himself untrustworthy/dishounorable by breaking it off and then she hasn't lost anything anyway, or he'll reply and at least clear up the Wickham thing.

Elizabeth got into the Wickham stuff and then kind of lost her gumption during the ball, but it's important to her. I find it absolutely wild to imagine her marrying Darcy in any circumstances if she believes he doesn't honour legal documents. You know what wedding articles are? LEGAL FREAKING DOCUMENTS that protect women in marriages. It would be madness to marry a man with enough power and loop-hole-finding-ness to completely screw you over as a wife. Darcy has the best lawyers, Elizabeth has her drunk uncle, she is not that dumb.

Also, is he going to help her family if he screwed over her own sister? I would say probably not! Marrying him is not a great way to help her family at all really since she believes he'll basically cut her family off (or at least the Gardiners, as she thinks while at Pemberley).

So yeah, um, Darcy will change because Elizabeth is going to shock him no matter what. She's not shy, she is not that intimidated by him, and there is nothing to lose, she doesn't love him at that point anyway. Get him, Lizzy!

This response was brought to you by Amaretto and a cold.

Thoughts from the Next Morning (TW: Sexual assault):

So I've thought of various ways you could do a forced marriage scenario with E&D realistically and it's tricky. Perhaps if Elizabeth's father was actually dying (he might not even be that old and once a man reaches about 25, his life expectancy is about 60) or if one of Elizabeth's sisters was in a dire situation she might say yes. But remember, she thinks Darcy will never approach her again over Lydia and that's even after she thinks better of him! Why would he be willing to save her family, at least in her mind?

The most believable FMS would be if Elizabeth was sexually assaulted (not by Darcy) and was pregnant. In that situation I think she'd be willing to say yes, but honestly, I cannot see Darcy marrying someone pregnant by someone else even with all his ardent feelings. So Elizabeth would have to lie and that would probably ruin their marriage. Maybe not realistic. Elizabeth has strong principles and it would take a lot for her to say yes to Hunsford Darcy.

I wrote a FMS myself, but I used Fanny Price because 1. she's in a far worse financial position and 2. very unlikely to say what is bothering her. Elizabeth even critiques her father's parenting, which I am told was a big deal back in the Regency era! (It's called Unfairly Caught, by the way)

This is a farce version I wrote of Elizabeth accepting because her father is dying. And yes, it's funny not sad, Mr. Bennet is fine.

Oh, one last thing. Marriage is forever, so I think the shock of realizing you are married to someone who hates you would be still a very big hit. You'd basically have to work on yourself/the relationship or accept that for maybe the rest of your life you'd be unhappy. So yeah, I think you can do change after marriage in that context. (and also because Darcy doesn't have real huge red flag problems, like being abusive)

I hope I answered your question somewhere in there...

[adventuressclubamericas]

Adventuresses We Love – Fanny Bullock Workman

Adventuress Fanny Workman’s exploits included bicycling across Europe, Algeria, Egypt, and India, but she’s best remembered as one of the first female professional mountaineers. She was one of the first women to climb the Matterhorn and explored the Himalaya. But it’s her adventures on a pair of glaciers that we’re highlighting today.

It was on her first trip to the Himalaya that Fanny and her husband tackled Pakistan’s Skoro La Glacier. She reached its peak, which she named Siegfriedhorn after her late son. At 18,600 ft, this summit was the highest any woman had climbed at the time. She would go higher while exploring the peaks surrounding the glacier, and in so doing became the first woman to see K2.

In 1911/1912, Workman organized and led an expedition through uncharted territory to Pakistan’s Kaberi Glacier. It was a dangerous trek – one of her guides was killed when he fell into a crevasse, and Fanny herself was lucky to escape – but the band ultimately succeeded in their exploration. Near the end of it, on Silver Throne Plateau, at over 21,000 ft., the ardent suffragette unfurled a “Votes for Women” newspaper for what would become an iconic photograph.

With the onset of World War I, Workman retired from exploring and turned instead to writing and lecturing. She became the first American woman to lecture at the Sorbonne and one of the first women admitted to the Royal Geographic Society.

Adventuress Fanny Bullock Workman died Jan. 22, 1925, after a long illness. She was 66.

[acrossthewavesoftime]

could we hear some about Fanny Howe for the ask?

So basically, this started out as a little thing for @vankeppel, loosely based on the life of Frances Howe, née Connolly, wife of Sir William Howe, whom those of you who're into later 18th century history, and the Ameriican Revolutionary War, will recognise.

While there surprisingly was a recent book on the Howes, and the women in their family in particular, Frances "Fanny" Howe, especially when compared to her formidable sister-in-law Caroline, who wielded a very real political influence, playing chess with Benjamin Franklin and attempting to avert the war her brothers later fought in, remains always remains a tad elusive. Unjustly so, if you ask me.

While we enjoy tales of the heroic, for some people, to love, and to be love, was the height of their ambition in life-- to live quietly, happily. Frances and William Howe certainly aspired to that-- however, a grand family name, a need for income, and a war got in the way.

Here's a little snippet of their courtship in Ireland, where Frances and William first met:

“Perhaps we need not meet in secrecy much longer,” he began, and took his hand in hers. “Fanny dear, no, Frances, Frances Conolly, there is a question— something important that I should like to ask you— Fanny, I—”

She leapt from her vantage point, which was not quite so high, and into the surprised William’s arms, so that, when her feet touched firm ground again, they stood in a close embrace.

“Is your tongue tied, William? There: let me pose the question for you, for is not that what one does for the one to whom one has pledged one’s heart and soul, to complete him? William Howe, will you have me for your wife?”

His eyes widened in shock at her boldness, yet there was also some measure of relief in his bewildered expression, that soon melted into one of greatest joy: “O Fanny! Fanny, I— nothing I would like so much as that, yes, yes— though you must take me for a coward now—”

“What a pack of nonsense,” she chided him, and put a finger to his lip to end his speech.

In truth, she was surprised at her own forwardness, yet joy and love had made her bolder than she should ever have supposed she could be. “My William is brave, and I will hear no slander of his character, from any man, including himself.”

“You are too generous in your judgement of his character,” he added lowly, his voice quite moved, and atremble with the tears that stood in his eyes. “I have a ring also.”

And from his pocket, he drew a little box lined in green velvet, in which sat a ring of a ruby flanked by diamonds. He had thought it exceeding pretty, and very well suited to adorn Fanny’s hand, for it matched well the gown in which he had first seen her, so he told her, his talk clearly meant to hide the shaking of his own fingers when he slipped the ring onto hers; her hands were trembling also.

“It is very beautiful,” she whispered, and observed the stones sparkle, her breath taken away by his generosity; that he should wish to gift her something so precious, he should not have—.

“William, how could I ever thank you for it?”

“I am thanked every day by knowing of your existence, the privilege of being allowed to love you.”

“And you cannot know how ardently I love you,” she replied, and put her forehead against his. “And I have nothing to give to you in return—”

“It is the custom that the gentleman should proffer a token of his affection to the lady, not vice versa,” added he to assuage her conscience.

“No, that shall not do, William: If I have something of yours, you must have something of mine.” She reached into her hair, but little coiffured, and found a ribbon which she took, and put in a bow around William’s wrist.

“Now we are even, and you are as much mine as I am yours.”

“I shall be ever yours, Fanny. Yours only.”

[leblogdemarinaetjeanmarie]

SAMEDI 1er JUIN 2024 (Billet 4/4)

Faisant suite à « Apostrophe », Bernard Pivot, durant 10 ans, a présenté « Bouillon de Culture » sur France 2,

Chaque émission se terminait par le fameux « questionnaire de Proust ».

Dans la visionneuse nous avons choisi de vous montrer une séquence avec Marcello Mastroianni et Fanny Ardent.

Et vous, qu’auriez-vous répondu si vous aviez été invités par le célèbre animateur ? Si cela vous amuse, envoyez-nous vos réponses, avec votre accord, nous nous ferons un plaisir de les publier.

_______________________________

Votre mot préféré ?

Le mot que vous détestez ?

Votre drogue favorite ?

Le bruit que vous préférez ?

Le bruit que vous détestez ?

Votre juron, gros mot ou blasphème préféré ?

Homme ou femme pour illustrer un nouveau billet de banque ?

Le métier que vous n'auriez pas aimé faire ?

La plante ou l'animal dans lequel vous voudriez être réincarné ?

Si Dieu existe, qu'aimeriez-vous l'entendre vous dire après votre mort ?

[abwwia]

Fanny zu Reventlow

Countess Fanny "Franziska" zu Reventlow (Fanny Liane Wilhelmine Sophie Auguste Adrienne) 18 May 1871 – 26 July 1918) was a German writer, artist and translator, who became famous as the "Bohemian Countess" of Schwabing (an entertainment district in Munich) in the years leading up to World War I.

Reventlow is best known as one of the most unorthodox voices of the early women's movement in Europe.

While many of her peers were pressing for improved social, political, and economic rights for women, Reventlow argued that ardent feminists, whom she labelled "viragos," were actually harming women by attempting to erase or deny the natural differences between men and women. Reventlow maintained that sexual freedom, and the abolition of the institution of marriage, were the best means by which women could hope to achieve a more equal social standing with men. via Wikipedia

[lavongolla]

Discover the latest lender requirements from Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac that community associations need to know. Stay updated on recent changes, learn how they impact your community, and ensure compliance. Don't miss out on essential details and expert advice to help you navigate new lending rules!

[byneddiedingo]

Alberto Sordi in The White Sheik (Federico Fellini, 1952)

Cast: Alberto Sordi, Brunella Bovo, Leopoldo Trieste, Giulietta Masina, Ernesto Almirante, Lilia Landi, Fanny Marchiò, Gina Mascetti. Screenplay: Michelangelo Antonioni, Federico Fellini, Tullio Pinelli, Ennio Flaviano. Cinematography: Arturo Gallea. Art direction: Rafaello Tolfo. Film editing: Rolando Benedetti. Music: Nino Rota.

This antic comedy, Fellini's first solo feature, is about a young couple from the provinces honeymooning in Rome. The husband, Ivan Cavalli (Leopoldo Trieste), doesn't know that his new wife, Wanda (Brunella Bovo), is an ardent fan of a fotoromanzo (a magazine serial that tells a story in photographs). When Wanda finds out that the serial, The White Sheik, is produced just around the corner from the hotel where she and Ivan are staying, she sneaks out in hopes of meeting Fernando Rivoli (Alberto Sordi), the actor who stars in the series as the sheik. Meanwhile, Ivan has scheduled their stay in Rome, including an audience with the pope, down to the minute, so when his family gathers to join the newlyweds and Ivan discovers that she has disappeared, madness ensues. Wanda finds herself swept up by the company photographing the next installment of the series and being wooed by the lecherous Rivoli himself. Ivan indulges in frantic attempts to cover up his wife's absence. Eventually he meets up with the prostitute Cabiria (Giulietta Masina), whose story Fellini will tell five years later in Nights of Cabiria (1957). The White Sheik is remarkable enough for a debut feature, though it was quickly overshadowed by his next one, I Vitelloni (1953), which also featured Trieste in its cast. The White Sheik was only the second film for Trieste, who had appeared in a small role in Shamed (Giovanni Paolucci, 1947), for which he wrote the screenplay. He proved to be such an impressive character actor that he had a long career, with roles in such movies as Cinema Paradiso (Giuseppe Tornatore, 1988), The Name of the Rose (Jean-Jacques Annaud, 1986), and The Godfather: Part II (Francis Ford Coppola, 1974).

[arjaandsimoni]

The Everblooming Rose

Content warning: This story contains depictions of child abuse. Reader discretion is advised.

Covington Kentucky, late evening.

Stephen Fullmoon had enough, the twelve year old boy stalking away from his home, if you could even call it that, with a grim expression. He lived near his cousin Stephanie, a couple towns over in Covington, but it wasn’t a good situation. He wasn’t exactly dressed for the weather, a beat up and torn teeshirt, jeans that had seen better decades, a patched pair of glasses, and shoes that were more duct tape than not, but it’d have to do.

Yes, Stephen and Stephanie. They were born close together, and their mothers thought it was cute… but while the latter had a decent, if somewhat stressful family life given her brother being on the run and her mother keeping up her grandfather’s moratorium on magic use, Stephen’s life was anything but.

His father was an ardent supporter of his grandfather, but while he was a bit militant he had at least been tempered by Stephen’s mother, Diane Fullmoon… for the first couple years of his life, and the last couple years of her’s.

When Stephen was five years old his mother died of complications from pneumonia, and his father spiraled downwards hard. He started ignoring signs of supernatural activity in the area and instead turned his attentions to sales at the local liquor stores, all the while berating Stephen for one thing in particular: being a runt.

In Clan Fullmoon the men all had superhuman strength, while the women were all natural magic users who could control wind and shapeshift into bird-like forms.

However, despite being his son Stephen was no stronger than any mundane boy his age. Rather he tended to be shy, reclusive, and often bullied. His father’s inability to care about much of anything meant he would often have to go dumpster diving outside of Goodwill to get new (well, new to him) clothes, and this only fueled those who abused him at school even worse.

This wouldn’t be the first time he ran away, each of the other times his father would come after him once he was lucid enough and drag him home, snarling about how he was still a Fullmoon and he’d make a proper man out of him one way or another and then slide back into his old habits and ignore Stephen except to throw shit at him or berate him for his weakness.

However, tonight Stephen was walking a bit faster than usual through the mostly deserted streets of Covington. Mostly deserted because he’d realized a few blocks back he was being followed. He was still part of a Hunter clan, and he knew how to read some situations. He was clearly poor as dirt, had no money, and he doubted his father would pay any ransom… which meant they likely saw him as prey of some sort, whether in a figurative or very literal sense.

And then a shadow swooped over him above and a moment later a young girl walked into view, wearing a green silk sleeveless top and a denim skirt, along with a pair of easily removable flip-flop sandals, a fanny pack wrapped around her waist. Even in the dark her red hair shone like a torch. “Hey cousin!” waved Stephanie Fullmoon.

Stephanie had been a very dedicated witch since her friend Blake had been taken by the Fair Folk two years prior now, and while Stephen couldn't help her directly he had an intricate knowledge of Covington born of necessity from having to hide from his father. He found the bad things, his cousin got rid of them.

“Oh hey Steffi…” he replied as the girl fell into step next to him.

“You’re out late… running away from home again?” she asked, then in a low voice, “(I’ve been shadowing you for a couple blocks, those two are hard to shake huh?)”

Stephen nodded, “Yeah, I’m sick of it… let him get a punching bag or something, I’d rather wind up on a milk carton than stay home any more.” he grumbled, then replied low, “(They can’t be human, listen…)”

Click, clack, click, clack…

Stephanie blinked, “Yeah, I mean I’d ask mom if you could come stay with us, but you know your dad. That’d be the first place he’d look…” she sighed. “(They’re wearing heels? How are they keeping up with us in those?)”

He nodded, “It’d be nice… but I don’t want Aunt Cathy to have to deal with him…” he sighed, then replied, “(I know, I even ducked through some alleys earlier that had a lot of stuff in ‘em. Garbage and cracks in the pavement and stuff. They didn’t trip, not once.)”

Stephanie glanced back, “Well, you’re still my cousin… I wanna help…” she said slowly, then whispered, “(Run on three… one… two…)”

And then she spun around and “THREE!” she shrieked, and a blast of wind shot over their heads, knocking one of the figures back he turned and bolted. Stephanie kicked off her sandals and tucked them into her belt, and her run turned into a half-hop as her knees bent backwards, scales spreading onto them as feathers sprouted all along her arms.

She let out a loud sharp whistle and the wind caught under her newly formed wings, lifting her off the ground. She caught up with Stephen and knelt down enough for him to climb onto her piggyback, then let out another cry and they shot up into the air.

… or so they tried.

Several dark shapes shot over them from above, and then suddenly they were surrounded on either side by… “Are those old model planes?” asked Stephen, sounding confused as his head looked left and right as he held his glasses on with one hand.

“I... think so?” agreed Stephanie in a confused tone, then she shrieked as one of the planes dove at her, the propeller on it slicing off part of her feathers on one wing! She wobbled in the air, then angled downwards. “Watch out! The propellers are razor sharp! They’re trying to cut my wings!” she called back as they soared low… and as they did he saw the two figures from before racing along after them. Forget running in heels, they were almost sprinting!

“What in the heck… are they vampires or something?!” he asked, vampires would be an obvious choice to have that kind of agility, but Stephanie yelped again as her feathers were sliced on her left with with a loud buzzing sound like an electric razor.

“I gotta land! Hang on!” she called back, aiming for an old fenced off area behind a building. She soared down into it, the backyard overgrown and covered in refuse. It was once the lot of a store that had sold specialty goods in the 1970s, but it had been empty for years. Covington was full of such places.

She quickly shed her feathers and scales, changing back into her human form, then let out a loud whistle as another blast of air shot upwards, scattering the airplanes, smashing some into the wall of a building…

Then the two kids froze as they heard a voice from nearby. On the other side of the fence stood their land-based pursuers.

“Come with us little child…” said the one on the left.

“Our lady invites you to her land little child…” said the one on the right.

Stephanie frowned, then reached into her fanny pack and fished around before pulling out a pocket flashlight. It was powerful, ten tiny halogen bulbs could work as a spotlight in the dark and light up an entire closed room. She flicked it on and shined it right at their pursuers… then raised her eyebrows in surprise.

Two women who looked like nothing more than giant Barbie dolls stared back, their faces painted onto plastic heads, their hair clearly fake. They were dressed in wide brim hats and long coats, but in the light they could see it was two artificial people, toys the size of real adult women! When they spoke their lips didn’t move, their heads jerking a bit, but their voices were both clear and lyrical.

The two kids shuddered. This wasn’t just the Uncanny Valley, it was the mountains on the other side of it.

“Come with us little child…” said the one on the left again.

“The Everblooming Rose wishes to meet you…” said the one on the right.

Stephanie was confused, why hadn’t they just come at them? Then she noticed the thick gray fence surrounding the yard. A wrought iron fence! They couldn’t cross it, and there was one creature that couldn’t bear the touch of iron that immediately came to mind.

“Dammit… I gotta call my brother again.” sighed Stephanie Fullmoon.

Covington's Riverfront, the Next Evening

Underneath one of the bridges that crossed the Ohio River, connecting Covington to Cincinnati, along a brick wall that held the base of the bridge up, a doorway appeared. A silver door with a wolf’s head motif. The door opened and Nelen Fullmoon emerged, followed as always by his Cheshire companion Dawn.

A homeless man had been sitting there out of the weather and his head jerked up with a start, his eyes huge. "Holy shit... the rumors were true..." he said in a shaky voice.

Nelen sighed, reached into his bag, and took out an unopened bottle of Jack Danels. "This says you didn't see shit." he said, holding it towards him.

The homeless man grinned, then took the bottle and nodded. "Hehe! Damn right! Just call me Blind Drunk! Thanks Mister Person-Who-Ain't-Here!" he laughed, getting up and hobbling away as the door vanished behind them.

Nelen waited until he was gone, then pulled out his smartphone. “Freaking hell again… what is it with this part of the country and faeries?” he sighed, looking at Stephanie’s text again, along with the picture she’d managed to get of their pursuers.

Apparently, they’d stayed there all night and caught a bus back to Edgewood in the morning, Stephanie managing to deflect her mom’s anger at her sneaking out by telling her they had a ‘Code Neverland’ on their hands. Werewolves were the main focus of Clan Fullmoon’s efforts, but nobody from the Isles who knew of the supernatural doubted the danger the Gentry represented.

Stephen was hiding out at their house now, and his mother was ready to put her foot down if his dad sobered up enough to come collect him.

“Search me Nelen.” shrugged Dawn, “Maybe all the forests? Maybe they’re just really fond of Bluegrass? Maybe they’re just weird freakin’ faeries.”

He nodded, then followed her to the bus depot. They didn’t dare risk going home, but they were already set up at an EconoLodge near the highway. It wasn’t great, but it’d do for now. Once again Nelen’s thoughts went to how insane his grandfather’s loathing of magic usage was. It was far from his only objection to such though, the man was a one man war crime against the supernatural.

Clan Fullmoon hadn’t always been this way. They’d keep a lid on things, deal with predations that went too far or supernatural beings who tried to openly cause trouble, but if a vampire was sticking to blood banks, a werewolf was just living with their pack in the wilderness, or a mage was just putting on some especially entertaining shows for kids then they didn’t care.

Franklin had changed all that. Anything inhuman had to GO. Anything that even seemed supernatural was out. Some of the Clan whispered he wouldn’t stop until the world really was how the mundanes believed it, just humans and naught besides.

Apparently he’d left the Clan completely for several years before suddenly returning, killing the former Matriarch, his own mother in fact, in a duel over leadership, and claiming the position of Patriarch of Clan Fullmoon. Whatever had happened during those twenty years had turned an already hotheaded hunter into a genocidal maniac… but nobody dared oppose him. Eliza Fullmoon, his late mother, was no slouch when it came to magic, and he’d walked out of the fight without a scratch on him.

His first act as Patriarch was to outlaw the use of magic at all, even Clan Fullmoon’s inborn magical traits. Superhuman strength for the men was fine, but the women’s shapeshifting and wind power? Right out. No talismans, no cantrips, no spell books, no nothing.

Nelen always found that ludicrous, some foes you HAD to use magic against. You couldn’t stab a ghost, you couldn’t shoot a demon… but Franklin made it known anyone still openly practicing magic would be considered a traitor to the Clan and marked for death.

He sighed, “… and then he saw the news article about those four idiots and me and my life went to shit…” he grumbled under his breath.

Dawn glanced up, “… your gramps?” she asked as he looked back at her, “Yeah yeah, you always start griping about your granddad at some point when we come back here.” she smirked. “You spent the whole bus ride last time muttering to yourself. You think I can’t hear that with my ears?”

Nelen sighed, “Lets not forget he screwed both of us.” he pointed out, “One day we’ll have to deal with that, we can’t keep running from kill-squads forever you know.” he sighed as they got to the station, a bus heading across the river into Cincinnati rolling away with a loud hiss from the brakes as he sat, then pulled out a large tome. “Lets see…” he muttered, opening a book on faerie lore written in old Gaelic. A hell of a translation job, but it was the best resource he had.

A couple hours later, an EconoLodge further into Covington

Nelen looked up from his book, both his sister and cousin sitting on the bed across from his while their mother played lookout. She wanted this situation sorted out, risk of being seen with her banished son be damned. The Fair Folk were worth the risk.

“Okay… so… I think I figured out who this is.” he nodded, turning the book around and pointing to an old woodcut depicting a very young girl in a long flowing gown of flower petals, a head of raven black hair filled with blooming roses.

“She calls herself Isolde, and she’s one of the Spring Faeries. She represents children's desires and toys.” he nodded.

Stephen blinked, tilting his head, “That… doesn’t sound bad…” he muttered.

“Yeah, until she decides you’d make good fertilizer for her gardens kid.” he grunted. “She’s a powerful one, still a Lower Fae but right on the edge of becoming a Higher Fae apparently… She’s eons old, I wonder if maybe her role as a childhood faerie actually makes her stay a lower fae infact…” he nodded.

Stephanie nodded, though Stephen looked confused, “Uh… higher? Lower?” he asked, tilting his head.

They both looked at him, then Nelen sighed, “Right, of course your dad wouldn’t have told you this… look once this is all sorted go to the Covington Library and ask for Thomas. He’s an escaped changeling and manages their ‘rare tomes’ section. Tell him I sent you and he can give you a few books on the important stuff.”

Stephen nodded, blushing at the comment as Stephanie gave her cousin a one-armed hug. “Its okay Steve, I know what he means. I can tell you later.” she replied.

“Still, if she’s already sending her minions to collect you then shits already set to hit the fan. We gotta get you somewhere safe and I’ll have to face her down and see if I can’t drive her off. This could take more than just a nail gun and a hammer though…” he grumbled.

Stephanie nodded, “Yeah, um… the hammer was good last time, but… that black eyed kid was pretty easy to take down I noticed.”

Nelen frowned, “Yeah, as far as the fae go he was a small fry. Its why he resorted to trickery and only came personally. If she’s pulling this stunt… I mean sending two living doll women after you? That’s brazen. Either they had one hell of a glamour to keep mundanes from recognizing them, or she’s got some serious faerie boner for grabbing you Steve…” he looked at him, “But what would something like Isolde want with you? Her sphere is desires… but it can’t just be wanting to get away from Uncle Roger…”

At this the boy’s ear’s reddened, “I… I dunno… I mean I got out of the house and next thing I knew those two were following me…” he huffed.

Nelen raised an eyebrow, “You can’t think of anything? Maybe you picked up an abandoned toy she marked? Some sort of weird dreams lately? Anything?” he asked.

Stephen stood up suddenly, “NO!” he shouted, “Look, thanks for the save last night Steffi, but… I should probably head home before my dad realizes I’m missing.” he nodded firmly and before any of them could stop him he’d run to the door to the hotel room and wrenched it open, stomping off into the early  morning.

“… okay, that just happened…” muttered Nelen.

“Methinks the lad doth protest too much.” grinned Dawn. “Want me to tail him?” she asked.

“Damn right I do, hop to it.” he said as Dawn’s form suddenly shrank back down, a minute later a tortoiseshell cat was sitting on the windowsill in the room.

“Later guys!” she grinned, then vanished with a faint pop of inrushing air.

Stephanie frowned, “I… think I might have an idea…” she muttered, “But…”

Nelen looked at her, “Look, I get it. Faeries feed on vice and stuff like that and you might not wanna tell me what he’s getting up to… but it could save him from getting nabbed by this thing.”

Stephanie took a deep breath, “Okay, so last time he was at my house after running away from home I noticed…” she started.

A minute later it was Nelen’s ears that went red.

That same moment, Covington's Backstreets.

Stephen wasn’t going home, that was apparent fairly quickly as Dawn prowled after him, blinking from rooftop to rooftop to keep up. She saw him heading that way for a bit, then he ducked down a side alleyway and up two more, running between two shops and across a busy street to get to another side street to the point where even the Cheshire had to struggle not to lose him.

“Sheesh, does he know I’m on his tail?” she hissed, blinking to another nearby rooftop.

She narrowed her eyes as she saw him ducking into an abandoned lot. It was sandwiched between four shops, one on each side, but with a bit of fence that had a plank missing. Covington had a few spots like this, forgotten places that everyone thought someone else owned. A kid like Stephen though, always needing somewhere to hide out from the bullies or his ogre of a father, would seek these out at the first opportunity.

She blinked down into the yard, and then a moment later there was only an impression of glowing yellow eyes and a grin floating above the ground, then even those vanished as the overgrown grass rustled, the door moving just a bit as she crept inside.

“… look! I’m sorry, I’ll put it back where I found it okay?” came Stephen’s voice.

“Hmmmm… nope! You took it, you accepted my gift! You’re MINE!” giggled another voice.

“I don’t want it though! I had no idea it belonged to a faerie!” he protested.

Dawn stared, her unseen eyes going wide. Stephen was standing in the middle of an old shed, next to a full-length mirror, but the mirror didn’t reflect him… instead…

She looked innocent enough, but it was a match for that woodcut, just more modern… long black hair with ruby red roses blooming through it, glossy jet black eyes, lips the red of fresh cherries, and a dress made of massive flower petals. While the dress in the book was like a Victorian gown this one was more akin to a modern party dress a girl might wear to a wedding or other formal occasion, just made out of gigantic flower petals and leaves.

“Doesn’t maaaaaaaaatter… You took it, and now my dollies will come and bring you to me and we’ll be bestest friends forever and ever and eeeeeeeeeever!” giggled Isolde in the mirror, her lips spreading to reveal shining white teeth. “Oh we’re going to have SO much fun!”

Stephen shook his head, “JUST TAKE IT BACK! I’M SORRY! I’LL GIVE YOU ANYTHING ELSE!” he shouted, pointing his finger out… and Dawn followed it, and her invisible jaw dropped.

Nearby, on an old tailor’s dummy, was a dress. Not just a dress but a gorgeous gown! A confection of rose red satin and lace with puffed up sleeves and a long wide skirt, the kind of dress that every young girl dreamed of wearing for Halloween to play at being a princess for just one night…

And then she looked at him and whispered, “(… oh... oh hairballs…)” as quietly as she could. Seems it wasn’t just girls who dreamed of that.

And then Isolde giggled, “Oh, but thank you so much for coming back here.” she grinned wickedly, “It made it a lot easier to find you!" her eyes narrowed as suddenly the shed door was pulled off its hinges!

Two huge men stood there; their heads hidden by flat caps. One of them tried to squeeze in, then the other, then both, then they paused.

Isolde huffed, puffing out her cheeks in the mirror, “OH JUST RIP THE WHOLE FRONT OFF YOU SILLY OLD BEARS!” she snapped.

The two of them nodded, then each gripped the door frame on either side and pulled. The entire front of the shed popped free and was thrown behind them into the grass.

Dawn eeped and warped out of the way just in time as they reached in and grabbed Stephen, the boy struggling and screaming, “NO! LEMME GO! LEMMMUGPH!” he tried to protest as a rag was stuffed in his mouth by one, the other pulling a burlap sack over his head and tying it securely closed.

Dawn stared, wide eyed, as Isolde’s giggles filled the air. “Take him to the toy store!” she squealed in delight.

A minute later the shed was deserted, Dawn racing from rooftop to rooftop as fast as she could go to get back to the hotel.

Meanwhile, back at the Hotel.

“… so, he was wearing your old ballet leotard?” asked Nelen, “… is he, I dunno, transgender or something?” he asked.

Stephanie shrugged, her cheeks reddening by the rather personal talk she was having. “I dunno, I didn’t ask! I just pretended to be asleep until he put it back and didn’t bring it up! I mean, it was probably the only chance he ever had to do something like that, I didn’t wanna take that away from him… can you imagine if Uncle Roger found out?” she asked.

Nelen thought, then winced, turning a bit green. “Yeah, yeaaaaaah I can.” he nodded, picturing what the enraged drunken Fullmoon man would do, especially given his superhuman strength. “Gods I wish we could just call child services on him… but…” he sighed.

Stephanie nodded, “Mom tried that. After he sent three of their social workers and five cops to the hospital, they blocked our number.” she scowled.

Nelen frowned, “Shit, he probably dreamed it though, ten to one odds that’s how Isolde found him. From there its just laying a tra- FUCK!” he exclaimed as Dawn appeared on the bed next to Stephanie, the feline rapidly changing back into her mostly human form.

“GO GO GO! GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER AND MOVE IT GANDALF! SHE GOT HIM! THOSE THINGS ARE CARRYING HIM OFF NOW!” she yowled, her tail thrashing and her eyes wide.

The two Fullmoon siblings stared at her, then Stephanie’s hands went to her mouth and she let out a worried gasp as Nelen cursed, grabbing his bag. “DAMMIT! Where are they taking him?!” he demanded, searching around for the keys to the rental car he’d gotten.

“I DON’T KNOW!” she yowled, flailing her arms, “She said ‘the toy store’ but that’s it! Those things that grabbed him tore the front off the building he was hiding in! I can’t fight that! I had to come back and get you instead!”

Nelen cursed, “The ‘toy store?!’ Which one?! KB Toys? Toys R Us?” he snapped, “They’re all gone! They don’t exist anymore!”

Stephanie however, slapped her hands on the mattress, “Wait, I think I know what she meant! They’re all closed, but there’s still one that never got bought out! Johnny’s Toys! The one over by Latonia!” she gasped.

Nelen looked at her, “That’s still there?!” he asked.

“The building is! They never rebuilt it into anything! There’re even some rumors of people going missing in that area! Isolde must be using it as a gateway!” she nodded firmly, “It’s the only ‘toy store’ around for miles!”

“WELL WHAT THE HELLS ARE WE WAITING FOR?!” demanded the cat.

They both turned to her and snapped, “YOU TO PUT ON SOME PANTS!”

Five minutes later a blue Dodge peeled its way out into the street to a cacophony of car horns from the vehicles it cut off, shooting up Madison Avenue towards Latonia.

The Abandoned Johnny's Toy Store, Latonia

The two giant men parked the truck they’d appropriated in the weed covered overgrown lot of the abandoned building, the sign faded by years of neglect but still visibly reading ‘Johnny’s’ on it as they got their package out of the back. Silently they nodded to each other, then one of them threw the struggling sack over his shoulder as they stomped towards the entrance to the store…

To mundane eyes it was just a dark empty building… but Isolde’s glamour made it seem that way until her prey got inside. To anyone who had magic however the inside was lit up brightly now, a rose-colored fog pouring out of the door as soon as they got it unlocked…

Isolde strode out into the humid evening, grinning ear to ear, “You got him!” she giggled, nodding to the one holding him as he undid the rope and emptied the bag infront of her.

Stephen Fullmoon fell to the pavement with a loud ‘OOF,’ his glasses askew. He struggled them back into place, then scooted back from her only to find the other large man blocking his path.

“Shhhhh… shhh shhh… no more of that…” whispered the faerie girl, squatting down and grinning, “You’re not getting away this time, we’re going to have so… much… fun…” she sneered, taking his hands with a strength a girl her size shouldn’t have had, pulling him towards the doors of the abandoned store...

But the doors didn’t lead into a store, he could see a strange landscape through it. A literal Toyland of bright contrasting colors and strange music… it looked inviting, but that was the trap of Arcadia. It could always look inviting…

And then a blast of wind sent one of the giant men sprawling as reality burped and Stephen suddenly wasn’t there anymore, the boy now halfway across the lot with Dawn holding his shoulders as Nelen’s car squealed into the lot, tires doing a doughnut as he slammed the brakes before struggling out of his seatbelt and climbing out.

“ISOLDE!” he shouted, “He’s Clan Fullmoon! He’s already claimed by Morrigan, the Maven! You have no right to him!”

Isolde looked at where the boy was sitting, then stood up and glared at Nelen, “Oh I don’t?” she huffed, then sneered, “The Maven isn’t happy with your little Clan… that old geezer made her angry and she’s withdrawn her protection from you. He’s fair game…” she nodded, then grinned wickedly as Stephanie got out of the car as well, running over next to her brother, “… you all are…” she giggled, snapping her fingers.

There was a loud stomping sound from inside the store, then suddenly a platoon of man-sized toy soldiers came out into the parking lot, in shiny red uniforms and shako hats, but with all-too-real sabers with razor sharp edges.

“Hmm…” she narrowed her eyes at Nelen, “… well, half of you, but your cat looks like a real brat and I don’t want any gross icky grownups in my kingdom!” she spat. “Kill him and the Cheshire, take the other two!” she giggled, pointing a finger out as the toy minions turned to them.

Nelen growled, lashing out with Merihim’s power and sending a plastic soldier flying, the man’s body shattering into broken plastic as he hit the pavement as Stephanie let out another blast of wind, blowing away two more to crash into the building as the two who brought Stephen there stood and shed their mortal guises.

Nelen made a face, “… teddy bears?” The two were huge plush bears with shiny button eyes and soft furry bodies… and then they raised their soft pudgy hands and with a loud SHINK sound three massive blades burst free from the soft material at the end of each of their arms.

Nelen swore and dove out of the way as one of them slashed with the blades, leaving deep gouges in the rental car’s back door. “SHIT! Teddy bears with fucking claws!” he shouted.

Isolde giggled and clapped her hands, bouncing from foot to foot, “Hehehehe! Nobody keeps me from my new playmates! Not grownups or hunters or magic cats or ANYONE!” she squealed as Dawn tried to teleport Stephen away from another squad of toy soldiers advancing on him, but it was clear the cat was beginning to grow tired. Her ears were drooping, and she was breathing heavily. She could teleport herself with ease but taking other people with her exhausted her!

Stephanie wasn’t faring much better, she had to whistle or make some sort of sound to direct her wind magic, but there were simply too many without creating another massive windstorm and given all the bladed weapons now lying around that could do more harm than good! All it’d take is one sword getting caught in the gale and it could end up in the body of one of her allies!

Nelen glared, then heard a yowling sound and saw Dawn go flying, a toy soldier’s plastic fist slamming into her chin and sending her spinning into the bushes, unconscious. “HEY! THAT’S MY FUCKING DAUGHTER YOU LITTLE SHIT!” he snarled, generating a glob of crimson matter, and flinging it at the soldier, but it splattered harmlessly against him. Merihim’s power was of disease as well, the warlock able to inflict illnesses upon his foes, but these things were too far from humanity to be affected anymore!

Isolde giggled, “Won’t work, won’t wooooork! Good kids get their shots ‘n vacc-in-ations! No sick days in my lands!” she taunted, now sitting astride the shoulder of one of her bear minions. “Grab my new playmate and bring him in, then catch his cousin too! A pet bird to sing for me sounds fun!” she squealed, kicking her legs in excitement at all the chaos erupting around her.

Nelen glared at her, but the battle was not going well. The soldiers had Stephen surrounded, Dawn was down for the count, and Stephanie was barely able to conjure even a light breeze now, the girl’s face dripping with sweat as she tried and failed to whistle even a tiny bit.

Nelen looked down at his hands… “Shit…”

And inside his head, he heard a voice…

"You know what you gotta do Fullmoon…" it said.

“Like hell, I remember what you did last time…” he snarled.

"And this is worse? You really wanna let your sister become one of THEIR slaves just so I don’t get out?" it snapped in response.

He growled, then put his hands together and turned them, flexing his fingers so that they were aimed at the base of the bandages wrapped around his wrists.

“Just long enough to get rid of her, that’s it.” he spat.

"Sure sure, whatever… now LET ME RAMPAGE!" the voice demanded.

He gritted his teeth… and then there was a tearing sound, and the bandages fell to the pavement. “ISOLDE!” he roared, pointing his hands at her, palms outwards, as the faerie looked to him.

“Hmph, what do you… want…” she started, her voice faltering as her eyes grew wide.

The palms of Nelen’s hands had glowing red lines on them, making out a specific symbol, but it wasn’t just any shape. It was Merihim’s sigil.

Merihim was known by many names in the Pit. The Prince of Pestilence was one of them, and the Demon of Infernal Storms was another. He was a demon of hatred, vengeance, anger, and violence, and beyond protecting his summoner from the predations of vampires, which earned him the title ‘the Noontime Demon,’ he protected them from being possessed or mentally dominated as well.

He was in the blood, he was in their body… but now… he was about to ‘come out’ as it were. Literally come out! The sigils weren’t tattoos, he carved the sigil into his skin to bind himself to Merihim, and as long as the demon was in his body the wounds would not close!

Nelen glared at Isolde, then snarled, “Voco Te Merihim! Dominus Zomiel!” and the air suddenly tasted of hot copper and something not unlike blood began to seep from the wounds…

Then, the world went red as the Infernal Storm was unleashed!

Nelen cried out in pain as his skin went chalk white and a mass of bloody tendrils erupted from the sigils on his hands, smashing into the minions Isolde had summoned as the faerie girl fell to the pavement with a scream! One of the giant plush toys stomped forward and a half dozen of the tendrils lashed out at him, sprouting foot long razor-sharp fangs as they did! A moment later all that was left was a pile of blood-stained stuffing and scraps of material.

Isolde’s eyes were like black saucers, the fae woman scrambling back towards the door to the toy store as her soldiers were scattered, literally in some cases! Stephen ducked and covered as several tore apart the soldiers trying to drag him to Isolde, then rushed forward on all fours whimpering under his breath. He met up with Stephanie who was already hiding behind the car, her eyes wide.

“T-that… that… he…” he gasped.

Stephanie nodded to him, her eyes wide, “Mom said he did something bad… but…” she stammered, “That’s a demon!” The whole lot stank of brimstone and copper now, and she recognized the phrase.

‘Voco Te Merihim, Dominus Zomiel.’

‘I call to Merihim, Lord of the Outer Cortex of the Qlipha of the Black Sun.’

She didn’t know the exact translation, but she knew enough to know what a demonic invocation sounded like. Any hunter who didn’t want their skin turned inside out did. It helped to know when the best time to stop negotiating and shoot the cult leader was.

They’d had no idea. They thought that Franklin was just angry because Nelen had taught himself magic… but… Infernalism was banned by any hunter group with a drop of sanity and peering over the car they could see why.

The walls of the abandoned toy store sported deep gouges now, the toy minions were scattered, and Isolde was against the wall, her eyes huge. The faerie looked terrified! Hell demanded a tithe from Arcadia, and Merihim’s display showed exactly why they could do this.

Nelen stalked forward, his hands pointed outwards, tendrils of blood and fangs lashing the ground and ripping up chunks of the ancient parking lot. “Renounce your claim on Stephen Fullmoon, and leave.” he snarled, sweat running down his face and his eyes rimmed in bloody red as he fought to maintain control.

“Hellsworn… You burn your soul away to ashes by summoning him…” she whispered. “He’s mine! He took the gift! He accepted my favor! He is MINE!” she shook her head, then shrieked as several tendrils slammed into the wall around her.

“I don’t wish to have a faerie’s death curse on my head, but I’m already damned anyways. One of your kind called me a tithe-taker, want to be part of the next payment? RENOUNCE YOUR CLAIM AND LEAVE… NOW!” he roared, the last word making the air absolutely REEK of copper.

She screamed in fright, curling into a ball and looking to all the word like a terrified child, then nodded frantically, “ALRIGHT ALRIGHT! I, Isolde the Everblooming Rose, renounce my claim on Stephen Fullmoon!”

Nelen glared at her, “Get the fuck out of my town and don’t come back.” he growled.

Wordlessly, Isolde ran into the toy store, then the doors slammed shut and the windows dimmed and just like that it was an abandoned building. All around them the destroyed toy soldiers and plush minions crumbled to dust and ashes, blowing away on the wind.

Nelen growled, sweat beading on his forehead, as he forced Merihim back inside his body. “Dammit… HEY KIDS! Find Dawn! NOW! She knows how to use the spares!” he shouted.

The two Fullmoon kids jumped, then looked at each other, then back at him, and Stephanie looked at the pavement and gasped.

The bandages laying on the ground had a seal on the padding inside them. They weren’t just to hide the marks on his hands!

They ran to the bushes and pulled Dawn out of them, shaking her awake.

“Uuuhhhnnn… but DADDY I dun Wanna GO to THE veeeet…” she babbled, then shook herself and looked up, then saw him. “OH SHIT!” she exclaimed, then vanished and reappeared in the front of the car, throwing things out of Nelen’s bag before coming up with a pair of gauze pads and thick sturdy bandages, then vanished again and slapped one onto the palm of his left hand, quickly wrapping it tightly around it, before doing likewise with the other hand, then fell to her rear and took a deep breath. “That was close… did you REALLY have to let him out?” she asked.

Nelen took a long deep breath, then nodded, “Yeah, yeah I did. Isolde won’t come back to this area. Ever.” he smirked grimly, “This entire part of the country is safe from her forever now.”

He looked over at Stephanie, then at his car, which was now missing most of two tires and had a door practically torn off. “… well fuck.” he muttered. “That guy from Portland is gonna be pissed when that charge shows up.” After all, its not like he was going to use a credit card under his own name.

Stephanie coughed a bit, “Um, well… t-thanks for the save but that car isn’t going anywhere so, um… I’ll just fly Steve back home.” she coughed, then transformed and let him climb onto her back, managing to whistle up enough wind to lift herself up, then glide off to the north back towards Covington.

Nelen watched her go, then sighed, “Dammit…” he grunted, leaning against the wall.

Dawn looked at him, her ears folding back. “She didn’t know huh?” she asked.

“No. She didn’t know, but she heard me say the verse. Any Fullmoon knows what words like that do…” he grumbled.

Dawn nodded, “Yeah… we should probably head out tonight I guess?” she asked.

Nelen sighed, “Yeah, yeah we should. Summoning a demon definitely got some attention. Franklin will have a squad here by tomorrow.” he sighed, “Lets get the hell outta here.” he nodded, standing up.

Dawn let out a small chuckle.

“What?” he asked.

“Get the Hell outta here…” she said, then glanced away, “Eh, I thought it was funny… A bit…”

He shrugged, retrieving his bag from the car, then finding a big enough patch of undamaged wall. They weren’t supposed to use this in the open, but the lot was in a mostly abandoned part of Latonia anyways. He knocked on the wall to summon the door to the Wulfshead, then after opening it he and Dawn walked inside, the door vanishing as it closed.

Covington's Backstreets, Several Days Later

Stephen squeezed through the boards to the ruined shed, still missing its front. His father had been in a mood again and he hadn’t gotten away fast enough, his arms and cheek sporting some nasty bruises.

Nobody would help him; child services had written him off as a lost cause not worth the damage his father could do. “Even Arcadia can’t be worse…” he muttered, looking inside. “… Lady Isolde?” he tried, then stopped.

The mirror was a pile of shattered glass, and the dress was torn to pieces. Isolde’s gift was rescinded. He was safe from her forever… safe to stay in Covington, with his father… whether he liked it or not.

Isolde was a Queen of Spring, of childhood desires and flowers in bloom, but roses have their thorns and children have their tantrums, and to the childlike faerie mortals could simply be toys to break and discard.

Perhaps it may have been better than his home life, but whether the grass really was greener in her lands he would likely never know now.

Next Story

Previous Story

[jurijurijurious]

There are so many posts going around about movies people would love a 4 hour cut of and ofc I’m like.... 4 hours of “Elizabeth” please! But with a director like Kapur, who is a constant dabbler, who even says on the audio commentary of the film that there are so many bits he’d like to go back and change, I doubt we’d ever get a 4 hour cut out of him. He’d just be tinkering with it forever.

I recall on the audio commentary that Shekhar Kapur said they started filming “Elizabeth” with draft 4 of the script and ended up on draft 12A, or something ridiculous...?? The cast and crew must have despaired! So much was filmed then cut, I imagine there must be mountains of footage from old drafts and edits tucked away somewhere. It probably wouldn’t make a coherent movie but I’d watch the fuck out of it anyway!

There are still a few nods back to former cuts and drafts in the published screenplay and the novel, like (I’ll start with my fave... my pansexual slutboi Wals in a bordello, ffs!):

And let’s throw in Mary Queen of Scots already, we don’t have enough conspiracies:

And an extended coronation scene:

What’s that, you say, we need more conspiracies?? (There are traces of this in that small scene where Dudley is all teary eyed and Norfolk shouts across the room “Lord Robert, we are amazed you show your face at court!” or something like that... Men are whispering in the background about him being found in another woman’s bed and stuff.)

And there were moments like this - the Queen and Norfolk passive aggressively facing-off; a final olive branch offered but not accepted:

And let’s not forget the steamy Wals and Mary-of-Guise sex scene they stole from me the movie:

It ends there in the published screenplay but in the novelisation it is full on hot secks. I think the scene we have is sexy enough, tbh. (And listening to the audio commentary by the director, it sounds like Fanny Ardant would have had none of that, anyway. They needed a body double just for her dead-and-naked on the bed scene!)

Finally, I share this again from the novel because Wals saving Bess just makes my heart sing, though I cannot imagine how they would film this. Getting poor old Geoff to walk across a load of moving boats and sweep Cate Blanchett up into his arms would have been a big ask. ;) But I love the idea of it...

Oh Wals, you hero...  🥰

[bethanydelleman]

I posted 478 times in 2022

That's 478 more posts than 2021!

246 posts created (51%)

232 posts reblogged (49%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@thatscarletflycatcher

@taciturn-nerd

@firawren

@redwooding

I tagged 412 of my posts in 2022

Only 14% of my posts had no tags

#jane austen - 282 posts

#mansfield park - 135 posts

#pride and prejudice - 116 posts

#fanny price - 67 posts

#sense and sensibility - 62 posts

#emma - 52 posts

#elizabeth bennet - 48 posts

#persuasion - 45 posts

#northanger abbey - 43 posts

#reblog - 42 posts

Longest Tag: 134 characters

#i want to make a huge spreadsheet and rate every physical description by reliability and objectiveness but when would i find the time!

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Mr. Collins was not a sensible man, and the deficiency of nature had been but little assisted by education or society... Having now a good house and a very sufficient income...

I really dislike adaptations have made Mr. Collins older than his actual twenty-five years. It seems like they want to lean into the Gross Older Relation I Must Marry trope but that is NOT what is happening here and I think it’s more significant to recognize the truth.

As far as Elizabeth knows, there is nothing wrong with Collins. He doesn’t gamble (or he wouldn’t go on about it at the party), we don’t see him get drunk (Uncle Phillips is hinted to do that), he doesn’t seem violent/prone to outbursts of temper (he could have when Lydia was rude while reading), and he’s not ugly as far as we know. His manners are very formal, which isn’t really shown in adaptations either. And he’s young, he’s only four years older than Elizabeth.

The point is not that he’s a GORIMM. I think the point is that he’s fine, but Elizabeth knows she’ll never like him and that’s enough. Mr. Collins offers a good deal: domestic security, future wealth, and no danger. However, Elizabeth understands that without intellectual compatibility, she will be unhappy. This is what makes her a heroine.

By making Collins old and kind of gross, the adaptations actually erase a lot of Elizabeth’s motivations and strength. The reaction to Collins becomes more visceral than intellectual, and that’s a problem.

489 notes - Posted November 15, 2022

#4

Jane Austen Charted #4

Darcy’s Irrepressible Feelings Graphed

X Axis: Time

Y Axis: Level of Ardent Love

Also included: Proposal DANGER line

497 notes - Posted November 23, 2022

#3

The Wickham Fund

According to Darcy, he paid Wickham 3000 pounds instead of his inheritance.

According to Mrs. Gardiner, Darcy paid approximately 3000 pounds to secure the wedding of Wickham and Lydia.

Obvious Conclusion: Mr. Darcy has a 3k Emergency Fund that he keeps having to use for Wickham.

509 notes - Posted August 9, 2022

#2

Jane Austen’s Warning:

A lot of people tell me the Mrs. Smith/Mr. Elliot plot is a lose thread or Jane Austen would have went back and fixed it, but when you read all of her books it's a very clear repeat of an important theme: men are often not what they appear.

Northanger Abbey: Don’t just trust your brother when he tells you his friend is a good guy, judge for yourself. It was John Thorpe, your brother was dead wrong. Also, your creepy feelings about General Tilney were right, just more mundane.

S&S: The passionate, open, charming fellow who is obsessed with your sister? Turns out he’s a debt-ridden, teenage-seducer. It was good to doubt him, Elinor, he wasn’t being completely straight with you. The good ones have honour.

P&P: Superficially charming man is super bad news, man with snobby manners has a heart of gold underneath. Elizabeth is intelligent, the novel shows us that anyone can be drawn in. Elizabeth was unwilling to change her first impressions and take in new information.

Mansfield Park: Some men pretend to be in love for fun, Fanny’s clear-sighted judgement of Henry Crawford keeps her safe from his attack on her heart. We are shown that these men can seduce friends and guardians against you. Fanny refuses to “fix” Henry or accept him on his word, he needs to show her that he has changed before she will.

Emma: The superficially charming man was already engaged and was tricking you! The other charming, attractive man was actually a petty jerk! The plain-spoken, honest man was always the better choice.

Persuasion: Anne has a gut feeling that she can’t fully put words to about Mr. Elliot that he is bad news. She cannot even fully justify it to herself. ANNE, YOU WERE RIGHT.

Again and again, we are told that women need to trust their judgement, look for more evidence into a man’s character/past, and mistrust charm/looks without a basis of goodness. Anne figuring out that Mr. Elliot is evil isn’t anti-climactic, it’s a proof that her judgement is sound. It’s a reminder that one should never rush into a marriage without knowing more about a man’s past. Because for a woman especially, it can end horribly.

544 notes - Posted August 24, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Jane Austen associating the word "rational" with women over six books:

Do not consider me now as an elegant female, intending to plague you, but as a rational creature, speaking the truth from her heart. - Elizabeth Bennet, Pride & Prejudice

“But I hate to hear you talking so like a fine gentleman, and as if women were all fine ladies, instead of rational creatures. We none of us expect to be in smooth water all our days.” - Mrs. Croft, Persuasion

She dearly loved her father, but he was no companion for her. He could not meet her in conversation, rational or playful. - Emma Woodhouse, Emma

“Oh! never, never, never! he never will succeed with me.” And she spoke with a warmth which quite astonished Edmund, and which she blushed at the recollection of herself, when she saw his look, and heard him reply, “Never! Fanny!—so very determined and positive! This is not like yourself, your rational self.” Fanny Price, Mansfield Park (we know that this is very much her rational self, also after a marriage proposal)

Elinor agreed to it all, for she did not think he deserved the compliment of rational opposition. -Elinor Dashwood, Sense & Sensibility

You talked of expected horrors in London—and instead of instantly conceiving, as any rational creature would have done, that such words could relate only to a circulating library, - Henry Tilney, teasing his sister, Northanger Abbey

598 notes - Posted November 19, 2022

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