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spongebobpentagonpants · 1 year ago

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Four Steps To Wisdom by Anthony De Mello

The following is the 26th chapter in “AWARENESS: Anthony de Mellow Spirituality Conference in His Own Words”, by Fr. Anthony de Mello, S.J. edited by J. Francis Stroud, S.J., Copyright © 1990 by the Center for Spiritual Exchange

“The first thing you need to do is get in touch with negative feelings that you’re not even aware of. Lots of people have negative feelings they’re not aware of. Lots of people are depressed and they’re not aware they are depressed. It’s only when they make contact with joy that they understand how depressed they were. You can’t deal with a cancer that you haven’t detected. You can’t get rid of boll weevils on your farm if you’re not aware of their existence. The first thing you need is awareness of your negative feelings. What negative feelings? Gloominess, for instance. You’re feeling gloomy and moody. You feel self-hatred or guilt. You feel that life is pointless, that it makes no sense; you’ve got hurt feelings, you’re feeling nervous and tense. Get in touch with those feelings first.

“The second step (this is a four-step program) is to understand that the feeling is in you, not in reality. That’s such a self-evident thing, but do you think people know it? They don’t, believe me. They’ve got PhDs. and are presidents of universities, but they haven’t understood this. They didn’t teach me how to live at school. They taught me everything else. As one man said, ‘I got a pretty good education. It took me years to get over it.’ That’s what spirituality is all about, you know: unlearning. Unlearning all the rubbish they taught you.

“Negative feelings are in you, not in reality. So stop trying to change reality. That’s crazy! Stop trying to change the other person. We spend all our time and energy trying to change external circumstances, trying to change our spouses, our bosses, our friends, our enemies, and everybody else. We don’t have to change anything. Negative feelings are in you. No person on earth has the power to make you unhappy. There is no event on earth that has the power to disturb you or hurt you. No event, condition, situation, or person. Nobody told you this; they told you the opposite. That’s why you’re in the mess that you’re in right now. That is why you’re asleep. They never told you this. But it’s self-evident.

“Let’s suppose that rain washes out a picnic. Who is feeling negative? The rain? Or you? What’s causing the negative feeling? The rain or your reaction? When you bump your knee against a table, the table’s fine. It’s busy being what it was made to be—a table. The pain is in your knee, not in the table. The mystics keep trying to tell us that reality is all right. Reality is not problematic. Problems exist only in the human mind. We might add: in the stupid, sleeping human mind. Reality is not problematic. Take away human beings from this planet and life would go on, nature would go on in all its loveliness and violence. Where would the problem be? No problem. You created the problem. You are the problem. You identified with ‘me’ and that is the problem. The feeling is in you, not in reality.

“The third step: Never identify with that feeling. It has nothing to do with the ‘I’. Don’t define your essential self in terms of that feeling. Don’t say, ‘I am depressed.’ If you want to say, ‘It is depressed,’ that’s all right. If you want to say depression is there, that’s fine; if you want to say gloominess is there, that’s fine. But not: I am gloomy. You’re defining yourself in terms of the feeling. That’s your illusion; that’s your mistake. There is a depression there right now, there are hurt feelings there right now, but let it be, leave it alone. It will pass. Everything passes, everything. Your depressions and your thrills have nothing to do with happiness. Those are the swings of the pendulum. If you seek kicks or thrills, get ready for depression. Do you want your drug? Get ready for the hangover. One end of the pendulum swings to the other.

“This has nothing to do with ‘I’; it has nothing to do with happiness. It is the ‘me.’ If you remember this, if you say it to yourself a thousand times, if you try these three steps a thousand times, you will get it. You might not need to do it even three times. I don’t know; there’s no rule for it. But do it a thousand times and you’ll make the biggest discovery in your life. To hell with those gold mines in Alaska. What are you going to do with that gold? If you’re not happy, you can’t live. So you found gold. What does that matter? You’re a king; you’re a princess. You’re free; you don’t care anymore about being accepted or rejected, that makes no difference. Psychologists tell us how important it is to get a sense of belonging. Baloney! Why do you want to belong to anybody? It doesn’t matter anymore.

“A friend of mine told me that there’s an African tribe where capital punishment consists of being ostracized. If you were kicked out of New York, or wherever you’re residing, you wouldn’t die. How is it that the African tribesman died? Because he partakes of the common stupidity of humanity. He thinks he will not be able to live if he does not belong. It’s very different from most people, or is it? He’s convinced he needs to belong. But you don’t need to belong to anybody or anything or any group. You don’t even need to be in love. Who told you you do? What you need is to be free. What you need is to love. That’s it; that’s your nature. But what you’re really telling me is that you want to be desired. You want to be applauded, to be attractive, to have all the little monkeys running after you.

“You’re wasting your life. Wake up! You don’t need this. You can be blissfully happy without it. Your society is not going to be happy to hear this, because you become terrifying when you open your eyes and understand this. How do you control a person like this? He doesn’t need you; he’s not threatened by your criticism; he doesn’t care what you think of him or what you say about him. He’s cut all those strings; he’s not a puppet any longer. It’s terrifying. ‘So we’ve got to get rid of him. He tells the truth; he has become fearless; he has stopped being human.’ Human! Behold! A human being at last! He broke out of his slavery, broke out of their prison.

“No event justifies a negative feeling. There is no situation in the world that justifies a negative feeling. That’s what all our mystics have been crying themselves hoarse to tell us. But nobody listens. The negative feeling is in you. In the Bhagavad Gita, the sacred book of the Hindus, Lord Krishna says to Arjuna, ‘Plunge into the heat of battle and keep your heart at the lotus feet of the Lord.’ A marvelous sentence.

“You don’t have to do anything to acquire happiness. The great Meister Eckhart said very beautifully, ‘God is not attained by a process of addition to anything in the soul, but by a process of subtraction.’ You don’t do anything to be free, you drop something. Then you’re free.

“It reminds me of the Irish prisoner who dug a tunnel under the prison wall and managed to escape. He comes out right in the middle of a school playground where little children are playing. Of course, when he emerges from the tunnel he can’t restrain himself anymore and begins to jump up and down, crying, ‘I’m free, I’m free, I’m free!’ A little girl there looks at him scornfully and says, ‘That’s nothing. I’m four.’

“The fourth step: How do you change things? How do you change yourselves? There are many things you must understand here, or rather, just one thing that can be expressed in many ways. Imagine a patient who goes to a doctor and tells him what he is suffering from. The doctor says, ‘Very well, I’ve understood your symptoms. Do you know what I will do? I will prescribe a medicine for your neighbor!’ The patient replies, ‘Thank you very much, Doctor that makes me feel much better.’ Isn’t that absurd? But that’s what we all do. The person who is asleep always thinks he’ll feel better if somebody else changes. You’re suffering because you are asleep, but you’re thinking, ‘How wonderful life would be if somebody else would change; how wonderful life would be if my neighbor changed, my wife changed, my boss changed.’

“We always want someone else to change so that we will feel good. But has it ever struck you that even if your wife changes or your husband changes, what does that do to you? You’re just as vulnerable as before; you’re just as idiotic as before; you’re just as asleep as before. You are the one who needs to change, who needs to take medicine. You keep insisting, ‘I feel good because the world is right.’ Wrong! The world is right because I feel good. That’s what all the mystics are saying.”

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theboredandkindaweirdhistorian · 3 years ago

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Apples and Tilly trees or a lingustic excursion in Narnia translation

a bit too deep dive by yours truly, since @loveliness-and-prattle and @keendaanmaa asked so nicely on a "how do you pronounce Calormen" post and I love this niche subject a tad bit too much.

Some basics: I'm from Slovenia, Slovene is my mother tounge and I love it, I think it's fascinating. It's part of the Southern-Slavic language group, and due to its historical development it shares certain traits and words with Germanic, Romanic and Eastern-European languages. A true linguistic parkland of grammatical diversity that would make Pulverulentus Siccus weep tears of pure joy, no doubt.

The first time Lewis's The Chronicles of Narnia (published 1950-1057) were translated was in the 1990s, well after Slovenia's independence in 1991. I suspect the reason behind such a late publication lies in the fact that Lewis is a known and influential Christian apologetic, and the socialist government of Yugoslavia enforced quite a censorship on anything that smelled remotely like foreign or religious press. Proprietors of such publications found themselves under surveillance, in interrogation or even prison and the material confiscated. The first translation was made by a man who was primarily a historian, a wery-well read one; his language style is somewhat archaic, but in the very best sense, like fine wine. The newer translation was made after the popularity and interest soared with the 2005 film, produced and printed by the more secular publishing house with one of their own translators for foriegn children's books. Its expressions are more simplistic, adapted to what millenials like myself at that age would understand but in my taste somewhat lacks the archaic quality, which I noticed only after reading the English original. But more later in examples, as most of this might make zero sense to anyone who knows nothing about Slovenian language. That's on the style of translation.

And now on translating examples, for which you are here: is it a literal translation, an adaptation to help Slovene pronounciation or has it not changed? Well, a little bit of everything I guess. I shan't write all the translations, just the titles and lands and main characters.

The translations of book titles (in publication order):

(o.t. - older translation), (n.t.-newer translation), (b.-both)

The lion, the witch and the wardrobe - Lev, čarovnica in omara (b.) Literal translation.

Prince Caspian - Princ Kaspijan (b.) Caspian's personal name was adapted to the way it's pronounced in English - "C" is pronounced as "K" and the ending "-ian" gets a "j", which in Slovenian is pronounced much like how the Germans pronounce the letter "j"; a small sound, but to be included.

The voyage of the Dawn Treader - Potovanje Jutranje zarje (o.t.) - mostly literal, though it's interesting how the name of the ship "Dawn Treader" is translated as "Jutranja zarja", literally "morning dawn". If "treader" as in someone who treads, a wayfarer, would be translated too, it would be more like the newer translation, "Potovanje Potepuške zarje" (n.t.), as "zarja" means "dawn" and the adjective "potepuške" describes someone who travels, but more in the sense of a vagabond, a stray, in a negative sense.

The silver chair - Srebrni stol (b.) literal translation.

The horse and his boy - Konj in njegov deček (o.t.), literal, though the use of word "deček" for "boy" is grammatically more corect, it's becoming almost archaic in Slovene, this is probably why the newer version opts for "Konj in njegov fantič"(n.t.), which is a more used word for "boy" though it's a miniscule of "fant", grammatically speaking only acceptable in conversational Slovene and stylistically marked.

The magician's nephew - Čarovnikov nečak (b.) literal translation

The last battle - Poslednja bitka (n.t.) is a litteral translation, and semantically slightly more correct than the older version, "Poslednji boj" (o.t.). "Bitka" means battle, and "boj" means more a fight, or even battle in a broader, archaic sense, which is why its translator probably used it.

On lands' names:

In "Narnia", the "i" in Slovene version gets a "j", as "Caspian" did above, so "Narnija". Simmilar with "Calormen", just the "C" is replaced with "K" so "Kalormen". Telmar stays the same, Anvard is the same, so is Cair Paravel. Tashbaan is just adapted to "Tašban"; letter "š" marks the sound of "sh". Likewise in Charn, the sound "ch" is written with the letter "č", so Čarna. The -a suffix at the end indicates that Čarna has a feminine grammatical gender, as do almost all countries in Slovenian language. In Slovenian, inanimate objects can have either feminine, masculine or neutral grammatical gender because of its declination, like in German and Latin.

"Archenland" is calqued to "Pradežela", an ancient land, so are some of the parts in Narnia, like Dancing Lawn, The Stone Table, Beaversdam, The Lantern Waste, Western Woods. Some port and island names from VDT are also calqued, like Narrowhaven, which becomes "Tesnaluka" (ot.), a literal translation meaning "a narrow haven". The newer "Zakotnjan"(n.t.) is not a calqued, but a somewhat translation, which sounds a bit funny, because it means "that place/town in the corner", as in off-hand, remote, forgotten.

Personal names:

The children's names were mostly just adapted to the Slovene version, as we too have people named Peter, Suzana (Susan) and Lucija (Lucy). Edmunds are rare, so it just stayed the same. Digory Kirke was unchanged. Polly Plummer was just changed to Poli (n.t.) (as "y" is pronounced as "i")(couldn't get info on the old version). Jill Pole was called Julija Pol (o.t.), which is closer to Juliet and the last name stayed the same. The newer version names her Jelka Preklar (n.t.) a somewhat literal translation, as "pole" as in a wooden post, a bigger stick also called "prekla" in Slovene. This word is usually used to describe lanky, tall people, in a slightly joking manner. "Jelka" means "fir tree" and is a normal female name here. So she too, gets a bit of an unfortunate name, like her friend, Eustace Clarence Scrubb. He was translaed to "Evstahij Grmič" (o.t.), "grmič" meaning more of a small shrubbery, whereas the newer verion is very unfrogiving with "Ščetka", literally a scrubb or a brush. Either way, it is as unfortunate as Lewis intended, so mission accomplished I guess. Though it would be noted, that the older verion declinates the female person's last name, so it's not "Julija Pol" but rather "Julija Polova", so the last name takes the form of an adjective (like Russian names).

We already saw what happend to Caspian's name, so maybe just note that all his descendants and friends, whose names end in "-ian" also get that phonetic "j"- so Drinijan, Rilijan, Tirijan.

Aslan stays the same. It means Lion in Turkish, but i bet you knew that.

The creatures mostly get translated names (Bree and Hwin being exceptions with only phonetical transcription - Bri and Hvina- and Tumnus staying the same), I'll just mention some I found interesting: Reepicheep becomes "Repicvil" (o.t.) meaning "Squeaktail", and "Cviličil" (n.t.) meaning "Squeaker". Kinda disrespectful, but I guess they were trying to mimic the onomatopoea of his name. Dufflepuds get to be "Cepetački" (n.t.) meaning someone with restless small stamping feet and "Traponogci", "silly-feet". Puddleglum is "Mlakočmer" (o.t.) which is a literal translation, and "Tarnavko" (n.t.), which means "Complainy" or "Whiny" and has nothing to do with puddles.

Interestingly, the villains mostly get to keep their original names: Jadis, Miraz, Rabadaš. The exception is Shift, becoming "Zvitež" (o.t.), which is a close translation (means cunnig, shifty), and "Lumpež" (n.t.), meaning naughty person, a rascal. And Lady of the Green Kirtle just gets literally translated to "Gospa Zelene obleke" (o.t.) and "gospa zelenih oblačil" (n.t.), though this last one has "oblačil" which just means clothing in general, whereas "obleke" does mean a dress specifically.

To conclude this already unseemingly long Kranjska sausage of a post, i would like to say that the reason behind the translator's choice to change names was simply to bring the story closer to the reader. Because it's a children's book and children do not usually posess vast semantic and etimological knowledge, especially not in a foreign tounge, so it's much more reader-friendly to translate names to something that has the same meaning or adapt to correct pronounciation when a name is just a name. This sort of linguistic fiddling is later fun to a 20-something Narnian with an amateur's love for comparative translations. I hope I gave you some idea how translating worked in this particular case, and if you have any interesting translational comparisons from other languages, please share them, I would love to see them. Also if you have any specific questions on the topic, feel free to send me an ask.

On my personal experience in translating: I'm an amateur, my only experience comes from making subtitles for films/series for viewing with friends who don't understand English so fluently as not to need subtitles. But I learned a lot, also by watching/listening to some really bad examples of dubbing/subtitles.

I could also tell you about how some translators here in Slovenia became somewhat famous because they translated some of the biggest works of fiction to Slovene, but that's a bucket of sardines for another round of tea.

As it goes, thank you for reading this far. I really appreciate it.

#narnia in translations #cs lewis #languages and translations #narnia #the chronicles of narnia #zgodovinarjev šiček

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caffeineivore · 5 years ago

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For @apsaraqueen

This was written as cheerupemofic for BAMF a few weeks-ish ago, I think? Never got around to posting it but here it goes. Somewhat experimental R/J. Some angst but... it’s, uh, for BAMF? So. Yeah.

***

“Love is so short, forgetting is so long.” - Pablo Neruda

The Moon is beautiful and stately, all marble palaces and graceful domes, but leached of colour in an eerie wash of silvery white. Jikokuten takes a knee in the throne room and looks askance at the royals, for even they blend into this ghostly dream-world with their pearlescent gowns and platinum locks. The weather and grounds are flawless, not a single leaf or stone out of place. It’s almost too perfect-- ominously so-- and to one whose kingdom only dons white for mourning, it’s jarring.

And then he sees the High Queen’s court file in, the warrior princesses of legend, flanking the throne two by two, and there she is, a spot of scarlet in the sea of white. Ebony hair and auspicious red skirts, eyes like the twilight sky before it turns full dark. He blinks, and his heart stutters.

II.

The sheep are languishing in the heat, and getting leaner by the day with nothing but dry brush to eat, and Jochi coaxes some of his own water onto the littlest and weakest of the lambs. It’s foolish, and more than likely the little animal would die anyway, too malnourished to survive the drought which had blighted the steppes this summer. His father had always railed at him for being too soft-hearted, too foolish and un-Mongolian, but a part of Jochi always had perhaps too much sympathy for the foundlings and the weaker ones. There is a nebulous memory, perhaps not his own, of standing up for a boy with eyes like the open sky and a shock of black hair from-- what? He doesn’t quite know.

He hears the sound of hoofbeats-- it is a grand procession, the entourage of one of the Khans, and that is both blessing and curse, for they would surely bring much-needed supplies and victuals if returning from a successful raid, but just as surely would bring death and doom against any interlopers or opposing factions. Jochi’s yellow hair would stand out like a beacon, and so he pulls up his hood despite the summer heat and draws back into the shadows to watch the group. The warriors are fearsome indeed astride their ponies, bows and sabers at the ready. There is an iron-haired Chieftain at the forefront, proud and indomitable with eyes as fierce as a falcon’s. And then right behind him, dwarfed by the stalwarts flanking her, must be the clan’s princess, wearing a fine red dress and ornaments of silver and amber around her neck and atop her raven hair. She’s beautiful, with eyes as fearless as her Sire’s, but more so, something about her face strikes such a pang in Jochi that he forgets himself, and steps forward, right into the path of the procession. He’s knocked senseless not a moment later under the marauding hooves, but he only has eyes for the desert-mirage loveliness of the princess’ face.

III.

Jun doesn’t meet Ru-Yi until the wedding. She’s brought over to his familial estate in a lavish palanquin, amidst loud, raucous music and the rapid pops of firecrackers, and escorted to the altar by the servants to kneel next to his older brother Kai. As the heir apparent, it is imperative that Kai make a good marriage to a wife who would not shame him and brings all the right assets to the match, and Ru-Yi’s father is a very wealthy, powerful man. The newlyweds courtesy to their parents and each other, and then someone lifts the bride’s red veil away from her face, and Jun almost drops his goblet of wine. It is a stunningly elegant face, all cherry lips and willowy brows, but what’s more, though he’s certain he has never met her before, it’s somehow familiar. She, too, seems to feel it, because her eyes linger on his for a moment too long, a thin line of confusion drawing between those brows, before she turns away with a bland smile for the procession of well-wishers.

Despite the many presents of dates and lotus seeds on the wedding day, and, months and years later, the foul-smelling tonics and powders, she never bears Kai any sons, and Jun watches, heart heavy, as Kai takes on one concubine after another, carouses in the brothels night after night, as the lines between Ru-Yi’s brows grow deeper and deeper with cheated joy and thwarted wishes. He doesn’t care if she doesn’t bear any sons, but she’s not his concern-- will never be his concern. There are flowers left on her doorstep in the mornings, still wet with dew and with neither name nor note. It’s poor consolation for both of them, but she’s not his to love.

IV.

The air is arid and far too hot, almost tinged the same turmeric-yellow as the hot sun blazing down overhead. Captain Geoffrey Lindhurst with Her Majesty’s navy had been in India for all of four months, and is still getting accustomed to the local climate, so different from the ever-present London fog. The local food, too, is a far departure from the starchy Sunday roasts and meat pies and puddings of his boyhood, with its exotic spices and bountiful portions. The servants at his bungalow are politely quiet and do their tasks without complaint, but he has the sense that there is far more to their lives and customs than the scant glimpses that he sees now and then.

He’s out taking a walk on a balmy evening, and passes by one of the temples. He knows nothing of the religious beliefs of the locals, with their somewhat-fearsome-looking, animalistic gods with their fiery eyes and six hands and elephant heads, but many of the locals seem quite devout in their faith, praying several times a day and eschewing certain foods in their diets. Even at this late hour, the temple is open for worshippers, its air smoky with incense, and he sees a young woman emerge, clad in the flowing, traditional garments with a gauzy scarf over her dark hair. His gaze meets hers for only a split-second-- light blue to orchid-- but it jolts his system harder than a glass of raw gin. He has no idea who she is, and moreover, everything in his training and upbringing tells him that he has no business dallying with any of the locals. Geoffrey opens his mouth to speak, against everything that he’s known all his life, but she vanishes down one of the narrow paths and disappears into the night before he can say anything, or be quite sure that she wasn’t just an illusion, a trick of the light.

He visits the temple enough in his years stationed here that he gets to learn the local traditions and customs, and indeed become quite familiar with their rituals. But he never sees her again.

The dame walks into his dilapidated hole-in-the-wall of an office on stiletto heels the red of fresh blood. Jack knows trouble when he sees it, and she’s all but radiating it like smoke surrounding a wildfire. “Help you, ma’am?” He keeps his voice brusque and businesslike even as she shrugs off a lustrous black mink stole to reveal crimson silk and fiery diamonds, curves in all the right places. “What brings you to this side of town?”

“I need a private investigator, and they say you’re the best. My driver’s outside, and he’s bigger and meaner than you,” she adds in a snide tone to match the diamond earrings. “My name is Rowena Warrington. Henry Warrington’s daughter.”

The Governor’s daughter has as much business in the seedy part of downtown as he would rubbing shoulders with millionaires in a fancy ballroom. “Don’t you have security, or lawyers, or whatever, to deal with whatever you’re dealing with, Ms. Warrington? This is a bad neighbourhood.”

“And no one’s been able to figure out the truth behind my mother’s death, so here I am.” Presumptuously, she makes herself at home, sitting down in a battered folding metal chair like it’s a throne as she lights a cigarette. “Price is no object, of course.”

“No.”

He won’t be swayed, because this is exactly the type of trouble that he doesn’t want, even though she turns on the wheedle, and later, the tears. He lets her leave in high dudgeon, and shuts the door behind her, and tells himself that his instinct-- one that tells him in no uncertain terms that he’d narrowly escaped a terrible fate-- was spot-on. And he busies himself with the usual mundane work which flows in every day like water through a leaky pot-- fraud cases. Stolen heirlooms. Prisoners on the lam. Cheating spouses.

He reads about the huge, tragic scandal some months later in the paper-- the cover-ups, the blood money, the extortion, the beautiful young woman whose life is tragically cut short because she’d had the audacity to poke her flawless nose where it definitely didn’t belong and wouldn’t take no for an answer, and is shocked at the grief which hits him. He owed her nothing, he tells himself as he broods into his second whiskey. She said herself that her driver was bigger and meaner than him. She should’ve been safe. Should’ve been careful.

Should’ve been protected, with one’s very life.

He throws the newspaper into the fire and watches it curl up into ash as he pours himself another one.

VI.

The busful of unconscious mortals is just where he wants them, of course, and Jadeite goes about the business of collecting their energy, siphoning it for Queen Metallia’s use. It’s rote and routine, but then a flash of scarlet catches his eye, and it’s the miko from the temple at the last bus-stop. Black and white and red all over, and he pauses, kneels down to move a strand of her lustrous black hair out of her face.

“So beautiful. Ever since I’ve seen this girl, there’s something about her…” Something haunting, like a hint of incense smoke that clings to the air or a raven’s feather, black against white pavement, a memory that is-and-isn’t his. With a gentleness that he’s not had cause to employ in a very long time, he carefully shifts her into a more comfortable position, one more like natural sleep than the unconsciousness of a sinister spell, and lingers, unable to tear his eyes away from her exquisite, weirdly familiar face, until the all-too-unfortunate shouts of angry feminine voices tells him that he is not alone, and the Sailor senshi have arrived.

The miko opens her eyes and everything snaps into place a split-second before she transforms and a rage of fire heads for him, and he has but a moment to mouth the word ‘Sorry’, unheard and unacknowledged, before the flame hits in a wall of agony and heat. It’s no more or less than he deserves.

VII

The world is lustrous, glistening crystal, but unlike the Silver Millennium and the Moon Kingdom, the diamond brilliance of the towers bring colours into sharp relief, turning white sunlight into countless prismatic rainbows and reflecting the pale blue of the sky as rich sapphire. Jadeite takes a knee with his compatriots in the throne room and bows his head before the royals-- his King and Queen, united at last. Countless lives had been lived to lead to this-- an entry to a paradise hard-earned.

There she is, still, raven hair and red skirts, and after, when everyone has broken off into their groups, he seeks her out. He has no reason to expect a positive reception, but the words are long overdue, and she has a right to them.

“Lady Mars.” He makes an elaborate leg, as one might have done in a decadent court in the era of gilt and Rococo. She raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t storm away or glare, and that’s something.

“No need to stand on ceremony, Lord Jadeite. We’ve met before. More than once, I daresay.”

“And I’ve loved you every time.” The words are baldly spoken and perhaps too blunt, in poor form, but they’ve been buried for far too many years and lifetimes already. She halts, and he notices that her breath isn’t quite steady, and that gives him the courage to remain where he is instead of making a hasty escape.

Finally, a queer sort of half-smile crosses her face as she tilts it back up to his. “You’ve been terrible about showing it up to now, haven’t you?”

“Up to now,” he agrees. “It doesn’t have to remain so. Unless you wish it.”

“Hmm.” She glances away, but stays standing where she is, within reach. “I suppose we’ll have to see.”

#R/J #sailor moon #senshi/shitennou #fanfiction #fanfic #writing #apsaraqueen

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allyvampirelass29 · 5 years ago

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Princess of Parnassus

A NOS4A2 Fanfiction By: Allyssa J. Watkins

The night was uncommonly warm, for a Christmasland Eve, Charlie thought, even as he looked at his own personified Summertime, in her fluttery blue sky dress with its white blooms, and those evergreen eyes that winter itself was loathe to kill. She smiled softly at him, catching him looking at her, noticing the opal specks on the glistening wings of her gold butterfly necklace. He'd picked it up at an antique shop in Hartford, after following her to the library one day. I caught you, My Butterfly, now didn't I?

She had just reached for the passenger side door of the Wraith, yanking him out of his reveries of watching her read alone in the park, laying in the grass as green and proliferous as her eyes, snapping up her hand just in time, smiling sheepishly. He had made a few small, shall we say, adjustments to The Wraith where her touch was concerned....... Women really shouldn't drive.

"Forgive me, My Dear, but you won't be going anywhere, not without these......" He chortled, slipping her long white silk gloves from inside his coat pocket, and she shivered, as she eyed them nervously.

She shook her curls, shaking loose her suspicions with them, and gracefully extended her long, pale arm out to him, forcing a smile. Don't ask if he intends to laud you as authoress tonight, don't draw attention to the pen, or else your grave is like to be where you stand.......

"My Charles, I would be so delighted to exchange those ghastly cuffs, for these far lovelier accessories. Would you, Sir, be so kind?"

Charlie smiled to himself, and then at her, grazing his fingertips down the soft part of her arm, noticing the bloom in her cheek, and the eye circles faded, leaving faintly a trace. Someone's rather excited to be going out, adorning her husband's arm. You, yourself, are the far lovelier accessory...... he thought with a sneaky grin, sliding one glove on and then the next, before kissing her covered fingertips.

"Together now," he whispered gently, moving swiftly to the driver's side, as her gloved hand hovered over the door handle. He tested the mirroring, raising his own gloved hand with flourish, and she gasped as hers followed suit, the puppeteer and his brunette marionette. They touched the doors on each side, in the same breath, at the same time, and both sprung open, much to Charlie's open mouthed relief. Had she attempted to so much as touch the car without him there, his own leather gloves, the second key, as it were, not unlike a deposit box, the results would have been much less stellar. I do not care to be a widower again, in fact..... I rather like being the doting husband. I know how to do it now....... keep a woman from leaving me.

She grinned at him graciously from across the shiny black hood of the Wraith, and moved to lower herself into the car, when he flew like a flash to her, taking her in his arms. "Charles! Whatever are you doing!?" She giggled, out of breath, as he held fast to her, his obsidian eyes glinting in the moonlight.

"I almost forgot......." He whispered softly, tipping her head gently back, resting his palm against her cheek, and he lowered his lips to hers, in a open-mouthed kiss, waiting for it.

Ally parted her lips too, as Charlie's eclipsed hers, letting his mouth intrude, excitedly aching for the warm taste, the flooding tenderness, and the heat to rise between them, but instead, she felt herself choke hard, struck to the center of her soul by a peculiar cold, and if darkness itself had a taste, it lingered in her mouth even now, bitter and full of smoke. She coughed and coughed, as he held her, stroking the back of her head to soothe her. "I know, I know....... that's it, poor thing, swallow, and you'll be just fine."

"Ch-Charles," She coughed, again and again, barely able to speak, and then swallowed her fear, feeling the cold sensation intensify, and then dissolve all at once. "What-What was that? What did you just do?"

"The Night Road, as it is called, requires a certain...... quality to access," He mused, and he knew she'd never forgive him if she knew what he'd done. No matter....... The effect would wear off in time, and she'd be no worse for it. "A quality, I possess, that you did not, that is, until I shared it between us."

"Wh-? What is this quality?" She breathed, and shivered, touching her throat, as he kissed her cheek.

"Believe me, My Dear....... I am doing you a kindness in keeping that secret."

She nodded, averting her eyes, gulping the frosty air. "Say no more, Charles, please......."

Smart Girl. He smirked, tucking his arm under hers, wrapping it around her back, and gingerly slid her into the car, shutting the door, before climbing in on his side, smoothly turning the key. The engine roared to life, making him grin wickedly, sitting tall in the driver's seat. He missed this....... being here, with her. Remembering how she'd delighted in the Wraith, calling it his ebony sleigh, slumbering peacefully in the back seat, wearing her tiara of sparkling snowflakes. The last time they rode together in his Wraith, things had been much less ideal. He wanted that back, that sublime magic. Her looking at him like he was a miracle, named Manx.......

The silence lingered between them, as they rolled slowly through the twin candy cane gates, the coloured lights reflecting off the window.

"Static," She mumbled, and he looked at her curiously, both hands on the wheel.

"What static, My Love, is something wrong?"

"Oh Charlie, I am afraid! What if it happens again? I was swallowed by The White once, the static, what if I cannot get back in?" Ally looked at him fearfully, even as he fought to hide his own cloying guilt. Tying her soul to his inscape, making her a living part of Christmasland, so that she could never leave it again, had inspired a few....... unfortunate side effects. True, last time he'd had to fight his way through the static, yank her with tremendous effort through an unyielding, snow-blinding, white noise forcefield, but he had prevailed, and if necessary, he would do so again. He had hoped however, that his newest failsafe would kick in, and they'd be spared that whole awful business.

"My Darling Girl, never you fret. Inscapes are tricky avenues of the mind, and can be prone to their own quirks and glitches. I am sorry if my own Lost Paradise was less than welcoming upon your last return......."

"It's not your fault, Charles," She whispered gently, and he smiled to himself, as she drew closer, nestling her curly head atop his shoulder, as he drove, tucking her legs underneath her. That's it, My Dove, come closer....... his mind ached, not wanting to think about how wrong it was, a perversion of the creative process, stealing away one's own reality. It's for your own good, Allyssa Jolene. I'm not just keeping you in, I'm keeping her out.......

"I am sorry....... Charles, for stealing your car, commandeering, and crashing your beloved Wraith," She whispered sadly into his shoulder, hiding her face in his woolen, royal blue chauffer's coat. He smiled fondly, brushing his cheek against her soft hair as he pulled out onto the St. Nick Parkway, not a snowflake in the evening sky, which was filled with even more diamond stars than usual.

He could feel the Wraith hum around them, listening in to her heartfelt apology. See...... I told you she didn't mean it, he insisted telepathically, and his smile widened, impressed, as the snowflakes fell in a dazzling array inside the car. Ally perked up immediately, looking up with wonder at the snowfall, reaching her hand to touch the sparkling flakes.

"There now, see for yourself........ No need to apologize, My Sweet, The Wraith, while it never forgets, does forgive...... and it's always had a soft spot for you."

Ally beamed, with a slight blush, snuggling Charles' shoulder. "And I, for it....... What a beautiful car, and its debonair driver, come to whisk me away to a place made of dreams." The glove compartment popped open, making Ally jump, and her heart melted as she picked up the gingerbread girl cookie, with green eyes, wearing a blue icing dress.

"Awwww, now isn't that sweet?" Charles simpered, his heart feeling light, as she held the cookie, adoringly, looking all around her, mystified. "Thank you! Thank you very much, it's so pretty, and looks delicious!"

"As do you," Charles whispered softly, rubbing her shoulder, as she took a bite, and then sighed happy. I know, I know...... She's a hard one not to love, isn't she? Believe me, I’ve tried. Now, aren't you glad you didn't kill her, you finicky automobile?

**********

They drove for a while, the night descending darker and darker, Ally fast asleep on his shoulder, her cookie eagerly eaten, as The Wraith's wheels found its way onto The Night Road. The snow inside the cab stopped, the air frigid, and biting, and she moved closer to Charlie, to keep warm. The purple neon ushered them into its eerie glow, catching in his wife's hair, glinting on the windshield, illuminating his dark irises, until they too glowed a fantastic purple. The old buildings came into view, along with the famed bar, and the neon formed the curved writing of the sign, glowing freeform in the night sky. Parnassus.

Ally stirred in the purple glow, as he pulled smoothly into the gravel parking lot, turning off the ignition. "What is this place...... ?" She marveled, sitting up slowly, and she could feel it so strong, both a draw to the intrigue of the purple iridescence, and the power of a darker creative force, warding her away.

"Welcome to Parnassus."

Charlie moved to open her door, but the Wraith was all too quick to accommodate her, springing open of its own accord, letting her out into the transcendent light. No one likes a show off, he remarked in his mind, frowning slightly, with a raise of his intense brow. He exited too, and the Wraith went dark, leaving only the glow of the sign, and she stopped in front of it, looking curiously at the purple neon diamond glowing in the glass window of the door, drawn to it, transfixed, by something she didn't understand.

Charlie reached his arm around her possessively, taking a deep breath, as he pulled open the door, and followed her inside. The bar room was mostly empty, and very dark, save for a few huddled patrons and some low hanging lights, not to mention the bar itself and its taps, awash in green neon. The blacklights and neon glow flickered with each step the Manxs’ took, and the rainbow jukebox, that had been spilling a slow rock ballad into the room, burst with the proud symphony of Once Upon a December.

Ally gasped, her fingers flying to her lips, looking curiously at the odd collection of Dark Creatives that had turned in their stools to see the new arrivals. A murderous looking clown with red paint dripping in trails from his eyes on his white face, clutching a red balloon looking back with a withering glare. A man with a scaly face, and arms, rolling a pair of red dice over and over always getting the same result. A tall, spindly black woman with wild white hair, and blank white eyes, drinking with another young woman with heavy eye make-up, leather clad and covered head to boot in tattoos. There was also a shadowy figure sprawled out in the corner booth, a sharp looking man in a devil red suit, with every strand of his jet black hair in place, and Ally shook her head, stunned as his shadow on the opposite wall revealed pointed horns.

Ally felt the eyes on her, lurking from every dark corner of the room, as she fluttered past, woefully out of place, like a butterfly that had wandered into a bat cave. She held fast to Charlie's arm, clutching it tight, as they made their way through the funny little pub, and she cast her eyes down, trying not to stare at the ominous collection.

"Damn it, Chuck, if I have to listen to this festive racket every time you come breezing through that door, I'm going to start charging you a cover!"

Ally stopped short, and so did the wild-eyed mechanic in his brown, grease-covered smock, staring back at her incredulous behind his magnified glasses.

"Hot damn."

"Come now, Abraham, we both know, you'd give the devil himself a floor show, audience be damned." Charlie taunted, with his slow poured drawl, his eyes dark and dancing, as he shot a glance to the horned figure in the corner booth.

"Don't give him any ideas," Abe shot back, with his accusing finger, his gaze drifting back to the beautiful young thing that had no business in a place like this.

"So the rumours are true," He smiled crooked, and Charlie shifted his feet uncomfortably, as Abe extended his arm, not so subtly searching the loose folds of Ally's dress with his roving eyes, despite its flowing fit.

"Mrs. Manx, I presume?" He whistled low, looking her over. "Wow, Honey, Charlie told me you were beautiful, but I'd be lying if I said I believed him this much. The bastard's nothing without his grandstanding."

"Allyssa Manx needs no embellishment, she is everything I promised, and more," Charlie cut in, shooting Abe a warning glance as the vulgarian took her snow white hand. "Darling, I'd like you to meet Honest Abe, the proprietor of this fine establishment, and sometimes my friend."

"A pleasure to meet you, Abraham," Ally smiled brightly, shrugging off the ill at ease way this peculiar, leering man made her feel. "A friend of Charlie's is surely a friend of mine, and I thank you for the compliment, though I am undeserving of it. Charlie's the pretty one in this marriage,"

She giggled shyly, making him laugh too, and Charlie rubbed his thin lips together, unnerved, as Abe kissed the back of her hand a little too long. She drew her foot behind her ankle in a quick curtsy as a thank you, holding her fluttering hem.

"Call me, Abe, Doll," He insisted, looking over the top of his bug-eyed frames, slowly letting go of her hand. "Pleasure's all mine, and you and your good for nothing husband are welcome here anytime."

Charlie cleared his throat, and stepped between them, wrapping his arm possessively around Ally's waist, arching his brow at Abe, with another imposing stare.

"Sugar Plum, why don't you go get us a table, and I'll be with you presently....... Abe and I have much to discuss."

"Of course, Charlie, I shall await your return, My Love," She smiled sweetly at him, swallowing her nerves, at being left alone in such....... colourful company. Charlie watched vigilant as she walked to a table and sat herself down, crossing her arms over her chest, rubbing her forearms, as she looked around, surveying the bar, and he reminded himself not to leave her unattended for too long.

He strolled to the bar, turning his back on Abe, tapping two of his sharp talons on the glowing green glass.

"Two Peppermint Twists, one virgin, hold the schnapps, and a whiskey for Abe, all on my tab."

The pale, looming insect of a bartender, narrowed his slits of eyes derisively at Charlie, clearly offended.

"I KNOW what a virgin is, you condescending-"

"Really?" Charles mused, feigning shock, with a snicker, as the bartender poured the drinks, resentfully. "You surprise me, Hob, I'd have thought you'd be utterly unfamiliar with the concept, due to the particular company you keep."

Hob slammed the drinks on the bar without another word, as Charlie smiled to himself, impressed with his own sharp wit.

"A virgin...... for your virgin, huh?"

Charlie shot Abe a glance over his shoulder, and slid the shot glass of whiskey over to him, with a half smirk, half snarl.

"She is, isn't she? Let me guess? Pure as the new-fallen snow, 'course that is your type. Guessing that means you didn't exactly make waves on the wedding night."

"I wouldn't say that......." Charlie smirked, stirring his Peppermint Twist with his candy cane. "Ironically these were the waves I made, that prevented those of the far more pleasurable nature. Though I sense even those beckon on the not too distant horizon."

"Cut the coy shit, Charlie, what the HELL is a beautiful, classy dame like that, doing with an old, crooked codger like you, and in a joint like this!? How the HELL did you even get her here, there's no way that- no..... wait....."

Abe shook his head, as he spun his glass around and around, his magnified eyes widening with the realization. "Damn. I knew it. I knew as soon as you sauntered in here, the smouldering draft wasn't coming off you quite as strong. You seemed...... lighter. Let me guess, Kiss of Death?"

Charlie nodded, impressed. "However did you guess? Yes, it does seem the most effective delivery method."

"Look at you...... parsing off a piece of your dark soul on her, just to have date night with your wife........ Or did you come here looking for a favour?"

"You know me too well, Abe," Charlie sighed, the two clinking their glasses together, before knocking back a drink."

"I heard you were stupid enough to get yourself hitched again, but part of me didn't want to believe it. Thanks for the invitation, Friend." Abe scoffed, taking another drink.

"Oh come, Abe, don't pout. It was a small, tasteful ceremony, an altogether intimate gathering. Just the bride, the groom, and an indentured priest. Not even the children attended."

"Course not, you think she'd ever say I do, with all those tiny biters around, chewing up the scenery? Usually when a man says to his prospective bride, I hope the little ones don't eat you up alive, he's just being comical. You crazy kids. I should buy the house a round to celebrate the occasion.

"Don't pretend to be happy for me, Abraham, I know you're not," Charlie snarled, taking another drink, motioning for Hob to bring Abe another shot of whiskey. "At least I know you can pretend to like her, although I don't know how anyone could resist it. She's most persistent in that pursuit.

"Are you kidding?" Abe chuckled, arching both of his coarse, twisted brows "Hell yeah, I like her. Third time's the charm for Charlie Manx!!! Seriously, how'd you pick up a hot piece like that, WHAT Hallmark Card did you snatch that one out of, huh? Mrs. Christmas even curtsied to me, and all Ice Queen Jolene ever did, was say hello with her right hook.

Charlie chuckled merrily, his eyes dancing, fond with the memory. "I remember....... She hated you. To be fair, Abe, you did rather wantonly place your hand on her posterior, so you see the assault wasn't entirely unprovoked."

Abe shrugged his shoulders, starting in on his second drink. "What can I say? Jo had a nice one...... But your new squeeze, damn, now that's a woman. Lucky Son of a Bitch, she's real easy on the eyes, sugar sweet, well-mannered, and my GOD that upstairs-"

Charlie's black eyes snapped furiously, cutting to Abe, angling his chin down, brow terse, as he raised his hand sharply to silence him. "Do spare me your lewd depictions, and perverse metaphors, Abe. Not with her, she's....... delicate. She requires a softer address, I must insist. And I'll have you know, I am well aware of what is........ upstairs."

Abe nodded with a suggestive grin. "You're a man, Charlie, yeah sure, maybe a fancy dandy of one, but your blood runs just as hot as mine."

Charlie cracked a smile in spite of himself, arching both brows. Touché Abe. "A touch hotter, I should think....... Especially when it comes to her. You would do well to...... govern your gaze, however. Touch her again, and you’ll WISH I’d left you to the Walking Backwards Man."

"Easy, Charlie, you don't have to go all slaying song on my ass, I meant no disrespect to your lady, just admiring what you got. And my, you sure got yourself something special........."

Abe leaned in secretively, his eyes steady, and unusually serious, making Charlie take pause and lean in as well.

"She's stronger than you, creatively speaking, you know that, right?

Charlie stared back hard, his smirk furtive and haughty, tilting his silky head sardonic. "You don't say?"

"I mean, the potential is there, Charlie Boy, yeah, sure she's still green, it's a raw energy, but I felt it all the same, the moment she walked in. This girl...... She may be damn near perfect for you, but she's trouble."

"My, my, whatever am I to do?" Charlie clicked his tongue, making a mockery of his distress. "If only there were a way to harness that delicious creative energy for myself, make sure it can never be used against me, reign her in, before the little thing realizes how just powerful she really is......."

Abe frowned, bewildered, and Charlie decided a demonstration was in order, tugging his leather gloves tighter on each wrist, and he eyed his young bride, brushing his fingers across his own cheek, and Abe watched, spellbound, stunned, as she did the same, her fingers on strings, without taking notice.

"You Clever Bastard..........." He breathed, and Charlie's smirk grew even more menacing, reaching into his coat, running his fingers along the seam of his waistcoat pocket, as hers mirrored his with the ruffles just below her neckline. "You have no idea...... just how CREATIVE I can be......" Charlie whispered, moving to withdraw her magic wand, before stopping cold....... deciding against such a covetous display. The power radiating off of that mighty pen would make it irresistible to every, how did she call them, ne'er do well, here. "I've been keeping this one close to the vest for decades, Abe," He whispered cleverly, running his gloved fingers though his shiny, raven coif, and watched satisfied as hers did too, trailing through her own curls, and this time she did notice, and flinched, startled.

He dropped the hold, and finished the rest of his Peppermint Twist, Abe turning back to look at him in quiet reverence. "It’s her, isn’t it........? She’s the long game you've been jawing on about all this time........"

Charlie nodded, his eyes like stoked embers. "I told you.......... I'm going to be the most Powerful Strong Creative of them all."

Abe looked back at him, his eyes somehow even bigger, struck speechless. "Jesus, Chuck...... That was what, twenty years ago......?"

"Twenty-three," Charles finished softly, gesturing to her with a gentle nod of his shiny head. "I felt her power come into the world when she was born, after finding out a hundred years previous, that she was going to be Mrs. Manx, The Second."

"Damn....... You caught this one right from the cradle, didn’t you?" Abe shook his head again in a daze, sneaking another look at her, as she lay her head demurely on the table. Twenty-three years Charlie had been chasing this skirt, and there she was........ Now THAT'S an endgame.

"Precisely......." Charles simpered back, with a clever purse of his lips. "How else do you suppose to keep them loyal?"

"Amen to that, Brother, Amen to that......" Abe straightened his glasses, with another conspiring smile. "Poor thing, never stood a chance against you and your holly jollies. I'll bet she thinks you're in love with her!"

Charlie's eyes lost their mischievous shine, and he smiled a little taken aback, pressing his lips together

"Damn it, Chuck, don't tell me......." Abe groaned, reading the worst emblazoned in Charlie's dark, romantic eyes. "No, no, oh you poor lovesick Son of a WHORE!!! You've got yourself a sweet scheme going here, don't wreck it to hell by putting your skin in the game, and falling for her!!!"

"An unforeseen complication, Abe, winning her affection, somehow garnered my own, but the scheme is just as sweet, as imagined, even sweeter, you might say........ I was so loathe to take a wife after Jolene's scathing rejection, and my multiple attempts on her life, but being married again, even if it began as a ruse, has been pure bliss. I fully intended on ruining this young woman's life, and now I am more than happy to let her ruin mine."

"Real poetic, Lover Boy. And yet........ Here you are, your dream girl in tow, sneaking a snatch of your black soul on her, just to ask me for a favour. Do I sense trouble in your sordid little paradise?"

Charlie frowned, his dark brow knit, wrinkling his nose. "The trouble isn't with my wife, strangely enough, but the other woman, attempting to come between us........"

Abe's face lit up like a Christmas tree, clapping his hands together, bringing his elbows up onto the bar. "Oh GOOD, I was wondering when we were going to get to her. Miss Shorter Way herself, the other special lady in your life. Do you want me to take care of it?

Charlie bit his lip in distaste, his ire rising, stirring with the candy cane in his empty cup, snapping it in half. "Yes....... I want her GONE. Vic McQueen has already turned my bride against me once, and I'd rather not see that happen again. It’s time Abe, the bill has come due, and I am here....... to collect.”

"Hold on...... Peaches and Cream over there, made a move AGAINST you, that little sweetheart who keeps looking over here like a lost puppy? And you DIDN’T kill her!? Damn, Charlie, now that's what I call progress. You never would have given Jo a second chance."

"Jo never would have asked," Charlie finished smoothly, gazing at the lovely creature that had fallen asleep, head down on the table. "Every marriage has its........ problems, I suppose. The little quirks that keep things interesting. My little minx befriended my whore nemesis, and then they tricked me, in league together, STOLE my car to escape, but in the end....... She chose me. I cannot kill her, let all that loveliness and enviable energy go to waste. I've been at this too long, invested so much of myself, watching....... Waiting. And yet........ I can't have her be tempted again, she's too trusting, too good, Vic will prey upon her pesky empathy, and that's a problem for me. I want you to get rid of her, Abe, use her own tricks against her, by pretending to help her."

"How many of these have you had tonight, Chuck? I'm cutting you off. Lay off the schnapps, and the CRAZY talk, go on! Be with your girl, cop a feel for me, and forget everything you just said."

"Abe........ I am deathly serious about this," Charles snarled, leaning in, palms down on the bar, his chest shuddering." I am not drunk, nor mad, this is how I'm going to end that conniving bitch, Vic McQueen. You told me once, I had to kill her, and you're going to help me do it, by rallying your riff raff, and making a play to side with her, against me."

Abe stood up abruptly, shoving his empty shot glasses away. "That's DAFT, Manx, I won't do it, they won't do it...... It's unthinkable, it's-"

"CREATIVE," Charlie hissed back, the corner of his lip curling up maliciously. "You see...... I need to keep my poor, confused wife away from the BAD influence of one, Victoria McQueen. I need a different battlefield, one where my inscape is not at risk. You lure her here....... Convince her of your shared insatiable hatred for me, offer to join her in authoring my demise, and then, just when she thinks she's not alone, that she has an army, we strike, we FINISH her. Ally need never know........"

"Damn it, Manx, that's some kooky kind of suicide play, not to mention risky......." Abe's shifty eyes darted all around him, motioning for Charlie to lean in closer. "I'm with you, you know I am, you fa la la la fop, but there are folks here..... your fellow dark creatives that would jump for a shot at killing Christmas, you get me? You get it going around that somebody's making a big move against Charlie Effing Manx, and I can't promise you some won't be throwing in their hat for real."

Charlie grinned, showing off all of his teeth, hardly phased, his voice a hushed rasp. "Then it's a good thing....... I have my secret weapon, and her very special flaming knife...... Once my hidden enemies reveal themselves, caught up in the tangled web of this deception, after I destroy Vic, I will raise her against them. My initial folly was in attacking Victoria head on, relying solely on blunt force, but no, I understand it now........ This crafty femme fatale requires a stealth approach. She'll never see me coming........ until I am driving my sword through her heart.

"I'll do it, Chuck, I'll get the word out, but how are you going to get the rebel spitfire here anyway?"

Charlie slowly stood up from the barstool, snapping up Ally's untouched drink with a shrug, and an especially smug smile. "She's a drunk, Abe...... She'll find her way here, we all did. And if not...... you'll just have to reach out with a more than generous invitation."

Charlie sauntered over to his sleeping beauty, running his nails across the back of her dress, feeling the tight lacing of her corset, and she drowsily raised her curly head, her long eyelashes, fluttering.

"I must apologize vehemently, My Sweetness, that bit of urgent business, and catching up with good old Honest Abe, took much longer than anticipated. He arched both eyebrows very sweetly, his dark eyes coaxing. Do you have it in your heart to forgive your neglectful husband? I come with a peace offering."

Ally grinned adoringly, hugging his neck, as he sank down into the chair beside her. "Always........ I'm so happy you had a nice chat with your friend!!! You needn't apologize, Darling, I've been perfectly fine with my uh people watching........ That horned fellow did ask me the oddest question, however, before he left. Goodness, what IS that? It smells delicious!"

"This, My Dear, is called a Peppermint Twist, and I believe you'll find its effects most........ invigorating."

Ally's gloved fingers curled gratefully around the ceramic mug, bringing it to her lips, the swirling peppermint and white chocolate flowing warm, and comforting over her tongue.

"Mmmm oh my, Charles, that has to be the most scrumptious drink I've ever had! Yes, its effect is most......." Ally breathed deep, her eyes glowing eerily green, and the lights in Parnassus flickered erratic, as she felt it, the energy pulsing through her veins, her mind razor sharp, her hands shaking. "Powerful........."

Charles watched satisfied, breathing it in with pleasurable leisure, stoking the wildfire inside her that was just aching to be released, and just as he'd planned, every dark creative eye in the place was now on her. The bats were afraid of the butterfly.

"Take another drink," He insisted firmly, his gaze intense as he invoked his hold, bringing an invisible cup to his lips, as she brought the real one to hers, drinking deeply.

She gasped as the coloured neon died all at once, plunging the bar into complete darkness, the juke box music falling dead silent, and Charlie propped up his boots up on the table, leaning back in his chair relaxed, as the bats swarmed in a panic all around them, swooping out the door.

That's it, my little butterfly, make them flee.

"Oh my God, I don't understand, did I-!?" Ally froze, fearfully setting down her cup, and the ceramic shuddered on the table. "Impossible........ Abe, oh my gosh, I'm so sorry, please forgive me, I-I don't know what’s just happened!!!"

Abe, who had sidled up next to their table, scratching the back of his head, now yanked off his glasses in bewildered awe.

"You're a knock-out, Doll........" Abe mouthed, utterly baffled, him and Charlie exchanging a knowing look. "You and your man here, you're gonna own The Night Road. Queen of Christmasland, and Princess of Parnassus.

#charlie manx x oc #charlie manx #honest abe #vic mcqueen #parnassus #the wraith #paranormal romance #paradise for the lost

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lennonknowsmysins · 6 years ago

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Could I possibly request a John or Paul fic where one of them finds their SO after a rough day with a tear streaked face and puffy eyes, so they go and either make a lovely lunch/dinner/breakfast or buys a bunch of flowers to arrange around the room or something to make them happy?

i used teddy boy paul for this and slipped in some big brother john because i’m a bit of a whore for that troupe tbh. except an epilouge to this because it didn’t end where i wanted it too but it was starting to get really long and i didn’t want to make you wait for it!!! thank you for the request!! i hope you like it!!

Everyday after school, you waited by the front stairs for your brother John to bring his car around and take you either home or to the library while he practiced with his band so that you didn’t have to be home alone if Mimi wasn’t there. Today was supposed to have a library day but when you got to the stairs, John wasn’t there. Now normally you didn’t mind having to wait a little bit but today had been exceptionally rainy and cold and you were in no mood to get dumped on. Unfortunately, an hour later, you were still waiting for John and the doors to the school had been locked. Sighing, you accepted the fact that your brother had forgotten about you. A rumbling in your stomach accepted the fact that he’d also forgotten to give you your lunch earlier.

Begrudgingly, you set off on foot to where you assumed you’d find John - Paul McCartney’s house, where him and the rest of the band liked to rehearse. You were sure that John won’t be happy about you showing up, he didn’t like having to share his friends or his baby sister. That’s why he always made you wait at the nearby library. “It’d just be awkward,” He’d defended, “we’re trying to play songs about adult stuff and m’ little sister’s just sitting there. I can’t play that shit in front of you.”

You were pretty sure that he really just didn’t want to come off as a babysitter, worried that it would break the bad boy vibes. But no matter how pissed John would be at you crashing in, you were sure that you were more upset at being left at the school in the rain without your lunch. Besides, it wasn’t like you were going to stay for long, you were just going to let him know that you were still alive, if he bothered to care, and try to wrangle some money out of him for food - if you were to try and say no in front of his mates, that’d just make him look like an ass. Then you’d be on your way. You’d be lying if you said that you didn’t want an excuse to see Paul too.

You’d only met him a few times, but each time had turned your knees to jelly. He had big soft eyes and an even softer voice that made you swoon whenever you called you ‘love’. Boys didn’t normally call you pet names like that. Well, your brother did but didn’t count. Maybe he would stick up for you in front of John and invite you to stay and watch them rehearse. You would like that, you actually thought they sounded pretty good. Or at least Paul looked pretty good when he was playing. This was another reason that John didn’t like you being around his mates. He wasn’t about to let anyone, especially Paul, get into your pants. But the joke was on him, you were hardly as outgoing as he was when it came to people you liked. And you doubted that Paul would ever see you like that - after all, you were just John’s little sister. There wasn’t much promise in that.

The walk to Paul’s house was taking longer than you had anticipated. It was hard to see with the wind whipping your hair that wasn’t stuck against your face in your eyes and the rain had soaked through your flimsy jacket and your dress, pelting your skin. The violent shivers that rippled through you made it hard to concentrate on where you were going. Your school bag seemed to be tugging you downwards and you could have sworn that you heard it groan. All your papers must be soaked by now. The unpleasantness of the situation mixed with your hunger reminding you that your brother had really just forgotten about you brought tears to your eyes, only making seeing more difficult. You were wet, hungry, tired, and forgotten about.

Finally you reached Paul’s house, letting out a breath of relief when you saw John’s car parked out front as you trudged up to the front door and knocked. You felt nerves shoot through you when Paul answered, a grin on his lips.

“Oh hello - what’s happened?” Paul’s forever good-natured expression fell as he took in your red face which had been slapped by the weather, with your eyes puffy and teary, your makeup smeared every which way and your nose running for dear life. Not to mention you were soaked to the bone.

“H-hey Paul, is J-John here?” You asked, every word being agony as you were out of breath from the long walk and the constant shivering. Paul shook his head.

“’Fraid not, love.” He said with a frown, “You alright?”

His question made the tears well up again. Now you were wet, hungry, tired, forgotten about, missing your brother and standing in front of his handsome best friend looking like an absolute wreck. You let out a sob and looked at your feet, not bearing making eye contact with Paul. Paul, however, was not about to stand for this.

“Hey, hey, hey, come’ere,” He cooed, pulling you out of the rain and into a hug, “It’ll be okay, I’ve got ya, I’ve got ya.”

You let out a spew of mumbled apologies in his chest through your crying, clutching on to him like he was the only thing keeping you standing - which he basically was at this point. Paul had one arm holding you tightly and the other rubbing up and down your back, shushing into your sopping hair. You shuddered, struggling to catch your breath and he gave you a squeeze.

“Deep breath, love.” He reminded you, pulling away. You took a couple and he smiled a little, “Come in, you’re trembling.”

He led you into the living room then squeezed your shoulder, telling you to wait. He gave you a knowing smile before disappearing down a hallway. You stood there, hugging yourself as you sniffed. A few tears continued to escape down your cheeks but besides those, the cascade had ceased.

“John and George took me car to go see about a couple of guitars in Birkenhead. Said they might be able to book us a gig too.” Paul explained, reappearing with a towel. “You can wait here if you like, I know Johnny’s said that you don’t like being alone.”

You nodded, slightly embarrassed John had exposed your irrational fear to Paul (and you assumed George and Stu as well). Paul wiped up the tears, water, and makeup off your cheeks before wrapping the towel around your wet neck. You blushed when he smiled down at you, turning the corners of your own lips up a tad.

“There she is!” He said gently, catching your chin before you could look away from him, “You’re much lovelier to look at than John.”

It was all you could do to keep your breath from hitching. You’d heard that Paul could be a bit of flirt from girls at your school who knew him, but you’d never seen it in action, nor did you ever expect his charms to be used on you. Especially right after showing up soaking wet at his front door bawling. But you supposed he was right. You were the lovelier Lennon. A sad growl from your stomach interrupted the nice moment. Paul’s look of concern was back, crooking an eyebrow at you.

“John didn’t give me my lunch today and I didn’t have any money on me.” You said sheepishly, suddenly aware of how absurd you must seem to him right now. Paul chuckled, taking a step back.

“We don’t have a lot in the way of food, but I can make you some nice toast, yeah?” He offered. Not wanting to mooch to much off of him, you began to decline but your stomach wailed again.

“That would be wonderful, thanks Paul.” You grinned.

“You got it, darling.” As he turned to head into the kitchen, your face got a little redder, your stomach forgetting about its emptiness in its excited twisting and you couldn’t help the smile that began spreading across your face, although you attempted to hid it when Paul spun on his heel. “Oh, do you want to change your clothes? I’m afraid it’s me and me dad and brother, so we don’t have much in the way of girls clothes, I’ll bet I have sweatpants we can get to fit you and if you don’t mind the bagginess, I’ve got tons of shirts you can borrow and I can throw your stuff in the dryer so they’ll at least dry off a bit.”

“Okay.” You nodded, another batch of butterflies releasing themselves in you at the thought of wearing his clothes. ‘This is just a stupid crush’ you thought to yourself, ‘Stop getting caught up in it’

“C’mon, you can get changed in my room.”

This wasn’t the situation you pictured when you thought of being in a boy’s room for the first time. More boy, less water, pretty much the same amount of you undressing. It looked a lot like John’s room, but a little more organized. A desk sat in the corner, sheet music scattered all about, an Elvis poster hanging above it. Various concert posters had been tapped around the walls, among a Quarrymen one that you recognized as John’s artwork. Next to Paul’s bed was a picture of the band trying to look serious but George was clearly laughing at something - which was funny, George always came off a little scary to you. You continued looking around as you hiked up the sweatpants, tying the drawstring to a comfortable level before stepping out. Paul paused at the top of the stairs.

“I was just comin’ up to tell you that your toast is done,” He said blinking at the sight of you in his clothes. “And if you wanted any eggs with it, ya know, to complete the Breakfast for Dinner experience.”

“Some eggs would be delightful.” You smiled, “Thank you for the clothes by the way, I really appreciate not having to wait in soaking wet ones.”

“Well, I, uh, didn’t want you to catch a cold or nothing,” He said, trying to stay cool, “Your brother’d have a cow.”

He offered you his arm, leading you down the stairs to the kitchen. The presentation he’d set up for the simple plate of toast made you feel warm. Juice had been poured into a wine glass and a flower had been placed in a vase on the table. You looked up at Paul with what you were sure was a stupidly happy grin.

“You seemed like you were having a rough day.”

Then you were hugging Paul. Handsome Paul that you had a stupid crush on. Because he’d made you breakfast for dinner and lent you his clothes and let you into his house after you’d had to walk in the rain and comforted you without any hesitation and let your shitheaded brother borrow his car when John had a perfectly good one of own. “Thank you so much Paul. I know we don’t know each other very well but this really does mean a lot to me.”

“You know, love,” He began, pausing to kiss your head, “I think you’re my favorite Lennon.”

#paul mccartney #paul mccartney x reader #beatles x reader #beatles #beatle belle

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thewolfbit · 6 years ago

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Thoughts on 801

I missed a TON being off Tumblr for almost a week, and I’ve been trying to go through everything in the tag but failing miserably (bc you all ROCK at generating new content, and I am so well fed!!!!). So this is probably really repetitive and jet-laggy, but here are my thoughts (they may be a bit out of order):

Arya Stark!!!! I SHRIEKED

Then my heart broke because she sees some of the most important men in her life again, and none of them see her, and honestly that scene was really painful??? Her reaction! She was so disappointed and it HURT.

D is upset the smallfolk of the North don’t like her, but then her dragons swoop in and TERRIFY everyone and she has SUCH a satisfied smile... like omg HBO is dark!D on main now I guess??

JON AND BRAN REUNION. Jon quickly falls into the “he’s weird but we still love and accept him” group with Sansa and Arya

JON AND SANSA HUG WAS SHORTENED!!! WTF Y’ALL. I’m mad about this!!! Why did they shorten that amazing reunion 2.0 after hyping it so much?? Idk I know they shoot it from multiple angles, but it just seems really strange to me to edit and prep two different versions to air for no apparent reason. (Also, were they for sure the same footage? For example, D and Jorah start walking, but don’t unclasp their hands like they did in the teaser... idk, I need to watch it again when my brain is done being jet lagged.)

^ Has GoT done this before with any other alternate footage that’s only used for promo?

D: “JON TOLD ME HOW BEAUTIFUL YOU ARE.” That’s it. That’s my take on this line.

D finding out about Viserion being turned was... rushed... I felt like this should have been a MUCH bigger moment. But—

Sansa and Tyrion reunion. Either Tyrion and Jon are both turned into devoted idiots in D’s presence, or they’re playing at something. Sansa sees through that shit with Tyrion!! I drank grape juice (no wine, I’m jet lagged!) to salute her in this scene

ARYA AND JON REUNION. While parts of this were great, I felt so bad for Arya here!! She deserved a real, wonderful, drawn-out reunion like Sansa and Jon got, instead of two seconds of loveliness and then “help me with Sansa and my gf” 🙄 Jon I get that maybe you’re trying to get on Arya’s side and be co-conspirators again like you were as kids but KNOCK IT OFF, you’re annoying me in this episode. #sansadefensesquad (which Arya is totally a part of and DON’T FORGET THAT)

Oh no the dragons only ate the equivalent of 100 human meals today!! 😢 The dragon flying scene was honestly so cringey I felt like we were watching a completely different TV show. Why TF would D just be like “hey ride my 2nd dragon”??? There wasn’t even any pretext?? Like can’t they just throw in a “hey my dragons weirdly like you, they’ve never liked anyone, maybe they’ll let you ride them”?? Anyway I don’t even have anything more to say about this mess of a DotD2.0-setting-up scene other than: IT’S A MESS

Varys: “if you think J*nerys is endgame you aren’t paying attention”

D threatening Sansa.

N O P E.

I want to say “TRY IT” but also... pls don’t try it because you’re scary and have WMDs. LEAVE MY GIRL ALONE, she’s trying to defend her home from a usurper, which seems like something you could understand (tbh Sansa has been perfectly respectful... all she is doing is not being friendly!!! What TREASON)

Theon saved Yara!! Wow, super rushed! But OK! Theon is coming back to WF, probably to die by saving Bran or Sansa or something. Sigh. But at least he’s coming back.

Cersei was amazing in this episode. Everything was just so... great. Lena is perfection. Lena is the anti-dragon flying scene. Grape juice all around

Sidenote: some people are mentioning Daario returning with the Golden Company? I need to look more into this, but DANG. That would be interesting. I would love for this show to tie up some of its loose ends

SANSA AND JON SCENE. This is a great scene (even though I was mad at Jon). THE ANGST. THE SUBTEXT. The lines: “You know I do.” “She’s much prettier.” (Aka she’s a pretty version of the Mad King, Jon... it’s not a compliment!!!) and of course:

The Hound’s reunion with Arya... kinda sucked? Idk I know things are Complicated between them and she hated him a lot, but they also had a kind of grudging love for each other after all they went through. I just hated that he called her a bitch. I’m not trying to defend anything the Hound did or said, because it was awful and he wasn’t an amazing role model or anything!! But that’s who he was before, and I sort of thought that after his redemption arc and all that he’d be happier to see Arya. Or at least not call her a bitch, because

She was a child!!!

He was terrible to her!! She probably would have mercy killed him if he hadn’t been like “I wanted to rape your sister”

If she’d killed him he would be... dead... you’re alive now so calm tf down and don’t call her a bitch!! #aryadefensesquad

(Also, I’m a bit nervous that they’ll have the Hound and Sansa have a more emotional reunion since they skipped it with him and Arya, and their relationship was even more fraught, so... yikes)

GENDRY AND ARYA REUNION. My Gendrya heart is SOARING!! That shit was cute!!! “You’ve gotten better” omfg Gendry, YOU ADORABLE IDIOT. IMO this was the only good Arya reunion in this episode, sadly

Sam was obviously upset about his dad and brother being executed. Because duh. Jon was upset too. Because duh. Wait until they find out it was execution by FIRE. (I sort of hope Sam doesn’t, because this scene was so sad and I felt so bad for him.)

I was also annoyed that they made it somewhat comedic with Sam almost getting run over by a wagon and then tripping down the crypt steps or whatever. Sam is an actual human with feelings who just found out his dad and brother died, not just some comic relief 🙄

Sam and Jon reunion! A short nice moment between Sam learning that his family members were killed and Sam telling Jon who his real family members are (...including, coincidentally, the family member who killed Sam’s family members...)

Parentage reveal. I felt like this scene could have been slowed down a bit (and Jon could have shown a lot more consideration of Sam’s news about his dad and brother dying!!), but I get that the audience already knows the truth so they don’t have time to have Sam convince Jon that it’s true. Jon’s first response: “it’s treason.” Aka he’s scared of D’s reaction. Not that he’s gonna lose his relationship with her. Not that he doesn’t think he could be a better leader. But that she’ll turn against him—and now he’s led her into his home.

Jaime rolls up and Bran’s like “HEY PAL.” My guess is that everyone will want to kill him (besides Tyrion and Brienne) but Bran will be like “we need him” or something

Overall, I think the episode had some great Jonsa/dark!D/pol!Jon setup and enough corny J*nerys stuff to make shippers and GA think it’s still a True Romance.

Stuff I can’t wait for in the next episode:

Sansa(!) and Arya’s reactions to the parentage reveal

D’s reaction, if it happens—Jon might not want to rock the boat and risk losing her support before the WWs come

Varys seeing Sansa as the ruler she is

Jaime swearing an oath to Sansa, Arya, and Bran in Catelyn’s honor

Braime reunion!!!!!

Gendrya moments!!

Everyone saying goodbye to their loved ones before the battle (night before the battle love/passion scenes are MY JAM)

Cersei plotting to kidnap Sansa?

#jonsa #jon x sansa

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southsidelover · 6 years ago

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IT’S THAT TIME AGAIN!!!

The year has come to an end... but what a year it’s been! From the end and the new start of season 2 to 3, from the ridiculous Tumblr purge, from Cheryl-gate, to comic-gate... it’s been a hell of a ride, ladies and gentlemen. But through it all, I’ve ended up meeting and becoming close with such incredible people, not to mention those that have been with me since this madness began. I am legit full of love and adoration for those around me, because I’m who I am today because of the goodness you bring into my life. So! Here’s to another fantastic year, to hoping that you all have wonder and happiness in your life.

Some messages of love to those who have been standout fantastic below!

@yourpaljughead / @thetowcr - V! The V to by Z. My best friend, maid of honour, and a shining fucking star of goodness in this world. You have done... so much for me this year. From scheming behind my back with my fiancé to pull off the most beautiful engagement, to being here as I’ve bought my first house, to just being YOU... honestly, I couldn’t thank you enough for being the light that you are in my life. I know it’s been a challenging year, but I couldn’t be prouder of all the things you’ve done, the steps you’ve taken, the relationships you’ve recognized as toxic, and the growth you’ve made. Next year is going to be insane, and I can’t wait to face it all with you. I’m truly blessed to have you in my life. And... you know. I... I love you. Like. Love you lo-- lol. Wink wink. See you tonight, babe!

@chaosblossomed - Steph, like, holy shit. Can you believe that Choni was finally made real in this year of our lord, twenty gay teen? Basically, we called it, and made it fucking real, by summoning it with the strength of our writing skills. I’m so so happy we met. That you’ve been such a consistent and stable writing partner. That nobody else in this world does Cheryl the justice that you do, because holy crap, how are you not her? And like. I cannot, CANNOT WAIT until I meet you in person at my wedding. You are such a strong and persistent girl, and I can’t help but admire your willingness to bounce back from anything. You’re so much stronger than you give yourself credit for. I adore you to bits, and I hope you know, we’re stuck together for life now.

@stormedchaos / @yourlittlejellybean - Oh my Lor. YOU have been such trouble, young lady! It was such a trip to meet you in person, and holy shit Ireland was so fun! Now here’s to hoping you can make it to Canada come 2k19, because you so need to be with everyone as we herald this madness for another year. I’m so happy you’re back to writing and feeling good, that you’ve purged out some of the awfulness of the year and are moving to a place in your life where you’re happy, free, and where your head is high. You’re a fantastic person, and you need to leave the shit where it belongs in 2018! Because next year is your year, girl, so own it, claim it, and find it yours, with goodness in your heart.

@goodnessfilled - Now, you, you? You’re such a good person Ric! And this year, holy crap, I swear you’ve made such huge progress! You’re now living in a new country, chasing your next educational step in life, and you’re doing it all while writing the most fleshed out, fantastic Archie, and extended family. Do you know how brilliant that is!? I mean I always remind you but still. I’m proud of you and what you’ve accomplished, and think the world of you - I appreciate that I can go to you when I need a person to bounce ideas off of, I appreciate your solidarity within the community, and I love that you are always there to do the moral right thing. You’re gold, Ric.

@dangeress / @wistcrias / @soleheir / etc - This girl is amazing. She manages to always write such rich, fantastic muses and with such grace. I’m always left in awe, Dani, and while we don’t talk as much as we RP, I want you to know that I always find your muses deep and amazing, and I adore writing with you when we do. You always feel unafraid and strong when it comes to the things that you believe in, and feel so fun when you have your emotions at hand. Just know you’re admired, and well thought of, from this court.

@machiavelliani / @ourpyrrhicvictory / @forslaughter / etc - Oso is like. Wow? I don’t know how else to put it, but seeing the black experience so beautifully captured in writing always makes me sit up straight. Oso’s got this beauty to their writing too that’s so inspiring and makes me wanna do shit better, and I hope that slowly but surely, I’m doing that. Can’t wait to do more with your muses with Agatha now that I have my own witchling muse to play, and never forget how brilliant you are my friend!!

@holyxgrail - Now if you wanna rp with a girl who write female brilliance, this is the one! I always feel bad tossing huge ass paragraphs at her, but man does she inspire me, and her muses are always so much fun to play against. Props to you for a year of finding out more of who and how you wanna play, for finding your confidence and your voice, and for knowing that you’re worth playing for both your boys AND your girls. Especially your girls. And thanks for inducting me into a world where I love Barbara Palvin, fuck!

@pinkxperfectionisms - Gonna be real. This girl? The most INCREDIBLE Betty. Like I love playing the good and the bad and the necessary evils, and how you always keep in mind that Betty is fucking 16 years old, man, like she doesn’t have her shit together, none of them do! They’re kids! You’re such a good bean of a soul, and rping with you and all our future OT3 stuff with V gets me all hella hyped, because I feel you’re so into the world building and understanding of maddening timelines on everyones’ ends. You’re gold babe!

@curiouscast - Nowwww, we started RPing because I found you super randomly in the indie rp tag but I’m so so glad I did! Like not only are all your muses so fun, but you’re so willing to try out new shit, you’re willing to really lean into characterizations, and I love that you keep pace with novella with me! Now that you’re also doing Riverdale and SPN, I swear to god we’re always going to have something going on. This new year is gonna be one that we DOMINATE, yo!!!

@evcryhcrd - My darling-est darling! You always always always inspire me with how much love and devotion you pay to Troy. Like it’s so heartening to know that you can be so invested and that we get to write such beautiful things together. I don’t know where the easiest place to find you anymore is (Tumblr? Discord? Where are you!) but know that I always find you dear in my heart. The last year was so fun to write out in development between Troy and Toni, and even with the angst and agony, I can’t wait to see what we cook up for them.

@mademiistakes / @favorpaid - Megs, my sweetie, thank you so much for the last year of goodness between Toni and Joaquin. Like their friendship fuels me! I know that despite your dolls both being dipped at the moment, I am confident you and I can continue RPing Serpent brilliance because that, babes, is what we do. I appreciate you so much, and thank you for being with me through the ups and the downs.

@heavenlysigh - Girl, I always love writing with you. Toni and Hara have seen so much growth this year, and I feel at the heart of it, that you always wake up this poetry in my writing. I adore it, and their complicated relationship and friendship. It really makes me feel emboldened when I see them together because it feels like such a lovely example of female friendship between the pair of them, in all its loveliness and ugliness. Let’s see all the new shit they stir up this year.

@slayvicr - Sam! Honestly we’re only now starting to get to know each other, but I love how supportive and wonderful you’ve been right out the gate. You’re so lovely when we talk and I can’t wait to see you at my wedding, because I know that you’re a wonderful person and that you’ll be a great person to be there during one of my happiest days. I can’t wait to write with you, either with Buffy or Joaquin or whoever you want to play! A new year, and more stuff for us!

@hoodjunior / @ladyreckoning - Hello JJ you wild warrior woman! Honestly, didn’t expect to get to know you well, and happy that we are talking. You have been so helpful about the things that you’ve helped me with along the way, from dumb Tumblr things, to helping me craft thoughtful statements. You’re a wonderful person who puts up with far too much, and while this year was not kind, I do hope that the next one will be.

@sunshinebarbiiie / @loyalserpvnt - You’re such a fucking sweetheart. Honestly, and writing with both Serena and SP has been a dream. I can’t wait to roll out all the things we’ve plotted between Toni and SP, and developing that rich friendship between Serena and Toni. The things that Serena and Vanessa should have been in the show, had the show been kind to us! Really, you’re fun to write with, and I love having you around.

@ragingicarus - Cries, I miss you load and loads and loads, you sweet human bean! I really want you to know that you’re treasured and loved and that writing Toni and John has been so much fun. I can’t wait to jump back in it with you, and want you to know that whenever you’re ready, I’m so so so ready! Missing you darling! And here’s to a new year full of fabulousness!!

@bubblegumxveil - J, my J~ you’re always out here with a cheerful word and a happiness to all that you do. Even when things are shit you always manage to have such a mature outlook, and I appreciate the hell out of that in you. Thank you for always thinking of me this year, and I hope you know that you’re really great and I appreciate the crap out of you. I hope next year is brilliant for you and you find your happiness the way you hope to find it!

@rxvenhairedprincess - To LA, my princess. I’m really proud of you this year... and thankful, because I know that I can be really blunt, but you’ve taken everything in stride. You’ve seen happiness and are turning so much into your happiness into a day to day thing. It makes me happy and heartened to see that growth in the last year and am really genuinely happy to have you here as apart of my little crew. You’re a good egg LA! Please always keep that in mind.

@swcctserpent / @mcntlethemagnificent / @fairriverdale - Chace! We missed each other in Sydney, but no matter, it does nothing to dull the brilliance in you. Thank you for being so great with both your muses and your own self, in helping give me some perspective when I’m a bit unhappy or unsure about what I want to write, thank you for being around, and thanks for being apart of the Riverdale community. I hope next year is a good one for you!

@snakeblccded - Your Charles is so much fun! And I’m happy you picked him up - really really, I’m happy to have him around and to write out all the good and uncertainty within his life out there on the edges. It’s an amazing thing to find someone who’s able to take what few details that are out there and turn that into writing gold, so really, that’s so cool of you. Can’t wait to see what we see in the new year together!

@wlftempr / @blackhearttm - Couldn’t forget you! I love having all your muses around, from the fatherliness of Alex, to... well, Toni and Spencer being wild. I’m sorry I haven’t been around lately because of vacation, but know that I love writing with you and appreciate you. Like I said on that call we had, I hope that you ended this year in a position where you feel happy and appreciated in your life, because you deserve that. I can’t wait to write with you more too! To a new year!

@uncivilizes - Such a random person to have found in the indie rp tag but wow am I glad! You write John like... holy shit amazing, and even though we haven’t done a ton of writing yet, you really perfectly capture his essence, and I can’t wait to do more over the coming year. I wanted to make sure you knew I appreciated and saw that shit in you!

#( milestones ) &&. in my feelings

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best-local-seo-brisbane-z9f2xxq · 2 years ago

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Explore Affordable Hawaiian J

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wrongpublishing · 2 years ago

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Review: 婕 Venus Cohen’s “Dorian Dyes His Hair”

by Ami J. Sanghvi.

Behold the greatest central thesis for an assessment of The Picture of Dorian Gray you’ll ever read in your life: Dorian is a femboy. Yes, you read that correctly. Oscar Wilde fans, people who dye their hair a different color every week, and my fellow darling queer folks—rejoice! 婕 Venus Cohen’s “Dorian Dyes His Hair” is a poem that not only officially exists in a world that quite desperately needs it, but also serves to dismantle the heteronormativity forced upon the troubled yet famously glamorous queer-coded protagonist of The Picture of Dorian Gray. Here, Cohen examines the Victorian literary classic under a far more queer-focused lens and draws the story’s corresponding implications directly to the surface. Dorian, Dumb and witless, between his ears? Air! Victorian bimbo. Shelf-stable trophy boy, Dorian poses, blonde, “Floodlit, the glossy kiss-pit” Those of you who have read the novel know that Dorian Gray is aesthetically lovely. He is a man so conventionally beautiful that societal stereotypes demand he be entirely devoid of original thought and any indication of intellectual prowess—in other words, a “bimbo.” Consequently, other men in The Picture of Dorian Gray recognize how pretty Dorian is and, in true patriarchal fashion, proceed to objectify him.

In the book, the painter of the famous portrait of Dorian, Basil Hallward, and his friend, Lord Henry Wotton, are both essentially obsessed with Dorian’s beauty in a way that can honestly only be described as deeply homoerotic. Of course, as readers existing in a suffocatingly heteronormative society, we’re supposed to deny this and assume that there is no blatant queerness to this otherwise curious dynamic Wilde has created. Cohen, however, simply isn’t having it.

They write, Pretty Dorian was wanted, once. Odalisque, posing, crafted by the hand of Basil Consumed by the arms of Lord Henry. Dorian the pretty. Shortly after locking in this brilliant foundation of the poem, Cohen blatantly slaps the soul of it out onto the page in a way that is so effective it smacks, shocks, and stings you all in the same instant. How heterosexual can we warp Dorian? Read that line. Now, read it again. The key word here isn’t heterosexual—it’s warp. That, right there, is the essence of the primary violence inflicted not only upon Dorian Gray, but also queer and trans folk everywhere, every day. This is the atrocity of warping.

Just in case this line didn’t pack enough of a punch (even though it totally did), Cohen then proceeds to follow it up with other, equally agonizing, warp-adjacent phrases. Still, they’re nowhere near finished. By the bottom of the first page, Cohen has already established their momentum. By the top of the second, they are fearlessly wielding it.

Several back-and-forth lines greet us here, shining light on the traditionally feminine nature of Dorian’s beauty. This is a moment of sheer loveliness in the poem, made terribly melancholy only by the shadow heteronormativity insists on casting upon it and, in turn, the subjugated character of Dorian Gray. This description of him, highlighted strategically by Cohen, quickly becomes overwhelmingly but necessarily tragic in the context of this poem. It not only speaks to the devastating reality we all live in, but proceeds to instil fury in its readers for all the suffering this patriarchally heteronormative society causes those who fail to adhere to its unrelentingly cruel constraints. In this poem, Cohen sandwiches their description of Dorian’s beauty between poetic illustrations of his treatment by those in the novel and bold statements encompassing his treatment by real life readers of the same book. This device swiftly releases Dorian’s tormented character from its purely fictional confines and spits him out into our equally twisted world. Immediately, we recognize that the queer, gender nonconforming Dorian is one of us in a way we potentially never did before. And, as if predicting the reader’s likely sudden realization of how Dorian’s dilemma fits into the reality of our modern-day existence, and the sickening rage we feel upon its impact, Cohen skillfully verbalizes that which, in this moment of raw, unbridled emotion for the reader, suddenly feels impossible to articulate. How meta, that society has created the Dorian That Dorian spent all 80,000 words escaping from Older, wittier, chiseled, tall, dark, handsome-- Twink destroyers! Enforcers of heterosexual complacency! Fuck you! If you ever want to experience a writer and a reader melding into a single blob of sheer, antiestablishment fury, look no further than this absolute masterpiece of a poem—signed off on by no other than what appears to be Wilde’s formidable ghost himself. Read Cohen's poem in Wrongdoing Magazine's first issue:

#review #poetry review #gothic poetry #poetry #gothic literature

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always-kp · 6 years ago

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[Quotes from...] A Court of Frost and Starlight, Sarah J. Maas

"'It's a time of rest, too. And a time to reflect on the darkness - how it let's the light shine.'" Pg. 5 "It was the true test of will, of courage. To climb when you had nothing left; to climb when your body begged you to stop..." Pg. 26-7 "I felt his power beckoning to me long before he got near the house, a dark melody through the world." Pg. 45 "'I love you,' he breathed. 'More than life, more than my territory, more than my crown.'" Pg. 54 "She smiled broadly. Bright as the full moon, lovelier than any star." Pg. 95 "'It's their tradition though,' Elain countered, her face still flushed with the cold. 'One that they fought and died to protect in the war. Perhaps that's the better way to think about it, rather than feeling guilty. To remember that this day means something to them. All of them, regardless of who has more, who has less, and in celebrating the traditions, even through the presents, we honor those who fought for its very existence, for the peace this city has now.'" Pg. 129-30 "'How do you keep creating, despite what you lost?'... The weaver only said, her sad, sorrowful gaze meeting mine, 'I have to.' The simple words hit me like a blow. The weaver went on, 'I have to create, or it was all for nothing. I have to create, or I will crumple up with despair and never leave my bed. I have to create because I have no other way of voicing this.' Her hand rested on her heart, and my eyes burned." Pg. 134-5 "Even an immortal's lifetime of painting wouldn't be enough to capture every facet of him. Of us. I lifted my eyes to his again and found stars and darkness waiting. Found home waiting. Never enough. Not to paint him, know him. Eons would never be enough for all I wanted to do, see with him. For all I wanted to love him." Pg. 207

#bookworm #a court of frost and starlight #a court of thornes and roses #ship #love #best series award #read #sarah j. maas #quotes

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stringsofstarlight · 4 years ago

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These future days, often like following the invisible string through that famous Daedalus maze.🧶💛😘

Today I shall not defer to the weather or politics of the current environment, while interesting in some ways, they are distractions from clarity of purpose and expressing the loveliness I feel in every moment for you. The 113 degree day something else, just had to add that.😉

It just moves my heart to see how everyone has been commenting on those sweet little smirky smiles in the seemingly most interesting of places in the video. The tie dyed towel in the j. Reynolds pic was really cute, reminded me of a certain something that has been sent your way. I know it isn’t easy this whole deep, deep dive we are on, the pressure from the depth can sometimes feel like a bit too much, yet after a few moments of decompression and reflection, it was the only way to get that hard, nearly imperceptible sh*t cleaned out of the expanse of the inner space. Your words, a kind of lifeline of clear, fresh oxygen when it all seems too murky to go any further. The sounds always pointing me in the direction of home, even if I’ve found myself upside down and all turned around, like a homing beacon they beckon me onward, forward. Yearning for the time together, making each moment so savory and delectable that the clock seems to stand still, each second hanging in the balance, unsure it it needs to click to the next one. A guilty pleasure of feeling love right now, then letting the guilt release in knowing that we have earned this love. The moment that lasts forever in its fulfillment of kind of justness, rightness, and tenderness we seek in our own selves, then to complement in a life’s partner. Oh my darling, I love you in a multitude of ways that when I write any of them down, the blush and flush of my cheeks takes over.☺️ ✨🤟🏼💐☮️💋❤️‍🔥🌹🌻🍀🌈🔮🧶🥰

eternal love,

james. 11:11

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allyvampirelass29 · 5 years ago

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Once Upon a December

Paradise For the Lost, Part 3 A NOS4A2 Fanfiction By: Allyssa J. Watkins

Charlie smiled to himself, as he watched his sweet porcelain doll sleep in heavenly peace, curled up in his backseat, her long, white nightdress trailing off the edge.

"Just a touch, with this one, will do," he spoke aloud to his Wraith, gloved hands gripping the steering wheel, slowly turning his dark, dancing eyes back to the road and the sweeping snowdrifts. "We don't want to turn her, and we'll need her especially radiant for the big day, now won't we?"

He gripped the steering wheel tighter as he drove, taking a deep, cleansing breath, as the Wraith carefully siphoned off some of Ally's youth, transferring it through the upholstery, where it made contact with her pale skin, returning to him what his magnificent gift sought so cruelly to take away as payment. He felt the lines around his eyes smoothed away, his lips plumper, his cheek flushed with her colour. "Why, thank you, Dear, You are most generous...….."

It was hours later when he pulled over on the side of the road, just next to a sparkling white snow covered gazebo. Not having quite the usual haste to rush his pretty passenger off to Christmasland, he fully intended to take his time getting there, for this trip was far more about the lingering magic of the journey, than the end destination. The Wraith's door swung open, and he stepped out, rather lively, rising into his full height, and as he approached the back door, it opened of its own accord unto a most inviting sight.

He climbed into the backseat of The Wraith, sitting himself next to her slumbering form, and slowly eased her silky, curly head to rest against his leg, taking off one of his black leather driving gloves, to brush his long fingernails against her cheek, hearing the faintest, easeful sigh as he did so.

"Hello, My Blushing Young Bride," He whispered, setting his hand, now, atop her blossoming curls, his eyes fond, and yet they glimmered with just a hint of mischief. Her skin was even paler than when they had departed, her cheek bereft of its lovely colour, ironically, not at all blushing at the moment, her eyes darkened around the edges, her pretty face so frail, though none the less beautiful for looking sickly.

"Oh don't worry, My Love," he cooed. "I just had a taste of your fairness," He cupped her stark white cheek in his palm, feeling her begin to stir. "I hope you don't mind too terribly...… One day you'll understand...…. What's yours is mine."

He raised his hand high, snapping his fingers in one swift motion, his long nails clicking together, and a flurry of snow began to fall over them both.

Allyssa felt the tickle on her cheek, and long lashes, slowly opening her eyes, altogether woozy.

"Charles?" She looked at him with weary eyes, carefully raising her head, and he smiled down at her, his eyes jovial and kind.

"Yes, My Sweet? Did you sleep well? I hope you don't mind my little magic trick, I didn't mean to wake you, I just couldn't resist seeing how splendid you'd look with snowflakes dotting your cheek, and collecting into a crown upon your fine hair. I have such an affinity for snow, you see."

He helped her sit up, and she could barely rest her head against his shoulder, her strength all but gone. "It's..... It's so beautiful, Charles, truly." Her voice sounded weak, and he watched her struggle to fully wake, her brow knit together, her emerald gem eyes squinting against the blinding white world that surrounded them. "Forgive me, Charles, but I-I'm not well. I feel most strange...…"

"Oh? Whatever could be wrong, My Darling Girl?" He asked, touching his cravat, deeply concerned, of course.

She rubbed her darkened eyes, and then rested her hand against her forehead, as elegant ladies from his own time often did, and Charlie admired the way the snowflakes formed around her dainty shoulders, and caught in her hair, frozen wonder trapped in such soft, luxurious curls. He even admired how The Wraith's effects only made her lovelier. A touch of death becomes you, My Dear.

"I don't-" She shook her head, looking anguished. "I don't know, I feel..... faint, considerably weakened."

Charles was already bringing his palm flush to her forehead, rather soothingly, before raising his hand to finger the snowflakes in her hair. "Oh you poor thing! I imagine such anemia must have been brought on by the long car ride. Perhaps....." He reached over to swing the door open. "A bit of a venture might do us both wonderous good? Some crisp, fresh air, and you'll be much improved, I'm sure."

He stepped out, bowing genteel, and helped her out too, before offering his arm, which she took most graciously. "Yes, Charles, what a fine idea! I should like that very much."

They strolled together through the snow, and he reveled in it, his porcelain doll clinging to him, needing him, unable to so much as walk without his guidance, his care, his hand pressed possessively against the small of her back. He shook the snowflakes from his own handsome coif, slicking his hair back with his gloved hand, and felt her blissful exclaim, as the sparkling gazebo came into view, twinkling with the white glow of Christmas Lights.

"Charles, oh isn't it divine!? I have never glimpsed any sight quite so magical!!! What snow white exquisite beauty we have wandered into!!! What is this place?

He let his dove twitter freely from her perch to hurry on ahead, and get a better look, that beautiful child's wonder flooding through her angel visage, and smiled to himself, slipping his other glove back on, to cover up his long nails.

"A Snow Globe, My Miss Allyssa. One that I have crafted especially for you. An early Christmas Present, you could call it."

He extended his arms, and clapped his hands together with great gusto, making snowflakes fall in a frosty, sparkling whirl from the roof of the gazebo. She gasped, delighted, her dainty hand resting against her cheek, curls tumbling in a wave over her shoulder, and Charlie Manx knew there was nothing so much in all the world that could have enticed her more than this fantastical scene.

"Go on, now," He encouraged laughingly, catching up with her, placing his hands on either of her sides, leaning forward as she marveled, her breath escaping, the twinkling, fairy lights reflected in her fine eyes. "Your present is waiting...…"

She looked over her shoulder, and beamed at him, lighting up like a Christmas Tree, appearing far less spectral now, toying with her hair shyly. "You would do all of this, weave such wonders, for me, Mister Manx?"

"Ally...…." He whispered, his voice soft with the secrets of the story that lay before them, and he grinned, holding her like something that had always been his, his gloved fingers curling around her more tightly, before he surrounded her from behind, his nose brushing against her cold cheek, pulling her into him, into the fate that couldn't be changed. The woman he had waited his entire vampiric existence to love. Destiny has been dangling you in front of me, teasing me long enough...….

"If I may...... scandalously afford myself the intimate pleasure of calling you such...…. " She melted like snow in his hold, transfixed by his words, all of it feeling like a fevered dream, feeling the heat between them, and his voice was a rasp, his pulse racing with his own dark wit, "I would write WORLDS for you...…."

She trembled, reaching back for him, that soft, womanly hand caressing his freshly shaved cheek, the hand that he could not resist another moment, and turned his head at so sharp an angle, that it fell against his lips, and what she said next was a delicious surprise, making his own heart tremble, exciting him with a malicious tasting irony.

"Oh Charles...… I too would write worlds for you, coax them from the very page, if only your silver tongue might ask."

"Oh yes, My Sweet Lady," He said breathless, visions of black ink dripping down her fingers, a chorus of screams echoing through his rollicking mind, and she couldn't see the way his brow slanted forward, most sinister.

"I know you will."

It was all Charles could do to let her go, snapping back into his role as princely, and most proper suitor, as he took her hand with gentlemanly grace, escorting her into the gazebo, both of them stepping into the falling snow, their all too real moment fading as quickly as it had come, in a strike of forbidden fire.

Ally's laugh was an addiction, a music composed of pure girlish joy as he spun her around in their secret snowy sphere, his hand clasping hers above her dancing curls, smiling like a man in love as he watched the way her long white nightgown billowed out and rustled around her legs.

He brought her over to the stone bench and she gave him an especially bashful grin, the colour flickering its way back into her cheeks like a newly lighted candle, seeing that there were two porcelain mugs set there, steaming with hot chocolate, a peppermint candy cane placed in each.

"You MUST have looked just this way, on Christmas Morning as a child," He smiled tenderly, as she happily picked up the cup, settling down on the bench, glowing brighter than the surrounding Christmas lights, outshining them most shamelessly. He chuckled blissful, his spirits high, and set himself down next to her, plucking up his own mug with his nimble fingers, carefully stirring the warm inviting refreshment, with his candy cane as he looked at her.

She giggled again, tossing her snow covered curls, as she took a generous drink, letting it warm her up, melting from its rich delicious taste, and his equally decadent dark chocolate eyes.

"I think I must have! Oh but all the sweet dolls, and pretty dresses, and soft teddy bears, wrapped in shining paper, waiting under the tree, cannot compare to the gift of your company, Charles. Father Christmas is far surpassed by one, Charles T. Manx."

Charlie grinned, enraptured by that sentiment, having for centuries thought so himself, and he took a long, slow draught of hot chocolate, looking at her enamoured over the cup's rim.

"You dazzle me, Miss Watkins. Yes, I believe in regards to your Christmas Gifts, you have been sorely neglected. We'll have to..... right such a wrong, now won't we? He took another drink, thinking no one had ever looked so lovely as that effervescent creature in the cascading snowfall, and it were as if she had been the one left for him, Christmas Morning, and wore his name around her delicate wrist even now.

"Goodness, I must look such a fright!" She exclaimed, setting down her cup, frantically fixing her hair, which was slightly mussed, making her look all the more charming. She felt around her eyes, and he took the distraction to move closer, setting his own cup next to hers, reaching his long arm around her, his gloved hand coming to rest upon her feminine shoulder. "Oh my Darling, if you look affright, than I am happy to be scared all the rest of my life."

She looked at him then, like he was in fact, A Christmas Miracle, losing herself in his dark, coaxing features, bringing her hand to touch the side of his face, as if her own fingers did not merit such a privilege. He looked back into her eyes, his brow pulled back, usually so painstakingly put together, he felt he would fall apart with a single pulled thread.

"Charles.........?"

He felt his chest tighten, his wintry wonderland quieted in the face of such a rhapsody of green meadow eyes. Summertime in this eternal winter.

"Did you perchance grow even lovelier this very hour?"

He felt the colour he'd stolen from her, flood damningly into his own cheek even now, as he smiled, looking obviously guilty.

"I assure you, Miss Ally, if I did, it was only accomplished through your own comely company and particular illuminating influence."

Their eyes locked again, neither one of them daring to look away, her other hand reaching for his and he took it at once, adamantly cursing his gloves.

"Are you real, My Dearest?" Charles watched the tears glisten in her eyes, feeling out of his own head. "Or by my usual misfortune of the heart, do you exist only in this, my lonely imagining that is not nearly grand enough to hold you?"

Charles touched her face, taking great care to do so, already whisking away her streaming tears, and she never felt so breakable as she did in this moment, nor had he ever felt closer to her, or more protective of her, and when he spoke his voice was tremulous.

"I am most assuredly real, My Love. It is you, however, who cannot be, being so gentle and fair a thing as cannot breathe and be in such unnatural perfection."

She burst into more happy tears, an incredulous laugh escaping her lips, taking both of his hands into both of hers, with such awe, kissing his knuckles hard. "These hands are not so empty now...…." She whispered, and Charles felt his heart positively ache, his own eyes blurred by an onslaught of unexpected tears.

"Where have you been, Charles Manx?" She whispered to his hands, her voice rife with her own painful longing, and he could barely say the word, he was so affected by her.

"Waiting...……"

The flooding music surrounded them both, the tinkling bells, mystical in their sound, a rather fine rosewood Victrola springing to life in the corner, the symphony's rising swell matching the intensity of their own vulnerability.

"I-I know this song...…." Ally whispered, her wonder especially rare, swaying back and forth, closing her eyes, already moved by the music, under its thrall, as if in a trance.

"Sing it for me." Charles insisted, his voice both forceful and persuasive, bringing her to her feet as she continued to sway.

"Dancing bears, painted wings, things I almost remember...…….."

Charles was entirely unprepared for the drunken intoxication that numbed his senses as that sweet voice took flight in song, so pure in its sound, such siren's music, and like he'd been possessed by it, he began to dance with her, one hand still in hers, the other resting against her shoulder blade, leading her in a waltz through the snow flurries.

"Yes, that's it," he coaxed, feeling her move with him, mirroring his step, as though it were to her as natural as breathing. "Don't stop."

"And a song, someone sings, Once Upon a December...…" They began to whirl about the enchanted sphere, dancing not just in the snow, but with it, as his angel sang out, her words lilting in their tremor, her gown rustling across the floor, and Charles had never experienced any physical sensation so spectacular as gliding with her in perfect sync.

"Someone holds me safe and warm," She trilled, just as he swung her into him, crossing his arms and hers over her bodice. "Horses prance through a silver storm, figures dancing gracefully, across my memory...…."

"Sing to me, My Snow Angel," He whispered, breathily, just as they stepped back together impossibly close, chest to chest, and he could feel her humming heartbeat. "Far away, long ago, glowing dim as an ember...…."

"Your eyes are my embers," He whispered again as their gazes locked in a fervor.

"Things my heart, used to know, things it yearns to remember...……" She sang back, her voice growing softer, as she looked at him, the undeniable desire, rising with the music

"And a song someone sings...……" He let her fall back just slightly, and she clung to his body, never taking her eyes from his.

His own deep baritone ascended upon the frosty air, his voice, soaring to sing with hers as they finished the song together.

"Once Upon a December...……."

As the music ended in a crescendoing shower of playful bells, he cradled the back of her curly head, still holding her suspended, and unable to feign restraint a moment longer, brought her lips up to meet his, cupping her cheek with his glove, feeling the impassioned rush, as their lips touched at last, moving together, pressing into each other, in a tender finale. She tasted like Christmas, sweet and peppermint as she gave herself to him, her hands primly disappearing into his hair, and as they held each other, the rest of the world fell away, buried by the snow, two dancing figures frozen in one perfect first kiss. A couple falling in love in a snow globe.

#nos4a2 #charlie manx #paradise for the lost #christmasland #charlie manx x oc #the wraith

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analysis-by-vaylon · 7 years ago

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Animation Retrospective: The Real Ghostbusters

Something that's been on my mind -- the staff behind Star vs. the Forces of Evil have been getting away with quite a bit lately: a lot of violence, use of words like “death” and “kill”, and some honestly pretty psychologically dark and heavy stuff.

And thinking about all that got me remembering a cartoon that I used to watch when I was a kid in the late 1980s -- The Real Ghostbusters. I was -- and still am -- a huge fan of Ghostbusters. It is my favorite movie of all time. And as a kid, I watched The Real Ghostbusters -- the animated series based on the movie -- religiously.

Recently, I noticed that the first two seasons of the animated series were available on Netflix (as of this post, they still are!), which prompted me to briefly part from my previous topics here and write this post instead.

This will be a long discussion of my favorite three episodes from The Real Ghostbusters, during which I will also incorporate guidelines on three things: writing with internal logic, writing good dialogue, and using conflict to craft a compelling story. Despite the length of this post, I welcome you to read it in its entirety and provide feedback.

Before we start, though, I'd like to say that the writing isn't the only thing I like about The Real Ghostbusters, of course: I also love the voice acting, the character designs, the composition -- even the animation has moments of loveliness from time to time (though admittedly the series is mainly comprised of bog-standard '80s animation).

The writing, though, is where this series truly shines. Unlike Star vs. the Forces of Evil, which is storyboard-driven, The Real Ghostbusters is a script-driven series -- which makes a lot of sense for an animated series in the ‘80s. There wasn’t a whole lot of budget for animation (and the studios they had access to weren’t particularly remarkable), so the production staff focused on quality scripts. These three episodes in particular are emblematic of not only a well-made children's animated series but also just good, old-fashioned enjoyable storytelling for any audience. In my opinion, anyone who is interested in writing a script for an ensemble cast or in improving their dialogue could learn a thing or two from The Real Ghostbusters. Now -- let’s dive right in!

Episode 44: "The Thing in Mrs. Faversham's Attic" and Internal Logic

Yes, that J. Michael Straczynski. He was not only a writer for the series but the story editor as well, and the show's quality in its early run reflects that -- until ABC foolishly forced him out (but that's a story for another day).

This episode stands out because of its truly dark subject matter: it involves a haunting in a house caused by an entity -- heavily implied to be demonic in origin -- conjured up by a well-meaning father in dire need.

Looking back on it, I can't believe an episode like this got made in the 1980s. Many of you reading this now were not around for it, but the 1980s were a time of baseless widespread fear of rock music, Dungeon & Dragons, cults, and Satanism -- moral panics.

An episode like "The Thing in Mrs. Faversham's Attic" would have normally been nixed by ABC's Broadcast Standards and Practices, but this episode -- along with the two other episodes chosen for this post -- is part of the 65 episodes produced for syndication, meaning that they were subjected to looser restrictions than normal. As you'll see, it's because of those looser restrictions that we see darker themes, more action, and more adult-oriented dialogue. (Frankly, it's still amazing that these episodes got made at all.)

The episode, like many other early episodes of The Real Ghostbusters, has an undeniable internal logic acting as its driving force: the thing in Mrs. Faversham's attic has been confined there, and it's been making that place larger, day by day, year by year, nursing its grudge against the man who trapped it there. It takes on scary forms that are based on the sort of junk that people leave sitting around in attics -- it's both creatively inspired and eminently reasonable.

The Ghostbusters also figure all this out through detective work, a process we see in action: after an initial encounter with the thing, they return to the station to ask Mrs. Faversham some follow-up questions based on what they've learned, and Egon is the one who puts all the pieces together in a way that not only is consistent from what we've been shown but also is engaging and interesting to watch. The Ghostbusters aren't just occult-themed exterminators, after all -- they're paranormal investigators, and these three episodes really play up that aspect.

By building an episode around a sort of internal logic -- but not drawing too much attention to it -- and using those rules to bring the episode to the conclusion which follows, a writer can create a resolution which is immensely satisfying, even if the audience is not at first entirely sure why. (Indeed, one of the benefits of script-driven animation is that this internal logic can more easily remain consistent from episode to episode!)

"The Thing in Mrs. Faversham's Attic" also has some examples of excellently-written dialogue -- the dry, wisecracking humor so often associated with the Ghostbusters as well as a really quite menacing speech from the villain (especially menacing when coupled with its design):

Peter: (talking to himself) "'So, Peter, have a nice day?' 'Oh, yeah. Argued with a hat and a coat rack.' 'Really?' 'Yep, nothing new. How's about you?'"

Egon: Janine, why don't you show Mrs. Faversham the Containment Unit? I'm sure she'd find it fascinating. Janine: Of course. Come along, Mrs. Faversham. I'll show you where they figure out new ways to do stupid things.

Peter: Seven years of college, and I can never remember if it's positive to negative or positive to positive.

The Thing: So long have I awaited you, Faversham, here in my prison. Do you like it? I built it all myself. Every inch of it has the word hate written on it. That is how much I hate you for keeping me here. Only one thing has kept me from going mad: revenge! Revenge on the one who had imprisoned me! And now, here you are.

I won't spoil the climax of "The Thing in Mrs. Faversham's Attic" for you -- I want you to watch and enjoy all of these episodes for yourself -- but suffice it to say that it is genuinely terrifying, even to adult me.

Episode 41: "The Collect Call of Cathulhu" and Dialogue

First things first: yes, it should be "Cthulhu" -- the person making the title card thought the name was misspelled (not to mention that Lovecraft's works were not quite yet in the public domain at the time of production). That being said, there's so much to appreciate in this episode; really, it's a love letter not only to Lovecraft but to science fiction writers everywhere. Like every other episode on this list, it also has some great dialogue:

[The Necronomicon has been stolen.] Kline: We must get it back! Otherwise, the city, perhaps even the world, is in grave peril! Peter: I don't see what all the fuss is about. It's just a book. Ray: And an atomic bomb is just a couple of rocks slammed together. Egon: This is the only English translation of the Necronomicon. If someone were to read the spells in it aloud, the results would be catastrophic.

Using this example, I’d like to show you that good dialogue ought to be doing several things at once:

Dialogue characterizes. We learn about characters through the things that they say, and their words reinforce what the audience already knows about them -- i.e., characters act according to what the writers have previously established. That creates a familiarity with the audience that allows them to get to know those characters. The audience can also learn new things about those characters or gain more awareness of traits that were previously only hinted at -- both of which should be in keeping with aspects that have already been established. (Though it's fine to surprise people, of course. People are indeed complicated and full of surprises.)

Dialogue captivates. Each character's diction -- their manner of speaking and word choice -- should engage the audience by being interesting while also fitting their character. In the example above, Ray is technically-oriented and knows Peter well, so he comes up with a rather surprising metaphor and presents it in a way that Peter can understand -- and the audience is meant to find the gallows humor wryly amusing. (Telling a joke is one way of keeping the audience's interest.) Egon, who is even more technically-oriented than Ray, reflects this with his unusual word choice, particularly in the use of the word “catastrophic”, which also foreshadows just how serious the threat will prove to be.

Dialogue establishes the setting. Characters should refer to the world they live in as if it is ordinary -- i.e., the audience learns something about the world through what the characters have to say about it. With the example above, for instance, we are able to infer not only that magic exists but that it's also extremely dangerous as well. Yet these facts are unremarkable to the characters; the writers assume we're smart enough to make inferences on our own, without them being explicitly spelled out for us.

Dialogue sets the tone and theme. Take another look at the example dialogue above; Peter's flippant remark (which is usual for him) is responded to with grim humor and grave warnings. In a less-serious episode of The Real Ghostbusters, Peter might simply have gotten away with such a remark, but in this episode, he is immediately corrected, establishing that, no, this is far more serious than a normal episode. In addition, the characters' discussion of the danger sets up the theme of magic being a dangerous force that few people can be trusted with.

Dialogue explains what's going on. In my opinion, this is the very last thing that dialogue ought to be doing. Once your dialogue does one or more of the previous things, only then can characters explain what's happening. The audience should learn something new about the immediate subject matter the characters are dealing with, or the plot should be advanced in some way. I don't believe in having expository dialogue simply for its own sake -- but if you think you can make it work in your writing, then go for it. (There are no hard-and-fast rules for writing, and people will like pretty much anything. I've seen it.)

Here's another example of dialogue from this episode:

[After running away.] Winston: Sometimes I really regret answering that ad you guys ran. Peter: Egon, what do you got? Egon: His power is completely off the scale. None of our equipment can even begin to stop him. We don't have a prayer. Peter: You're such a Pollyanna, Egon.

In addition to the dialogue, there are dark elements that got surprisingly overlooked by network censors: the Necronomicon, the cultists -- who, incredibly enough, literally chant "Iä! Iä! Cthulhu fhtagn!" -- the spellcasting, and the riskiness of everything the Ghostbusters end up doing. (I am truly boggled that such an animation was ever made in the Satanist-fearing 1980s.)

Indeed, in order to convey the danger of the threat that the Ghostbusters face, this episode incorporates a number of elements from the film -- which is itself is a serious treatment of a comedic idea -- to give the episode a cinematic treatment. For instance, the opening shot of the New York Public Library is directly lifted from the film, and much of the dialogue -- there's mention of Gozer -- refers back to moments from the film in new and interesting ways, all of it serving to underscore the danger the characters face.

If you watch this episode yourself, you'll see what I mean when I say that this entire episode is a love letter to science fiction writers of old.

Episode 43: "The Headless Motorcyclist" and Conflict

This is my absolute favorite episode, and I saved it for last. There's so much I could say about this episode: I love how cinematic it is; I love that it takes a fictional story from real life and adds some personal tragedy to it; I love the composition and how so many scenes take place on the dark and dirty streets of New York; I love the sophisticated and gritty, almost film noir themes in it (yes, really!); I love how Peter is depicted as the shameless womanizer he is (you know -- for kids!). It's just a perfect episode.

I could bore you for hours by talking about this episode, but I'd like to focus on the conflicts and how the problems these conflicts present offer opportunities for the story to move forward. First, a list of the central conflicts in the story, from beginning to end:

Bud vs. Kate

Peter vs. Bud

Officer Frump vs. Peter

The Headless Ghost vs. Kate (and Her Family)

Officer Frump vs. The Ghostbusters

The Ghostbusters vs. The Headless Ghost

The episode starts with Bud and Kate having an argument at a party. Peter initially gets involved because he's attracted to Kate, but after he overhears the argument and Bud starts to hurt Kate, he steps in, and they almost fight. Bud leaves the party. After Bud leaves, he's followed by the Headless Ghost, who destroys his car. This chance encounter provides the impetus for Bud to contact the police, who naturally assume Peter had something to do with it:

[Officer Frump shows the Ghostbusters photographs of the burnt-out car.] Officer Frump: And the guy was lucky not to end up the blue plate special at Bob's Barbecue Hut. Peter: Okay. So you want us to investigate this motorcycle spook, right? Officer Frump: Wrong. Peter: Wrong? Officer Frump: (taking out a photograph of Bud) Know this guy? Peter: Yeah, sure. I met him last night. We had an argument -- Officer Frump: That's the guy who was almost barbecued. Peter: (quietly) Ohhhh.

The small conflict between Bud and Peter escalates into a larger one: Peter needs to prove his innocence, or he'll be going to jail for a crime he didn't commit. Because the Ghostbusters are scientists and paranormal investigators, they employ logical thinking in order to solve their problems. Their first idea is to retrace Bud's steps using the same car he drove, which works. After gaining an idea about the ghost, they contact Kate to find out more about the ghost, where they learn about her family's history.

It's then that the Ghostbusters realize the true scope of the conflict taking place and decide to do something about it. By this point, as more information is revealed and multiple parties become involved, further pressure is put on the Ghostbusters -- they need to figure this out, or else they'll all be going to jail -- which ratchets up the dramatic tension.

This is good writing! Start with a small conflict, then raise the stakes. As the characters react to the raised stakes, the situation continues to escalate, propelled by a kind of logic (sometimes a horrible one in particularly violent stories), until a final confrontation becomes impossible to avoid. In “The Headless Motorcyclist”, the Ghostbusters go about their problem-solving methodically; not only is that entirely in keeping with their scientifically-minded characters -- it's also interesting for the audience, especially when their plan is at last revealed.

The dialogue underscores the adult nature of the conflict taking place; read this dialogue and try to remember that this is a kid's show:

[The Ghostbusters are working on something.] Janine: (off-screen) You can't just barge in here like this! Officer Frump: Well, what have we here? Not preparing to let some ghosts loose, are we? By the way, I found that this Bud character is an insurance investigator -- and you were selling ghost insurance at the party. What a coincidence, eh?

I told you that this episode has an almost film noir-ish feel to it, and it's definitely dialogue in scenes like this that help give this episode that extra punch it needs. Even the ending of the episode is some kind of cinematic experience -- just look at the expression on Kate's face and the way the camera pans in:

In just a few seconds, you can see all those years of hate and fear of being followed and tortured by the Headless Ghost. We feel her pain in those moments. And yet -- and yet all we're truly looking at in these moments is a bit of paint on a plastic film. To me, that is the epitome of the true magic of animation.

What Do You Think?

If you have Netflix, I highly recommend watching The Real Ghostbusters -- and, in particular, the episodes I mentioned above. Please, please try giving the series a shot. I’ve tried to say as little as possible about the endings -- I think that if you watch these episodes, you’ll be pleasantly surprised, and you may find that you like other episodes as well! Fan favorites include "The Boogieman Cometh", "When Halloween Was Forever", "Ragnarok and Roll", and "Cold Cash and Hot Water".

If nothing else, here are the main ideas in this post I want you to come away with:

The very last thing that dialogue should do is explain what's going on. It should always serve to give life to characters first, then the world, and so on until finally getting to the narrative.

All of your characters in an ensemble cast can have something in common -- a shared dry, sardonic wit, for example -- and yet still be distinct based on other characteristics, such as temperament, word choice, and outlook.

Animation for children doesn't have to be vacuous or insipid. It can be wry, complex, and dark.

Feel free to ignore everything I’ve just told you. I like to give stylistic guidelines on how to write well -- but those are merely my opinions on what good writing is. That is a style. Ultimately, there are no hard-and-fast rules for writing. If you like writing long paragraphs of internal monologue with no line breaks or punctuation, and you think your style works for what you're trying to accomplish, then go for it. There seems to be an audience for just about everything these days, so don’t be afraid to forge your own path.

Thank you for reading this post! I hope you enjoyed it. Feel free to submit any questions you may have, whether on Star vs. the Forces of Evil or The Real Ghostbusters or whatever else is on your mind. If you have sent me questions previously, don't worry; I will answer them soon. If you’d like to chat with me, you can also join me in IRC at the link in my about page, and you can check here for a list of my previous analyses and theories. Take care of yourselves!

#the real ghostbusters #real ghostbusters #dialogue #writing #j michael straczynski #michael reaves #randy lofficier

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