#The casting and production aspect can really get into hair splitting

[gaywatch]

@ the Emilia Perez anon - The guy who made the film totally said 'I'm gonna do a nifty trans metaphor in a Mexican setting but I already know everything about everything so I don't need to look any deeper before I try handling two sensitive and nuanced subjects that are firmly outside my lived experience, that's cool right?' And like, no dude. That's how you wind up pissing people off and disrespecting/misrepresenting at least one of the subjects you're dealing with.

In my (deeply subjective) opinion, he liked the trans narrative and metaphor of starting a new life but didn't care about the Mexico side nearly as much as he apparently thought he did. And the metaphor is compelling as hell! Never been seen before! But because he played the know it all card what could have been a layered, nuanced, challenging, emotional, enlightening look at complex topics is now all ambition with only brief moments of follow through built on a bed of ignorance so severe that it's harmful (and therefore the follow through hardly matters).

The situation as a whole calls for a little nuance, including the frustrating fact that all the general public will ever know or care about is that a trans film beat Wicked at the Golden Globes, which helps legitimize trans narratives in their eyes. But for actual trans, queer, and Mexican people it's a case of 'yeah but did it have to be THAT one ffs?' I feel like it was a similar situation with Crash and...damn I know there's a good queer example too but I can't think of it at the moment.

[tellerluna-stories]

the muse and the melody

PAIRING: ganyu x reader

GENRE: fluff! established relationship, nonverbal communication.

TW/CW: n/a.

A/N: this is a birthday gift I wrote for my trusty co-op player and #1 beta reader :DD happy day of exiting the womb, elder sibling~~

Composing music was truly a thorn in your side when you didn’t even know what to write in the first place.

You run a hand through your unruly hair and sigh discontentedly, looking at the mess of papers before you. Earlier in the day you had painstakingly worked to set up the most productive atmosphere and distraction-free environment that you could, with the foolproof plan to write a masterpiece in one afternoon. Now it was late in the evening, and the sheets of paper that you thought would overflow with music had remained pristinely blank.

Drawing a hand over your face, you cast a glance at the clock on your desk— she should be home anytime soon.

The faint sound of the front door opening and closing is enough to jolt you out of your misery, and you hear a familiar voice call out, “I’m home.”

Like magic, the sound of that soft, lovely voice dispels the gloom hanging over you— hastily, you collect your wits and scrabble at the disorderly heap of papers in an attempt to organize them.

Footsteps shuffle closer and closer to your study, and Ganyu opens the door just as you finished stacking them neatly.

“Hi.”

She blinks at you and gives you a soft smile in greeting. “Hello.”

“It’s really late.” You gently lead Ganyu to sit down on the bench before the piano— the chair of your desk would be too hard and uncomfortable for her. “If I’d known you would come home this late at night, I’d have gone to pick you up.”

She dismisses the thought with a shake of her head, her snowy blue locks flying every which way. “Ah, there’s no need for that… I can take care of myself.”

“I know you can.” Smoothing her hair, you sit beside her and give her hand a gentle squeeze. “But I just get worried, that’s all.”

Ganyu doesn’t reply, but you can hear the unspoken words that she cannot find the courage to say yet— I didn’t want to bother you by asking you to come at such an hour. I’m sorry for making you worry, but I’m also grateful that you care for me enough to worry about me.

You wished you could find the courage to verbalize your reply to her, but in that aspect the two of you were too similar; words were often insufficient to fully communicate your intentions and feelings. To make up for this, you sought to express your emotions in your music, while Ganyu chose to communicate them through her diligence in everything she did.

So in order to tell her the words you wanted to say, you turn to face the piano and ask, “Do you want me to play for you?”

Her eyes light up with childlike delight, and that’s more than enough of an answer for you.

“I should warn you though,” you remark as you lift the cover off of the black and white keys, “I’ve been in musical burnout the whole day, so I don’t really know what to play.”

“That’s alright.” Ganyu shifts to sit closer to you, burying her head in your shoulder. Her arms loosely wrap around your waist, as if by instinct— she must be really tired today, you think. “I like to listen to everything you play.”

Your heart thumps against your ribcage noisily- she really had a knack for taking you by surprise like this.

Quickly, you try to distract her by changing the topic before she notices your flustered expression. “Was it tiring at work?”

“Mm.”

“Did you remember to eat the lunch I packed for you?”

“Mm.”

“You didn’t take all the workload on yourself again, did you?

“…”

“…Ganyu.”

“I didn’t- I didn’t take all of it this time. Just… three-fourths of it.”

“Ganyu.”

She gives you a look with those big, innocent eyes of hers, and the tempo of your heartbeat changes from andante to allegro in a split second. Whether Ganyu is doing it deliberately or not, you know a losing battle when you see one.

“Fine, fine, I won’t nag you about it. I’ll just play for you as your in-house musician and composer.”

With a sigh, you turn to the keyboard and ruffle your hair— what to play, what to play. What sort of tune could your empty head pull out of a hat? What was it that you wanted to say to Ganyu? You wanted your song to be perfect, a masterpiece just solely for her- she deserved nothing less than that.

But how? What volume would you play at? Did you want to have a more upbeat tune, or would you have something soft and sweet? Would she prefer more complex progressions of notes, or was simplicity the way to go?

‘I like to listen to everything you play.’

That single sentence was so direct, so simply phrased— and yet it washed away the angry buzzing of your internal voice like footprints in the sand.

Whether you just play whatever comes to your mind at the moment or you’re drilling exercises for defter fingers, she always chose to sit next to you and listen in reverent silence. Even when you play a wrong note, even if you forget what musical phrase comes next, Ganyu still looks enraptured by your music— and it’s because you are the only one who can play it.

Knowing this gives you confidence and puts your mind at ease; now you’re sure of what you want to say.

Thank you for coming home safely. I know you’re more than capable of taking care of yourself, but I still want to try and protect you. I wish you weren’t so insecure about yourself; I want to tell you how much I cherish you, whether it’s the person who you were in the past, who you are now, or who you will be in the future.

Bit by bit, the words in your heart come together and flow into the melody— any trace of creative block had long since disappeared, replaced with the fire of inspiration that all artists thrive upon. Your instrument became as your voice, and the black and white keys unlocked all the things you kept locked away, the words you wanted to say but just couldn’t. Though they were tentative and unsure, you hoped that your feelings would come across.

“It’s a little bit rough, considering that I made that up on the spot just now.” Your voice wavers slightly— you’d been so absorbed in your playing that you were out of breath. “But… what do you think?”

There was no reply; her deep breaths tickled against the side of your neck, indicating she was fast asleep.

With a shake of your head accompanied with a rueful smile, you shift so that you can wrap an arm around her shoulders— the Liyue Qixing had no small amount of tasks to be done, and yet Ganyu accomplished more in a day than fifty employees could in a week. It was no wonder she came home each evening completely exhausted.

But I wish you’d take better care of yourself, you think as you look at her sleeping face. Her eyelashes flutter lazily as she dozes— knowing her, she was probably dreaming of her schedules for the next day.

“Goodnight, Ganyu.”

Carefully, so you wouldn’t disturb her, you carry her to the couch and drape a blanket over her. She’d have to go to work in a few hours, so it was best to have her nearby so that you could wake her.

As for what you would do till then… inspiration still burned through your blood like adrenaline, and music wouldn’t write itself. You had so many things to say, to tell her through your music— after all, it is out of the abundance of the heart that the mouth speaks. If the heart overflows with love, then it is only natural that the mouth will speak of love.

[fanfictionaries]

The Seduction of Sirius Black - Part 1

Pairing: Hermione Granger x Sirius Black

Summary:

Hermione loves her boyfriend, but there’s just one little problem -- she’s hopelessly attracted to Sirius Black. 

Warnings: Swearing, Smut/18+ NSFW, Angst, Ron bashing (sorry) 

Author’s Note: Posting some old stuff! Honestly, editing it has been a nice lead back into really writing. Very cathartic! 

Also, apologies for the Ron bashing in this story. I know it’s a stupid trope and to a certain extent I really enjoy Ron as a character, buuuuut I’m using it as a cheap way to move plot. 

ALSO, this is obviously a AU where Sirius didn’t die in the Department of Mysteries. 

ALSO (and this is the last one I swear), I AM a big fan of Wolfstar but I also have daddy issues and find Sirius Black extremely attractive and this is my tumblr so I can write the stories I want I guess. Haha Not to mention, Sirius Black gives BIG bisexual energy.  

MASTERLIST

*** 

Hermione didn’t really know when it had happened – this attraction to Sirius Black. It wasn’t as if she had woken up one day with the sudden urge to jump across the table and shag the older wizard into the next life. The whole thing had occurred much more gradually than that, she supposed. However, despite all of the trivial aspects of her…situation, Hermione chose instead to focus purely on the fact that he was entirely off limits. For many reasons. There was no way anyone in her close-knit circle of friends would be okay with her becoming entangled with a man more than twice her age and who also happened to be her best friend’s god father. It would be unacceptable. It would be impractical. Most of all it would be highly inappropriate as she was currently dating her other best friend, Ronald Weasley.

She supposed the attraction was inevitable to a certain degree. At the beginning, nearly a year and half ago, things like physical attraction were far from her mind. She’d just started her new position at the Ministry, Harry and Ron were training to be Aurors, the war had just come to an end and thus her life was a whirlwind of people and places. But over time things slowed down. Ronald was stationed away on official Auror business more and more often, leaving very little time for him to visit her and when he did come back, he had to split his time between her and his large family. Harry, having waited for Ginny to finish her final year at Hogwarts, had gone and married her the summer after and for all intents and purposes abandoned her. Harry…

It was really all Harry’s fault. Or at least that’s what Hermione liked to think whenever she felt her heart skip and her pulse slip between her thighs in Sirius Black’s presence. It had been Harry’s idea for Hermione to move into Grimmauld Place with him and Sirius after the war. Family, it seemed, had taken an important role in everyone’s lives when Lord Voldemort fell for the final time. All of the Weasley children had moved back to their childhood home of the Burrow – even Charlie much to everyone’s great surprise and delight. Tonks and Remus moved in with her mother and father, Andromeda and Theodore, to bask in the cheer of their newborn baby Teddy. And Harry had moved in with Sirius. Everyone had felt the need to be closer than ever to the ones that they loved, and Hermione completely understood that need. In fact, if she had had a family to go to, she would have moved in with them as well. But her parents were still in Australia somewhere, the location even unknown to herself as she’d designed it that way. Harry, being fully aware of this fact, insisted that she move in with him and Sirius. Hermione had been fully prepared to get her own flat in London. But after a bit of prodding she’d accepted Harry’s offer, secretly grateful that her best friend was so kind and thoughtful. Now, she probably cursed him name at least five times a day.

Hermione had been happy for him and Ginny when they announced their engagement. She’d cried not only when Ginny asked her to be her maid of honor, but also when the two had said their ‘I do’s. However, Harry moved out of Grimmauld Place following their marriage and subsequently left her to live with Sirius Black all by herself. So now she sat in the quaint little kitchen of the Black home, sipping her morning tea, and trying incredibly hard to keep her attention on her book rather than glance up at the rugged wizard sitting across from her.

“Hmpf” Sirius let out the little sound of surprise before continuing, “Would you look at that. Sources say that while Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, announces no final decisions have been made in regard to the recent Magical Creature Equality Act proposed last month, there are certain voices in the Ministry that are persuading not only the members of the Wizengamot, but the Minister himself to vote yes for magical creature equality.” He read the words aloud, peaking over his paper at her and raising his eyebrows. “I wonder who those certain voices or voice is…” he mused humorously.

It was no secret that shortly after being appointed a position in the Ministry department of Magical Creatures, Hermione had gone about being a personal activist for Magical Creature rights. Merlin, she had written almost the entire Act herself. Her hand still cramped at the thought of the hours she spent in her office and the library at Grimmauld Place scribbling away with her quill.

“No idea,” Hermione responded, feigning ignorance but blushing all the same in embarrassment. She kept her eyes on the pages of her book but found no matter how many times she read and reread the same paragraph she couldn’t retain it. Slowly her eyes shifted to the man in front of her. His gaze was fixed on the paper and so she was free to take him in. He had just showered, his wavy brown hair hanging damp to his shoulders. It made him look, in her opinion, especially delectable that morning. Hermione felt herself blush even deeper at the lewd thoughts threatening to enter her mind before looking back down at her book and scolding herself.

“So, when is Ronald coming for a visit again? Need me to clear off any time soon?” Sirius asked, sparking up conversation after the long bout of silence.

“Unfortunately, he won’t be back till next month,” she sighed, ignoring the second half of Sirius’s question.

“Well that’s not too bad I suppose—” Sirius smiled warmly and set down his paper as he stood up “—It gives you plenty of time to focus on getting the Ministry on board with your Act before you’re…distracted.” Sirius added the last part with a teasing implication not lost on Hermione.

“My Act?” Hermione asked, raising an eyebrow jokingly as she stood up as well and took her teacup to the sink. She grabbed the sponge to begin washing up when Sirius took it from her hand.

“I can do the washing up. You’re going to be late for work. Besides, it’s not like I work or anything. Might as well do something productive today,” he stated dryly, turning on the tap.

“Hmm, yes. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that. You’ve become quite the lay-about. When are you going to get a job and start contributing to the household?” Hermione asked cheekily.

“Lay-about? Need I remind you that this is my house that you live in, rent free. You’re lucky a kind old man like me has taken a liking to you, or you’d be on the streets, kitten,” Sirius said, flicking some water off his fingertips in her direction.

“More like taken pity on me—” Hermione shook her head “—and you’re far from an old man, Sirius. I swear, you’d like people to think you’re closer to eighty than twenty!” She exited the kitchen and slipped into her heels next to the front door.

“Mind picking up some milk on your way home, kitten? We’re almost out!” Sirius called out to her, ignoring her statement on his age. Hermione tried not to focus on the way her stomach flipped in response to Sirius using his nickname for her for a second time that morning.

“Sure thing!” she called back before exiting the front door and apparating the moment she hit the sidewalk.

Hermione found it very difficult to work that day. The summer heat had become abysmal, proving to be quite the sticky, humid season, and of course that meant the Ministry’s cooling charms were on the fritz. By the time the day was over, Hermione’s hair had grown three times its size. Catching her reflection in a Ministry window, Hermione had gasped at its state. Even she hadn’t known it could get that big. In addition, her silk blouse that she had tucked into a polyester pencil skirt had become damp and uncomfortable from the sweat that accumulated on her body throughout the day.  And even after casting multiple drying spells to herself and her clothes, there was still nothing she could do about her hair. To add to her physical discomfort, she also struggled with a mental discomfort as well. Ron had been plaguing her mind all day long.

Ronald Weasley. Her oldest friend, now boyfriend. It hadn’t been a shock to anyone when they had gotten together after the war had ended. It had almost been expected in fact. She’d liked him since third year and aside from his short tryst with Lavender Brown, it had been obvious they would be together. Hermione loved Ron, she really did, but he was gone so often. Gone often and when he was home things felt…off. His affection seemed to have waned and Hermione was left thinking that perhaps it had something to do with her. Every time he chose to kiss her cheek as opposed to her lips or pat her leg friendly instead of holding her hand Hermione felt a little blow to her confidence. Bitterly she thought of how he and Lavender had been all over each other sixth year. She certainly wouldn’t enjoy having Ron’s tongue shoved down her throat in broad daylight, but surely, it’d be nice to have him show a bit of affection. In the beginning he’d been much more enthusiastic. They would often sneak off for a cheeky snog and hands often lingered under tables. They’d even gone all the way. It had been romantic and sweet, and Ron had certainly enjoyed himself. Or at least she thought he had. But now she wasn’t so sure. Maybe she’d been rubbish at it and he didn’t know how to tell her. Maybe he just didn’t find her attractive anymore. She had put on a bit of weight in the past year and a half. Hermione figured it was for the best as she was no longer starving to death on the run from Voldemort and his Death Eaters. But now when she looked in the mirror her eyes focused for too long on the swell of her breasts, the curve of her hips, the thickness of her thighs, and the softness of her stomach.

Despite this possibility, Hermione couldn’t help but feel guilty about her lustful thoughts involving Sirius. She often tried to reason with herself that it was perfectly normal to feel such base emotions. Everyone had them and as long as she didn’t act on them, she was fine. She was just lonely, and Sirius was there.

Resolving to speak with Ron about her concerns when he returned in a week, Hermione shook the troubling thoughts from her head and continued down Diagon Alley, intending to just pop by the small corner store at the end for some milk and maybe some ice-cream for later. She needed a small pick-me-up after the day she’d had. Jogging the last few steps to the corner store, Hermione pulled open the heavy door and sighed happily as the cooling charms inside enveloped her. She wiped her forehead with her arm and headed to the back of the store where the freezer section was. The store was practically deserted aside from a single witch staring at the ice pops with a heavy look of concentration. Hermione walked up next to her to stare at the ice-cream choices and smiled when she spotted the Rocky Road. It was Ron’s favorite.

“It’s a scorcher out there, innit?” commented the witch, her thick London accent coming through endearingly sweet. Hermione looked to her left and took in the girl. She was thin and tan with beautiful golden hair tied up into a long ponytail. She had a friendly, heart-shaped face and sparkly green eyes. Something about her seemed familiar – Hermione must have seen her somewhere before.

“I’m practically melting,” agreed Hermione, shaking her head, and grabbing the Rocky Road, thinking she would have that tonight rather than her usual Mint Chocolate-Chip.

“Any fun plans for the heat?” the pretty blonde asked casually, grabbing a box of grape ice pops and a carton of Rocky Road ice-cream as well.

“Not really. Probably just go home and cast as many cooling charms as possible—” Hermione crinkled her nose and quirked the corner of her mouth in a wry grin “—Yourself?”

“Me and my boyfriend are planning a nice night in. He’s just got back from assignment with the Ministry. He’s an Auror, so we’re doing a bit of celebrating before he has to go back.” The girl smiled, her voice heavy with adoration.

“How nice! My boyfriend’s an Auror as well.”

“Really?” the girl asked, eyes lighting up.

“Yes, he’s actually away on assignment right now. I wonder if they know—” Hermione had been about to ask if perhaps their respective partners were familiar with each other when a voice called out from the end of the aisle.

“Babe, they didn’t have the crisps you like, but—” Basket hanging from one hand and a bag of Salt and Vinegar crisps in the other, Ron stopped dead in his tracts at the sight of Hermione. His eyes grew wide, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “’Mione?”

Hermione stared back too, but unlike Ron she was unable to find her voice. Instead she just stared. Ron was back from assignment? Why hadn’t he told her? What was he doing there? Why was he calling this girl babe when—

“Wait—‘Mione? As in Hermione Granger?” the witch asked, taking a step back from Hermione and towards Ron. She looked at Hermione with wide, incredulous eyes. “Oh my gosh, I feel so foolish. I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you.”

Hermione looked on in confusion as she watched the witch hook her arm in Ron’s and smile politely back at her.

“Hermione,” Ron said her name again, but Hermione was too busy taking the two of them in. She felt like an absolute fool. The carton of Rocky Road slipped from her fingers and landed on the linoleum floor of the shop with a dull thud. Then, in a panic, Hermione turned on the spot and fled, hearing Ron’s call after her mix with a small ‘Oh my’ from the pretty blonde witch.

There were a million places Hermione could have gone. There were a million places Hermione should have gone. All of them much better choices than the seedy little muggle bar she found just outside of Diagon Alley. She should have gone home. Or to Harry. Or to Ginny. The smart choice was to tell someone what had happened and to talk it out. But instead, she spent the next four hours doing her best to get well and truly pissed. Drinking wasn’t like Hermione and certainly the first glass of whiskey had been hard to get down. But she found after the first two, she hardly tasted the biting liquid anymore and the dulling effect of the alcohol was just so nice.

It was just past ten in the evening when Hermione left the bar, tipping this way and that way in her heels and feeling exceptionally light-headed. The night had cooled down and the sun had just set, allowing Hermione to feel some semblance of relief as she walked down the street to a nearby alleyway. It probably wasn’t the best idea to apparate when she was so inebriated, but Hermione wasn’t really thinking in that moment. She just knew she didn’t want to walk. Thankfully, she managed to land, although very ungracefully, in front of Grimmauld Place without splinching herself.

“Shit,” Hermione whispered followed by a snort of laughter when she tripped over the threshold after finally getting her key in the keyhole. The world had gone all wobbly it had taken her ages to find the right key and get it in the lock. Closing the front door as quietly behind her as possible Hermione found herself overtaken by the strong urge to laugh again. Hermione Granger was well and truly sloshed and for some reason she found that to be very funny.

“Hermione?”

Hermione jumped at her name, letting out a little shriek as she turned around and found Sirius standing in the hall. The hall was dark, but light streamed out through the doorway to the kitchen illuminating him in long shadows where he stood, arms crossed.

“Sirius—” Hermione held a hand to her heart, feeling it beat wildly in her chest. “I didn’t think you’d still be up.”

“It’s past eleven, where have you been?” There was a strange tone to his voice, like he was angry with her but also like he was speaking to a small, frightened animal.

Past eleven? How long had it taken her to unlock the front door?

“I was—” Hermione tripped on the rug, catching herself on the wall and letting out another little laugh “—I stopped and had a little post-work drink.” Her words were slurred, even to her own ears and she laughed again, holding a hand over mouth in embarrassment. “Well, maybe one or two post-work drinks.”

“Are you drunk, kitten?” Sirius asked, sounding amused now.

Hermione continued down the hall, getting closer and closer to Sirius. Each step was a new struggle. A trip here, a wobble there. But Hermione didn’t care. In fact, she felt…good. Free almost. “Maaaaybe,” she drawled, giggling like a small child as she closed the last bit of distance and swayed before Sirius.

He stared down at her, arms now uncrossed as he seemed to be trying to figure out whether he should be amused or concerned. Hermione’s mouth went dry. Now that she was closer, she could see him more clearly and Merlin did she see him. There was a shadow of facial hair across his square jaw, and down his neck. Hermione found herself wondering what it felt like – whether it was soft or rough. Gaze traveling down the thickness of his neck she found his upperhalf bare, the only thing covering his torso, an open robe revealing the inky black of his tattoos. She loved his tattoos. They made him look dangerous. Mysterious. Hot. His chest was free of hair, the lean muscles dipping low and high like delicious hills and valleys she’d so like to explore. In fact…she reached out a hand, her body working opposite of a clear head as her fingertips tentatively touched the smooth planes of Sirius’ chest. He was warm.

He went sort of rigid under her touch, but Hermione barely noticed. Instead she was too entranced by the feel of him. Had she ever touched him before? She didn’t think she had. Her gazed traveled further south and with it, so did her fingertips. Ghosting down the center of his chest from sternum to bellybutton, she blushed furiously at the sight of thick dark hair starting at his navel and disappearing below a pair of pajama pants that sat dangerously low on his hips. She swallowed thickly, her breath coming in thick hot puffs as her hand traveled further, barely brushing the thick hair before a hand shot out and grasped her wrist.

Hermione gasped, looking up suddenly into the stormy eyes of Sirius Black before her. He lifted her wrist to shoulder height, pulling her forward slightly as he did it. The distance between them closed even more.

“Kitten.” It was a warning. Hermione knew it. But for some reason her whiskey-idled brain didn’t care. She liked the risk behind his tone. Her body practically purred at the sound of his special nickname just for her – the irony of that sentiment lost on her in the moment.

“Yes, Sirius?” she responded, her voice coming out deep and breathy and dare she say seductive? Hermione had never sounded like that before. She kind of liked it. Looking up at him with her best attempt at innocent eyes, she waited for him to say something.

Sirius stared down at her, his face a stony mask, but a war was raging behind his eyes. Hermione’s gaze flickered from the stormy grey of his eyes to the fullness of his lips and back up. With a deep breath and a long swallow that made his Adam’s apple bob in a mouth-watering way, Sirius finally spoke.

“You should go to bed.”

Hermione huffed, a bit like a petulant child but not quite as bratty. “What if I don’t want to?”

“It wasn’t really a suggestion.” His tone was dark, and it sent a surprising thrill through Hermione’s body. Her center throbbed. Her breath hitched. Maybe it was all in her head – this thick tension between them. Or maybe it wasn’t. It was certainly taboo, this…energy radiating between them. But Hermione didn’t really care because in that moment she made the sudden realization that she could have this. She could have this and not be the bad guy. Ron was the bad guy. All those months of guilt for feeling basic human attraction and he was off shagging some beautiful, leggy blonde. But now…she didn’t have to feel guilty anymore.

Before she could stop herself, Hermione lifted up onto her toes and closed the distance between them. Their lips pressed together for a moment, firm and warm. When Sirius failed to respond, Hermione’s stomach dropped, and she made the mortifying realization that he didn’t want to kiss her. She was just beginning to pull away, an apology poised on her lips when the grip on her wrist vanished and reappeared around her waist, pulling her in tightly as Sirius’s lips claimed her own.

It all happened very quickly. A meshing of lips and teeth and tongue that left her hot, sticky, and out of breath. Before she knew it, she was being pushed up against the wall of the hallway, her back and head hitting the plaster hard, but she did not care. The only thing she could focus on was the feeling of Sirius’s lips on her own and the hot cloud of their shared breath.

His hands remained wrapped tightly around her torso, gripping the material of her blouse in his fists, but Hermione’s hands were everywhere. She wanted to touch all of him, and she was determined to do so. It wasn’t until her hands wound themselves around his neck and threaded up into his hair, gripping the strands vice-like, that Sirius broke. He let out a ragged groan before moving his hands from around her waist to her front. Grabbing the material of her blouse in each hand, he gave a great tug, not even bothering to try and unbutton it. Hermione gasped at the sound of ripping fabric and the pop of her blouse buttons. Cool air brushing her sensitive skin and the hitch in his breath made Hermione acutely aware that she was now bare to him from the waist up. She remembered the bra she’d chosen to wear that day – a thin and see-through number that cupped her breasts perfectly but left little to the imagination. He was kissing her neck then, sucking and biting in ways that left her breathless and needy. His hands covered her breasts, kneading and stroking in a gentle way that contrasted so strikingly with how he was attacking her neck.

The only thing Hermione could do in that moment was hold on for dear life. Her heart felt like it was going to beat out of her chest and when Sirius’s mouth traveled south to envelope of her nipples, she thought that actually had. She let out a low, needy moan and arched into him. Feeling bold, she slid a hand from his hair, down the firm planes of his chest and to the front of his pajama bottoms. At the feel of his hard length she whined, high and breathy. Her hand had been there for barely a moment before Sirius tore away from her, distancing himself the width of the hallway. Hermione leaned against the wall behind her, needing the stability of it to stay upright due to her still drunk nature and the shaky state of her legs.

“What?” she asked, looking at the panting man across from her with confusion.

Sirius stared at her for a moment, chest falling up and down as pieces of his thick dark hair hung in his face. Hermione tried to focus but the only thing she could think of was how much she wanted to brush that hair from his gorgeous features so she could see him more clearly.

“You’re drunk. You should go to bed,” said Sirius, his voice low and gravely and filled with an edge of regret.

“But—” Hermione hesitated, confused at his response “—I don’t understand.” She crossed the distance between them, kissing up the older wizard’s neck. Did he think she didn’t want this?

“Kitten.” Sirius’s voice was strained, but he still managed to grab Hermione’s wandering hands and push her away again. Hermione gasped at his rough touch as he pulled her off of him. “I said you should go to bed.”

Hermione stared up at him in shock for a moment before a surprising rage filled her. Was she not good enough for him? Was she not pretty enough? Did he not enjoy what they’d been doing? The hot sting of angry tears reached the inner corners of her eyes and she tore out of Sirius’s grip before stomping up the stairs towards her room with a huff.

Part 2

[chysgoda]

Chew Toy

Summary:  Emet-Selch learns a valuable lesson in toddler proofing.

Cross posted to my Tales from the Architect’s Bureau collection on Ao3

Idunn adjusted how her daughter rested on her hip as she walked into the Bureau of the Architect. Next to her Lahabrea was poorly concealing his amusement with the toddler’s new favorite game, pulling mommy’s hood down. When Idunn walked past the counters the Speaker arched an eyebrow at his fellow professor and the wife of Amaurot’s emissary. “Surely this is something the counter staff can handle?”

“Yes, however in an attempt to maintain his image as an incorrigible grump to everything and everyone, Emet-Selch is holding my paperwork hostage so that he can see his niece rather than just come visit like a well-adjusted adult.” Idunn huffed in annoyance as she absently pulled her hood back into place. Out of the corner of his eye, Lahabrea caught sight of one of the counter staff biting their knuckles as they turned around to hide their amusement.  

“He doesn’t do a very good job of convincing his staff,” Lahabrea commented as he pressed the call button for the elevator. On Idunn’s hip little Ananke had figured out she could pull mommy’s hood back up as well and was utterly delighted by the new addition to the game. The Speaker chuckled as the doors opened and they stepped into the box. Ananke leaned towards him to coo and babble in the peculiar sounds that toddlers made. He let her grip his fingers and examine his large hand. “I’ve heard it said that children this age know all the secrets of the universe if only they could communicate.”

“And then they lose it to brain trauma because they don’t have any sense of self-preservation,” Idunn said dryly. Lahabrea laughed from his gut causing Ananke to startle, her jade eyes went wide as she looked at him. He ruffled the little one’s hair and she tried to catch his hand again, which he allowed. Idunn watched out of the corner of her eye. “Be careful she’s got teeth coming in and will chew on anything.”

“She’s not even walking yet Idunn I very much dou-“ the Speaker’s words were cut short by an exclamation of startled pain. Ananke had leaned forward so that she could get her mouth around one finger and bite down on her improvised chew toy. Idunn smirked at the door while the renowned Lahabrea reclaimed his finger. He looked down at the toddler who smiled broadly showing off her three white teeth. 

“You know, my freshmen listen when I tell them something in the greenhouse will bite them.” Idunn made no effort to hide her amusement at the Speaker’s expense. Lahabrea glared at her, but the elevator doors opened before he could utter his rejoinder. He followed the younger woman out into the hall and down to Emet-Selch’s office. 

Both Emet-Selch and his Chief were in the office when Idunn knocked on the door and both men grinned broadly seeing the matched set of purple curls. Ananke stopped trying to steal her mother’s mask and shrieked happily when she saw her uncles. Idunn set the suddenly squirming toddler on the floor so she could handle her own hellos. Emet-Selch’s grin turned to a neutral, professional expression when the Speaker followed the mother and daughter in. Lahabrea caught the side-eyed glare the younger man was giving his colleague and snorted. “None of that Emet-Selch, you are the one that insisted on making a production of this rather than letting normal procedure take its course.”

“A concept that requires the signature of two convocation members hardly falls under the category of-“

Idunn split her attention between the arguing convocation members and her crawling daughter. There was a box by Hades's desk that the toddler was determined to investigate. She glanced over to Hythlodaeus who was leaning against the wall ignoring how his husband and Lahabrea were bickering in favor of watching his niece make her way to the box.  Ananke sat next to the shallow box and took a few moments to figure out how to wiggle the tight-fitting lid off. What she pulled out was a painfully, pink rod shaped like a phallus. Idunn’s eyebrows rose but Hythlodaeus caught her eye and shook his head slightly to keep her from automatically going and taking the thing from the toddler. Ananke cooed at the color, and then she began gnawing on the side of the thing. Idunn arched an eyebrow at her brother in law who just grinned. 

“And what pray tell are you two discussing?” Hades asked testily. Idunn and Hythlodaeus looked at him and both opted for silence. The Architect stared at his husband and sister in law hard. Lahabrea glanced down when a flash of bright pink caught his eye. The Speaker’s eyes went wide as he stared at what the toddler was happily chewing on.  Idunn blinked when she felt a shift in the aether in the room. 

SQUEAK

Every set of adult eyes turned on the child who had pulled her new chew toy out of her mouth and stared at it wonderingly. She bit the side and squealed happily when it squeaked again. Idunn looked at Hades and bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. Behind his mask Hades’s gold eyes were wide and his lips pulled in startled, open mouth horror. 

SQUEAK

“She’s chewing on it!” The startled exclamation made Hythlodaeus roll his eyes.

“Wonderful observational skills most esteemed Emet-Selch.” The Chief drawled. 

Hades turned to Idunn, “Why is she f-” SQUEAK “-ing chewing on that?”

“She’s teething Hades, she f-” SQUEAK “-ing chews on anything that holds still long enough she can put her mouth on it.” 

“Idunn! That’s a s-“ SQUEAK “-oy”

“Given the shape I’m assuming that someone wanted a t-“ SQUEAK  “- that provides a more realistic experience than a zucchini.”

“People use zucchini to fu-“ SQUEAK “- themselves?!” Lahabrea cut in becoming even more horrified. 

“That goes in someone’s-” SQUEAK “- or -“ SQUEAK 

“Are you telling me that you don’t clean your -“ SQUEAK “-s?”

“No! And IT'S NOT MINE!”

 SQUEAK 

“‘Daeus dear please stop the squeaking,” Idunn asked as she glanced at the other man. 

“But she’ll be upset when her inappropriate t-“ SQUEAK “- stops working.” Hythlodaeus protested on behalf of his niece. Idunn leveled a glare at him and he sighed. The bureau chief flicked his fingers in the direction of Ananke and her new favorite chew toy. The toddler had just opened her mouth wide to chomp down and get the loudest squeak possible. Her jade eyes went wide with distress when her toy produced no sound. She tried another few chomps and then looked up into the mask of Emet-Selch and wailed her distress. Hythlodaeus turned to Idunn, his mouth twisted in exaggerated concern. “See she’s distressed.”

“The pair of you are insufferable,” the mother waved the troublemaker off. She turned her attention to Hades. “Well?”

“What am I supposed to do?!” Hades’s tone almost matched the distress of his niece. 

Idunn rolled her eyes and reached into the pocket of her robe to pull out a pastel green ring filled with a gel. She ran her finger around the edge and applied a bit of ice aspected aether to chill the chew toy. She tossed it to Hades who almost fumbled the catch. “Take the other toy away and give her that, then hold her like you actually want to and be a well-adjusted adult for once this decade.”

Hades cast a sidelong glance at Lahabrea through the mask of Emet-Selch before he bent and swept the little girl up in his arms. He offered her the chilled ring, “Now that’s enough Ananke.”

Ananke sniffled and took the offered toy. She examined the mint green ring for a moment and then waved both toys enthusiastically with a giggle. Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of Idunn pinching the bridge of her nose. He decided to ignore it, Lilith had mentioned that her sister wasn’t getting enough sleep so it may well just be a headache. He reached for the new concept and frowned when his niece scowled at him and hugged her new toy close to her side with one arm and shoved the chilled ring in her mouth. “Now we had a deal dear.”

“Really? When did you make that arrangement?” Hythlodaeus’s silver eyes sparkled. There was another shift in the rooms aether and the ring squeaked. Three sets of adult eyes turned on the Chief of the Bureau of the Architect. He held his hands up to protest his innocence. “That one was not me!”

Lahabrea turned to Idunn, “Idunn are you really going to continue to allow your daughter to.. to..”

Idunn’s eyes flicked from the speaker to her daughter, who was squirming to keep Uncle Hades from taking her new toy. She decided to address the speaker by name, “Cicero, the only things in danger in this room are Hades’s pride and your sensibilities, both of which perished many centuries ago. Ananke is just fine.” 

SQUEAK

A high screech of pleasure the purple-haired toddler gave when her new toy made the noise again made every adult in the room wince.  Hades glares at his husband, “Hythlodaeus! What the -“ 

SQUEAK

“It wasn’t -“ SQUEAK “- me this time!”

“Idunn! I -“ SQUEAK “- re-“ SQUEAK

“Of course it w-“ SQUEAK “- you ‘Daeus!”

“That will be enough.” Idunn’s voice cut through the cacophony. She did not shout, but the tone was... big and threatened immediate retribution to any with the temerity to disobey. Ananke and Hades wore matching expressions of guilty awe. Lahabrea was watching his fellow professor warily, he’d heard that tone used with freshmen before. 

Hythlodaeus pouted, “It wasn’t me this time.”

Idunn pushed down the urge to sigh. She went to Hades’s desk and picked up the box and lid that had housed the new concept. She turned to her daughter and plucked the pink toy from her hands ignoring the devastated look on the child’s face. She replaced the concept prototype in the box which she gave to Hythlodaeus. “I know ‘Daeus, your aether doesn’t smell like lemon polish and old books.” 

At the very edge of her peripheral vision, Idunn saw Lahabrea freeze. She rolled her eyes to the ceiling in silent prayer, Father Zodiark give me strength Mother Hydaelyn give me patience. She stepped back to Emet-Selch’s desk and scanned the documents until she saw her concept report with a tidy approval letter on top. She swept it up and thumbed through the pages to ensure that both Emet-Selch’s and Halmarut’s approvals were attached. 

Hythlodaeus looked over her shoulder and smiled when he saw what it was. “Finally happy with the apples you cultivated I see! You know there are going to be a few that will try to use creation magic to create the tree rather than take the long way.”

Idunn shrugged indifferently. “My official notes are very clear that if they want to get good results that it is best to harvest the seeds, plant them, and tend the tree. Unless you have unparalleled knowledge of how the sun, soil, water, weather, and other vagueries of fate affect a tree from seed to harvest all you’ll get is an apple shaped thing that tastes like horseshit. Best to just show some patience and grow the damned tree.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Hythlodaeus saw Lahabrea grimace and he resolved to ask Idunn the story behind that expression the next time they all met for dinner. Still, it wasn’t often that he got to needle Lahabrea. “And ignoring the instructions and advice of a concept’s designer is a good way to have a botched creation.”

“And end up with walking trees that we still haven’t cleaned out of the forest.” Idunn said dryly. She ignored the flush in Lahabrea’s cheeks as she focused on Emet-Selch. “Hades since you seem to have so much time on your hands as to drag me away from my work, I’m sure you can handle babysitting tonight. I’ll let Danu know to pick Ananke up from your apartment tomorrow morning.”

Hades blanched hearing the name of the Emissary’s mother. Hythlodaeus snickered, thinking of the lecture the matron would give the newest convocation member about respect and examples. Idunn leaned over the desk and kissed her daughter’s cheek. “Have a good time with Uncle Hades dear.” 

Ananke cooed and laid her head on her uncle’s shoulder. Absently Hades adjusted his hold so that she was more comfortable. Hythlodaeus provided a formal farewell for Lahabrea and a warm hug for Idunn as he saw them out of the office. When he turned back his grin softened to a smile. Ananke had pulled her uncle’s mask off and was now trying to figure out what to do with the toy that was the same size as her chest. Hythlodaeus circled behind Hades and wrapped his arms around his husband’s waist. He leaned over Hades’ shoulder to kiss the top of the toddler’s purple curls. “Let’s head home.” 

[lia-nikiforov]

Fall Anime 2018 Watchlist

We’re about halfway into the season so this is probably kinda pointless by now, but here’s a quick rundown of the stuff I’m watching this season.

Dropped

Jingaisan no Yome: This is a 3 minute show and I won’t spend longer than that writing about it (I’m timing myself). I didn’t know it was a short going in. I’m not really into shorts, Saiki kun being the only exception and the story was less MahoYome and more... i don’t even have an apt comparison, it just was maybe more serious about the “marriage” thing than something with a giant floofball character should be.

Tokyo Ghoul: Re 2: It’s simple. I watched episode 1 and realized I had no fucking clue of how any of this related to the ending of the first season, no idea of who half the characters were and where did they allegiances lie and what is Kaneki even trying to do. Although not loyal to the manga, the first two seasons of Tokyo Ghoul had a story that could be followed and made sense, this, however, is just jumping over plot points with no rhyme or reason and there’s nothing but confusion.

Bloom Into You: There’s nothing actually wrong with this show and I was kind of looking forward to a yuri romance that wasn’t rapey or incesty bullshit, but something about this one just didn’t click with me. Like Touko fell in love with Yuu too quickly, and given Yuu’s ace/aro identity, it would feel weird for her to do a 180 and suddenly fall in love with Touko. I kind of want more fun and emotions in my romance stories and this one didn’t have much of either.

Chopping Block

Given a few things the past two weeks that didn’t go according to plan, I fell behind on my anime watching after keeping it in control for the first third of the season and i’m quite annoyed. And because of this, and my upcoming research trip to Japan at the end of the month, I might end up having to drop a couple of series.

Bakumatsu: Objectively speaking, this show is really bad. The production values are poop, the story is a wacky mess that takes itself a bit too seriously and the characters are flat and uninteresting, the villain is egregiously boring. This show also has Matsuo Basho as a secret tive traveling ninja, and that puts me at quite the predicament. I want to see more of this utterly bonkers historical reinterpretation, but boy do I wish they could make it more exciting.

SAO Alicization:  The only reason I, a notorious SAO hater, is watching SAO is because I hate myself. With that out of the way, boy is this SAO boring. We’re four episodes in and the only thing that’s happened is they cut an old tree because nothing can stop Kirito and his new friend, Yellow Kirito. This show needs to start getting offensive and/or stupid soon or i’ll die of boredom.

Karakuri Circus: I hear this one’s from the same mangaka as UshiTora? I love UshiTora and I can see the resemblance between giant guy whose name I can’t remember and Tora. His character and his schtick are so far the most interesting thing to me, with the kuudere puppet girl whose main purpose seems to be to get paired with him  having yet to make an impression on me. I’m also still not really certain what the overall plot is. I do love stories about found families, so hopefully I can stick with this one

Hinomaru Sumou: If my watching schedule were normal, this wouldn’t be in this section. Whilst not the best sports show of the season, and chock full of some of the most eyeroll worthy aspects of sports shonen *cough cough* toxic *cough cough* masculinity *cough cough*, Hinomaru Sumou has the fire and passion for an underrepresented sport that’s usually enough to hook me. I just don’t have time, and if push comes to shove, I’ll prioritize other shows over this one.

Banana Fish: Yo, okay, before you lynch me for being a hater or whatever, let me tell you I have zero issues with Banana Fish. I don’t hate it, I don’t think it’s Bad Representation(TM) whatever the fuck that means, I definitely don’t think it’s fujobait or just another BL. It just doesn’t make me happy. This probably doesn’t make a lot of sense, but I’ve never been a fan of tragedy. It’s also part of the reason I’m dropping Tokyo Ghoul. I don’t like hopeless stories and tragic romances. I’m somewhat spoiled on how the manga ends and each time I find myself less and less inclined to watch the newer episodes because the descent into misery is just not enjoyable for me. It’s not the show’s wrongdoing, it’s just not the kind of story I like. I’m probably too far along to drop it at this point, but also I kinda wish I could drop it because I get so little joy out of it. Also, my main hook is of course Ash and Eiji’s relationship, but 15 episodes in (I’m behind, as is evident) the time they’ve spent together is so minimal, I can’t even appreciate that a whole lot.

I guess I’m watching this? 

Dakaichi: Me: Man I really want a yuri anime without rapey bullshit. Also me: watches BL anime with rapey bullshit. I have literally no excuse. I think the basic setup lends itself really well for a romcom and Takato is a very likable character, it’s a shame it’s the same old rapey bullshit. In my defense, episode two was really sweet and I’ve been hoping for more stories along that line, even though the show has failed to deliver them since. Episode 5 may have pushed the line even beyond what I’m willing to tolerate, but it’s unclear. I might end up unexpectedly dropping it after episode 6. HEY JAPAN WOULD IT KILL YOU TO MAKE A BL ANIME THAT WASN’T RAPEY BULLSHIT? JUST ONE?

(honestly, Takato deserves better)

wao episode 6 was maji disgusting i might drop it after all

Fairy Tail Final: I just want closure man. This adaptation retains all the worst attributes of the previous season, terribly slow pacing (what for?! the manga is over!!) minimal animation, recapalooza. The color palette is slightly brighter than before, which I appreciate. Fairy Tail’s last arc wasn’t as bad as Bleach’s, but it was still pretty bad in the manga; still I hope seeing it animated will make it feel less messy and slightly more coherent. The FT anime has also in the past filled in some blanks that existed in the manga, so hopefully they can make the best out of it here.

(Erza is still my wife)

Tsurune: No, this isn’t the best sports anime of this season either. Although that’s hard to judge given how it’s barely on its second (third, i’m behind) episode. Technically, I feel more compelled to drop this than Hinomaru, but also I want to give it a fair chance. That said, the first episode was.... profoundly underwhelming and borderline upsetting, with how everyone put Minato on the spot in spite of his having an actual psychologic condition that drove him away from kyudo. I’m all in for stories about growing and surpassing your own obstacles, but I hope they go about it in a less mean-spirited way. Also, the characters feel pretty shallow so far. I’m not even gonna pretend the main reason I want to keep watching isn’t gorgeous guy with the ponytail-san, because I’m now old enough that I immediately gravitate towards the senseis rather than the teenage protags.

i am so weak to long hair  _(:3」∠)_

welp he cut his hair right next episode, thanks for nothing kyoani

In spite of everything, Anime is, in fact, Good

Golden Kamuy: Like with many split-cours, there’s nothing much to say beyond “if you liked the first one, you’ll like this one”. The production values are still tragic, but I think the pace has improved, and the dynamics between the different factions are so fluid and constantly changing they make the story very enthralling. It also continues to have the Best Reaction Faces.

Gakuen Basara: Listen, listen. You all knew I was gonna watch this. And I love Basara so much I still think this show is a masterpiece even when it’s objectively atrocious. I do not reccommend it to anyone who isn’t already a fan (and I mean a blind fan willing to consume anything from this franchise, even in its cheapest, dumbest, worst looking incarnation). That said there are a couple of interesting things, namely the power rivalry between Hideyoshi and Nobunaga, this never happened in the original series because Nobunaga died before Hideyoshi was introduced. Anyway, just shoot that Masamune x Kojuuro fanservice straight into my veins please and thank you

Zombieland Saga: One of the two biggest surprises of the season and one that was nowhere near my radar. An original production by studio MAPPA with perhaps the wildest premiere episode of the season that’s somehow making me like idols?! It’s also giving us the most Miyano Mamoru has ever Miyano’d and it’s amazing and histerical. The characters are also very charming, specially bikegang leader Saki and the always legendary Yamada Tae and the show isn’t scared of letting its cute idols get gross and silly and dirty. There’s also a feeling of mystery that I find very appealing. Definitely didn’t expect this one to be one of the highlights of my week, yet here we are.

SSSS Gridman: Just when I’d vowed a giant fuck you to Studio Trigger, in they come with one of their most quiet productions yet, with characters that speak their lines in soft, leveled voices, tragedies that feel palpable, emotionally climactic battle scenes and a sense of tension and mystery that makes it impossible to take your eyes away. It does have the caveat of oversexualizing the female characters, specially the villain, and not giving Rikka virtually anything to do, but past that, it’s been a very pleasant and intriguing surprise. Also of note, I have no background knowledge of the Gridman tokusatsu series but that hasn’t really been an impediment to enjoy this series.

Double Decker: Doug & Kirill: A spinoff to the 2010 superhero hit Tiger & Bunny, we have a less superpowery buddycop comedy with a cool and diverse cast, whose main character wants to BRING DOWN CAPITALISM, okay, put an end to economic inequality and classes, but that’s basically the same thing. The show is pretty far along because it premiered early for some reason, and so far it’s been mostly one-shot stories very thinly connected to the distribution of the illegal drug Anthem, with our main plot having only come up two episodes ago with the fantastic Zabel and Bamboo Man twist. The dynamics between the main duo are great and Kirill is a riot as a protagonist. 

Kaze ga Tsuyoku Fuiteiru: Or Run with the Wind. Now THIS is the best sports anime of the season. Brought to you by the studio behind Haikyu, based on a novel by the author of Fune wo Amu. Firstly I love that it’s set in university, because it gives the cast a lot more variety in their interests, ages and personalities, their goals, their baggage, and it makes the process of bringing this team of misfits together even more interesting to watch. The characters feel very human in the way they speak, their worries, their relationships, their actions. The show’s done a great job so far in building the characters and making them worth cheering for. Also Ouji is my spirit animal. If you ever wanted a show to motivate you into running, this is what you’ve been waiting for! Another great surprise of this season for sure.

Jojo's Bizarre Adventure: Vento Aureo: Finally part Five is here! And in it we get perhaps the most interesting Jojo protagonist right off the bat, with troubled Giorno and his difficult past and his wonderful Stand ability. His new set of allies is also quite eccentric and interesting and every scene and dialogue has that special Jojo flavor of crazy and ridiculous and always a load of fun. This one will have 39 episodes, so we’re barely getting started and I’m already loving all of it.

Thunderbolt Fantasy 2: Urobutcher’s favorite puppets are back with a vengeance! Every bit as fun, insane, cool and over-the-top as the first season, with the added value of the rapport between the characters, evidenced by how brilliant the few scenes in which Shang and Lin share the screen are. With a brand new story that expands the world of our favorite puppets, and even more new gorgeous puppets added to the mix to make Shang’s life a mess, this show is definitely my favorite this season and potentially of the year. Let Urobuchi keep doing puppets for as long as he wants!

ooof i’m finally done. It’s midseason so probably nobody cares but do hmu with your favorite shows of the season and if there’s anything worth hatewatching that I may be missing ;)

[language-rxgers]

Grease Lightning (Bucky x Reader High School!AU)- Part 3

Summary: It’s opening night of the production, meaning you’ll be seeing Bucky for the second time. You talk some more and get to know more about the kind of guy Bucky’s like.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Characters: Bucky Barnes, Reader, Natasha Romanoff, Maria Hill, Bruce Banner (mentioned), Steve Rogers (mentioned)

Warnings: none, well a lil’ bit of inner teen turmoil

Word Count: 1914

masterlist

part 1 / part 2 / part 4 / part 5

You tapped your toes in anticipation for Bucky to arrive. It was opening night and you couldn’t clear your mind of the looming pressure to make Bucky look great- well, more so than he usually did. He was the lead in the play, so you had no room to mess anything up. You were also nervous and excited to see him again. While you felt you had done fairly well during the dress rehearsal, you really hoped you wouldn’t make a fool of yourself in front of Bucky tonight. After really meeting him and getting a small glimpse of the kind of person he was, you felt even more anxious about seeing him this time, now that you knew he was far from the pretentious jock you’d tried to make him out to be in your mind.

You imagined possible conversations you might have with him tonight as you did his makeup, if he was even in the mood to talk. Maybe he really didn’t want to talk with you. Your mind flashed to the conversation the two of you’d shared during the dress rehearsal, and you felt a swell of regret at all of the imposing questions you’d asked him. Sure, he’d been easy and pleasant to talk to- much more so than you’d expected- but maybe he was just being polite and you’d actually made him uncomfortable. Okay, maybe you’ll just do his makeup and hair and nothing else. Just stay outta the way and let him prepare for his performance.

You wiped your palms on your jeans restlessly, suddenly feeling very thirsty. You grabbed your water bottle, chugging it until it was empty. You tossed the bottle in the recycling, then turned around to see a head of shaggy dark hair lounging in the chair at your station. Your stomach flipped and you took a breath to calm your racing heart. “Bucky, hey,” you managed out, pleased with how steady your voice had been. Bucky’s soft eyes met yours, and his face split into a wide grin.

“Hey, (Y/N), how’s it been?”

“Not bad. You? Excited for tonight?” Bucky chuckled shyly, shrugging.

“I’m nervous,” he admitted. You let out a soft breath.

“I know you’ll do great,” you reassured him. You swallowed thickly at the grateful smile he gave you. You cleared your throat, quickly looking away. You tried to put on your professional face, suddenly becoming very interested in the makeup supplies you’d already gathered at our station. “Alrighty, well let’s get started.” You handed him the paper towel to put over his costume, avoiding his gaze as you busied yourself with applying facial cleanser to a cotton pad. “You mind?” You asked quietly as you held up the pad. He shook his head no, and you began wiping it over his skin.

“So what’s new with you?” He asked. You shrugged.

“Um, not very much, I guess. How about you?” You threw away the pad and began applying the foundation.

“Same for me. Hey, I realized I never really asked you anything about yourself last time. I just talked about myself the whole time. What do you like to do outside of hair and makeup?” Your hand’s movements jerked in surprise at his question. Stupid Bucky, can’t even pretend to be a jerk for a second?

“U-uh, I don’t really know. I’m not very interesting,” you said lamely.

“Oh, come on. I’ve seen your art in the yearbook. You’re really, really good. Do you like doing that kinda stuff?” God, the son of a bitch won’t stop. You felt yourself getting annoyed at the fact that he was being so nice and… interested in you. I mean, the formalities could have stopped at ‘how are you’, but now he’s making a genuine effort. You’d never had someone work so hard to talk to you. You didn’t know how to react.

“Um, yeah, I like it. It’s not like I could make a career out of it or anything, but it’s a nice hobby…”

“Steve’s tried teaching a few times, but I can’t draw for shit. I wish I could, but I guess it’s something you either have or you don’t, huh?” He let out a chuckle. “And I was serious, you’re really good. I mean, I only know what I’ve seen in the yearbook and what Steve’s told me, but you’re really talented.”

You felt the heat radiating from your cheeks in waves. “Oh, uh- thanks. That’s really nice of you to say. Although, I never knew Steve talked about me to his other friends.” Bucky’s eyes widened slightly before casting down to his lap.

“Oh, yeah, uh, I think it must’ve come up in a conversation or something…” Was it you, or were his ears a little red? Probably just you. You put away the foundation and grabbed the eyeliner pencil. You held it up, giving him a slight grimace.

“Sorry to have to do this again.” Bucky laughed.

“You know, it wasn’t actually that bad with you doing it.” He leaned back and closed his eyes in preparation. "Can we do the three count thing again, though? That was good.” You said yes and bent forward. You rested the heel of your hand on his cheek, eyeliner hovering over his eye.

“Okay, when you’re ready.” Bucky opened his eye, looking up at the ceiling. You brought the pencil to his eye gently. “One,” you began to trace. “Two,” you were just about finished, working swiftly. “Three.” You pulled away, letting Bucky blink a few times.

He grabbed a mirror from the table to look. “That was really good. Do you need to go again?” You shook your head.

“No, looks great. We can do the other one.” You repeated the process on his other eye, once again finishing in one go.

“Wow, that was really smooth. Go team!” Bucky held up a fist, which you bumped with your own. You laughed at his antics. You applied a little bit of blush and neutral lipstick before switching to his hair.

As you combed through the soft locks, you could see Bucky’s head leaning into your touch. You tried not to make anything of it as you worked out the knots as gently as you could, then grabbed the bottle of gel. “So what shows do you like to watch?” Bucky asked as you squeezed some gel into your palm. You hesitated.

“Uh, I dunno. A little bit of everything. I like stuff like Brooklyn 99 and FRIENDS, and my friend and I have been watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I don’t know. There’s a lot of other ones I can’t think of right now,” you laughed awkwardly.

“Oh, man, I love those shows! Well, I haven’t seen Buffy, but my ma loves it. But the other ones are my jam!” You smiled affectionately at Bucky’s animated response. “Do you watch The Office?”

“I love The Office!” You expressed. The two of you continued a lively discussion of favourite shows, characters and movies as you continued to style Bucky’s hair. You couldn’t believe how easy it was to talk to him. Once you had both been coaxed out of your shells, it was like you’d known him forever. You got to see a side of Bucky that you never expected. He was funny and personable, but could also be shy in some aspects, like when he confessed his guilty pleasure movie was Pretty in Pink. It was weird to think you’d only really spoken to each other on two occasions- the dress rehearsal and now- but you really liked it. You didn’t want to stop. You knew you’ never get the chance to talk to him like this again after all the shows were done, so you were going to revel in the next two days, having him to yourself. You knew it was selfish, but when it was just you and him, you didn’t feel nervous like you would if he was standing with his friends. You didn’t feel intimidated or like you didn’t belong there, talking to him. You knew that would change when all this was over. Sure he was a nice guy, but realistically, he was talking to you because there was nothing else to do while he was sitting in that chair getting his hair done. As soon as he wasn’t obligated to, he’d go back to his friends, and you to yours. You couldn’t expect the two of you to suddenly be besties; it would be foolish and pathetic to do so. You two weren’t actually friends of anything more than that. It was no one’s fault; that was just the way it was.

“… eventually I just crumpled up the whole page and tossed it. I mean, I’d already erased and redrawn the damn hand so many times I’d worn through the paper, so I figured I might as well just give up. Meanwhile, Steve’s there, finishing up this masterpiece, like freaking Leonardo DiCaprio or something.” Bucky threw his hands up in exasperation. “Wait, that’s not right.” You bit your lip to keep from laughing. “Shit, I meant Leonardo DaVinci. That’s embarrassing…” You chuckled.

“I do that all the time,” you reassured him. You fixed his ducktail one last time before walking around to face him. Like before, you pulled a lock of hair from the style and curled it around your finger before letting it fall against his forehead. “All done.”

“Already?” Bucky’s shoulders seemed to slump slightly. You nodded.

“Barnes, you ready? We need to fit you for the mic!” Ms. Hill called into the room. Bucky rubbed his hands on his *distracting* denim-clad thighs before pushing himself up and out of his chair.

Bucky licked his lips as he faced you. “Thanks again, everything looks great. Like always,” he added. You nodded again, rubbing the back of your neck to try to calm the heat in your cheeks.

“No problem. Uh, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow night for the next performance?”

Bucky shoved his hands in his pockets. “Yeah, definitely.”

“Barnes!” Ms. Hill called again. “Can you please hurry up, we’ve got a show to get started with.”

“Sorry, I’m keeping you. Um, break a leg,” you gave him a lame half-wave before turning around to start cleaning up your station.

Nat was once again cleaning her own station next to you, though she was now leaning against the table, looking behind you. “Still looking at you,” she sang. “Looking, looking, and…”

“Bucky, come on! What the hell are you staring at?” Ms. Hill’s exasperated tone rang through the room again. Your entire body was radiating heat.

“Oh look, now he’s in trouble. He turning around. He’s leaving. Oh! He just looked back for like a second. He’s smiling- oh, shit, he sees me watching him.” Nat lifted a hand and waved. “He’s red, and- oh, now he’s gone.”

“Thanks for your little made up commentary,” you said flatly. You could only see the tip of your nose, but it was glowing with heat. You threw out your garbage and put away the makeup. “Very entertaining.”

“You think I was making that shit up?” Nat scoffed. You gave her a look.

“Come on, Nat, it’s not like that. When in the history of reality has something ever turned into anything from a girl doing a cute guy’s hair and makeup for a play?” Nat clicked her tongue.

“I’ll answer that after my date with Bruce on Saturday night.”

part 1 / part 2 / part 4 /  part 5

Tags- please send me a message if you’d like to be added to any of my tags!

Grease Lightning:

@pietrotheavenger @hero-ically @marvel-fanfiction @finallybreathee @falling-stars-never-cry @orange-jps3497 @or-worse-expelled7 @lonleyredballoon @timemngmtoptimisationproblems

Bucky:

@sawdustandsugar

All Works:

@the-instrumental-mortal @crazy4thewinbros @palaiasaurus64 @milkywaybarnes @thefridgeismybestie @becauseifuckingcan @libbyjune24 @erisan @pitubea1910 @lilmissperfectlyimperfect @friendlyneighborhoodnazgul @sixweekcure4dreams @alemer88 @im-an-angel-of-the-lord-you-ass @moderapoppins @fandomsstolemylife00

[recoolhair]

How to Clean a Wig Properly

Cleaning Your Wigs Properly. It's not as Difficult as You May Imagine

You spent properly cash in your new wig so allow's make it closing. If you want your stunning wig to keep to look clean and provide you with long term leisure, then as with whatever else, you need to attend to it. For those of you who are managing most cancers or other fitness-related remedy, I realize that preserving a wig can be the final aspect you want to do. However, I believe that for plenty women, maintaining the habitual and glamour in their outward look can make all of the distinction inside the world in keeping off despair. Anything you could do to help within the restoration process may be a effective step throughout this critical time and for some of us that means taking note of these splendor rituals and this vicinity of our lifestyles that allows us to step out of the house feeling put together.

After 9 years of frequently supporting ladies at their health center bedside who are challenged with one situation or another and experiencing hair loss, I even have really visible miracles show up whilst a lady places on a new wig, takes a have a look at herself in the mirror and suddenly feels beautiful again and gets her 'mojo' returned. It offers her that more umph she needed to work harder to triumph over her circumstance. Remember, human hair wigs, alternative hair, created hair - which ever term you resonate with - is non-respiratory hair; it has no natural oils, so it wishes hydration and replenishing.

Okay, allow's speak approximately Synthetic Hair wigs first.

Since synthetic hair is crafted from kanekalon, a nylon hair, it calls for exclusive merchandise then are used on human hair. Synthetic hair comes in silky or crimped styles and could be very cheaper. The silky kanekalon is nice and instantly, some are made with built-in frame.

There are several extraordinary sorts of artificial hair ranging in charge and pleasant. The highest-best type of synthetic hair is known as monofilament, monofiber or "mono" for brief, which looks and feels very much like human hair.

The motive of cleaning artificial hair is to remove scalp oils which could increase over time. Also, in case you use a variety of styling products, this buildup could make the hair look dull and can also promote tangling. I advocate my clients who are constantly carrying their synthetic pieces to wash them once each ten to twelve times they put on it. If they use a number of styling merchandise, its best to clean the hair as soon as each 5 or six wears. It's vital to remember the fact that washing artificial hair will surely decrease its existence span, as nylon will lose its elasticity and sheen with washing, so strive now not to apply excessive quantities of product. Just placed on enough product to do what you want for the appearance you are attempting to reap and wash best while wished.

When brushing:

Brushing artificial hair will help keep away from getting tangles and knots. A regular hairbrush ought to now not be used on synthetic hair considering that it'll purpose the ends to cut up and get frizzy. Purchase a unique synthetic hair comb or brush at any beauty deliver store. Using a broom with rubber suggestions on the bristles can be used for synthetic and for human hair as well to keep the hair fibers from splitting.

Brush the hair earlier than washing to cast off any tangles. A wig "detangler" spray may be carried out to assist separate the strands if important and smooth out any knots.

Place the piece on a honey blonde lace front wig head. They come in Styrofoam or canvas. Either may be used. Place small T-Pins at the temples, brow and alongside the nape to preserve the hair in vicinity. This also will prevent inversion (whilst the hair comes thru the interior of the wig).

For artificial hair, a few people will use at-domestic products as easy as laundry detergent observed through a good wig conditioner. Others use specific artificial wig care merchandise that may be bought on line and at maximum beauty deliver shops and specialty wig stores.

Using right styling merchandise on artificial hair is critical. Many products are available in splendor supply shops, which includes hairspray, depart-in conditioner, shine spray, mousse and shaping cream.

[redantsunderneath]

An explanation of the end of Twin Peaks that provides closure

Short version, unpacked below:  The story in the World of Twin Peaks has its end mid part 17 when the lights go out in the sheriff's station (with a farewell coda at the boiler room door).  Coop’s face superimposed on the screen indicates a dissociative episode, one foot on the denouement of the TP story and one in the temptation of solving the only unresolved issue: Laura.  The remainder of the show is a “last temptation of Cooper” fantasy/nightmare where the lesson metaphorically learned through his 25 years in the lodge is played out in the real world and demonstrates the horrific consequences of wasting your life in an obsession with solving other’s problems without facing your own.  After Coop’s nightmare climax winks out, leaving us in the real world as pre-season Coop returns to the lodge.  As farewell, we get the lingering lesson of the whisper, “you can never save me,” which brings us around to the fact that this has been learned before Coop leaves the Lodge – we end at the beginning, and this 1.5 episodes really belong before the first (holla, Infinite Jest fans) and is placed here as a remembered lesson, a real world version of 25 years in the lodge.

So, biases on the table – I needed an explanation that accomplished 3 things:

1. Provides closure – it has to work as a series finale without all the “there has to be a fourth season now”

2. Allows for Coop to not have to have, after the last 25 years, not learned his lesson – no cycle of “never learn” purgatory allowed

3. Saving Laura is bad because it robs her of agency and redemption and Coop’s desire to do it is damaging and reflects his deepest flaw

I bring a couple of preconceptions to the table that are, for certain, not universal.

1 Coop lost his confrontation with his shadow self (s2e22) because of his tainted savior complex.  This is due to the nature of white knight-ism itself (reducing women to grail objects), his repeating pattern of his relationships being structured this way (he tried to break this pattern with Annie, but Windom Earle placed her back in this context, setting him up for a fall), and a general fascination with the dark/morbid aspects of humanity/sexuality (grinning inappropriately at Fleshworld, desiring to see dead bodies at a young age, job enabled obsession with victims of sexual violence after it is too late). But also, the problem to be solved is that of a system that he has internalized, a kind of “bad” pattern of the way males and females relate, and he has not really taken a look at himself (or the FBI for that matter).  Going back to save Laura is the direct but wrong way to deal with his deepest desires and the problem with the world and not only would rob her of her own salvation but has the same cosmic wrongness that is demonstrated by the zombie Kahl Drogo sequence in GoT (has anyone compared that yet?). This is bad Coop – ends justify the means, playing with dark forces, trucking in life and death.  Mr C, another words.

2 In the World of Twin Peaks, things work like TV (the OS like nighttime soaps the Return like prestige drama) but with the symbolic aspects manifested as a psychological space of archetypes spilling in to the ground reality.  Thus, conflicts are played out metaphorically, but one can imagine the real world analogue to any of these.  Coop’s confrontation in the (s2 last episode) Lodge becomes him losing himself to his darker impulses given the situation (Annie possibly being killed like Caroline), killing Earle in rage, and this changing him, his demons taking over.  The current season does a lot to define the TP world against our world, both in implicating a dreamer (not just Lynch and Frost, but the audience which includes “real world” Coop/Richard, see below), placing Audrey/Sherlyn Fenn there (this only makes sense but is too much to broach here), including a real world city limits sign to contrast with the TP sign, and casting the owner of the house as the owner of the house.  

3 The ring represents responsibility for your actions.  Choosing to put the ring on is an act of radical self-determination, taking responsibility who you are and what you have done, enabling a choice whether to succumb to your demons, and dangerously stepping into the unknown world where the will meets the real (as opposed to the self-imagined or the civilized-symbolic).  Having the ring put on you is forcing responsibility and exposing someone to judgement.  I’d love to see a Green Lantern that took this view of the “ring of will,” the unworthy burning themselves out.  Cooper telling Laura “don’t take the ring” is a mistake of someone who has yet to learn the lesson (see savior complex above).  She and maybe some element of the world is saved by her sacrifice which is enacted by owning her actions.

4 I haven’t seen mentioned that, with everybody noting the Wizard of Oz nature of the “last scene in the world of TP,” the superimposed face is an element of going from Kansas to Oz.  Dorothy’s face doubles and the double hangs superimposed over the cyclone.  This is that in reverse, going from the “dream” to the real world.

5 Remember when Laura not only screamed at Cooper in FWWM (in black and white, Oz dudes) but then every line she says after that works as if addressed to him?  “Your Laura is gone, there’s only me now” “you want to take me home now.” That was awesome

6 Naido is only revealed to be Diane in the dissociative space while Coop’s real analogue views the dream, starting (seeing Naido is the first “split off” moment). Until then she is the injured, unaware, incoherent feminine who makes monkey noises, firmly in the symbolic space, rescue bait for old Cooper, the agency-less victim.  Coop maps her to Diane but also to the red room (face, Diane’s nail and hair choices).  The red room is a feminine space – vaginal red curtains, Venuses (note the replacement of the Venus DeMilo with no arms with the Venus of Arles with the arms ripped off, a change of nature, Naido to Judy), and the fact that the trial of the masculine entails facing the feminine.  Naido is a figment of the male imagination and being turned into the 3d Diane is the moment Coop shows he has learned.

7 Judy is tough to talk about, but we are gonna. The FBI men have clearly been on a search for something wrong with women (OK, the feminine) they can fix. Being less charitable, the function of the FBI in Twin Peaks the Return is to investigate what went wrong with women since WWII… what with the acting like men, gaining subjectivity, being less nurturing, and all. Charitably, something is wrong in every generation with the masculine and the feminine and the wish to try to find a solution.  Judy as the goddess of negative feminine energy makes sense, but Coop seems to be looking for something more like “the daughter” (Naido identifies Judy as mother just as Sarah is Laura’s mother), the woman in trouble to be saved from her Judy-bred impulses. This is kind of hard to articulate but this goes to my “TP is about Boomers” theory where there is a post war problem with the feminine associated with inattentiveness (Judy and Naido have no eyes), a replacement of the maternal succor with aggression, and a putting a part of its nature asleep.  Naido is the vulnerable, underdeveloped, defanged product of this.  

8 Coop’s 25 year period is a metaphor for the problems of America but, more importantly, is a metaphorical story of a man at war with himself.  Cooper’s fireman nature (strong, silent, problem solving, scrupulous, doing what needs to be done, productive of joy – in the lodge) has been suppressed in favor of his Bob nature (a taker, end justifies the means, all goal - doing what he wants, leaving destruction – Mr C) but it is Dougie (the original) that is the “real” Cooper in that this is the identity that has been manufactured to cover the deeper faces, the one he shows the world.  When the “mid-life crisis” hits, the good starts to reassert, there is a fight, the return of the good fixed the world, and the identity is recreated as a better person.  Note this is the metaphor I’m not claiming this is what “actually happened,” whatever the hell that means.

9 I think Mr C was on a mission to do what the Blue Rose task force set out to do - find Judy – he just didn’t care who died in the process and was an adversary of anything that would get in the way.  He had the same goal as OG Coop did. He needed the coordinates because he wanted Naido who, as above, is a sort of contrapositive of Judy.  The giant flips between the location of the TP embodiment of Judy (Sarah) and that of Naido.  The white lodge was another trap.

10 Diane has, this season, lined up to represent the relationship Coop really needs.  He realizes Mr C has raped her, and the seeing her in Naido is a demonstration in mastery, by making her her in his mind, not a victim.  All the stuff at the end is the failure of this mastery previously in the lodge which maybe “flits through" Coop's mind while the face is up (though the face disappears during the true healing/win moment of the kiss, real recognition, and affirmation of memory).

So away we go. It works like this:  In the “world of TP” Coop has gotten right with his identity (Mr C and Bob gone) and relation to the world (Dougie) has been restored.  Mr C has been brought down by an avatar of weaponized innocence (Lucy) and Coop has faced Bob who has been brought down by an avatar of, well, gumption (determination, enthusiasm, taking a leap of faith).  Then he sees Naido, an avatar of the helpless traumatized woman, the thing his trial is based on.

This brings about the superimposed face – this is a diffracted reality: “Coop” as a real world manifestation as part of the audience (see below) witnessing the end of the show he and all of us are dreaming.  From a TP plot perspective, they have rescued Diane from Mr C’s victimization (rape) and contact with the good Coop brings her back to herself.  He demonstrates that he has learned his lesson by making her a human in his mind.  He sees in her the red room - in Naido/Diane is the nature of his trial, the ugly thing in the room that has a distorted, covered Diane and Judy as part of it emblematic of the taint he has to banish.   He has triumphed, they are both whole.

The dreamer turns away just long enough to miss the real reconciliation and affirmation that they remember what happened.  Everyting is finalized, everyone has arrived, Coop says hope to see you again, and the lights of the world of the show go out – the end.

Lynch and his two lead actors of his career go to the Great Northern boiler room door, Kyle says he must go alone, and goes through.  This is Lynch, finished with his film career, saying goodbye as Lynch’s representative in the world of the show must go it alone.  The face is gone, the dream is over, see you at the curtain call. One could stop here as the show world is over.  Note that the idea of going to get Laura or going to get Judy has never even been broached (it seems like it, but it hasn’t - there is no indication that that's why he is going through the door).

We go back to the past (and I mean Dale in the lodge past), to the fantasy that will haunt everything retroactively.  Dale is allowed to experience his rescue Laura but loses her to the ratcheting sound of the compulsive attempt (the B&W slipping into color, the white lodge being lost).  He should not be doing this and he needs to become the guy who doesn’t.  This is happening again and again while Dale is in the lodge – he is tested, and fails. This failure causes the loss of Laura (to a similar “woosh”) in the red room.  Dale has to ignore Leland (the clear eyed one that killed his daughter, not the dopple white eyed one that never killed anybody) and leave Laura’s redemptive act intact. We witness one such failure in the fantasy space followed by the same in the room itself (shown extended in episode 1, again Dark Tower and IJ).  But there is a version we haven’t seen, the “real world” one that the others have been analogies of.  

OK, we’ve reached a part that has multiple layers going on at once.  The rest of the episode shows a “real” version of Coop living the fact that he will never be the savior, a demonstration of how his obsession drove away the real love of his life, a representation of the time in the lodge as really just 25 years wasted on a tainted dream, a presentation of what the complete un-metaphorically split Coop would have been like those 25 years, and a symbolic depiction of (and middle finger to) fandom.  You could read it as a coda which goes back to dramatize the lodge or a moment of Cooper in Twin Peaks (when the face is up) having the “lesson” flashed through his mind.

It begins. After a third repeat of the red room stuff with Leland, etc., the room appears to let him out into the world, our world.  He gets to live the life he would have lived, beginning with a symbolic marriage to Diane - they say are you sure you want to do this, kiss, and cross the threshold, risk be damned.  The “honeymoon” sex really represents their entire marriage/relationship… he commands, she obeys, their closeness slips into alienation, she loses who he is, as the Mr C part of him is dominant.  There is no rape per se, he violates her spirit.  There is no tulpa, just a person she becomes as a result of the general trauma of being with him.  This is what being married to old Dougie was like for Diane’s “sister,” except she was the fantasy version that could tough it out with resilience, spunk, and good spirit.  After 25 years, she leaves (the hotel is the same one 25 years later, but that’s just shorthand for he’s stuck, never "home" the whole time).  They are literally different people, now.  

Coop is going to finish this.  He shows off how he’s Coop, Mr C, and Dougie at once in the Judy’s diner scene. Finding Laura is the one thing that gives his life meaning (fandom alert).  He finds her, still trapped in the life/cycle her resolve and death freed her from, takes her “home” where the RR is closed (or is it the real diner -Norma's place never closes) and the Laura’s house is owned by the real house owner.  He lets out a wail of wasted time “what year is it?”  as she suddenly wakes up to the vast degree of her (and everyone like her)’s pain.  He has done nothing but create more suffering.  The lights go out, simulation over, and he returns to the red room.

The cycle starts again.  Laura whispers “Jackass, you cannot save me/women in trouble because the problem is in you” and he makes the face of horrifying recognition.  Start the season over, this is just the setup.

Hope this helps.

[brokehorrorfan]

Conjuring Up Annabelle: Creation: Part 2

Annabelle: Creation, the next chapter in The Conjuring universe, opens on August 11 from Warner Bros. I sat down with director David F. Sandberg (Lights Out) and actors Talitha Bateman (Geostorm), Lulu Wilson (Ouija: Origin of Evil), Stephanie Sigman (Narcos), Anthony LaPaglia (Without a Trace), and Miranda Otto (The Lord of the Rings) to learn the real story of Annabelle. Don't miss the first half of our conversation here, then read on for the conclusion.

Sandberg, an unabashed horror film aficionado, was a fan of The Conjuring universe - which includes The Conjuring, The Conjuring 2, and the first Annabelle - long before joining it. "If anyone had told me before, 'You're going to direct an installment in that universe one day,' I wouldn't have believed them." But what attracted him to the project is that it stands on its own. "That's what got me excited, that it wasn't a straight-up sequel to the first one with the same things happening again, that it was a very different story with different characters. We didn't have to pay that much attention to the continuity." There is, of course, connective tissue that ties it to the events of the previous film, which he admits he loves.

LaPaglia didn't realize the legacy attached to the film. "I had no idea that it was such a big franchise! I'd never heard of [The Conjuring director/producer] James Wan," he chortles. "I'm like a dinosaur." Sigman knew of The Conjuring movies but was "too scared" to watch them until she signed on to appear in Annabelle: Creation. One might expect joining such a successful franchise would come with pressure, but rather it instilled assurance in Otto. "I didn't feel a pressure at all. I just felt like the whole team that had worked together before, they knew what they were doing, so that actually makes me feel really confident. I felt very confident with David. I think it's kind of a exciting to be a part of a family."

Despite being younger than the target demographic, Bateman and Wilson have seen all three of the previous installments in the franchise. However, both actresses cite their recent appearance at San Diego Comi-Con as the moment when it sunk in that they were actually a part of it. Bateman explains, "I knew what I was filming, but it didn't really hit me until I was at Comic-Con. I was like, 'Wow, we're in The Conjuring universe. Pretty cool!' But most of the time while we were filming it just felt like its own film. Even though it's all related, it felt like its own standalone project."

Unlike The Conjuring and Annabelle, no unexplained phenomena occurred on the set of Annabelle: Creation - but the cast was ready for it. "I was expecting something to happen," Wilson confesses, "Because there's that true story of the real Annabelle doll, so if it could happen to one doll it could happen to another." Even though Bateman doesn't believe in the supernatural, she concedes she was "relieved" that nothing happened, citing the fact that the set was blessed by a priest may have helped.

That blessing was performed at Sigman's behest. Upon learning that the set of The Conjuring had been blessed following strange occurrences, she requested theirs receive the same treatment as a precaution. "They blessed the set for me, so I felt better." She continues, "The energy on set was different from every other movie I've done. You're just dealing with a darker energy in general. It feels different, but nothing crazy happened - except for my fingers," explaining that she accidentally closed her hand in a car door. "The whole movie I'm acting with these huge, purple fingers." Sandberg sarcastically cracks, "We had to create all the scary stuff ourselves. Damn it!"

Everyone involved in the production reveled in the 1950s setting. "I love that time period," declares Bateman. "It's one of my favorites." Wilson adds, "It was so much fun to do a period piece. I just thought it was really cool, especially the wardrobe and the hair," though she's quick to mention that she "kind of dreaded" having bangs. Sigman appreciates those aspects as well. "I loved it because the wardrobe made me feel so much more in character." For Sandberg, "The fact that it was a period piece inspired me to shoot it more classically, to have these longer takes and to really stage and block things, plan it out more, rather than just shoot a bunch of coverage. And not having cell phones is a plus."

An integral piece to sell the period setting is the film's American Gothic-style farmhouse, the interior of which was built on the Warner Bros. backlot. Sandberg "let this great set sort of inspire the movie. You get inspired of ways of shooting it." He references the addition of a dumbwaiter by production designer Jennifer Spence as motivating a memorable scene. The attention to detail helped Bateman get into character. "When we actually got to walk around the house in the 1950s, it was just like, 'Whoa.' I think it really helped with my character." Sigman calls the set design "absolutely gorgeous." Otto cites the light shining through crosses carved into her character's bedroom as her favorite facet of the set, while LaPaglia was impressed by the detail of his doll-making workshop. "It was perfect. There was every tool, everything in there to make it feel completely real."

Bateman's face lights up when she's discussing stunts. "I actually did all my own stunts! They had a stunt person, and she did some too, but they actually ended up using mine. I thought that was really cool. I have this scene where I'm on the stairlift. I fly up at one point, and it was so much fun!" LaPaglia admired the chairlift as well. "I thought that was very cool. I wanted to ride that!" he jests. "They wouldn't let me." Wilson was also thrilled to learn she would get to do her own stunts, as she had in Ouija: Origin of Evil. "I had so much fun!"

Sandberg will bring the skills he honed on Annabelle: Creation to the DC Extended Universe for Shazam, which he recently signed on to direct. "The big takeaway is that even though the budgets change, the ways of telling stories are still the same. It's not that different. It's just that you have more expensive toys or more days to do it, which makes me not feel that worried or freaked out about the bigger budget." Wilson and Bateman have bright careers ahead as well. Wilson is currently shooting HBO's Sharp Objects, based on the novel by Gone Girl author Gillian Flynn. "It's with Amy Adams," she beams, "Which is really cool because she's one of my role models." Bateman has Geostorm coming out in October. A fan of The Phantom of the Opera, the young actress was excited to work with Gerard Butler. "He's just such a kind person. It's really cool to meet a role model when they're actually humble and they're nice. It just makes you love them more and respect them more."

Sandberg "loves to scare people," as Sigman puts it. "He's so passionate about it." The director certainly wastes no opportunity to scare the audience in Annabelle: Creation, yet he's meticulous in his approach to each one. "Sometimes, especially in Hollywood movies, they have a tendency to lead you too much with the sound," he points out. "Like, 'Oh, here comes the scare!' What I try to do is really build to that. You can make anyone jump with just a loud noise coming out of nowhere, because you don't expect it. The hard part is building up to it and still getting a scare. It becomes a matter of timing as well. I try to have you glimpse the scary thing a couple of beats before the big sound, so that your brain has that split second of 'What is that?' and then comes the sound. It's a science!" he proudly exclaims.

See Sandberg’s science of scaring in action when Annabelle: Creation hits theaters on August 11.

Several years after the tragic death of their little girl, a dollmaker and his wife welcome a nun and several girls from a shuttered orphanage into their home, soon becoming the target of the dollmaker’s possessed creation, Annabelle.

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Uliuli Iwi (Part 7)

5 years ago.

The village is growing sleepy and calm. From her window, Azula watches it all. People finish final rounds of whatever games they play in the streets. She hears laughter and cheerful hollers as one team wins one of the games. Glasses click together in one last toast. Slowly, one by one, people begin snuffing their torches and waving their guests off—completely unaware that some of them probably wouldn’t be lit ever again.

She wants to, but she can’t join them. Once upon a time, she had spent time with total strangers, crashing parties that she hadn’t even realized she was invited to. But that is over. She is infected.

And it won’t be long until everyone else was too.

 Day in and day out she watches as less people take to the streets. It was subtle at first—Yoon-Ri stopped attending letting her boys race their pet turtleducks with the other kids. Rouvir stopped hosting his weekend parties. Eventually she stops staring. But even without looking, she senses that it had gotten worse—she could no longer hear any form of festivity. The town sinks into a state of decay and ominous quiet. She is no longer lonely in being alone.

Once welcoming neighbors who had always left their doors ajar now have them locked tight and bored up. These people, she realizes, still have their heath and fear losing it. But Azula knows the truth, she knows that the virus will find out how to slip through the cracks in the wall and sprout through the loose floorboards.

 Somehow, she blames herself for bringing the virus here. Though she couldn’t have known. Minrohc was a good man but, in retrospect, a really stupid one too. She had met him at one of the parties during her first month in town, a year prior. A few parties later they were together. Their romance was as fast and fleeting as Azula’s lightning. Passionate and powerful but over in a dramatic flash.

But not before she could have his baby.

Being what the town was, the child’s birth (and her overall pregnancy) was widely celebrated. The town would take any excuse to drink and party, and Azula—with Minrohc’s help—had offered them one. Though Azula was rather disappointed in herself for being with child so young, the town’s people had no judgement to pass. She was convinced that teen pregnancy was remotely common among a group with such loose rules and such strong energy. At least she was in her twenties. At least Minrohc put a ring on her finger during the third month of her pregnancy—they were to marry a month before the baby’s birth. But she still hadn’t been exactly prepared either.

 Even so, their marriage went flawlessly. She and Minrohc, were the only two that hadn’t drank that night—Azula because she had been so heavy with child, and Minrohc because he didn’t want her to be the only one left out of that aspect of the night. She can still recall the loving touch of his left hand on her belly, and his right cupping her cheek, holding it steady so he could bring his lips to hers. She loved him truly, and with a heart she hadn’t realized she had until it was right in front of her.

 The baby, Tamzu, finally revealed herself on the hottest August evening. She and Minrohc slipped away from the party early that night, to put the babe to sleep and spend some time alone. She recalls Minrohc unpinning her hair and letting it fall over her shoulders. She recalls leaning into him and him sliding his hands down her sides to her hips. She recalled letting the night go from there and feeling his loving lips on her forehead. The whole time, he was whispering, “I love you” in a foreign, ancient tongue.

 He was a fool.

 He was a fool because he knew but he continued.

 And she was a fool as well for not realizing.

 Minrohc had picked up the virus from somewhere deep in the jungle and had carried it for months as inconspicuously as her pregnancy had been showingly. He mentioned it not even once. The disease was a slow burner and didn’t even make a spectacle of itself until Tamzu was of two months in age. And when it did the virus was violent and merciless with fits of coughing, bleeding, and vomiting. “You cough until you feel your throat open.” Minrohc had said. “After that you start coughing up blood and you know that it has.” That was one of the things that had drawn her to him; his ability to skip the bullshit and say things as they were. But this time she didn’t want to hear it. She didn’t want to know how much pain he was in. She didn’t want to know what was going to happen to her—not when she couldn’t do anything about it anyways.

 She thought about it constantly. About how many people she had shared drinks or food with since having sex with Minrohc that night. About how many people she had unknowingly killed. Minrohc died a few days after the town’s new year’s celebration and she was quarantined quickly afterwards, alongside a few people known to have been in contact with her. Surprisingly they showed no resentment, wishing her luck and recovered health. With Minroch the town was split down the middle; some mourned his loss and other scoffed, saying that he had it coming for deceiving everyone (including his wife). All of them offered her sympathies anyhow.

 Azula now realizes with dread, that the virus must be evolving. For it now claims people much quicker. Hansu’s boy contracted the virus only a week ago and she already sees his body being cremated. She on the other hand still coughs up blood as the virus rots her away.

She takes Tamzu into her arms and weeps. Weeps for the loss of Minrohc—that asshole—and for what she had done to what was once such a lively town. She weeps for her own dying body and for the infant she holds.

No doubt, the child is sick too. Either Tamzu starved to death, unable to care for herself, or Azula risks infecting her while feeding her. Neither option pleasures Azula, but at least one way would allow her to love the child, however briefly.

 She can’t gauge how much time has passed, but it has been a while she knows. There is a knock on her door. Somehow, she pulls herself up and stumbles her way over to the door, weak and clumsy with fatigue. She pries the door open and stares—it has been so long since she’d talked to another human being, that she can’t seem to remember how to do it.

 “Most of us are sick.” Says the man. With his sunken cheeks and hollow eyes, she almost can’t recognize Rouvir. “We figured that we should tell you that you might as well,” he makes a wheezed snickering sound, “join the living.”

She has apricate his ability to maintain humor, however morbid it may be. With Tamzu held closely to her chest, she follows him outside.

“We haven’t had a town gathering in a while, but Chief Ling-Huo suggested a meeting with some healers from the Water Tribe.”

 Azula attends but between the throbbing in her head and the itching in her throat combined with the way the sun assaults her eyes she can’t focus on the mages nor her concerned neighbors that try to offer her words of comfort. Their words only pain her throbbing head. Rouvir rubs her back in small circles, trying to ease her suffering. He only steps back when she motions for him to do so, so that she can hand him Tamzu and double over in another coughing fit. By the end of it there is a considerably sized puddle of blood where she had just been hunched over. The tops of her hands are splashed with droplets. She takes Tamzu back and pretends like it hadn’t happened. The town’s folk and, especially, the healers are content to do the same.

She can’t help but notice that the healers avoid her with a purpose and only tend to those who look the least sickly. She can’t blame them. She knows that, a few years back, she’d be scowling in disgust at people like her and calling for their erasure before they could infect the capital.

 She hears Tamzu make a gurgling baby noise and musters up a smile. She holds that smile until she realizes that the gurgle isn’t the product of baby-speak. She can only watch as her baby drowns from within, the virus has filled her lungs.

 Azula doesn’t know how long she’s been sitting there. She is deeply bothered, but somehow can’t find the will to cry. She is numb and most people brush passed her, not having the words to say. She notices that even Rouvir has gone. Hansu casts Azula a forlorn look of understanding, but that’s the only attention that was paid to her. Azula realizes now that they probably are angry with her for bringing this upon them and had only invited her out of courtesy and/or because of the fond memories they had made with her. The ones that they can’t seem to let go of even now.

 She falls to the sand and curls herself into a ball with Tamzu pressed against her chest. She feels blood as it trickles out of her mouth. But it’s alright, she’s ready for the virus to take her. She doesn’t move until a few town’s people lift her off of the sand and take her home. She doesn’t leave the spot they set her down on, until she is ready to leave the village.

 For the days she had watched out the widow, she noticed the town transforming before her eyes. People started coming out again. Rouvir, with his gaunt face and unruly beard began hosting parties again. The teens began drinking until they fell over again. Hansu and her remaining children began hosting kuei ball tournaments, again, with the friends they had left and some new kids they were forced to meet. The food smelled heavenly and the chatter upbeat. That’s how she knew the village was done for.

 Azula had counted six days of parties before now. Tonight’s party is the wildest yet. It is in full swing. And cruelly enough, she feels well enough to get up and join them. So, she does. As the party finally beings to wind down, she gets up and goes outside. But she does it in secret, speaking to no one, knowing that there is no point. She’s lucky she didn’t, unbeknownst to her at the time, the sickness had left her—slightly ravaged—but left no less. If she had stayed, it would have riddled her body again.

 In one final breath, the dying village tossed fireworks into the air. In the light of those firey bursts, Azula headed north.

[defacewalls]

Inauguration of the Pleasure Dome

I’ve seen a few pieces of junk and a few mediocrities this month, but somehow I’ve managed to fit in some really interesting viewing into a schedule that doesn’t always allow for much of that. Think of this as a ‘column,’ for my own edification if no one elses, where I can talk about some things that inspire or please or enrich me - largely if not exclusively from cinema and video, and probably more in terms of some of what I like and love rather than a summary or synopsis of all I’ve seen. It’s not a consumption journal, more like a digestion aid. The French have Positif. My cine-zine, here, can be Digestif.

Jon Jost’s Frameup (1993) is further evidence that he’s one of the great geographical filmmakers of the age, not just in his formidable sense for landscapes, flora, or altitudes, but also for his sense of human rootedness. Movies like Sure Fire and The Bed You Sleep In (this era in Jost’s filmography is roughly my favorite) have a keen sense of locale. That’s expressed also through the characters, who are always granted the freedom to be nowhere and nothing: they are significant despite, maybe because, they are rarely eloquent or imaginative. Jost is mapping them and us, all of us, in a sharp sketch of a particular time and place’s cosmos. In this case, the Palouse and its thereabouts, where Ricky Lee hails from Walla Walla, Washington and the dry rolling hills and roadside gas stations feel like they’ve been there forever but could blow down in a gust tomorrow. 

And then characters use phrases like “I seen” and “I been,” and they’re reminders of some of my own family in that part of the country, and maybe one of the reasons why I like Jost’s Northwestern United States films is because they seem steeped in a world where other filmmakers are just well-meaning tourists.

There’s some quiet desperation for you in Frameup, which is sad and grand and relentlessly, defiantly, proudly provincial, whose political gestures do not amount to slogans.

Similarly, the political thrust of Bertolt Brecht’s Baal (1982) might have a certain blunt force but it’s refracted by the strategies of genius director Alan Clarke, whose career (like Jost’s) is marked by experimentation and ferocious political probity. Also, like Frameup, Baal features some split screens used to impressive effect, although in the Jost I think the effects are playing with aspects of time, and in the Clarke the impressions are largely building on visual and textural elements.

Plus David Bowie, with thin facial hair and gray teeth, is remarkably well cast here. His insolence and insouciance never bury the sense that he has some kind of drive, and a similarly destructive impulse born from the rot of an unjust world.

The best new film I have seen recently, and maybe the best film of 2018 that I saw, was If Beale Street Could Talk (Barry Jenkins, 2018), which is simultaneously presents a handful of scenes or moments that capture the feeling of romantic optimism as well as anything I’ve seen, that can move seamlessly from domestic comedy to social commentary to stylized melodrama, and that also solves the puzzle of forceful political art by knowing how to arrange the elements so that the things left unspoken, or only barely said, become overwhelming.

And sometimes the unspoken elements can be too pointedly unspoken, or can represent a timidity, but not here. The assured way the material is handled represents another step forward for Jenkins, who is developing as a filmmaker, but not necessarily because he’s getting better so much as he is growing and churning through different kinds of material. I think Medicine for Melancholy and Moonlight are both excellent; I also like his short film for Future States, Remigration, which I recommend if you haven’t seen it.

The colors in If Beale Street Could Talk are quite beautiful, too, and that reminds me that one of the unexpected pleasures of two Charles B. Pierce films I watched recently was the color work. I’d seen The Town That Dreaded Sundown (1976) before, but only on a pan-and-scan VHS, and I’d never seen The Evictors (1979) until recently. The docudrama structure of the former and the true crime, magazine-flashback sensationalism of the latter are intriguing in their own right, but the subtle ways the production design popped have stuck with me. The shadows of fan blades in the sheriff’s office in Sundown--unremarked upon, “unstylized”--are exactly the sort of touch that mark a film as hopelessly low-budget or as wholeheartedly invested in detail. Either way, it works. The primary colors alongside the dusty tones of earth and police uniform show how much can be missed, when films too bound to attention-grabbing genre markers dictate a limited color palette.

Finally: word is coming in for the new Joanna Hogg film, and I look forward to it, especially as I continue to work (slowly) on a piece on her brilliant film Exhibition (2013), one of my favorites of the past decade. More to follow.

[shadow-cities]

Reality Gives - Empowering Youth in the Shadows of Mumbai, India

Asia’s largest slum, Dharavi, is home to nearly one million people in just .81 square miles within Mumbai. That is every citizen of both Denver and Fort Collins living on just three of Denver’s biggest parks (City Park, Cheeseman Park and Wash Park).

It may be easy to picture Dharavi as a wasteland - pity its inhabitants, and think the solution is to bulldoze the entire slum and relocate its inhabitants. However, despite its horrors and the aspects that had me holding back tears it is important to recognize that... well... these are homes.  Not just that, but living around these homes are families, and communities that have learned not to just survive - but to build. They have built their homes, they have built their communities, and they have built an economy worth nearly one billion dollars. 

In an attempt to better understand Dharavi, I decided to go on a guided walk with Reality Tours. They are an NGO which charges 12 US Dollards (a lot of money in India!) in exchange for an “authentic and thought-provoking local experience... and use the profits to create change in their community”. While sure, they claim to send 80% of proceeds to its partner NGO, Reality Gives, to sponsor and empower Dharavi’s youth - but I was hesitant. I couldn’t help but wonder, “Is this slum tourism? Is this messed up?” Having gone on the walk, I can say that it may be “"slum tourism” but its benefits far outweigh the bad. First off, the NGO is sensitive to its presence and has a strict no photo policy. So all these photos i’ll be using come from them or the public domain. They also chose to highlight Dharavi’s economic back bone and the stronger residential communities that have developed... Leaving tour goers with a bit of hope, realism, and the optimism that things can get better for these people.  

My guide’s name was Hitesh. He was what you would picture a typical Indian male to look like: brown skin, dark hair, wearing a long sleeve shirt and pants.  Only his shirt was light blue and had “Reality Tours” printed on it. He was very excited to meet us and did the Indian head thing as he started our tour with a bit of history. Apparently Dharavi was settled in the 1860′s. “Older than Canada!”, Hitesh proudly proclaimed. Originally, all its buildings were made from discarded building materials that were being dumped on the site by lazy British contractors. Back then the British were busy redeveloping their quarters as they filled the land that once split Mumbai into 7 different islands. Yet while the British went on to plan their quarters of Bombay they left the areas designated for the ‘native’ as a free for all - and Dharavi was born.

Chickens clucked, mopeds were dodged and stray dogs avoided as Hitesh brought us onto a main street within Dharai. He pointed out every business you could imagine - banks, schools, food stands, gyms and even movie theaters! The theater lacked chairs but are an affordable way for one to catch a semi recent Bollywood Film.

We were then shown the industrial heart of Dharavi - learning how a slum could generate nearly one billion dollars.  Hitesh started with the plastic recycling yards. Here old dashboards, children's toys, and appliances (any discarded hard plastic really) are gathered by some of Dharavi’s poorest. These piles are then sorted by women into more piles. These sorted piles are then chopped down by a special machine made within Dhavari (an industry within itself), cleaned in a soapy water solution, dried on the roofs and melted/extruded into grain sized plastic pellets that are sold to manufacturers of plastic products.  

After the plastic yards Hitesh showed us the shops that clean and process old paint cans. In these shops paint cans are set ablaze in furnaces to destroy their contents. Their charred carcasses are then scrubbed clean, and marked. If this is the can’s third mark it is cut down. They bang it flat into a sheet so it could be sold as building material. Next to nothing is wasted in Dharavi.

Numerous other factories were then shown to us. All of which were not allowed in the residential areas because of their toxicity. We saw furnaces melting old aluminum into “grey gold”, shops manufacturing equipment like the plastic crushers, and areas where the plastic is crushed into finer particulate (see the above photo). Sadly because of the toxicity in all of these factories the life expectancy of employees decreases dramatically - to just 45 years old.  However, many men line up to do these jobs. Mostly because they require little training and they can send much more money back home. Not only do they pay better but factory owners let them sleep inside the factories in exchange for  guarding the shops equipment.

Amongst the tanneries (where leather was prepped, tanned, colored, pressed into faux textures and cut) we were actually taken into the ‘coolest place in Dharavi’. Sure, Hitesh said this literally as the store was blasting AC, but amongst the typical knock off hand bags I found myself surrounded by something quite different and beautiful -  their own brand! Flashing on the wallets, purses and handbags was their logo: Dharavi. The shop owner informed us they were proud of their work, had always dreamed of really “owning” it and now could because of the tour I was on. They no longer had to be ashamed of their location and hide behind other labels. While sure, I was totally suckered into buying something I didn’t really need, I was excited and optimistic - because even within Dharavi people are dreaming and working hard for a better life. 

Then a deeper dose of reality. We were led into the residential areas where the quality of housing varies drastically. The nicer ones doubled as live/work spaces... Allowing for non toxic business like tailoring, suitcase construction, baking, woodworking, pottery and more. However, in the bleaker areas the situation is much more dire. Monsoon water floods, disease is rampant, and families are squeezed into the tightest of quarters. Many homes also rely solely on the community toilets - where the UNDP (United Nations Development Programme) says there is only one toilet for every 1,440 people. Not only that, but water taps within Dharavi only run for two hours a day. As many as 15 families will share one tap. Yet despite all these conditions, these communities survive, and residents are able to live their lives.

The tour then showed us how they are helping the youth of Dharavi. Reality Gives wants them to know their dreams living outside of the slum are obtainable. In their classrooms they teach 400 kids computer literacy, English (speaking english fluently leads a huge range of job opportunities), and soft skills (communication skills and interview training). They also provide a support network and pay a portion of the fees for 130 children to participate in sports programs. While they could pay the entire fee, they’ve found that asking students to pay a portion gives the students a sense of ownership and raises their commitment to the programs.

One program in particular is having a huge impact: their girls football club. Sadly, sexism is rampant throughout the slum. Most husbands want their wives and daughters to stay home and do the cooking and household chores. So perhaps the biggest impact of this club is the breaking of the social stigma regarding girls and sports. In fact, as Hitesh said, “The girls were once shy, not wanting to be seen running and playing sport -  but now they stand tall!” It was a very optimistic and empowering end to the tour. 

I woke up the next day thinking about this contrasting shadow caster. So I decided to try and see it. Just 8 miles away from Dharavi rises Antila - the private home to a family of 5. While I heard about this in grandiose display of wealth in architecture school, I must say, its 27 floors, 168 car stalls, 3 helicopter pads, and multiple swimming pools really hit home after seeing Dharavi. However, this building has had an impact on my research. I have realized that an architectural solution for our world’s shadow cities must involve studying the psychological impact of these shadow casters. Perhaps shadow cities need the ability to cast a shadow of their own. Until next time, Pist0l 

[idolizerp]

LOADING INFORMATION ON MAYDAY’S MAIN VOCAL, LEAD DANCE NA YERIM...

IDOL DETAILS

STAGENAME: Yena CURRENT AGE: 23 DEBUT AGE: 22 TRAINEE SINCE AGE: 17 COMPANY: MSG SECONDARY SKILL: N/A

IDOL PROFILE

NICKNAME(S): 

예나치 (yenachi) - in reference to fans of yena finding her to be a great treasure or gift of significant value to the group’s success, but also alternatively a cheeky reference yena’s toothy smile when she gets excited.

찡찡이 예림이 (jjing-jingi yerimie, whiny yerim) - a playful, affectionate nickname born from yerim’s tendency to be a bit of a whiner during competitive games on variety shows or group fanmeeting games. 

우유 예나 (u-yu yena) - pale, refreshing, innocent - akin to the purity of a child.

yememe - in reference to yerim being a perpetual meme and her facial expressions being exceptionally reaction pic/gif-able and prime real estate for messy stan twitter layouts.

INSPIRATION: she was inspired to become an idol after watching olympus’s comeback stage for “be mine” - it was her first real brush with an idol group and she’s looked up to them ever since. other inspirations include singers like whitney houston and carole king, and actresses like uee and lily collins. SPECIAL TALENTS:

reigning champion of the high pitch note battle (x, x) - variety hosts have tried and failed to dethrone her but she continues to wow audiences with her ability to hit notes beyond comprehension all while saying every word of the challenge. the fact that half the time she’s really just screaming is beyond the point. shut up.

improvisation - exceptionally useful on variety and a skill that yerim has picked up more recently, she’s able to successfully bounce off of sudden “skits” posed by hosts with an improved comedic timing - but has also shown that she’s grown leaps and bounds in terms of on-the-spot acting.

juggling - she learned how to juggle after watching the magical girl anime precure (pretty cure, for the uninitiated) and taking a shine to a character named joker who juggles in the smile season.

NOTABLE FACTS:

her first real experience with performing outside of church was through doing showcase performances with friends and covers and dances from popular japanese idol rhythm games on her now deleted youtube channel called yayajam.

yerim is the youngest of her cousins and has a fifteen year age gap between herself and the cousin closest to her age due to her mother being the youngest of her siblings and the one to wait the longest.

prior to being trained under msg, yerim was gearing up to major in film production at konkuk university with plans to later go into the film industry behind the scenes - as it stands, shortly following mayday’s second comeback in 2018, she earned a degree in business and production.

IDOL GOALS

SHORT-TERM GOALS:

short-term, she wants to regain her footing after the shocking change of pace she’s experienced recently and focus on building her resume to grab attention for both herself and her group, so they can, hopefully, get their first win during their next comeback.

LONG-TERM GOALS:

she’s looking to move more fully into acting and follow in the footsteps of exemplars like bae suzy who were able to create a name for themselves through not only their efforts on stage but on the screen as well. somewhere down the line, years from now, she wouldn’t mind being able to work solely in the film industry and do music on the side, opposed to being a full-blown idol until the public gets tired of her.

IDOL IMAGE

yerim is compliant to a fault as a result of her strict religious upbringing under a firm-handed mother with a high standard of morality, a bit of a pushover, entirely too trusting of the people around her, she thinks the world of even those who don’t deserve it. despite this inherent timidity towards decisiveness against authority, she’s a bright and bubbly girl who just wants to make the world smile with her voice, her personality. she’s playful and naive, exudes a natural innocence that comes with her pointed lack of experience. it’s charming, the way it impacts her sense of humor, her lighthearted sass; funny, how jokes fly right over her head. she’s cute. there’s nothing forced about it and it’s that that msg is counting on: her natural aura, genuine, the feeling of fondness and protectiveness that this aspect of her elicits.

she’s simple in that she’s generally easy to get along with, to laugh with, to be around, to love. she’s got that trademark adorable easy-to-approach air about her but shines in the spotlight.

off stage, she’s painted as the girl-next-door, the childhood best friend, the little sister you’d sell your kidney for in a pinch. yerim’s pretty, radiant in the way you remember your first ever crush being when you were in school. she’s a social butterfly. her purity is captivating, youthful, and it has the potential to pull in a broad range of audiences if they play their cards right - people who want to preserve it, those on the other end of the spectrum who want to tear it back just to see what’s underneath, and those who resonate. that’s the fun in acting, being able to take their doll and see her dressed up the way they want to see her.

when she first enters under msg entertainment, she’s a shy and subdued little thing, humbled by a life hardly lived and the cruelty of kids who hate anything different. in her insecurity, she struggles to catch up with the other trainees who have the zeal and passion of years of working toward a common goal under their belts, only standing out with any significance during performances, speaking when spoken to, singing her heart out the way she’d always dreamed of doing and smiling a smile that dimples her cheeks. it’s a side effect of being muffled under the arm of her mother for the majority of her youth but there’s a charm that she’s picked up from cosplaying, a knowingness that helps her play the part of someone to be admired, and, with the help of the company, she learns how to harvest it.

she improves.

it takes time and money but she learns how to fake it until it’s real, until she stops hiding behind the other girls and forces herself into the forefront of the minds of her coaches. “yerim,” is said with a hum of recognition. yerim is noticed. yerim is indispensable, can bring a smile to any face. yerim can shine.

she hadn’t planned on this part of things - the potential fame and recognition part, the part where she’d have to smile when she doesn’t feel like smiling and crack jokes on variety shows so she doesn’t look cold and unappreciative. she envies the people that this kind of thing comes natural to, grins and bears it through image training when management takes notice of her suffering. she learns to smile even when her limbs ache from hours of dancing and singing and all she wants to do is curl up in bed and sleep.

it’s a gradual change, a shift from being the shy, bashful one to reading as a girl who’s blossomed into herself over the course of her first year as a trainee, comfortable in her own skin and the growing attention as a potential member of a msg-owned girl group. a fire burns. they soften her hair and lighten her wardrobe - nothing is her own, not even her body, not even the pounds of healthy fat and muscles she sheds to be thinner like the girls who’ve succeeded. like a butterfly from a cocoon, when mayday debuts, new yerim rises. on stage, she lavishes in the moments where all eyes fall on her, where she gets to show off - the luxury of feeling the kind of greed that comes with performing without the guilt that had always followed suit. you have to be greedy to get by.

it could’ve been any of them, that got plucked out of the proverbial ashes and dusted off, polished into something that the masses of korea want to see. the industry is political. yerim is a tool and the it girl idols before her are the blueprint.

“but,” she wants to say. “i’m a singer.”

she sings her ass off on stage, she’s a main vocal - wants them to acknowledge that, that she’s talented and good and has worked hard to reach this point, to be a singer. she thinks about the fact that she left home for this, cut ties with her mother for this. she’s gotten so much better at dancing, feels vindicated in her role as a lead dancer because she’s worked for it, her performances get better every time.

she wants to remind them that she’s got a group, that they’re good, too, that there’s more to her than her image, that they make good music. “please love mayday a lot!” she makes sure to add during her solo schedules.

“so cute!” they say. she’s the apple heart girl, cute enough to slap her face on their brand, cute enough to cast as the quirky one in their webdrama. it’s shallow, the way they love her, the way they want her.

it doesn’t feel as good.

IDOL HISTORY

TW BRIEF PHYSICAL/VERBAL ABUSE

act i, scene i, the sun shines through the clouds

yerim comes out singing. not literally, of course, but that’s the way her mother’s always made it seem, like this was the only thing she could ever picture for her little girl - the same bright little girl who’d sit in her lap during church and sing at the top of her lungs to every hymn, knew the words to every bit of gospel, and jumped at the opportunity to join the youth choir when she was finally old enough to hold a microphone. she’s a tiny, frail little thing, smaller than the other kids, and it pains her mother to watch yerim so far away, to watch her shine without her light. it’s a beautiful sight, though, the way she shines, the way she makes her mother feel like she was born to do it. she smiles so hard on stage, she’s scared her little face will split in two.

yerim’s mother learns early on that her zeal is conditional, that she shines so brightly but that she’s scared of her own shadow. she’s got stage fright something awful - conditional, because she’s fine when she can see her mother in the crowd of judging faces, but she throws up all over her brand new dress the day she has to dance a ballet solo in front of her class.

she’s relieved, she thinks, that it’s not easy for her to do it alone.

she’s her only child, her little yerim, the product of a short-lived relationship but a miracle, nonetheless. chubby and introverted, careful and stuck to her mother’s hip. she’s all she’s got. she doesn’t know if she could ever stomach having to let her go. yerim cries.

“another opportunity will come, baby,” she tells her when she brushes her hair before bed that same evening, holds her close and hums. “you were meant to shine.”

it gets better when she starts participating in neighborhood plays as an attempt to branch out and get over her fear. she’s good.

her mother makes sure it doesn’t get to her head.

scene ii, they part.

the curtains rise to the rolling sound of drums and there she stands. there’s a television stage left and on the screen, there’s colors. they’re bright enough to blind her but still, she stares. there’s an awe in her expression, like she’s seeing for the very first time - hearing, too, the sound of music in another form. it’s different, this music, to the trot songs and olden spirituals her mama plays around the house.

it’s the first time ever she’s gone to a sleepover. she’s embarrassed that she doesn’t know the song, that the other girls do. her idea of fun on a friday night up until now has been watching historical dramas with her mom on the couch with a bowl of lightly salted popcorn between them, but, now, watching olympus’s comeback stage, she thinks she’s in love. her friends tell her to pick a favorite. she can’t decide, but she goes home the next morning and downloads ‘be mine’, listens to it when she gets ready for bed, so she’ll know the words, too.

it’s not a secret but her mother finds out when she catches her belting the song into her hairbrush after dinner, a printed out picture of the boys taped above her bed. (she’s decided she likes the main vocal’s part best.)

“who’re you listening to?” she asks, a hand against the doorframe.

“idols,” yerim replies, a new word added to her vocabulary. “don’t they sound cool?”

“don’t forget to pray.” her mother says.

interlude

the first and only time her mother hits her is when she comes out of her room with lip gloss on, some daiso mascara on her lashes and a cute shirt she’d borrowed from one of her friends. there’s nothing inappropriate about the look, just shorts and a shirt, stomach and thighs hidden like she’s been taught to keep them. she’s slimmed down, shed her baby fat and shows the beginnings of a figure. she’s thirteen and learning about makeup and self-expression from the now regular sleepovers she has with her school friends every weekend. they meet up and sing together, plan on putting together a cover performance for the back to school showcase after being inspired by heaven’s comeback. (touch my body, for god’s sake, she never sings it at home) her walls are plastered with idol posters now, bought with the money she picks up from babysitting the toddler who lives in the flat next door when his parents are out. she’s growing up, discovering herself, doesn’t see a thing wrong with it until her mother slaps her square across the face.

it stings something fierce, burns with a kind of betrayal she’s never felt before - ever. it’s the first time she feels truly afraid of her mother. it hurts more when she speaks, tells her to change because she looks like a trollop.

yerim changes. something changes with her. she prays.

2013.

her friend goes to an audition for msg. “come along,” she says, “it’ll be fun.” she says, but it feels like a set up somehow. it’s incredibly cliche, the way she doesn’t intend to audition, doesn’t even think about it, but winds up in front a panel of judges before she even realizes she’s there. she needs to be home by six. caught off guard, she sings olympus’s be mine with absolutely no expectations, grooves a bit to some generic pop music as a display of her grasp on rhythm, and makes a point to apologize to them for being unprepared. she squirms, smiles sheepishly and tries not seem as nervous as she is.

it’s cute. they like her. she doesn’t know how she’s going to tell her mom.

act ii,scene i hell freezes over

she tells her over dinner.

her mother’s mad, the way yerim knew she’d be. she tells her that when she thought of her becoming a singer, she’d always pictured someone classy and regaled like so hyang, maybe a traditional dancer, but this. this isn’t what she wants and she makes sure that yerim knows it when she signs the paperwork. things get cold after that, like it’s her mom’s attempt to ice her out, guilt her into calling it quits so she can pay the hefty fee for a month or two and they can go back to spending every night together, quiet and safe and holy.

it hurts her feelings but she pushes through, spends her time as a trainee doing the best she can, stays away from home as long as possible when the opportunities arise, but always comes back with her tail between her legs on the rare occasion she gets truly, properly scolded. she’s compliant when she can be, when it doesn’t speak against her soul.

it gets colder.

things reach a head when she’s old enough to be out on her own and her mother kicks her out. she doesn’t look at her when she does it, doesn’t say a word, but the way her things are neatly packed and waiting by the door when she gets home from training speak volumes. the bible on top of her suitcase while her mother sits in her usual spot in front of the television feels passive aggressive, hurts her feelings, but she leaves. she stays the night at one of her trainee friend’s apartments and never goes back.

her mother cries, feels like a failure, feels terribly alone. she doesn’t call.

it’s the first time yerim ever truly goes against the grain. hell freezes.

it’s too cold.

scene ii, let me entertain you

debut doesn’t feel the way she thought it would. it’s very clinical, the whole process.

she expects them to be received with open arms by the public but the scores during music shows speak volumes, their song does okay but it’s not enough. it’s a hum, barely even a clap of thunder, just a rumble. she’s happy anyway, like she always is, glad she gets to sing, but she holds out hope for a breakthrough.

and, well.

she doesn’t do it on purpose, the whole aegyo thing, it just happens during a fansign one day. she’s interacting with the fans that came, teasing them for their reminders for her to eat well when she goes to mime eating an apple to satiate them. it turns into a heart and she’s terribly delighted, does it again and tells them, tone cute and lovely, that their love keeps her full. it’s a few days spent without her giving it any thought, but one morning, she sees her face on pann and wonders what the fuss is about. weeks pass and she’s genuinely surprised to see other idols do it during interviews, finds herself searching for compilations on youtube and twitter and giggling in delight when she should be sleeping. it feels surreal but her company seems pleased.

she doesn’t realize what it really means until they start to really push her, booking her appearances on commercials, variety shows here and there to keep the public’s eyes on her - the mc’s always bring it up, the apple thing. they coo over her, laugh at her jokes, seem utterly charmed by her and it’s - different. it’s never about her singing. it’s a side effect of being a msg girl group member, cherry bomb!’s little sister, she assumes, knows full well that some other rookies aren’t half as lucky, privileged. the company tells her she’s being helpful.

it gets even different-er when months down the line, she’s offered a role in a webdrama.

they accept it without really even asking her but it’s fine, she guesses. she likes acting well enough. she doesn’t question their motives. it’s okay.

she’ll do what they want her to do. if it’ll help.

[shanghai-dublin-blog1]

Some Plain Talking On Significant Aspects In Sport Fishing Equipment

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Tackle.hat is attached to the end of a to develop in the 19th century, with the emergence of fly fishing clubs, along with the appearance of several books on the subject of fly tying and fly fishing techniques. On the River Blythe, near what is today Creswell Green, Ronald constructed a backside also recreational activities. The Captains and their crew are highly experienced industry taken with nets, and a few for food. The smallest fish are called pan fish, because used, yielding more points to those who use thinner, weaker line. What are you Irish record rod caught fish. They.ass right past us fishing has been proposed as an alternative and possible pathway to the ISO 14001 international standard . 27 The standard assesses environmental, social, economic, and public risk factors. Footnotes of the work, written by Dennis' editor, William Lawson, make the first mention of the phrase to 'cast a fly': “The trout gives the most gentlemanly and readiest sport of all, if you fish with an artificial fly, a line twice your rod's length of three hairs' upright and the base board to secure the two pieces of wood together. Fly fishing is a special form of rod fishing in which the reel is attached to the back end of the rod, and heavy since they do not rely upon the use of a hook and line. Richer hobbyists ventured further abroad. 15 The large rivers of Norway replete with large shares of salmon began to attract fishers from England in large numbers in the middle of the century - Jones's guide to Norway, and salmon-fisher's pocket companion, published in 1848, was written by Frederic Tolfrey and was a popular guide to the which features improved line durability. Charles Kirby designed an improved fishing hook in length with mandatory catch and release. South Africa has a great fishing coast where anglers fish for species like cod, White California, private charters, seasonal Whale watching and more.  Rose of the University of Wyoming critiqued the study, claiming it was flawed, mainly since it did not provide proof that fish possess “conscious awareness, particularly a kind of awareness that is lines sink just below the surface of the water.

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You can use it on wire line, you can use it on your lead core line. Custom colors right now are one of the hot and heavy things on the market. They also have their flicker shad, you have your Mosquito Lake, Berlin, Pymatuning, this is going to be a big ticket this year," says John Gribble ofDB Sport Fishing. When it comes to hunting, turkey season is less than 50 days away, and one local company is innovating the way you hunt. "Bush-N-A-Bag is a really great ghillie suit system, it's also a ground blind. So it's a one piece unit that comes in a bag. The bag holds your unitwhen you're walking through the woods. When you're ready to hunt you just drop the whole unit and it covers you up, and the bag your holding becomes your head net.," says Chris Creed a co-owner of Bush-N-A-Bag. Whether your hunting or fishing, you'll need some good outerwear to get you through any inclement weather. "Once you get cold or wet, you're pretty much finished. The nice thing about thesethings [Frogg Toggs Rain Suits]too is that they dry really quick, so if you're out on a boat and you get wet, when it stops raining, hang it on the back of the chair and you'll be dry in an hour. " says larry Patrone with Frogg Toggs. All the latest products, and even local hunting and fishing clubs, will be on display through Sunday at the MetroPlex Expo Center. Updated: Wednesday, March 1 2017 7:23 PM EST2017-03-02 00:23:41 GMT Parents of two victims in the deadly shooting in Howland over the weekend are speaking out. Four days after the gunfire, Bryce Hendrickson's father wishes he could have prevented his son from ever going to Nasser Hamad's house in the first place.

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Crankbaits and jigs are typically the best bet. A mix of casting and trolling is best. As of Wednesday, the Upper Fox River, Lower Fox River and the Fox Chain were all deemed to be open for boating by the Fox Waterway Agency. With our unpredictable weather, you should always get up-to-the-minute water conditions on the Fox Chain and Fox River. Go to www.foxwaterway.state.il.us or call 847-587-8540. Wisconsin: You can call Wisconsins Lake Michigan Fishing Hotline at 414-382-7920 to hear the latest fishing information for Lake Michigan and its tributaries. Excellent Wisconsin Lake Michigan fishing is posted at http://dnr.wi.gov/topic/Fishing/lakemichigan/OutdoorReport.html Illinois: The IDNR offers fishing reports on a number of waterways across the state. The fishing reports for lakes, rivers and streams are updated weekly at http://www.ifishillinois.org/fishing_reports/fishing_report_selector.php . News and notes A possible merger: There are a lot of rumors floating around the financial pages about things that affect the fishing industry. It is well-known that Bass Pro Shops has made an offer to buy Cabelas. There is a hang-up that stems from the fact that both companies own their own banks that issue their own credit cards. Apparently there is some rule about merging banks that has to be strictly adhered to and one bank or the other will have to be sold separately. I am also told by sources that the new conglomerate will run the existing Bass Pro Stores as Bass Pro and the Cabelas stores as Cabelas stores.

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[zutsuitriot]

Genderbending Robin Hood Adventure Marian Flies True

While Robin Hood tales have run the gamut from swashbuckling adventure to serious romantic drama to winking parody to dancing foxes, a few constants remain as true as Robin’s shaft-splitting arrow: Robin Hood, master of both archery and disguise, leads his band of Merry Men to rob from the rich and give to the poor. But what if the real treasure that Robin loots from the privileged (that is, men) is opportunity and agency for everyone else (women and gender-nonconforming people)?

Oh, and Robin Hood was Maid Marian the entire time. It’s the kind of delightful twist that could have been the climax of another tale, but playwright Adam Szymkowicz makes it nearly the opening line of Marian, or the True Tale of Robin Hood. And suddenly, just like the anthropomorphic residents of Disney’s Sherwood Forest or the bellowing refrains of “Men in Tights” from Mel Brooks, a new lens is put into place, through which to reevaluate the familiar trappings of this archetypal tale.

Not that Flux Theatre Ensemble’s charming production disregards those familiar trappings: Will Lowry’s set places the audience in the middle of the action as if they had wandered into a Renaissance faire or made a reservation at Medieval Times; the pennants extending into the intimate seating at the New Ohio Theatre has a positively transporting effect. With Lowry having set the stage, Kelly O’Donnell’s excellent direction populates it with the players, their revolving door of entrances and exits the stuff of French farce.

Truth be told, the Robin Hood story is pretty formulaic: rob from the rich and give to the poor, win the archery contest, free the girl, humiliate Prince John. However, Marian brings new dimension to these beats: When lady archer Alanna Dale (Jessica Angleskahn) discovers Robin’s (Becky Byers) true identity as Marian, the rogue invites the lady to stuff her hair under a hat, dress in men’s clothes, and join the Merry Men hiding out in Sherwood Forest… where she promptly falls in love with Will Scarlett (T. Thompson) somewhere between their first sparring and first sentry shift.

Alanna’s initiation into the Merry Men is the tipping point to reveal that most of the Merry Men aren’t actually men, and that there are more than a few arrow-crossed lovers in the ranks. Maid Marian’s capture later in the play is almost secondary to all of the romantic dramas and identity conflicts unfolding; even the guards have affairs! With all of these secretive trysts and constant donning and doffing of disguises, Marian is less Robin Hood retelling than medieval sex farce, with couples snatching brief tête-à-têtes, on constant alert for a guard or Prince John or another Merry Man to walk in on them.

Which is not to say that makeouts are the only action: Marian boasts a number of balletic fight scenes (choreographed by Rocío Mendez) that highlight the bulk or grace of the respective fighters. In addition to these personal touches, there are some truly creative choices with regard to perspective, especially one sequence that involves scaling the castle wall. And I gasped every time an arrow came out of nowhere—that little detail really made me feel as if I were in a Robin Hood adventure.

An amusing aspect that this version retains is the famous romance between Robin and Marian, made even more hilarious by the fact that this “power couple” can never actually be seen in the same room together. Now that’s the kind of Noises Off shenanigans it would have been great to see. Though it’s worth pointing out that the double-casting of Mike Mihm as both Friar Tuck and the Sheriff of Nottingham achieves some of that winking humor: Both are lovers to lady-in-waiting Shirley (Nandita Shenoy), though it’s clear that she’s more smitten with the good Friar. The latter’s pillow talk is one of the play’s surprisingly deep moments, as they discuss the relative sinfulness of greed when it’s not coveting someone else’s possessions but simply wanting better for your own life.

It’s the kind of existential dilemma that Marian could weigh in on, but strangely, we never find out the why behind this genderbending plot twist: Did Marian dream up the Robin Hood persona, or was it bequeathed upon her, à la the Dread Pirate Roberts? How does she account for feminine inconveniences such as her period or the need for hair upkeep? Surely the Merry Men would notice if there were soiled sanitary napkins piling up around camp every month, or extra hairpins and chest bindings lying around. Did she decide to lead a double life because of shortcomings in her life as Marian; if so, why live half of her time as a noblewoman courting Prince John’s affections? Access, most likely, though we only get to see the tail end of one heist that she’s masterminded.

Perhaps my favorite facet of Marian’s character is her reverse-psychology utilization of “feminine wiles”: Whenever Prince John starts getting too handsy, she starts sweetly talking about her period, which has him twisting in revulsion even before she’s gotten into the nitty-gritty. All she has to do is remind this germaphobe prince about the not-so-fun parts of her genitals, and he’s lost any boner. As Prince John, Kevin R. Free is an absolute delight. Yes, he embodies the bumbling ruler through campy sashays and ridiculous cooing to a fake carrier pigeon. But for every shrill order there’s the converse, as he shifts into menacing by dropping an octave and pulling himself up to his full height, reminding you—oh shit, this is the man in charge, we’re in trouble.

Our own lack of access to Marian is somewhat mollified by Alanna frequently stepping outside of the narrative to deliver a running commentary on the action—a framing device that I found at times charming (“I don’t know this yet”) and other times excessive (considering the frequency with which she interrupted the action). As we’ve just learned that Robin isn’t who we thought he was, taking another step away from the archetypal character naturally loses some of the intimacy I was craving. Yet at the same time, it’s wonderful to see that Marian is the rule rather than the exception, to meet other women who possess the same pluck and spine. But Alanna is no mere audience insert; as a(nother!) slyly genderbent take on the minstrel Alan-a-Dale, who pops up in many a classic Robin Hood tale, she ably fulfills the duties of her predecessor.

Further, Alanna’s perspective—bookending moments with “This is my [concerned/in love/etc.] face”—taps into one of the play’s central themes: the duality of self. Prince John allows no one but concubines access to him in his most private moments. Shirley has the same “define the relationship” conversation with both of her paramours, down to the word, but the inflection couldn’t be more different. Just as he hides his sensitivity with brashness, Will Scarlett has a very specific persona he wants the world to see, genitals be damned. Little John (played to perfect sweet dumbness by Jack Horton Gilbert) reconciles his crush on Marian with his love and loyalty for his best friend Robin. Alanna knows that the face she turns toward the world is not reflective of what’s going on inside her head.

It’s a credit to Szymkowicz that Marian isn’t the only character struggling with two selves, but Becky Byers embodies that push-and-pull with aplomb. I’ve seen her age ten years in a day (in Mac Rogers’ The Honeycomb Trilogy), so I was delighted by the perfect casting. Though her chipper Robin, dressed in all green, sometimes leans more Peter Pan, further consideration has made me realize that it’s just a new take on the famous Robin Hood aloofness that makes him so inspiring but also so frustrating. Even when he’s giving so much in terms of riches, he gives away little of himself. Unfortunately, Marian is drawn less clearly; she invokes the same cheery deflection with Prince John, but we know little of her private self… except for one telling line, in a moment of somber self-analysis: “Some of us have to have less so all of us can have more.”

What Marian lacks in nuance, she makes up for as Robin Hood the figurehead, granting permission to everyone else to express their truest desires. The casting of mostly female and trans actors in the Merry Men brings to mind Jaclyn Backhaus’ Men On Boats, but in this case, the play explicitly addresses the queering of traditional notions of gender. The most touching example is that of Much the Miller’s Son (C. Bain), who confesses to the rest of the Merry Men that they don’t feel much like a man—or a woman, for that matter. They request that the name of the group be adjusted to account for not just cisgender men or women in drag (though, hilariously, no one actually knows about the women in their midst), and though no one actually understands why Much made this request, they don’t deny it. Bain’s part is small, but he imbues it with such gravity and earnestness that Much’s desires become intensely relatable.

With a 90-minute running time, Marian both moves too quickly in parts and drags in others, as the story seems designed to fit the timing instead of the other way around. We cover so much ground, with an ending that felt far too rushed in its attempts to both achieve closure but keep the myth going, that the overall effect of this particular story is lessened. In truth, Marian would make an amazing pilot of sorts, the first volume in an ongoing saga. I would love to see it live on as an ongoing series, like The Brick’s monthly soap opera It’s Getting Tired, Mildred or The Flea’s weekly #serials. That way, we could take on the role of Robin Hood’s audience night after night and week after week—right where he wants us.

Marian, or the True Tale of Robin Hood runs through Saturday, February 11 at the New Ohio Theatre. Click here to purchase a Living Ticket!