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anhed-nia · 2 years

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BLOGTOBER 10/17/2022: WOLFEN

WOLFEN is a fascinating thriller that is unflaggingly compelling in spite of its somewhat clunky social commentary. Its broad indictments of manifest destiny, and of the scourge of capitalism, are easily grasped in comparison with the collection of details and red herrings one has to chew through to get to the heart of this murder mystery about a series of apparent animal attacks plaguing New York City. Political aspirations aside, though, the visually stunning film is as much about the nature of perception as it is about anything else.

Adapted from a Whitley Strieber novel by director Michael Wadleigh (best known for the Oscar-winning documentary WOODSTOCK) and David M. Eyre, Jr., WOLFEN begins with the bizarre murder of an elite business mogul. The police have identified a revolutionary terrorist group as the guilty party, but the unusual killings continue with other, more innocent, less fortunate victims. Captain Dewey Wilson (Albert Finney) realizes that there is more to the story when he discovers that these specific acts of violence could only have been perpetuated by wolves—and further evidence ties these slayings to Eddie Holt (Edward James Olmos), a Native American who claims he can shape-shift into an animal form.

Wilson may be an enforcer for white, capitalist civilization, but he himself is only half-domesticated. He has been retrieved from an early retirement to work this case following an unspecified personal implosion, and his cagey demeanor suggests that whatever traumatized him then isn't done with him yet. When his reluctant partner, criminal psychologist Rebecca Neff (Diane Venora), asks why he became a cop, he replies, "I like to kill. It's a habit I picked up, and it's hard to shake." When she presses him, he first claims that he simply wounded a fellow officer while cleaning his gun; when she asks again if he's really killed before, he replies, "Why don't you ask how many?" We never find out exactly what is haunting Captain Wilson, but the film makes a sharp distinction between the importance of what we are told, versus what we perceive.

Coroner Whittington (Gregory Hines) introduces Wilson and Neff to a zoologist named Ferguson (Tom Noonan), who puts the team onto the idea that the murders most resemble wolf attacks. Ferguson is a classic wolf nerd, which is a whole Type in my personal experience: a usually-male fan of the species who jealously lauds Canis lupus's advanced form of society and perceived nobility, along with their hunting prowess. And, like many wolf nerds, Ferguson has a fetishistic attitude toward Native Americans, onto whom he transposes many of the qualities he so admires in his favorite animal. He seems to accept the notion of shape-shifters, too, as he excitedly declares, "The body is just a physical expression of the soul…reality is just a state of mind!"

In WOLFEN, reality is linked less to accumulated legal evidence, and more to the senses, which are extended in various ways. One of its more fantastical elements is the state of police surveillance, which involves a high tech command center that looks like something out of GHOST IN THE SHELL. In addition to the ability to monitor parts of the city, they are able to monitor the inside of a person, as Neff rakes various terrorist suspects over the coals in a chamber that is alive with finely tuned sensors. "The whole room is a lie detector!" its operator remarks, as he reviews thermographic readouts and voice analyses, looking for signs of stress and deception. These borderline sci-fi touches are unusual in the werewolf genre, which is usually rather earthy. However, the somewhat trippy aesthetic of these scenes is mirrored by the innovative, infrared-like photography (later used in PREDATOR) that represents the roving wolves' first-person point of view.

WOLFEN'S innovative ways of depicting sensory perception are complimented by the vision it offers of New York City, which is rarely accessible for most people. The wolves' hunting ground is the South Bronx, which in 1981 resembled the Berlin of 1945, utterly devastated and abandoned by all but the most desperate survivors. Even if you are aware of the state of such places and how they got that way, Gerry Fisher's extensive photography of this location from above and below is deeply shocking. In contrast, Fisher also gives us a stunning view of prosperous lower Manhattan from the very peak of the Brooklyn Bridge, from which Eddie Holt and other Native construction workers can see how the other half lives.

Late in the film, a battered and beleaguered Wilson wanders into the Wigwam Bar, a dive populated by Eddie's community. There, he hears about the Wolfen, semi-divine shapeshifters that the police cannot hope to defeat. "You've seen them, haven't you?" Eddie says, observing Wilson's fascinated acceptance of this story. The spell is suddenly broken by another man, who remarks dryly, "This is all just Indian jive. We've been watching too many cowboy movies!" Eddie sneers ironically at Wilson as he chimes in, "Don't even think about believing any of this shit. It's the 20th century. We got it all figured out." In this scene, the key point is about what Wilson has seen. His direct, sensory experience is elevated in importance above data, documentation, circumstantial evidence, and cultural prejudices about the nature of reality. Those other, indirect items that make up our perceptions, but that do not belong to us, are a part of how larger forces control the narrative of what happened to the Native population of America, and what still happens to places like the South Bronx.

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jellicle-shifters-au · 2 years

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Demelurina Week - Day 5 - Night Out

I Was Whittington’s Cat

It’s comfortably warm in the theater as they take their seats. Demeter tucks her hands under her arms as she settles into the maroon-cushioned chair, while Bomba takes her coat off and drapes it over the back of her own seat. Demeter tucks her nose into her jacket. She isn’t going to take her jacket off, not for a while, not while she’s still cold. She’s never liked being cold, not since her time with Macavity, and she’d rather be sweating in the heated theater than freezing.

Bomba leans over the armrest between them to drape her arms around Demeter’s shoulders, a little awkwardly with the three inches of wood between them, and Demeter snuggles in as best she can, ignoring the feeling of wood pressing into her side. She doesn’t like the barrier between her and Bomba, however small.

“Are you alright, love?” Bomba asks. She crosses her legs, smooths down her black skirt with her free hand. Demeter shivers watching her. Isn’t she cold? She hasn’t complained about it once on their walk from the apartment or through town, or when they waited in line to get the roasted nuts she insisted Demeter try, but every time Demeter looked down and saw her legs clad in nothing but tights, she felt that much colder.

“Cold,” Demeter says, her voice muffled by the collar of her jacket. “I’ll warm up soon enough.”

She curls her fingers, her toes, and sighs in relief. She can at least feel all of them.

The thick socks Bomba gave her help.

Bomba nods, squeezes Demeter’s shoulder. “If you need to sit with me, you can,” she says. “There’s enough room in this chair.”

Demeter nods, blushing, and hopes Bomba can’t see it under the red tint already on her cheeks. If she does, she doesn’t say anything. Instead she starts flipping idly through the program they’d been handed at the door, rubbing her thumb on Demeter’s shoulder—firmly, the way Demeter likes—and she doesn’t drag her fingers up and down along her arm.

(She’d seen a man one the bus do that to his partner once, dragging his fingers up and down her shoulder, and in between shuddering at the very thought of what that felt like, it had taken everything in Demeter not to grind her teeth on the metal bar in front of her, or snap at the man from three rows down to stop touching her like that, as though she could feel every scrape and rub of his nails on her own skin.)

She does, at one point, squeeze Demeter’s shoulder, and there’s a little hitch in her breath at the same time she does. When Demeter looks over, Bomba’s eyes are fixed on something on the page, one of the pantomime titles, but there are three listed and she’s not sure immediately which one has Bomba’s rapt attention.

“Bomba?” she asks, but Bomba doesn’t answer, instead sucking at the inside of her lip and glancing up at the closed curtain of the stage, then back down at the page in front of her.

“Bomba?” She tries again, closing her hand around Bomba’s, still on her shoulder, and this time Bomba rubs her thumb across Demeter’s knuckles, but she still doesn’t answer verbally. Something’s changed in her, something’s shifted; there’s a shine in her eyes that wasn’t there before, and for a moment she looks like a different woman, even when her hair is still vibrant red and her eyes are still dark chocolate brown and her skin is still creamy white.

She looks like she’s lost somewhere in her own head, somewhere where Demeter can just barely reach her, and Demeter knows what that’s like, having been lost in her own head so many times over the course of her recovery, but Bomba’s distance looks different than hers, as though she’s remembering something from a time past, and she’s holding on to the memory with all she has.

Then comes the voice over the loudspeakers that announces, “Our first pantomime of the evening will be that of Dick Whittington and his Cat,” and Bomba’s eyes light up in a way Demeter has never seen before.

A moment later, the curtain opens, but Demeter’s attention is all on Bomba.

------

It sits with her, that shine in Bomba’s eyes throughout the duration of the pantomime, and that little huff of disappointment here and there when they’d referred to the cat as Tommy and he, and the one time somewhere in the middle when Bomba snorted and muttered something that sounded like, My name was Diana. And when Demeter turned to her to ask her what she said, Bomba blinked at her and shook her head, as though she’d had no idea she said anything at all.

It sits with her as they walk home from the theater, Bomba’s arm wrapped around her shoulders, and she doesn’t know what to say when Bomba asks her what’s wrong, because she’s so quiet on the walk home, and she doesn’t answer much when Bomba asks her what she thought of the play—though she does snap out of it for a moment long enough to tell Bomba she thought it was an interesting but sad story, for the cat, at least—she can’t imagine being separated from someone she loves like that—but then she sinks back into the pool of her thoughts and ruminates over it the rest of the walk home.

She pulls her coat off and hangs it on the hook by the door, as Bomba goes to the crockpot, where she’s had apple and cranberry cider brewing since before they left. Demeter sinks down onto the couch and watches Bomba work, taking the lid off, stirring the liquid inside, pouring it into mugs, and thinks about the way her eyes glowed when it was announced that the first play would be Dick Whittington and his Cat, and the way her brow furrowed with disappointment and she sucked at the inside of her lip when they referred to the cat the wrong way, and her words echo in Demeter’s mind My name was Diana and it hits her all at once—

“You were his cat.”

Bomba stops what she’s doing, the ladle half-poured into a tall ceramic mug. Her head whips around and she stares at Demeter, and Demeter stares back, and for a while they say nothing, until Bomba inhales heavily and swallows and Demeter repeats, “You—you were Whittington’s cat.”

Bomba, still, says nothing. She pours the rest of the ladle into the mug, sets both items aside, and returns the lid to the crockpot. Then she leans back against the counter, the sleeves of her blouse rolled up to her elbows, and answers softly, “I was.”

“And—and—” Demeter gets up, readjusts herself, tries to sit on the arm of the couch and fails, instead fidgeting in the corner with restless energy as she realizes. “Your name was Diana.”

“It was.”

Demeter gets up this time, not sure what to do, what to say next, if she should say anything next or if she should let it ride out. Bomba stands at the counter and watches her pace, and for another long while, neither of them say anything.

“It was the name he gave me,” Bomba says softly.

Demeter stops pacing and looks at Bomba, her eyes shining again, not with pride this time, but grief. “Bomba?”

She looks away, stares at the wall, at the floor, at the ceiling, anywhere but Demeter, and swallows heavily. “It was the same as you saw,” she says, but she shakes her head and blinks the tears from her eyes. “The rats, the venture, the—” She stops to shake her head, swallows again. “But they never get it right.” She sounds like someone different, like there’s someone in her body using her voice to speak in a pattern that isn’t quite hers, someone that belongs there but also doesn’t, and Demeter can’t tell where the someone ends and Bomba starts.

“Bomba?”

“I don’t remember everything,” Bomba says, frowning. “Past lives are like that—the more you have, the less you remember of them. And the pantomime only jogs so much. But I’d cleared out the attic. And he wanted to give me a name. I didn’t know what a Roman was!” She huffs a half-hearted laugh, with a half-forced smile, and shakes her head again, clears her throat. “He called me Diana. I don’t know where the hell they got Tommy from.” She laughs then, a little more in earnest, and Demeter laughs with her, until the smile fades from Bomba’s face and she shakes her head again and returns to the mugs.

“Sometimes they get it right,” she says, taking one mug in each hand. “But this one didn’t.”

Demeter takes one mug when Bomba offers it, then finally settles onto the couch, the nervous energy faded from her limbs and replaced with the need to curl into Bomba’s side. But she stays where she is in her corner as Bomba kicks off her heels and settles back against the couch. They take a sip of their cider; Demeter gets lost in her thoughts again, mulling over what Bomba had told her, He called me Diana, sometimes they get it wrong, the realization that Bomba, as most cats do, has led more than one life, and Demeter wonders just how many the red molly has lived.

“Has—” she starts. Bomba looks over at her as she pauses, considering her words carefully. “Has your name always been…?”

“Bombalurina?” she asks, then shakes her head. “No, not quite. I’ve always been me, but…not always as I am.” She sips from her mug again, wincing at the heat against her lips. “Our first and second names may change, but our Everlasting names always remain the same.”

“Who else have you been?” Demeter asks, before she can stop herself. Who else have I been? she wonders, but she doesn’t remember ever having any foreign-and-yet-not memories and thinks maybe she hasn’t had any past lives just yet.

Bomba smiles at her from behind her mug, eyebrows raised. She pulls the mug from her lips, reaches for Demeter’s hand and squeezes it. “I don’t think that’s a conversation to be had tonight, love,” she says gently, sounding tired, and sets the mug down on the coffee table next to Demeter’s.

“Another time, then,” Demeter answers, and squeezes back. “When you’re ready. Are you alright?”

“I will be,” Bomba answers slowly, running her thumb across the back of Demeter’s hand. “Pantomime season is…a mixed time for me.”

Demeter sets her mug on the coffee table and settles into Bomba’s side, her head on Bomba’s shoulder. The tension goes out of the red molly’s shoulders, and she leans back into the couch with a sigh, her head resting on Demeter’s; Bomba shifts her hand around to lace her fingers between Demeter’s and squeezes her hand.

“Do your parents know?” she asks.

“Oh, yes,” Bomba says with a heavy sigh, “they’re aware. Mother should be calling me any minute now. I told her we’d be home around eleven.”

“Is there anything I can do for you?”

“No,” Bomba says, rubbing the edge of her jaw along Demeter’s head. “No, I’ll be alright.” She purrs then, a deep, rumbly sound like thunder, reverberating through her chest and rolling through Demeter’s body. “I’m glad you came out tonight, love.”

Her purring is contagious, and soon Demeter is doing the same, pushing her nose into Bomba’s neck, pausing long enough to answer, “So am I.”

#demelurina week #demelurina #demeter cats #bombalurina #cats the musical #cats 1998 #shapeshifter au #listen i'm obsessed with the hc that bomba was really whittington's cat #it's my favorite

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suzie81blog · 2 years

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Press Review: Fisherman's Friends: The Musical at The Alexandra Theatre

Press Review: Fisherman’s Friends: The Musical at The Alexandra Theatre

⭐️ ⭐️ ⭐️ ⭐️ Fun, witty and heart-warming with plenty of sole From the pier of Port Isaac, Cornwall to the Pyramid Stage at Glastonbury, Fisherman’s Friends: The Musical is loosely based around the true story of the surprise chart-topping Cornish singing sensations and their smash-hit 2019 movie. Directed by James Grieve with the Book by Amanda Whittington, Fisherman’s Friends tells the story of…

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#Alexandra Theatre #Alexandra Theatre Birmingham #Birmingham #Birmingham Theatre Review #Fisherman&039;s Friends #Fisherman&039;s Friends Review #Fisherman&039;s Friends: The Musical #theatre #theatre review

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bllsbailey · 3 months

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Copies of Colorado Newspaper Vanish: Was It to Cover Up 'Underage Party,' Rape At Police Chief's Home?

A newspaper in a small Colorado town sought to publish a story that would have cast the local police chief in a bad light. However, most of the town’s residents did not get to see the story on the day it was published--due to the actions of an unknown thief who tried to steal every copy of the issue around the town so people would not see the story.

In this curious tale, it appears that someone did not want problematic information about the chief to be made public. Unfortunately for them, it’s going to happen anyway. The incident occurred on Friday.

Nearly all the copies of a small-town Colorado newspaper were stolen from newspaper racks on the same day the Ouray County Plaindealer published a story about charges being filed over rapes alleged to have occurred at an underage drinking party at the police chief’s house while the chief was asleep, the owner and publisher said Friday. Mike Wiggins vowed to get to the bottom of it, posting Thursday on X, formerly Twitter: “If you hoped to silence or intimidate us, you failed miserably. We’ll find out who did this. And another press run is imminent.” The newspaper posted the story on social media and removed its website paywall so people could read about the felony sexual assault charges filed against three men, including a relative of the police chief, for actions that allegedly occurred at a May 2023 party in Ouray where drugs and alcohol were used, according to court records. The suspects were ages 17, 18 and 19 at the time, and the person who reported the rapes was 17, records said. By Thursday evening, someone had returned a garbage bag full of newspapers to the Plaindealer, and supporters had donated about $2,000 to the paper, something Wiggins called “extremely heartening and humbling.”

The newspaper, which was founded in 1877, put up a story about the alleged rape on its website. The report notes that the teenage victim told the authorities that “she went in and out of consciousness and was raped at least three times in a bedroom and bathroom by two different people.”

Three suspects have been arrested in the case – Police Chief Jeff Wood’s stepson, Nate Dieffenderffer, Gabriel Trujillo and Ashton Whittington. At the time of the alleged incident, Trujillo was 19, Whittington had just turned 18 and they were celebrating his birthday, and Dieffenderffer was turning 18 in a matter of days. The Plaindealer has decided to name Dieffenderffer because of the severity of the allegations, though he technically was a juvenile on May 14, 2023, the date of the suspected incident.

On Saturday, the newspaper reported that a man “was cited this morning on suspicion of petty theft in connection with the theft of more than 200 printed copies of this week’s Ouray County Plaindealer.”

Paul Choate confessed to pilfering the papers early Thursday morning. He returned them later with an apology. This case is not quite as egregious as what happened to the Marion County Register in Kansas, but it goes to show how important local journalistic outlets are, especially when it comes to exposing local corruption.

Investigators were able to use video surveillance and several leads to conduct the investigation. The evidence showed Choate took the newspapers early Thursday morning after the new edition had been distributed to vending racks. Choate, who owns Kate’s Place restaurant in Ridgway, admitted he took the newspapers because of the front page story. The Plaindealer reprinted 250 copies of this week’s edition before Choate returned the stolen copies.

Choate’s efforts will ultimately be in vain as the story is still up online--and the outlet will be publishing the issue again.

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18thfoot · 8 months

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23rd August 1914 – Western Front

Today marks the participation of 2nd Battalion, Royal Irish Regiment, in the Battle of Mons. The day began with a hurried redeployment of the battalion, which was ordered to a location 2 km west of the Mons-Binche/Mons-Givry Road junction. Battalion HQ, along with B and D Companies arrived there at 7 am. A and C Companies arrived at noon, less two platoons of C Company under the command of Captain Fitzgerald, which had been detailed by Major St Leger to escort the RE Company to destroy the Oburg Canal Bridge. However the bridge was already in German hands so Fitzgerald reinforced the right of the 4th Middlesex, who were in defensive positions overlooking the canal.

At 1230 pm, orders were received to reinforce the 4th Middlesex and hold the line Nimy- Oburg Railway Station. Major St Leger took A Coy and two platoons each from B and C Companies forward to the Quarry (see sketch map). D Coy under Captain Elliot moved to the road, east of the cemetery. The rest of B Coy was in support of the rest of the battalion except a half platoon under Second Lieutenant J. Shine who were sent to reinforce the Gordon Highlanders holding the Mons-Binche/Mons-Givry Road junction.

The Royal Irish were not in prepared positions and were forced to use such cover as was available, behind banks and in sunken lanes. Fields of fire were very poor as the area was made up of small fields and vegetable plots, bounded by fences and banks. Fighting was frequently at short range.

As soon as the battalion was deployed, firing began almost immediately. Captain Mellor, commanding A Coy, was one of the first to be killed. The two battalion machine guns, positioned 150 yards east of the cemetery, engaged cavalry leaving a wooded area north east of their position. The MGs were subjected to heavy fire and withdrew to within 300 m of the road junction. Here one gun was damaged and had to be abandoned. Lieutenant Rushton, the MG officer, withdrew the sole remaining MG to the road junction, where it too was damaged by heavy machine gun and artillery fire. Only one man of the MG section remained alive and unwounded at this stage. Sergeant Whittington subsequently repaired the second MG with parts salvaged from the first and brought the gun back into action.

In the area of the quarry, D Coy was driven back by heavy fire. The Regimental history says they withdrew to Hyon which seems a long way to withdraw (well over a mile), while the rest of the battalion was still engaged.

Major St Leger, and Col Hull of the 4th Middlesex, meanwhile, gave consideration to a counter attack. The ground was so broken with fences and other obstacles that this plan was abandoned. The Middlesex and Royal Irish were now in great danger of being surrounded by the Germans and the two commanding officers decided to make a withdrawal. Casualties were mounting, in A Company in particular, which now had no officer left in command. St Leger went back and selected a position in front of the hospital on the Fauberg Bartlemy road to which a retirement would be conducted. As many men as could be found were placed in position here to cover the retirement, which was carried out with some difficulty, close-pressed by the Germans. At one stage the enemy was closing within 50 yards and were driven back by a bayonet charge of 30 men led by Major Panter-Downes and Lieutenant Shine.

By 2 pm, the battalion, less D Coy, was in position along the road from the junction to Fauberg Bartlemy and under heavy artillery and MG fire. Most of the men were lying in the open in a potato field. As this position was untenable, the battalion withdrew in the general direction of Hyon, pausing en route at about 5.15 pm to reorganise their forces, some troops having no officer or NCO in command. At this time the survivors of 4th Middlesex moved past them, turning west along the road where A Coy were taking up their third position (see map).

At the third position Brigadier General Doran appeared and, taking two companies forward to try and find the Gordon Highlanders position, met a German force advancing down the road at about 6 pm. Doran ordered the battalion back to the fourth position where D Coy rejoined the battalion. As the Royal Irish reached this position a massed attack of Germans on the Gordons and Royal Scots was taking place just east of their position. D Coy reinforced the Gordons and the attack was beaten off with rapid rifle fire.

From the fourth position most of the battalion began to withdraw at about 10 pm. They reached Nouvelles around midnight. Fifty men under Major Daniell remained with 49 Battery, Royal Artillery, to retrieve two abandoned guns. The guns were saved and Daniell and his men reached Nouvelles about 4.30am on the 24th.

The RIR casualties at Mons were heavy. The dead will be listed in another post but the wounded and missing lists were long. Second Lieutenant Guinness was wounded, wounded and missing were Captains J. Fitzgerald and I. George and Second Lieutenant C. ffrench along with 57 men. Taken POW was Captain R. Phillips. On the missing lists were 226 men only 87 of whom rejoined the battalion, at Orly, on 8th September. Also missing was the MO, Major H. Long.

#18thfoot #royalirishregiment #greatwar #worldwar1 #ww1 #westernfront #mons #oldcontemptibles

Photo; The Royal Irish Memorial at La Bascule, Mons. Credit visitmons.co.uk

Maps from The Royal Irish Regiment 1900 - 1922 by Brigadier General S. Geoghegan.

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officepiner · 2 years

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Parts of a western drama

Copyright 2005 by The University Press of. Students here follow the method of Jacques Lecoq, which developed out of his experience of mask work, commedia dell'Arte and his interest in the physicality of performance. Elements of farce, morality, and a disregard for the unities of time, place, and action inform the early comedies Gammer Gurton's Needle and Ralph Roister Doister (both c.1553) and the Senecan tragedy Gorboduc (1562). Publication of this volume was made possible in part by a grant from the National Endowment for the Humanities. The most famous institution devoted to physical theatre is the Lecoq school in Paris. Stomp- where the body, with external objects, is used for its percussive potential Origins of Elizabethan Drama: From the Elizabethan Age come some of the most highly-respected plays in Western drama. Physical comedy - where the body is the primary means of comic creation There are various styles and genre of physical theatre. However, the boundaries between the two are rather blurred. Physical theatre can be distinquished from dance in that it tends to focus more on narrative, character and action. Rhythmical movement, pace and the energy of the body May not be scanned, copied or, duplicated or posted to a publicly accessible website, in whole or in part. In using the body, the performer or actor will concentrate on: Physical theatre is a genre of performance which makes use of the body (as opposed to the spoken word) as the primary means of performance and communication with an audience. (Part 2: Film 17298)Dick Randall is the Deputy Sheriff but McNab an influential gold buyer persuades the Sheriff to dismiss him. Puss in Boots, December 2013, Hackney Empire - Audio Slideshow (The Guardian) This article discusses the development of Western drama in general for further information see the various national literature articles. The colour green is often used for the baddie, and pink for the goodie.Ģ) Pantomime is an ancient type of performance with no spoken words, often now shortened to 'Mime'. drama, Western, plays produced in the Western world. There are a number of traditions with panto, including that the baddie / villain must enter stage left, and the goodie / fairy godmother must enter stage right. of study: Western Theatre Traditions: Classic to Romantic, Western Theatre. Popular pantos include Cinderella, Aladdin, Jack and the Beanstalk, Mother Goose, Sleeping Beauty, Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, Dick Whittington and His Cat, Puss in Boots etc. All majors then specialize in a specific area and undertake advanced thesis. The panto often features slapstick or messy comedy routines, children dancing, recent songs, spectacular sets and colourful costumes, and is often themed around a fairy story or nursery rhymes. 1) A pantomime (often shortened to Panto) is a musical-comedy family-orientated theatrical production traditionally performed in United Kingdom, Australia, New Zealand, Canada, Zimbabwe, Jamaica, South Africa, India, Ireland, Gibraltar, and Malta, at Christmas-time.

#Parts of a western drama

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hummingzone · 3 years

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Roberts-Smith’s conversation at Bunnings

A tense conversation at Bunnings between Ben Roberts-Smith and his private investigator mate, which led to the pair falling out, has been detailed in court. Court documents have claimed a veteran private eye cut ties with Victoria-Cross recipient Ben Roberts-Smith over “threatening letters”. It comes as the Federal Court hears the high profile investigator will give evidence about “surveilling”…

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uwmspeccoll · 3 months

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Wood Engraving Wednesday

HOWARD PHIPPS

This wood engraving of Eggardon Hill in Dorset, England by British artist Howard Phipps (b. 1954) was produced in 2019 for the publication 2020 Vision: Nineteen Wood Engravers, One Collector, and the Artists Who Inspired Them, printed in 2020 by Patrick Randle’s Nomad Letterpress at the Whittington Press in Cheltenham, Gloucestershire, in an edition of 340 copies for the 100th anniversary of the Society of Wood Engravers. In the book, Phipps identifies Edgar Degas, John Nash, and Eric Ravilious as strong influences. Phipps himself started off as a painter in the 1970s, making only occasional prints. His development as an engraver coincided with the revival of the Society of Wood Engravers in the 1980s. About this print, he writes:

I was interested in the ancient signs of humanity apparent in this landscape, and I like to use light to reveal the underlying sculpture of the striking hill forms, where chalk trackways draw the eye into or around deep combes.

Phipps was born in Colwyn Bay, North Wales and was raised in Cheltenham, England. He studied Fine Art at Gloucestershire College of Art in the early 1970s and taught in Plymouth for a while before settling in Salisbury in 1980. He was elected Royal West of England Academy (RWA) Academician in 1979 and a member of the Society of Wood Engravers in 1985.

View other posts with work by Howard Phipps.

View other posts from 2020 Vision.

View more posts with wood engravings!

#Wood Engraving Wednesday #wood engravings #wood engravers #Howard Phipps #Eggardon Hill #2020 Vision #Nomad Press #Whittington Press #Patrick Randle #Society of Wood Engravers #letterpress printing #fine press books #artistic influennces

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academicshelp · 3 years

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Textbooks PDF (email [email protected])

1. International Marketing by Philip Cateora, John Graham, Mary Gilly, Bruce Money, 7th Edition

2. Trillion Dollar Coach: The Leadership Playbook of Silicon Valley's Bill Campbell by Eric Schmidt, Jonathan Rosenberg, Alan Eagle

3. Ethical Dilemmas and Decisions in Criminal Justice by Joycelyn M. Pollock, 7th Edition

4. Marketing: The Core by Roger A. Kerin and Steven W. Hartley, 7th Edition

5. Organizational Behavior: A Practical, Problem-Solving Approach by Angelo Kinicki and Mel Fugate, 2nd Edition

6. Corrections Today by Larry Siegel and Clemens Bartollas

7. Corrections Today by Larry Siegel and Clemens Bartollas, Study Guide, 2nd Edition

8. Juvenile Justice by Karen M. Hess, 5th Edition

9. The Age of Unreason (1989), by Charles Handy

10. Built to Last: Successful Habits of Visionary Companies (1994), by Jim Collins and Jerry Porras

11. Competing for the Future (1996), by Gary Hamel and C.K. Prahalad

12. Competitive Strategy: Techniques for Analyzing Industries and Competitors (1980), by Michael E. Porter

13. Emotional Intelligence (1995), by Daniel Goleman

14. The E-Myth Revisited: Why Most Small Business Don't Work and What to Do about It (1985), by Michael E. Gerber

15. The Essential Drucker (2001), by Peter Drucker

16. The Fifth Discipline: The Art and Practice of the Learning Organization (1990), by Peter Senge

17. First, Break All the Rules (1999), by Marcus Buckingham and Curt Coffman

18. The Goal (1984), by Eliyahu Goldratt

19. Good to Great: Why Some Companies Make the Leap ... and Others Don't (2001), by Jim Collins

20. Guerilla Marketing (1984), by Jay Conrad Levinson

21. How to Win Friends and Influence People (1936), by Dale Carnegie

22. The Human Side of Enterprise (1960), by Douglas McGregor

23. The Innovator's Dilemma (1997), by Clayton Christensen

24. Leading Change (1996), by John P. Kotter

25. On Becoming a Leader (1989), by Warren Bennis

26. Out of the Crisis (1982), by W. Edwards Deming

27. My Years with General Motors (1964), by Alfred P. Sloan Jr.

28. The One Minute Manager (1982), by Kenneth Blanchard and Spencer Johnson

29. Reengineering the Corporation: A Manifesto for Business Revolution (1993), by James Champy and Michael Hammer

30. The 7 Habits Of Highly Effective People (1989), by Stephen R. Covey

31. The Six Sigma Way: How GE, Motorola and other Top Companies are Honing Their Performance (2000), by Peter S. Pande, Robert P. Neuman and Roland R. Cavanagh

32. Toyota Production System (1988), by Taiichi Ohno

33. Who Moved My Cheese? (1998), by Spencer Johnson

34. Introduction To The Economics Of Financial Markets by James Bradfield

35. Generalized Convexity And Related Topics by Igor V. Konnov, Dinh The Luc, Alexander M. Rubinov, 1st Edition

36. Models in Cooperative Game Theory: Crisp, Fuzzy, and Multi-Choice Games by Professor Dr. Rodica Branzei, Dr. Dinko Dimitrov, Professor Dr. Stef Tijs, 1st Edition

37. Sociology and organization theory : positivism, paradigms and postmodernity by John Hassard

38. Encyclopedia of sociology by Edgar F. Borgatta, Rhonda J. V. Montgomery volume 1, 2nd Edition

39. Reconnecting Culture, Technology and Nature: From Society to Heterogeneity by Mike Michael, 1st Edition

40. The Cambridge Dictionary of Sociology by Bryan S. Turner

41. Drugs, Society, and Human Behavior by Carl Hart, Charles Ksir, Oakley Ray, 13th Edition

42. Drugs, Society, and Human Behavior by Carl Hart, Charles Ksir, Oakley Ray, 16th Edition

43. Contemporary Management by Gareth R. Jones and Jennifer M. George, 9th Edition

44. Project Management by Harvey Maylor, 4th Edition

45. Human Development: A cultural approach by Jeffrey Jensen Arnett

46. Project Management Leadership by Rory Burke and Steve Barron, 2nd Edition

47. Operations Management by William J. Stevenson, 12th Edition

48. Leisure Business Market Research Handbook by Richard K. Miller and Kelli Washington, 6th.

49. Exploring Corporate Strategy: Text and Cases by Gerry Johnson, Kevan Scholes, Richard Whittington, 8th Edition

50. The Norton Anthology of American Literature by Nina Baym, 6th Edition

51. Babbie, Earl R. 1994. What is Society? Reflections on Freedom, Order, and Change. Thousand Oaks, CA, Pine Forge Press.

52. Charon, Joel M. 1999. The Meaning of Sociology. Upper Saddle River, NJ: Prentice-Hall. —. 2001. Ten Questions: A Sociological Perspective. Belmont, CA: Wadsworth.

53. Collins, R. and M. Makowsky. 1998. The Discovery of Society. New York, McGraw Hill.

54. Collins, Randall. Sociological Insight: An Introduction to Non-Obvious Sociology. Oxford University Press.

55. Dandaneau, Steven P. Taking it Big. Thousand Oaks, CA: Pine Forge Press.

56. Giddens, Anthony. 1987. Sociology: A Brief but Critical Introduction. Second Edition. New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich.

57. Hachen, David S., Jr. 2001. Sociology in Action: Cases for Critical and Sociological Thinking. Thousand Oaks, CA: Pine Forge Press.

58. Johnson, Allan. The Forest and the Trees. Mayfield. Lemert, Charles. Social Things, Rowman and Littlefield.

59. Levin, W. C. (1994). Sociological Ideas: Concepts and Applications. Belmont, CA, Wadsworth.

60. Newman, D. M. (2000). Sociology: Exploring the Architecture of Everyday Life. Thousand Oaks, CA, Pine Forge Press.

61. O'Brien, Jodi. 1999. Social Prisms. Thousand Oaks, CA: Pine Forge Press.

62. Schwalbe, Michael. 2001. The Sociologically Examined Life. Mountain View, CA: Mayfield.

63. The Naked Face (1970) by Sidney Sheldon

64. The Other Side of Midnight (1973) by Sidney Sheldon

65. A Stranger in the Mirror (1976) by Sidney Sheldon

66. Bloodline (1977) by Sidney Sheldon

67. Rage of Angels (1980) by Sidney Sheldon

68. Master of the Game (1982) by Sidney Sheldon

69. If Tomorrow Comes (1985) by Sidney Sheldon

70. Windmills of the Gods (1987) by Sidney Sheldon

71. The Sands of Time (1988) by Sidney Sheldon

72. Memories of Midnight (1990) by Sidney Sheldon

73. The Doomsday Conspiracy (1991) by Sidney Sheldon

74. The Stars Shine Down (1992) by Sidney Sheldon

75. Nothing Lasts Forever (1994) by Sidney Sheldon

76. Morning, Noon, and Night (novel) (1995) by Sidney Sheldon

77. The Best Laid Plans (1997) by Sidney Sheldon

78. Tell Me Your Dreams (1998) by Sidney Sheldon

79. The Sky Is Falling (2001) by Sidney Sheldon

80. Are You Afraid of the Dark? (2004) by Sidney Sheldon

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athina-blaine · 4 years

Link

Martin goes and gets himself stabbed. It's inconvenient.

For @thesmallestzita.

Chapters: 1/1 [Complete]

Words: 1,774

Tags: Whump, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Season 1, Pre-Relationship, Canon-Typical Violence

Martin tripped over a stray soda can and the pain in his side flared. Hissing through his teeth, he pressed his hand deeper over the wound, taking a moment to collect himself, before continuing to shamble down the rain slicked pavement.

He takes some initiative for once, and this is what happens. Typical. The others weren’t going to let him hear the end of this. Especially not Jon.

Martin hoped Jon never found out about this. He’d die of embarrassment, first. Martin was walking a tight rope after the disastrous Rentoul follow up, as it were. There’s no telling what Jon would do if he knew Martin had to go and get himself bloody stabbed, all the while following up a case that had already been closed.

He pulled his mind back to the task at hand; get to hospital. It was more difficult due to the fact that every lone piece of rubbish seemed determined to get under his feet and trip him up. It didn’t help that his legs moved like they were fast filling with lead, heavy and sluggish.

It’s amazing, sometimes, the things you take for granted. Martin walked every day. He was pretty good at it, he thought. But, now, it took everything he had just to put one foot in front of the other.

The pavement swam before his eyes, the neon lights bouncing off rain puddles in a hypnotic display. It made him queasy. He had to lean against a brick wall. Just a short break, to catch his breath. Not for long.

This was harder than he’d thought it would be. His GPS said the hospital had only been a twenty-minute walk, but he feels as if he’d been going and going for hours.

God, he was such a moron. What had he been thinking? Skulking around the site of paranormal nonsense with no backup and no one knowing where he was. He had just wanted to know more about the fate of Carlos Vittery, and, maybe, uncover something that was missed the first time. Something that would impress Jon.

He hadn’t known someone was there. He wouldn’t have gone in if he had known that.

The woman had dark hair, filthy and caked with a thick, flaky secretion and when she had turned, she had … holes, in her face. And the bugs …

So distracted by the silvery worms, he hadn’t had time to react when the woman lunged with a rusty razor, slicing clean through just under his ribs.

“It’s okay,” she had whispered. “You don’t want to be here for what comes next, anyway.”

Flooded with adrenaline, Martin had managed to sprint out of the basement, away from the woman and her burrowing worms without any further harm. It had to have been Jane Prentiss. Nothing else made sense. And nothing good could possibly come out of whatever was coming next.

He grimaced, pressing his hand into his side, slick with blood.

He wasn’t going to make it.

He helplessly slid down the wall. No. No, this was bad. He can’t lie down. If he did, he didn’t think he’d be able to get back up.

Shit. Shit.

First things first, he had to tell someone about Prentiss. Someone had to know that she was planning something.

Pulling out his phone, he struggled to bring up his most recent conversations, fingers smearing blood onto the screen. Sasha. Sasha would know what to do.

He raised the phone to his ear, the streetlights swimming in and out of focus.

“Hello?”

Jon.

Martin’s eyes slid shut. Of course. His last text had been to Jon about the Popham follow up. Jon had said he had already finished recording the case and scolded Martin for being so late with his report. Tim and Sasha had had everything under control, anyway. Find someone else to bother.

He hadn't written that last part. Not out loud, anyway.

Through the phone, there was a familiar, irritated sigh and Martin blinked back to reality.

“I really hope this is important, Martin, I was rather in the middle of something.”

Martin swallowed, torn between, Oh, nothing, sorry to bother you, good night and, I’m dying and I’d never forgive myself if I didn’t tell you I love you so, so much.

The phone trembled in his hand and he gripped it as tightly as he could. If he dropped it, he wouldn’t have the strength to pick it back up again. Was he really going to bleed out here? In this dingy alley, in the middle of the night, in the rain? That would be … really bad …

“For God’s sake, Martin, I don’t have time for this.”

“S-sorry …” Have to tell him. Needs to know. “Jane …”

“Martin?” The bite in his voice fell away. “What’s happening? You sound—”

“Jane Prentiss …”

There was a pause, and then a sudden, violent clattering. “Where are you?”

“Um … I was just … Carlos Vittery …”

“Don’t move, I’m on my way. Stay on the phone. Martin? Martin?”

Ah. Now he’s went and gotten Jon all worked up.

“Sorry … tried to be useful …” He chuckled and it hurt. “Guess I should … know better by now …”

“Martin!”

At least he got to listen to Jon saying his name, like he was really worried about him or something. There were worse ways to go.

The phone slipped from his hand and everything fell away.

Martin awoke, slowly, first to the sound of a mechanical beeping, and then, hurried footsteps and outraged shouts. The door swung open and his drowsy eyes slid over to the figures that stormed in. His vision was still blurry, and he couldn’t make out their faces, but he recognized one voice.

“—know the policies and if you think you have any right to stop me—”

An unfamiliar woman came in behind him, haggard and face lined with stress.

“Do you know this man, sir?” she said to Martin.

Martin blinked sleepily, eyes moving back to Jon. His hair was wilder and more unkempt than he’d ever seen it.

“Yeah," he said. "He’s my, uh … boss?”

Jon turned to the woman with a victorious smirk, but the woman was already backing out of the room.

“Just press the assist button if he’s bothering you,” she said, closing the door with a sharp click. Jon glared at the door, grumbling irritably under his breath. Martin opened his mouth, but a wave of nausea swept over him and his question was lost in a groan.

Jon snapped towards him, his irritation flipping to stark concern. Taking a deep breath, Martin tried again.

“Where am I?” he asked, faintly. “How did I get here?”

“Whittington Hospital. According to the nurse, a pedestrian saw you and called the paramedics.” Jon took a seat in the spare chair by his bedside, dropping his satchel by his side. His expression could have been cut from steel. “You are incredibly lucky.”

Martin squeezed his eyes closed. He certainly didn’t feel very lucky. Not with Jon looking so upset. He was still wearing the same soft, grey jumper from this morning, which means he had come here straight from the Institute, and for some reason that distressed Martin even more.

“How did you know where I was?”

“Obviously, the Carlos Vittery you mentioned was the same from case #0150409 and I figured you must have been near the Archway area. I’ve been trying all the hospitals nearby asking for a man of your description.”

What little energy Martin had drained out of him, and his head sank into the pillow.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“Oh, and I suppose you’d rather have me twiddling my thumbs in the archives while you were dying?”

“Sorry ...”

Jon pressed his lips together and he looked to the side. The severity of his expression gentled, and he turned back to Martin, his eyes softening.

“Are you alright?”

Martin’s heart fluttered.

“Well,” he managed. “Not dead. That’s a good start.”

Jon nodded, and then hoisted up his satchel.

“You were in surgery for a while, so I went out and bought some food, considering the stuff in hospital is so abysmal.”

“Oh. That’s … nice of you.” Also, wildly unexpected, but Martin wasn't saying anything. Hospital food was, in fact, not the greatest.

“I wasn’t sure what you liked, so …” Jon dumped a truly outrageous amount of granola bars, yoghurt, and crisps onto the end table. Some spilled over and he quickly reached down to scoop them up. “Yeah.”

A chuckle worked its way through Martin’s chest. It hurt, a little, but the pain was soothed by the sight of Jon juggling Hot Flamin’ Cheetos.

“Slight overkill, don’t you think?”

Jon snapped open a bag of cheese puffs. “Good to know my efforts are appreciated.”

“They are! They are.” With a muffled grunt, Martin reached over and plucked up a bottle of orange juice. “See? Look how appreciative I’m being.”

Jon hummed, flicking a cheesy puffball into his mouth. They both sat in silence, Martin sipping his drink and Jon munching through his crisps.

It must have been the longest time the two of them had ever been alone together. Though they were both quiet, it was a comfortable sort of silence. Just two people existing alongside each other. Reassured by their presence.

Then, Jon took a deep breath.

“I had no idea what to make of your call,” he said, folding the plastic bag into a small square. “I thought you were … You …”

Martin bit his lip, not wanting anything to slip out. Swallowing, Jon lowered his head.

“You had me worried.” Finally, Jon looked back up at him. His mouth was his usual grim, disappointed line, but his eyes shone with dark emotion. “Please don’t do that again.”

Jon had been really upset, hadn't he? Martin didn’t know how to feel about that. Embarrassed, certainly. Guilty, for putting Jon through such an unnecessary ordeal. But also … nice.

He traced the lip of his empty orange juice bottle.

Yeah. He felt nice.

“Well, I don't really fancy dying, so I guess I'll do my best.”

A tiny smile quirked the corner Jon’s lips. Martin had only a moment to savour it, though, as it quickly slipped away as he pulled a pen and paper out of his satchel, and Martin mourned its loss. Jon opened his notebook.

“What happened at Carlos Vittery’s flat? You said you encountered Jane Prentiss, correct?”

Yes. Back to business.

Straightening up, Martin cleared his throat.

“Right. So, something about his case didn’t sit right with me, and I decided to go back and investigate some more. You know, observe my due diligence, and all that …”

#the magnus archives #tma #themagnuspod #jonmartin #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #fanfiction #fic

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skimblyshanks · 3 years

Note

Good ol’ Skimbleshanks for the character ask!!

Alrighty! *Cracks knuckles*

Something this character is truly proud of.

It’s a close tie between his job and his kids

Who they want to please the most.

His superiors, both human and Jellicle.

Who depends on them.

Pounce Carbucketty most immediately, but, as much as they may protest it, Jerrie and Teazer do still turn to him p often.

What they would do if they had one month to live.

He’d try to do night-runs as usual, while also making sure anything and everything his kids might need or want that he could provide, would be provided; posthumously or not. He’d probably also have a handful of breakdowns interspersed in there.

A cherished personal belonging.

A large doll’s waistcoat, “found” and given to him by Jerrie and Teazer when they were little.

Something they lost, but would love to have back

An authentic program for “Dick Whittington and His Cat,” noting his father’s special appearance. It got lost while their humans were moving old papers from the house and theatre.

This character’s favorite character

Mr. Toodle! (EDIT: Just realized this is probably a question abt their favorite character in-universe? UUUhhhhhh he’s got a 3-way tie for his kids lol)

What kind of car they would drive.

I kinda don’t think he’d own a car. I mean, why drive when you can walk or ride, right?

What calms them when they are upset.

Quiet and the company of his loved ones

How they deal with pain.

If it isn’t an immediate, gut-wrenching tragedy, he’s going to try and push it off for later

This character’s favorite piece or pieces of clothing.

His waistcoat!

How they sleep.

Usually? Curled up very tight into a ball, on top of anything around him that’s not in immediate danger of falling down.

When he’s relaxing? splayed out on his side, usually pressed against a window

What kind of parent they would be.

Well, he’s far from perfect, but he works to make sure his kids are happy and healthy. He tries to manage his more controlling tendencies when they make choices he disagrees with, but that’s a constant battle. He puts up a pretty jovial face most of the time, but make no mistake; he will fight tooth and nail, right to the death for his kids if you give him a reason to; and he can fight damn well.

How they did in school

He never went to school; not even in the human au, lol

What cologne or perfume they would use

Lemon-scented Kolonya

Their sexuality

Bisexual, with a strong preference towards men

What they’d sing at karaoke

Anything, if you get him drunk enough

Special talents they have

He has a near-photographic memory; he can read human handwriting, though he doesn’t quite “get” street adresses

When they feel safest

When he has all of his family safe and accounted for, especially if they’re in the immediate vicinity.

Household chore they hate the most

Scrubbing/wiping things down. He hates it bc he knows it’s in vain and the kids are gonna make everything filthy again. That, and it takes so long for things to dry afterwards.

Their fondest childhood memory

Lying on a chaise with his mum and brother.

How they spend their money.

(Human AU) He’s a terrible impulse buyer, so he tries not to handle his money out and about. He tries to outline some form of budget, but often relies on Jelly to make sure he sticks to it.

What kind of alcohol they drink

Glen Moray Single Malt Scotch

What they wish they could change about themselves

He’d like to be able to balance work and homelife a lot better. As much as he loves riding on the train, he’s always got this nagging guilt about leaving the kids behind, and he feels like he’s put himself in a lose-lose position with it all.

What other people wish they could change about them

He gets more pushy and controlling when he gets really nervous, and he’s already p much always nervous. They’d either like him to have a different response to stress, or, preferably, not get stressed so much

#character ask #Thanks for the ask!!!#Skimbleshanks #roxycake

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switchjanellestjames · 4 years

Text

Alright, okay...Alright, okay! It is time once again for an announcement regarding Dalton’s End of Summer Production, Rodger and Hammerstein’s Cinderella! Now, I know there have been some worries as it has come to my attention that we must once again make a few casting adjustments. Fear not, thespians and theater enthusiasts, hope is not lost! Thankfully, we have been able to make a few quick changes to our cast list once again!

At this time, the casting is as follows: WLW Production: Cinderella: Reign Whittington ( @reignwhittington) Princess: Mercedes Jones ( @goodgirlmercedes) MLM Production: Cindereddie: Elliott Gilbert ( @switchuponastarchild) Prince: Stevie Evans ( @daltonstevie) WLM Production: Cinderella: Quinn Fabray ( @littlemissperoxide) Prince: Dylan Puckerman ( @dominant-dylan)

All other, previously cast roles remain the same. Now! Moving right along this wacky-wavy train track, the biggest announcement of them all- hold onto your seats, because opening night is COMING!!

Mark your calendars, clear your schedules, and call the presses, it’s about to get dramatic up in here! Beginning Friday, September 25 at 6:00 PM, we will open things with our WLW production, followed by our MLM production on Saturday, September 26, and our WLM production on Sunday, September 27. We will run each show for two consecutive weekends- yep, you read that right! We’ll be back again the weekend of October 2-4, with the adjustment that the order of productions will be reversed, beginning with WLM, then WLW, then MLM.

For my wonderful thespians who are involved with other clubs and activities on campus, fear not! I have taken care of everything scheduling-wise, and you will all have ample time to fulfill all of your roles and commitments! Other clubs and activities leaders should be announcing scheduling adjustments soon!

Whew! As if that weren’t a big enough information overload, we’ll keep the good times rolling with one more little call out post! Anyone interested in assisting with off-stage and behind-the-scenes technicalities, please don’t hesitate to reach out! Mr. Cooper Anderson ( @dominanthollywoodcooper) has been so gracious as to extend his expertise on all things theater, so please do not hesitate to approach either of us regarding any backstage help you’re willing to offer! We are still in need of assistance in hair, makeup, and costuming, and we will need ushers and greeters for the evening of the production, to help keep things running smoothly!

Alright, I think that’s more than enough of an info-dump for this evening! I sincerely hope you are all having an incredible night and a great Monday! As usual, I am here and around for any and all questions, comments, concerns, or needed chats!

#interactions:all #interactions:starter #interactions:drama club #sanctuary:starter

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heykillmongerluhme · 5 years

Text

Meet Me In The Breakroom

Erik Stevens x OC Reader

I N S P O: I had a daydream about this the other day, plus I’m being a Filthy McNasty now; Need to get my creative sauce back up

N O T E: Read while alone hehe or be a filthy McNasty like me and react all loud; Could listen to I Wanna Sex You Up x Color Me Badd

W A R N: Smut

T R I G G E R: None

W O R D: 3.9k

“Let’s get down to brass tax here” Mr. Whittington, CEO, said abruptly through your presentation “What is it going to cost me?”

The room, including yourself, fell into laughter as you clicked through the next three slides heading towards the graph indicating cost. This was the presentation that you had been preparing for. The company was going down for being too old fashioned and targeting the older demographic and they needed a fresh new perspective. Mr. Whittington himself called you to be lead on the project, promising you a spot for VP of Communications. You were beyond excited because since you stepped foot into that office, it has been your goal to eventually lead a department for the firm.

“Roughly, we estimate the cost to be around $532,000 but profit would be projected to” you dragged out as you clicked out to the next slide “$1.7 million”. Low audibles of gasps surrounded the room and smiles from your team shone to you.

“And how do you suppose we are to receive those funds?” he interjected the elevating atmosphere. Erik Stevens. It just seemed like he had a vendetta against you, every idea you had, even if it was great. He just always had something to say. Something to ask, just something to nitpick at. Maybe because you were the only other younger, black executive on the team. He was the “star” before you came along and he really didn’t care for it.

“Well, Mr. Stevens” you kept a tight smile but your eyes were burning him “We still have leftover funds from our charity raised last month, I have compiled 5 different investors, even those relationships that were lost” the shade that was thrown from you to him. No one really likes to bring up the 2017 investors meeting, that was not one of Erik’s best moments.

Eyes roamed between you and him trying to see who was going to fight back first. The office knew that you two were in competition with one another and that tensions were high. His jaw clicked before you watched his thick tongue cover the plump bottom lip before it tucked in anger.

“Any other questions?” You called out to the room and no responses availed to you.

“Great job, Y/N!” Mr. Whittington clapped before standing to his feet. The room followed suit as you stood proudly. Shoulders back, chest forward, and head held high. A reluctant Erik stood up last as you looked at others directly. A smile on your face and grimace on his.

x x x

“I can’t believe that Mr. W is going to name you VP!” your coworker gleamed as you guys brought in the remaining materials.

“We have to wait and see” you calmly reminded her “It is between Erik and me, and he has a longer track record than me”

“So! He’s been here for how long and only has been promoted once. Besides ever since the fuck up in 2017, Mr. W is making sure that he is monitored. Who knows, he might be in your department” the brunette bounced before placing down the rest of your materials.

“Thank you” you mentioned breathlessly before pushing your curls out of your face “Who knows, but I am completely starving and I am about to head to lunch. Do you want anything?”

Shaking her head ‘No’, she opened the screen on her phone before stepping out of your office. You took a well needed to exhale before preparing for the next half of your day. Meeting after meeting after meeting. You already knew that caffeine was in your calling, so before you decided to leave campus for lunch. You needed your third installment of coffee.

x x x

With the company being as prominent as it is, it created a break floor for all their employees. It was implemented that current year but not a lot of individuals wanted to use it. Due to the comfort of their own break rooms or they simply did not know about it.

However, it had become a sanctuary for you. Some days you had the whole floor to yourself, like today. It just seemed like the universe was working in your favor all day. First, you killed your presentation that you finished to the brim of the minute before the meeting. Next, Mr. W is making more hints for your promotion. Then, You had this break room floor to yourself to unwind from the first half of the day. And lastly, you finally had your chance to embarrass Erik. Today was beginning to look like the best day ever. It was shortly interrupted when you heard the blaring of a rap song come around the corner and the clicks of loafers followed suit. Annoyance grew in your body because you just wanted to be quiet. You still had your back turn as you pressed the brewer to begin the making of French Vanilla coffee. The scent, you knew anywhere. His Calvin Klein cologne invaded your nose before you could even turn around.

Erik looked up from the tweet that he was going to send before seeing you stand at the machine. His chocolate orbs danced across your heels, leading up to your curvy calves that connected to your holdable hips. He may not have liked you as a coworker but he couldn’t help that he was a man. He definitely found you attractive. As you did him. However, y’all pride and the race to be successful in the company got in the way of seeing each other as you really wanted to.

“So, you kissed the bosses’ ass today?” his banter began as he stood beside you, shoulder to shoulder. Your eyes focused on the machine, not really paying attention to anything that was going on. You just didn’t want to look at that handsome face. That really bothered you, that you found the one person that you could not stand in the entire office to be the one that you would throw your juices too.

He sucked his teeth when he did not get a reaction and began to prepare himself a cup of coffee as well. Knowing one way to get you to react, he smirked to himself before stating “Those pretty ass lips must be good for something then”

Your head snapped in his direction as he tried his best to keep his excitement to himself. He was always so vulgar and you hated that you loved it. Trying to keep your professionalism, your eyes lowered “Keep those nasty ass comments to yourself, clown”

His head had thrown back as he laughed. It was like you were trying to hide the fact that you were affected by what he said. He turned his body towards you, keeping his eyes to scan over the top half of your body now. The beautiful mane of afro-curls down to your illuminating face, it connected to a gorgeous neck that exposed your robust chest. He couldn’t help himself but his eyes stayed stagnant.

“My face is up here” you reminded him sharply while you examined his lustful look. The curves of his face that lead to the plumpness of his lips drove your imagination wild. You tried so hard to not dig deeper into your fantasy but it has been a bit of a minute before you felt a penetrating warmth between your legs. So anything was liable to turn you on, even your sworn enemy. Your eyes decorated along with the blue striped colored button-down he wore that day. You could see that he was active in the gym, due to the strength his upper body displayed.

Catching you doing the same dance he was doing “My face is up here” he mocked you. Snapping back to reality, an eye roll followed suit before hearing the beep of the machine go off indicating that your coffee was ready. Erik needed the coffee and you needed the additives, which were on the opposite side. You realized that you guys had to actually cross paths. “Excuse me” you stated before making your way sidestepping to the condiments table. Erik obliged but being a man, and who he was, he stepped back with just a bit of small space allowing you to step in front of him. He was not slick as he wanted to be, in reality, he wasn’t even trying to be slick at this point. You walked in front of him but not before he pressed his lower half against you, taking his hand to the small of your back guiding you to move. Electricity ran up your spine as breathy shudder fell from your lips. You tried to contain it but he heard you.

Erik turned his head to you before scanning you once more and it didn’t help that your pencil skirt showed off your shape. “Why you be so bitter all the time?” he asked breaking the growing tension between you.

“Excuse me?!” you asked while concentrating on your coffee, getting it to the way you like. You blew along with the hot contents before taking a sip of the sweet, warm liquid. “I am not bitter, I just don’t like when men have hissy fits because a woman is in power and have just as much, or maybe even more, hold as them”

“Nah, that ain’t it” he dismissed, pressing the button for a brew while he looked at you. His eyes now dark, his voice in baritone, and heat of his body closing in on yours. “I think it’s because” he started as he stepped forward and without thought, you stepped back, literally backed into a corner “You ain’t got nobody hitting it right”

How could you be so disgusted but turned on at the same time? Only you would know but it seemed like Erik knew it too. His frame towered yours, though you had on heels, you were still relatively under him. Your throat dry, you cleared before placing your coffee down “I-I do have someone ‘hitting’ it thank you” you lied. Hoping that would have him back off but it only engaged him more. Dammit.

“You ain’t hear me? I said hitting it right. Don’t give a fuck if someone is hitting it or not if they ain’ t doing it right? They ain’t doing it at all” Erik informed you. You wanted to melt right in front of him. Breath staggered, the background noise of coffee pouring surrounded you two before the unthinkable happens.

His powerful lips covered yours, a yelp leaped from you between your lips. Your hands raised to slap him before it lowered slowly once the connected kiss between you two began to reign supreme. You have been thinking about this moment for quite a while, frankly. So did Erik. Once he knew that you were not resisting, his kisses became hungrier as he tried to fill your mouth. Erik’s large hands ran down your waist, taking a nice hold of them before he mounted you up against the wall. Taking your left leg to rest on his hip, he grinded into you. The friction of his dress pants against you caused you to squirm. This would happen on the day that you decided not to wear panties.

“Oh? You a freak, too?” Erik smiled playfully on your lips before taking an intense grip on your thigh. Now there was no need for modesty, you smirked back into his lips before kissing him back.

“There is a lot that you don’t know about me, Mr. Stevens” a subtle moan left you feeling him grind against you again. He groaned back into your mouth as his unoccupied hand, drew his fingertip up your inner thighs to you waiting center.

“You keep calling me Mr. Stevens, you going to be in a world of trouble” he warned before biting your bottom lip popping it back.

“Mr. Stevens” you enticed seductively.

He warned you, but you didn’t listen. Erik’s callused fingers drew along your throbbing clit before drawing it down your lips to your hole. One finger, he dipped into the pot as he felt your wetness beginning to build. He smiled knowing that you were just as much into it as he was. Two fingers, now drawn into you as he began to slowly pump it back it and forth. Your eyes fluttered with mouth agape feeling the fingers enter you without warning. Erik has been wanting this since the moment he had laid eyes on you. He knew that you were strong, independent, level-headed but he wanted to see you vulnerable, submissive, illogical. He knew he couldn’t do it that way my work, so why not through pleasure. However, with that being his first agenda, it changed once he actually saw the look on your face. How you rhythmically moved with him, how your face contorted to pleasure as he continues to play with your ridge walls.

“Oh..” you moaned out taking your gel tipped nails along his shoulder.

By the moment, he had you completely in his care and you did not want to combat him. Erik’s coated fingers drew up your lips in a ‘V’ fashion before keeping his eyes on yours, taking them in his mouth. He was a freak just like you, however, you did not want to reveal all your dirty little kinks. Even if it was in the office break room. Once again, his fingers found his way back to the place that they had become familiar with. Now completely covered in his saliva, the battle on your clit had become one that you were not prepared for. His fingers drew quick circles on your hardening clit, as you felt your walls pulsate as if you contracting on the imaginary dick inside of you. An echoed yelp left you before he plunged his fingers into your honey pot again, realizing where you were, you tucked in your lip resting your head back along the wall, completely falling victim to Erik’s fingers.

His grip on your thigh became tighter, as your walls became the same. It was if he was matching your journey to orgasm.

“Haa..” you moaned as you reached your peak, hearing the slapping of your wetness between his fingers and your coated opening. “Mmm,” he followed before kissing you loosening his grip on your thigh.

You grinded along with his fingers, not feeling satisfied with the orgasm and Erik’s rod immediately jumped in his dress pants. You kept your eyes on him, wrapping your hands around his neck locking your fingers. You continue to ride on his fingers, showing him that you can still be dominate, even if he was trying to please you. You knew his angle and feeling bad about embarrassing him in the meeting, you allowed him to take control. This time. Moving your hips up and down his fingers, Erik’s bottom lip hangs down as you guys’ eyes locked in time. Panting on your end and lust on his, you croaked out another moan while still keeping your eyes locked on him and Erik smirked at how you took yourself there.

“Damn, Y/N” he congratulated you.

He wanted you now and you needed him. He dropped you down, making sure that you landed on your heels correctly. A gentleman of sorts. However, within a flash, Erik knew that it was his turn to take control and he did just that. Turning you around, his grip that was on your thigh made its way to the bottom of your skirt hiking it all the way to your waist, exposing your brown, round, ass. His eyes were mesmerized and his mind was filled with the various positions he wanted to twist you in. However, the lunch break was only for an hour. Hearing the clacking of the belt buckle, turned you on as you looked over your shoulder peeking to see what he was working with.

Erik’s dark laugh surrounded you as he started to bring his pants along with his briefs down “You tryna get a peek huh?” Being as nasty as you wanted to be, you nodded a pleasing ‘Yes’ before your eyes dropped down to his package. Your mouth watered as you saw his length spring into action. “Fuck..” you whispered to herself in awe, your pussy began to form more wetness waiting for him to enter.

“You a big girl, huh Y/N?’ Erik asked sweetly as he drew your curls over your shoulder, taking the base of his head, teasing it up to your lips to your clit. A few taps before sliding it up and down teasing again.

“Hmm..” you moaned to the touch of his warm shaft going up and down. Your right leg stood but trembled as you waited for him to enter.

“I need you to speak, baby. I asked if you were a big girl?” Erik’s now quivering head waiting to enter you. He was dying from the teasing just as much as you were, but both of you not wanting to give up first. The whole dynamic of y’all relationship.

“Yes, Mr. Stevens. I’mma big girl” you moaned out feeling his head touched your hole. With that statement finished, he guided his stiff inside of you causing your head to hang low and his drawback.

“Fuck..” he groaned to your tightness, it was one thing with his fingers but feeling you around himself, he had to think of the scenery you guys were in to not bust quickly. He was a ladies man and he was very much into the ladies. He knew good pussy when he felt it. And baby, you were the platinum record to all the other records he kept.

It was if you both were confused about how good it felt that he just stood inside of you catching his breath, then he began his rhythm. Erik being the freak that he was, watched as his member pumped in and out of you. The glistening of your juice caused him to watch in awe, letting him continue to thrust inside of you. Your hand palmed on the wall and gripped along the counter as he began to rough his strokes. Rolling of moans covered your lips while Erik concentrated on his movements. The clapping of your ass crowded the entire floor and the symphony of your moans and his groans mixed followed up.

“Oh..fuck..Erik!” you whined aiding in the movements that Erik was destroying you with.

You kept your back arched and began throwing it back on him. Something that other women didn’t do, that Erik loved. They would always want him to do all the work.

He stood back and watched you go to work. He curved his hips to get your spot and by the scream of his name, he did just that. He kept his length right at your spot as you stopped throwing it back due to him grazing over it.

Eyebrows furrowed, he took his hand and a ‘SLAM’ covered your ass causing your freaky ass to whine out. “I ain’t say stop! You a big girl” he gritted throwing his hips directly back at your spot “You gon’ take this big dick, c’mon” ‘CLAP’ on your ass again.

The stinging turned you on as you continued to throw your hips back, your goal was to grab every inch of Erik inside of you. You reached that goal with the sliding of your walls falling down and the growing orgasm building up inside you. One you don’t think that you can handle or ever had experience before. Moaning again, you stopped feeling weak of how much of his dick is causing you to crash. Smirking that he has you now totally under his control, he slammed inside you once again. Dropping his callused hand to your hips, he gripped tightly and threw you back on him as he pumped in you. Different shapes filled your eyes, what felt like helium clouded your brain, and pressure that felt like a pipe bursting filled your body.

“Oh-Oh my G–” you almost belted out before he took your throat beneath his hand. He was growing close to, based on how quick his strokes were growing. The first orgasm ran through your body as you felt the literal cream leaving you onto Erik’s dick and down your lips, to your hard quivering clit.

“Mmmhm..that’s it” he coached “I know you got another one, Y/N” he groaned keeping his grip on your throat, tight but lustful. It was true, another one was building and now your body was completely under the control of Erik as you came again. Both of your movements became faster as you began to not give a fuck if someone heard y’all or shit, even if they saw you. You wouldn’t care until both of y’all nuts were finished. Groaning as he grew to close, he pulled out his throb and spilled himself on both of your cheeks.

“Fuckk..” Erik moaned as he squeezed out what seemed like a pint of cum onto your ass. Adrenaline coming down, both your panting bodies and itches scratched. You remember where you were and who you were with. Feeling a mixture of hate but lust, covered you as you turned around seeing a spent Erik. An ended kiss shared between the both of you before you snapped back to reality pushing him back, causing him to almost trip over his pants wrapped around his ankles.

“This never happened” you warned, grabbing the hard brown napkins cleaning off your cheeks before pulling down your skirt.

Erik’s licked lips shown before a smile “You got my word”

x x x

It has been two weeks since you and Erik’s escapade. Since that afternoon, you never stopped flashing back to the moment. You never came like that before. You never had public sex. It was like all of your first was being pushed by him. Since then, he has not talked to you. Not even an insult was thrown your way. You knew that you told him that “it never happened” but you went to the break room every day. You would wait for your whole break, just to see if he would show up to ignore you. But each day, you were left alone. Guess it was just a fling.

“And here, this is where our Communications department is and the VP office will be there” you heard Erik’s voice crowd the hall before approaching your office. It was normal for him to be the tour guide of the company to different partners and investors, hearing him approaching with the traditional speech you fixed your appearance just to look good to see if he would see you. Every day, you tried to go out of your way to look good but to no avail, he did not even look your way. It didn’t help that you guys' office was across from one another.

Perking up, he looked in the office and then looked forward as he began the other part of the tour “And over here is where..”

For real? You just huffed at defeat once more as you sat back going back to the project at hand. Moments had passed and it was closing into lunch. You sat back in your swivel chair and was disrupted with a chime from your phone, your heart began racing once you saw the message.

Erik: You think I ain’t noticing.. I’m tryna keep cool but today, fuck that. 5 mins. Meet me in the breakroom..

And guess what you were doing for your lunch break? Meeting him in the break room.

x x x

I hope y’all like it! I haven’t written smut in awhiiiiiile, just been trying to get back on the wagon. It will get better. Just a short for y’all McNasties :)

#me.#erikshorts.#Erik Stevens #Erik Killmonger #Erik killmonger x Reader #erik stevens x reader #erik stevens fic #erik stevens smut #erik killmonger stevens #killmonger #killmonger smut #erik killmonger stevens x oc #erik killmonger fanfic

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reel-em-in · 4 years

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Film Genre Introduction

What is this module about?

Within this module we will be gaining a better understanding of film genres and how they relate to the filmmaking process. Beggining with the initial idea and working through the full pre-production, production, and post-production process. We will also be looking at the effects genre has on audiences. Obviously some films subvert ideas of their genre, but in order to do this it is important that the rules of the genre are understood. You have to understand the rules in order to break them.

Reading List

Scriptwriting

Johnson, Claudia H., Crafting Short Screenplays That Connect, 3rd edition (Focal Press, 2009)

Cowgill, Linda J., Writing Short Films: Structure and Content for Screenwriters, 2nd Edition (Los Angeles: Lone Eagle Publishing, 2005)

Deleyto, Celestino, The Secret Life of Romantic Comedy (Manchester and New York: Manchester University Press, 2009)

Egri, Lajos, The Art of Dramatic Writing: Its Basis in the Creative Interpretation of Human Motives (New York, London, Toronto and Sydney: Simon & Schuster, 2004)

Field, Syd, The Definitive Guide to Screenwriting (London: Ebury Press, 2003)

Field, Syd, Screenplay: The Foundations of Screenwriting (New York: Dell Publishing, 1982)

Frensham, Ray, Teach Yourself Screenwriting (London: Hodder Education, 2008)

Mackendrick, Alexander, ed. by Paul Cronin, On Film-making: An Introduction to the Craft of the Director (London: Faber and Faber, 2004)

Parker, Philip, The Art and Science of Screenwriting, 2nd Edition (Bristol and Portland, Oregon: Intellect, 1999)

Sound Design

Chion, Michel, Audio Vision: Sound on Screen, Columbia University Press (15 April 1994)

Chion, Michel, Film. A Sound Art, Columbia University Press (4 Aug. 2009)

Bordwell, David, and Kristin Thompson, Film Art: An Introduction, 10th Edition (New York: McGraw Hill, 2013)

Holman, Tomlinson, Sound for Film and Television, 3rd Edition (New York and London: Focal Press, 2010)

Sonnenschein, David, Sound Design: The Expressive Power of Music, Voice and Sound Effects in Cinema (Studio City, California: Michael Wiese Productions, 2001)

Weis, Elisabeth, and John Belton, eds., Film Sound: Theory and Practice (New York: Columbia University Press, 1985)

Whittington, William, Sound Design and Science Fiction (Austin: University of Texas Press, 2007)

Other Production Roles

Barnwell, Jane, Production Design: Architects of the Screen (London: Wallflower, 2004)

Bernstein, Steven, Film Production, 2nd Edition (Oxford: Focal Press, 1994)

Brown, Blain, Motion Picture and Video Lighting, 2nd Edition (Oxford: Focal Press, 2008)

Cleve, Bastian, Film Production Management, 3rd Edition (Oxford: Focal Press, 2006)

Jones, Chris, The Guerilla Film Maker’s Movie Blueprint (New York and London: Bloomsbury, 2003)

Katz, Steven D., Film Directing Shot by Shot: Visualizing from Concept to Screen (Studio City, California: Michael Wiese Productions, 1991)

Kauffmann, Sam and Ashley Kennedy, 5th Edition, Avid Editing: A Guide for Beginning and Intermediate Users (Oxford: Focal Press, 2012)

Millerson, Gerald, Lighting for Video, 3rd Edition (Oxford: Focal Press, 1991)

Millerson, Gerald, The Technique of Lighting for Television and Film, 3rd Edition (Oxford: Focal Press, 1991)

Rabiger, Michael, Directing: Film Techniques and Aesthetics, 3rd Edition (Oxford: Focal Press, 2003)

Street, Sarah, Costume and Cinema: Dress Codes in Popular Film (London: Wallflower, 2001)

Wheeler, Paul, Practical Cinematography (Oxford: Focal Press, 2000)

Projects:

Within this module there are two main projects:

The Film Genre Project (Tagged #the film genre project )

This project is split into four sections.

1. The Film Still, in which we choose a still from a film and present its links to its genre to our groups and lecturers. (This is an individual task)

2. The Master Shot, in which we must work in our groups to create our own still image which will link to the next aspects of the project. After which we will present this still to the other groups and our lecturers.

3. Writing A Script, each member of our group must write a script of no more than 3 pages that is suitable for a single location and actor. This should be a development of The Master Shot and should fit a specific genre.

4. Making A Film, we will choose one script from our group and it will be made into a 2-3 minute short film, using techniques developed during previous aspects of the project.

Sound Design Exercise (Tagged #sound design exercise )

This project will begin on October 1st. In this exercise we will work in groups to create the sound design for an assigned short film.

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