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lorei-writes · 3 years

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Hi! I wanna say your stories are too cute! Do you have any advice to new writers?

Ahh, thank you! 😳 Haha, I honestly don’t know how to reply, people being so kind towards my works always leaves me a little speechless, haha. So... Thank you 😳

As for the advice... Well, let’s give it a shot.

[Lorei from the future: of course, I made it long. Why am I even not surprised anymore].

In short (I elaborated on those below the cut):

Never dispose of your old work.

Do not obsess over editing.

The initial growth may be rapid. Then it slows down and it is when you are more aware of your errors. It is okay like so. It shows your growth.

Forget about what you think you should be and focus on what you can be. Do not try to force yourself into any rigid frames of “should” and “should not”, of “but author XYZ does it and it works out for them”. It is not an excuse not to try, but a call to adapt things to work for you.

Write for yourself and be greedy of your time. That being said, if you feel like being generous, do it!

We are not perfect and will never be - a knowledge of a person is finite. Look for your biases and never, never forget you can be wrong.

Do not be scared after the sixth. It boils down to being humble and being aware that your experiences are only yours.

Experiment and have fun. Not all stories have to be finished. Sometimes we aren’t at the place in life when we ourselves have an appropriate ending for them.

See what you can learn from others and observe. Ask whether they’d be willing to give you any opinions on the matter. However, you do need a certain compatibility for that too.

Try to localise the issue you’re experiencing every time you stumble into one.

I presume you have already heard “just write”, which by itself is well, the most universal piece of advice. Just write and you’ll get better eventually, although... From my observations, it is not necessarily given. I suppose it could be rather frustrating to hear - just write what? How to write this “just write”? As such, allow me to elaborate on this “just write”, or at least what I think “just write” could entail for the benefit of the learner.

First, never dispose of your old work. You will need it later on, even after you’ve improved - to be able to look back and see your growth during periods of discouragement.

Second, do not obsess over editing. Sure, things can always be improved upon - and it will most likely be the case that sometimes it will not be just in your head and that indeed, somebody will notice. But it is okay this way. We are humans. Humans make mistakes. What humans do is also learning from them. You will get way more experience out of creating plenty imperfect works than if you were to write just one perfect piece.

Third, the initial growth may be rapid. Then it slows down - and much to my dismay, and probably to that of plenty other writers, it is when we are most aware of our errors. We have enough experience to recognize them, but lack tools to solve them. It is okay this way. This is just how learning goes and it will pass eventually. It does not mean you suddenly forgot how to write, quite the opposite - you’ve learnt more than ever before and started to notice things you were oblivious to before. Don’t be scared, it’s okay - just try to tackle them, one at the time.

Fourth, forget about what you think you should be and focus on what you can be. Listen. You will never be Ursula K Le Guin - and she will never be you. Art of any type is subjective, and it will never be so that one style is superior to the other. You may admire some authors and try to mimic their style - which by itself, I presume, isn’t that bad of a thing, it can give you some analytical experience - but eventually, you will find something in them that’s bothering you. Do not try to force yourself into any rigid frames of “should” and “should not”, of “but author XYZ does it and it works out for them”. If it doesn’t work out for you, it doesn’t work out for you - that’s it. That being said, since I think I may be wording myself poorly - it is not an excuse not to try or say, to avoid some things completely, because you don’t feel particularly confident about them, no. It is a call to adapt things to suit you. You will grow with time too - adapt again, do not shackle yourself!

To give an example to that - my imagination works in words. I hardly ever see any scenes, and if I do, they are usually extremely vague, blurred. But I also think in smells and feelings, colours, textures, plenty things which together create an experience. I struggle with writing detailed descriptions. For the longest time I thought I should be writing them, but... Really, as much as I know it is something I should make sure to check myself on, I stopped putting extra pressure on myself to make the descriptions VERY detailed. Does my reader need to know the precise layout of streets, or is it okay if I give them an idea on how more-or-less the system works and then walk them briefly through it? We all have our set of experiences we build up on. I’d rather collect a set of items with a certain atmosphere to them than torture myself with creating a precise vision. My readers don’t have to imagine things the way I do for the scenery to still work. Did it make my descriptions so much better? I don’t know. But it certainly kept me a writing-writer as opposed to i-cant-write-a-single-thing-right-writer and I think that’s plenty good.

Fifth, write for yourself and be greedy of your time. Your stories do not have to shatter the world or otherwise save it. All stories have some sort of audience that will be willing to listen to them, and they may be just as meaningful to other people - so honestly, don’t put any pressure on yourself with some sense of mission. That being said, if you feel like being generous, do it! Take requests! People don’t like what you wrote for them? Well, they asked for it and it was your courtesy to begin with. However, that brings us to another one...

Sixth, we are not perfect and will never be - a knowledge of a person is finite. Be curious and remember that no experiences are universal. In other words: ask questions, look for what other people say, read their experiences, educate yourself, and then, at the end of the day, decide whether your original outlook on the matter is still relevant. Examine whether the story you wanted to tell still holds up. Look for your biases and never, never forget you can be wrong - people can and may point our your errors. It is fine. Apologise and do better next time. (Although it may happen that somebody’s claims will not be based in reality - and then it’s back to learning and talking and... Basically, navigating through the world). Basically, step out of your shoes and try to imagine walking in those belonging to somebody else. This is particularly relevant when discussing cultures or presenting characters from marginalised groups.

Example relevant to me: If the only slavic characters in your work are uneducated or otherwise stupid, you have a problem with representation there. If all of them are addicted to alcohol, drugs, are part of mafia, are spies, are thieves or otherwise operate as criminals - you have an issue there. If your story is set in Prague, but you use Russian cultural themes and have your characters use stray words from other slavic languages (and it is not just a quirk of a given character, but more so a common thing to all of them) - you have an issue there.

Seventh, do not be scared after the sixth. It seems like a lot. It boils down to being humble and being aware that your experiences are only yours. And to the fact that if you know precisely nothing about something and want to write about it, you should do some reading first.

Eighth, experiment and have fun. If something grows more tedious than entertaining, you may want to let it go, at least for a moment. Not all stories have to be finished. Sometimes we aren’t at the place in life when we ourselves have an appropriate ending for them.

Ninth, see what you can learn from others and observe. This isn’t only about their experiences, but their craft too. Sometimes others know better. Ask whether they’d be willing to give you any opinions on the matter. However, you do need a certain compatibility for that too - sometimes your styles may be too different and one person could be converting the other to be more like them in terms of writing. This isn’t any good.

The last one, tenth: try to localise the issue you’re experiencing every time you stumble into one. It will make it easier for others to help you, or for you to help yourself.

#Anonymous #answered

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not-from-the-absence-of-violence · 4 years

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You'd break your heart to make it bigger, so why not crack your skull when the mind swells

“Something's not right about what I'm doing but I'm still doing it-- living in the worst parts, ruining myself. My inner life is a sheet of black glass.” ~Richard Siken

Moments in Leenik Geelo's life after losing his brother.

a/n: love that my first campaign star wars fic is just pure leenik geelo angst, i dedicate this one to @leenik-matagot thank u and also ur welcome <3 >:)

content warnings for: canon typical character death and violence, suicidal thoughts, refrences to self harm, ptsd, trauma and just general grief and depression.

It’s the emptiness he doesn’t expect. When they were running out of the planet the numb shock passing into the unrelenting reality of the loss he had just suffered.

There is that night where neither him or Chartreuse say anything and it felt like his chest was going to collapse into itself. It wasn’t real, not quite yet but the grief that threatens to consume him whole had already set in. it was like a gaping open wound in his chest. Like shards of glass. Like he was dying, following Tony into an early grave.

Those days blur together but he remembers eventually when the pain wouldn’t stop, he remembers cristal clear the quiet desperate prayer he sent out to the stars he and his brother had once travelled together.

Make it stop. He begged. I will do anything to stop feeling like this someone, anyone, please make it stop, make it stop, make it-

Be careful what you wish for, they say, because eventually it did, and it left the broken being that had once been Nicky Geelo.

There was nothing, he hadn’t thought it possible before to feel nothing but it was there. He was but an empty black hole. What was he now, without his grief and pain.

Nothing matters then, when the world stops being something you experience, he stared blankly at the wall. A million thoughts hung around his head.

It was your fault. It should have been you. You have always been this useless. What are you now? What have you ever been?-

They droned on, it was like listening to static, they were there, they were his thoughts and he believed them, but there was no emotion tied to it. He wants it back, the overwhelming despair, the anger burning in his veins, the quiet background sorrow that settles into your bones.

The first time Leenik Geelo gets captured on purpose he doesn’t plan on coming out of it.

He had picked up doing jobs again because he had to, life didn’t stop even if it felt like it should, the loss of Venton was nothing on the greater galaxy, even if to Leenik it felt like the stars weren’t allowed to shine without him.

It isn’t quite like he consciously plans on getting shot, it’s just that he goes in with a half-baked plan, no plan B, no weapons and not really sure when the last time he ate was.

And sure maybe when they are marching him to the brig, blasters trained on him part of him wonders why it would be bad if they just fired.

It’s not quite wanting to die, as much as it is not seeing the point in living. As much as that the moment they truly are about to shoot him his fear finally kicks in and he feels awake for the first time in months.

How he gets out of that one he doesn’t know, it's like all the luck in the galaxy follows him when he doesn’t want it.

He stands there and picks at his suction cups absentmindedly until one starts to bleed, he stares at the blood dripping from his finger like it contains the answers to everything.

He isn’t prepared for the wrath that comes next, the vast nothing in his chest comes and goes but the only other thing he is made of these days seems anger.

It is directed at everything and nothing, his brother's killer, Traxx, the ceiling fan that is too loud, himself.He who couldn't help, he had insisted to take on a job they shouldn't have, he should have been the one to fall in Ventons place.

The first time he stuns himself he can almost convince himself it's an accident. He is in fact, shooting at the fan, but who is to say whether he knew that the laser would bounce of it and hit him in the chest.

There is a flash of blinding agony and then a final blissful nothing. He wakes up very soon after, with a pounding headache, dizzy and miserable.

He knows very well he should not do that again, he stares at his blaster and feels some sickening kind of fear of himself. He tries to avoid using a blaster for a while but it doesn't last long.

It's always an accident though, and usually when it happens people laugh at the guy who just got himself stunned.

That's good he thinks making people laugh.

Leenik Geelo doesn't know the name of the first truly innocent person that he kills.

Usually there is some sort of justification for it, in his mind at least.

At some point he is at a shoot out and he very well knows he could aim away from the civilians that have nothing to do with it.

He doesn't.

There he is met with sickening guilt, and an even worse sense of perverted glee.

He sees the disappointed face of his brother every time he closes his eyes.

The moment he is alone that afternoon he breaks down crying, falling to the floor of some ship.

What have you become Nicky?

He doesn't know. He doesn't know.

It's Venton who should have lived, and so he starts dressing the part. it's easy to pass off the wig and the eye patch as simple eccentricities, people find it odd, people laugh.

Good. He thinks, it's almost better to not be taken seriously, no one seeing under the surface.

So easy some days to almost believe it's Tony who is staring back at him in the mirror. That he’s here with him at least. He doesn't know how to be himself anymore.

One day he simply forgets the eyepatch, he catches a glimpse in the mirror and panics. True awful panic, the one that causes you to stop breathing, your chest to hurt, your mind to start racing.

"I need to go get it," he chokes out.

"Jeez man, we have a job to do."

He is already running back already, his hands in fists shaking as he tries not to break into sobs in the middle of the busy street.

It is odd in many ways how much Venton had been to him. His brother, his work partner, his only connection to his home he had left behind.

Leenik isn’t good at planning, he isn’t very strong or agile or-

Together they were invincible and alone he’s just...him.

He isn’t sure whether he misses Rodea or his brother sometimes, tangled up together in a web of nostalgia.

There is so little that is left from the person he used to be now.

What exactly makes memories flood him like rivers is truly awful arbitrary, he hates it.

And like anything he hates inside himself, he fights it like a caged animal. He is holding onto the shards of himself so tightly, cutting his fingers with it, he is walking on his own broken glass.

It’s a perfectly unremarkable day on the Mynock, he struggles to open a container.

"You should work out more, Leenik."

He stares at a fixed point on the wall, he feels it, the helplessness, his brothers hand in his, he feels the way he can't pull them up because he isn't strong enough, good enough, such a failure-

"Leenik? You okay there buddy?"

Leenik snaps out of it, clearly looking at his surroundings.

"I am just self conscious about my strength alright," he says as he bats away Bacta's hand " Don't bring it up again."

Bacta looks vaguely worried but drops it, used to his odd outburst by now. Leenik goes to look outside at the stars that were supposed to be theirs.

Sleep and Leenik are at war. Every night is a battle.

The weeks, months even after he couldn't sleep. He couldn't without waking up to nightmares of every kind and every night he saw his brother die because of him in seemingly increasingly gruesome ways.

Not sleeping made being awake worse, made the colours sharper and the noise louder, made his already weak grasp on reality weaker. He heard Venton everywhere, knowing it wasn't him, his own head driving him mad.

The only sleep he knew was collapsing from exhaustion.

Eventually time passed and no matter how much Leenik picked at it the wound healed somewhat and sometimes he slept.

Nightmares were still common enough for him to be anxious every time bed time approached. So he read, indulged in the calming familiar anxiety repetitive formulaic fiction brought.

Sometimes he had good dreams about Venton, of beautiful summers in Rodea, about the best bounties they had brought in, soft quiet scenes of love they deserved to have.

He woke up feeling the emptiness worse those days, not being able to even look at himself in the mirror.

There is something so comfortable in not being him. Leenik picks up a million hobbies and drops them just as soon but dressing up he might just keep.

He’s good at it, it’s fun, most importantly for the rest of the crew, it's useful.

And if it also means that he gets to look into the mirror without having to bear his own face looking back at him, even better.

He falls into the same patterns over and over and over again. He can’t stop, like a derailed train, and it’s always him left to pick up the pieces of his mess.

Like pushing boulders uphill it soon starts to feel tedious, pointless, if you have to do it again every time.

He doesn’t know who he is without anymore, doesn’t know how to be whole, he doesn’t want to know.

It feels like he is a spectator in his own life as he sees himself grimly fall back into ruining his life in both small and big ways.

It’s too hard to mend it, he doesn’t know how to sow.

He had never thought of having children really, every day he didn't quite believe he was going to survive the week, much less enough to form a family.

The vornskr gets attached to him so quickly, it needs him, like Leenik once needed his brother.

So he names him Tony, the name feels like rubbing salt in the wound, something that is almost like comfort for him now.

I'll protect you he thinks, even if I couldn't protect him.

He stares at the place where his arm used to be.

He can see it so vividly in front of him, Tony's arm a bloody mess dangling making it unable for him to pull himself up. He sees his own hand, the one he doesn't have anymore, not strong enough to pull him up either.

He stares at his arm and sits on the floor crying. The noise of the battle fading away to the background

Maybe I deserve this one.

Leenik Geelo has a family now, crammed into a small spaceship, full of unspoken issues and painful tension.

He holds on to it lightly, or pretends to.

The only way Leenik knows how to hold on is so tight it's suffocating, so loud it hurts, so pleading it is pathetic. He overcompensates in the other direction constantly, to the point where neither he nor the people he now loves know whether he cares about them or not.

He looks onto Tamlin who lost his mother, so small, so fragile. Now his responsibility too. Maybe he doesn't know quite yet what's to come for him, all the small ways loss cracks you. He is afraid of Tamlin in the same way he is afraid of his own true reflection. And as afraid as anyone is of his own children.

"What's the name of the kid again?" he asks and he can almost convince himself he doesn't know.

So many masks to Leenik Geelo, his name has lost meaning.

Everyone has a breaking point and eventually Leenik reaches his. As he falls to the floor crying, there are people there this time. To listen, to hug him, to comfort him. To share in his pain and not flinch as they see the worst parts of him. To hold his hand and pull him up as he starts the arduous climb from rock bottom.

He isn’t alone amongst the vast expanse of space anymore.

Time passes and loss never truly gets easier, but eventually one has to heal. Eventually he grows up and knows his brother wouldn't want this for him. More importantly he doesn't want this, not anymore.

Rebuilding yourself is a never ending process that often leads to hallways you had forgotten about, it's painful and thankless and while in it it never feels worth it. But it is, oh it is, when he is able to talk about Tony again and it doesn't feel like his throat is full of glass. When people can call him Nicky and it brings only the slightest twinge of melancholy, like pressure on a sore bruise. When he can go to Rodea again, a planet he had once thought he would never be able to bear to return.

Sometimes he still gets cut on his own shards, but this time he lets someone help mend it.

He can lay amongst the trees and for the first time lay his brother to rest in his mind.

"Goodbye Tony," he says, looking onto the millions of planets and galaxies above him, in wonder of how small he is compared to it all.

"I miss you." he says because it's true, he will never stop missing who had once felt like an infinite constant in his life.

"I hope you are well amongst the stars."

#campaign star wars #campaign podcast #leenik geelo #venton geelo #my writing #fic

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emospritelet · 7 years

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Pixie Dust - chapter 19

I know it's been ages, sorry! Writer's block is a bitch but I’m hoping that I’ve broken through it :)

Last time, Gold and Belle declared their love for each other and had a bunch of sex, and Carrie decided she was going to take a pop at Gaston. Here's what happened next

AO3 link

Belle hated the fact that he was working.

She tried not to show it, of course. She tried to pretend that it was fine that he was shaving and brushing his hair and putting on his suit in order to go out there and fuck someone. Neal shot him an odd look when he came downstairs.

“Woah, Dad,” he said. “You have a date or something?”

“School function,” said Gold absently, fastening his tie pin. “A fundraiser. Extremely tedious, but Principal Spencer says it’s important I make a good impression.”

“He expecting you to put out for new funding, or something?” asked Neal, and Gold frowned at him as he chuckled. “I’m just saying, Pops! I didn’t know you even had a suit.”

“I wore a suit to your high school graduation, if you recall.”

“Not that one. That’s real nice.”

“Shouldn’t you get going, Neal?” asked Belle hastily. “You said you were going to the movies.”

“Shit, yeah!” Neal bounced to his feet. “Dad, is it okay if I stay over at Alex’s tonight?”

“Since when?” asked Gold, with a frown.

“Since - um - now.”

Gold rolled his eyes. “Fine. As long as it’s okay with his parents.”

“Cool! See you guys tomorrow.”

Neal grabbed his coat, tugging it on and hurtling out of the house, and Gold met Belle’s eyes. She shrugged.

“At least when he goes back to college you won’t need to sneak around so much,” she said, and he sighed.

“There is that,” he admitted, and fussed with the tie pin again. “Damn this thing!”

“Here, let me.” She stepped up to him, adjusting the pin and straightening it up. “There.”

Gold raised his eyes to hers, and she rested the flat of her palms on his warm chest.

“Thank you,” he said quietly. Belle chewed her lip.

“Will you - um - stay over?” she asked. “After, I mean.”

She could feel herself blushing, and Gold wrinkled his brow, looking confused.

“I shouldn’t think so,” he said. “The party finishes at midnight.”

“No.” She shook her head. “I mean - I mean after the - rest of it.”

“Rest of it?”

“Dammit, Alistair, don’t make me say it!”

She dropped her eyes, chewing her lip, and felt the warm weight of his hands on her shoulders.

“Belle,” he said gently. “I’m going to a party with Carrie. That’s it.”

“But…” She looked up, almost squirming in her awkwardness. “But she - hired you.”

“Yes.” His eyes widened. “Oh! Oh, you think…”

“Yeah,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t I? I mean, we did discuss your work...”

“No, no, it’s not like that,” he said. “With Carrie I’m - well, I’m sort of a bastard for hire.”

“I’m not sure I need to know the details.”

Gold chuckled, and kissed her forehead, his hands squeezing her.

“I won’t be sleeping with her, Belle,” he said. “I never have.”

“How come?”

“Because she’s very, very gay,” he said, grinning at her. “She doesn’t like men, not in that way.”

Belle blinked. “Oh. I see.”

He nodded, pulling back, and she shook her head.

“No, wait a minute, I don’t see.”

He quirked an eyebrow, tugging at his cuffs a little and looking amused.

“She hires me to be an utter wanker to people she knows,” he said dryly. “It’s actually a lot of fun. That night at your place we were pretending to have sex in the cleaning closet, just to be terrible guests. It’s all a ruse to get her father to accept the true love of her life, Ursula.”

“Oh.” Belle ducked her head, relief washing over her. “That sounds - well, it sounds a complicated way of doing things, if I’m honest.”

“Far be it from me to tell rich women how to spend their money,” he said dryly, and picked a piece of lint from his sleeve. “How do I look?”

“Good enough to eat,” she said, and he grinned.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said. “Don’t wait up, I’ll be back late.”

“Call me when you leave the party,” she said. “I just want to know you’re safe, okay?”

He showed his teeth. “I promise.”

He got to Boston at just after eight, in time to park up near Carrie’s office and meet her at the front of the building. She was wearing a long dress in champagne silk with satin gloves and a white fur coat, strings of pearls wrapped around her slim neck. She kissed him on the cheek, a wide grin on her face as she looked him over.

“Well, you’re looking happier than when I last saw you,” she said, winking at him. “It seems that cohabitation agrees with you. Please tell me you’re at least thinking about kissing that pretty little thing.”

He rolled his eyes, ignoring her teasing.

“No Ursula this evening?” he asked, and she sighed.

“Her father’s in town, so I’ve been unceremoniously dumped,” she said. “I suppose I’ll have to slum it with you instead.”

He grinned.

“I’ll do my best to be amusing,” he said. “What’s the assignment for tonight? Where’s the party?”

“We’re going to the country club, darling,” she said, slipping her arm through his and heading for the steps that led down to the street. “And I want you to flirt with every woman you can, do you understand? Particularly present and former clients.”

She lifted an imperious hand, and a sleek Rolls Royce pulled up. Gold recognised the liveried man sitting behind the wheel from the last time he and Carrie had attended a party.

“Jasper, we need to get to the country club, there’s a good chap,” said Carrie.

“Very good, miss.”

Jasper got out to open the door for them, and Gold climbed in next to Carrie, puzzled at her instructions.

“I’m not sure I understand,” he said quietly, as Jasper pulled away. “Who is it I’m supposed to be pissing off tonight?”

Carrie smiled at him, red lips pulling up over white teeth.

“We’re taking the fight to the enemy, darling,” she said. “Let’s go and get under Legume’s skin, shall we?”

The country club, as its name suggested, was some miles outside Boston. Gold tapped his fingers nervously on his thighs as the car pulled up a long sweeping, driveway lined with trees, and Carrie hitched her fur coat a little.

“Flirt with the guests,” he repeated, and she shot him a grin.

“As many as you can,” she said. “I’ll handle Legume, don’t you worry. I think it’s best you interact with him as little as possible.”

“Suits me,” he said, and glanced out of the window as the car drew to a stop.

Strings of lights in the surrounding trees sent out a warm glow, and he held open the door for Carrie, taking her hand as she stood.

“I’ll call when we need you to collect us,” she told Jasper. “Might not be too late, we’ll have to see how the evening goes.”

She took Gold’s arm, raising her chin, and nodded to him, falling into step beside him as they walked into the opulent interior. The floors were made of cream marble, crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, and Carrie gave her name to a smiling young man in a suit by a desk in warm, shining wood.

“Good to see you again, Miss Feinberg,” he said. “If you’d please follow me?”

The sound of chatter and laughter was coming from down the hallway, and they followed the young man to a set of large double doors. Another member of staff stepped up, glasses of champagne on a tray in his hands, and Carrie took one, nodding to Gold to do the same as they stepped into what appeared to be the ballroom. He glanced around, running his eyes over the guests in their dark suits and long dresses. He spotted Belle’s husband almost at once, deep in conversation with an older man who was gesturing emphatically. Mrs Tremaine was there, with her husband and daughters, and he sighed inwardly as she spied him and raised a glass. There were other women that he knew, too, most of whom were gazing curiously at Carrie with knowing smiles on their faces.

“Flirt, you say?” he said, and she turned to grin at him.

“I’m sure you can manage that,” she said slyly. “Have fun, darling.”

She kissed his cheek, and sashayed off into the crowd, and Gold shrugged to himself and focused on the elegant, dark-haired and somewhat frosty woman that had once called herself Mrs Shepherd. He supposed he had to start somewhere.

Mrs Shepherd was in the mood to be flirted with, thankfully, and seemed pleased at his attentions. She whispered a breathy promise in his ear of making a call to the agency before the week was out, and he managed to look enthusiastic about the prospect. He then moved onto the two Tremaine daughters, one of whom he had slept with and who was pretending she had forgotten his name. He supposed he couldn’t blame her, considering her mother was withn earshot. The other Tremaine girl giggled and blushed and said catty things about the other female guests, which made him want to roll his eyes. He had positioned himself so that he was almost back to back with Gaston Legume, and he kept one ear on the conversation behind him as he pretended an interest in Drusilla Tremaine developing her acting skills. He was willing to bet they weren’t nearly as good as his own.

“Yes, so my father’s out of town this week,” Gaston was saying. “He’ll be sorry to have missed you. He keeps saying it would be nice to have you over for dinner sometimes. You and - your wife.”

He’s forgotten her bloody name, thought Gold, but whoever Gaston was speaking to hadn’t noticed.

“We’d love to,” he said jovially. “Melinda and I were saying how long it’s been saw you and Belle on a more informal basis. Is she not with you tonight?”

Gold smirked as Gaston seemed to hesitate.

“I’m afraid she couldn’t make it,” he said. “She’s not been feeling too well lately.”

“I heard she filed for divorce,” said the man, and Gold grinned as he imagined the changing colours in Gaston’s face.

“Oh, you know what women are like!” he said. “They stamp their feet and whine if they don’t get their own way, but they know what’s best for them in the end. She wants a little attention, that’s all. She’ll be back just as soon as she realises what she’s missing.”

Gold felt like turning around and smashing his glass over the idiot’s head, but instead he smiled and nodded at what Miss Tremaine was saying about some fashion designer’s new collection.

“I know how nasty these divorce cases can get,” said the man. “Been through it twice already. Expensive business, getting out of a marriage.”

“I’m not getting out of this marriage, and neither is she.” Gaston’s voice was flat and somehow terrible. “Belle is my wife, and if she thinks I’m letting her leave she can think again.”

“...but I think pink suits me, don’t you, Mr Devine?”

Gold blinked, focusing on the women in front of him.

“You both look completely ravishing,” he said automatically. “Would you excuse me?”

He gave a slight bow of his head, slipping away through the crowd before he did something stupid. Belle was right. Gaston seemed to be in no mood to let her go.

Carrie drifted through the crowd, patting shoulders and squeezing arms and leaving a trail of gushing compliments and lipstick prints in her wake. She kept an eye on Gold as she went, grinning to herself as she saw him deep in conversation with a red-haired woman in her thirties that she didn’t know. The woman seemed quite enchanted, and Carrie wondered if he’d brought business cards. Despite his avowal of loathing such gatherings, he was good at making his way in them, and from what she had seen he could have a number of new clients by the end of the evening.

She moved on, taking a dry martini from the tray of a passing waiter, and bumped into Gaston Legume completely intentionally. He looked around with a scowl, which deepened as he recognised her.

“I see this place is letting just anyone in these days,” he sneered, and she rolled her eyes.

“Please, darling,” she drawled. “If you want to use pedigree as your weapon of choice, at least be sure of who it is you’re messing with. My great-grandfather was a member at this club when yours was still shovelling shit on that farm in France.”

Gaston’s eyes popped in outrage, and she took a swig of her martini.

“Of course, even good breeding doesn’t always mean anything,” she said, and gestured to Gold. “Take my friend over there. Nothing to us in terms of wealth and influence, but probably one of the best people I know.”

Gaston’s brows drew down, his cheeks flushing with anger as he recognised Gold.

“What the hell is he doing here?” he hissed, and Carrie shrugged elaborately.

“He’s my date,” she said. “I thought he’d annoy you. It seems that I was correct.”

She pursed her lips, looking at Gold as he chatted with Mrs Tremaine.

“Very popular with the other guests, I see,” she remarked.

Gaston gave her a nasty smile.

“We’ll see how welcome they make him when I tell everyone what he does for a living,” he said, and she tutted, stirring her drink with the olive on its stick.

“Well. you could do that, of course you could,” she said. “But then people will wonder how it is that you know.”

He glared at her, and her smile grew. She gestured at Gold, who was leaning in and whispering something to Mrs Tremaine. She giggled and blushed and slapped his arm playfully. Carrie arched an eyebrow at Gaston.

“Not to mention the fact that he has a number of clients here who would be less than impressed at you shining a spotlight on their sordid little lives,” she added. “Just imagine how many people in this room he’s slept with. The tales he could tell. I very much doubt your business acquaintances would thank you.”

She popped the olive into her mouth, chewing and swallowing, and Gaston frowned.

“I know how to be discreet,” he said. “I could just target him.”

“Yes, and while we’re on that subject,” she said airily. “We’ve filed for a restraining order against you.”

“You’ve what?” he snarled, and she sighed.

“You stalked your estranged wife and threatened her and her landlord,” she said. “I doubt a judge would approve.”

“Landlord?” he sneered. “You expect me to believe that’s all he is to her?”

“I really don’t care,” she said. “She left you. You know why she left you, even if that isn’t in the divorce papers, so unless you want that to come out in all its unpleasant detail, you’ll stay away from her, and you’ll agree to the terms of the settlement we’re about to propose.”

Gaston’s face had gone blank, and he straightened up.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said coldly. “If you think I’m agreeing to Belle taking my money so she can bang a filthy prostitute, you’re dumber than you look.”

Carrie leaned in close, glaring at him.

“I know all about what you tried to do to that poor girl,” she whispered. “And you can bluster and squeal like the pig you are, but rest assured I will take the pile of shit you tried to drop on her and her friend and I will give it back to you tenfold.”

“You don’t have anything on me…” he began, and she smirked.

“Oh, I don’t need it to be true,” she said. “I just need people to believe. And once they hear that you paid a prostitute to fuck your wife, they’re going to start speculating on their own. Perhaps you can’t get it up. Perhaps you have a penis as thin and feeble as a loose thread hanging from your shirt, and you need to get your kicks watching other men do what you never could.”

She pouted, making her eyes wide and beseeching, and his eyes flashed, fury reddening his face. Carrie smirked.

“Touched a nerve, did I?” she said. “I thought casting doubt on your ridiculously heteronormative masculinity would be the way to go. So imagine the other rumours I could start. Perhaps you liked your wife to wear a strap-on and take you over the end of the bed, or you like to wear oversized diapers and be bottle-fed, and then spanked because you’re such a naughty boy.” Her smile grew. “Believe me, I have a wonderful imagination and am an excellent liar. Far better than you.”

“No one would believe you, you bitch!” he said through his teeth, and she let out a low chuckle.

“Darling, people are more than willing to believe the most delicious rumour, especially when it concerns one of their own,” she said. “They’ll eat up every word with a silver spoon and beg me for second helpings. Sex, scandal and schadenfreude. The cornerstone of every high class gathering.”

Gaston’s nostrils were flaring, his eyes almost popping. Idly, she wondered if he’d have a heart attack and solve all Belle’s problems. She doubted it. The man was too stubborn and vile to do anything useful.

“I don’t imagine it would be good for business,” she added, in a conversational tone. “Well, unless you subscribe to the idea that no publicity is bad publicity, of course. Although there are a number of very conservative people on your board of directors. Yes, I can’t see what they no doubt perceive as sexual deviance going down well.”

“You try it and I’ll sue you so hard you’ll be on the fucking street!” he hissed, and she shrugged.

“Well, you could try, of course, but that would only mean more torrid tales would get out,” she said. “I have a better idea. Leave Belle alone. Leave her friend alone. Let them go. She’s not going to try to take you for every penny you’ve got. She’s fully prepared to be reasonable. Just let her go.”

He stuck his chest out.

“Over my dead body.”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic, darling,” said Carrie, in a bored voice. “I’m sure it needn’t come to that.”

She wandered off, drink in hand, letting her hips sway. She could feel his eyes on her back, and she made sure to speak to more people, keeping her tone light and playful as she made small talk. Eventually Gaston left, due to a business emergency according to one of the men, and she felt that it was safe to approach Gold, slipping her arm through his and drawing him away from the crowd. He was looking a little strained around the eyes, and she wondered what nonsense he’d been forced to listen to.

“Do you want to go?” she asked. “I’ve done what I came here to do. I’ve told Legume that I know exactly what he did, and I’ve threatened him about as much as I can without being completely illegal.”

Gold nodded.

“If we can get out of here early, I’m all for it.”

Carrie called Jasper, asking him to come and collect them, and she and Gold made their way slowly out of the ballroom and towards the main entrance.

“I’ve set up a meeting for next week,” she said quietly. “With any luck he’ll be in the mood to be reasonable.”

“I doubt it,” said Gold.

“Me too, but he’s getting good advice. I hope he listens to it.”

They had managed to get out of the party before ten, and so Gold was home just as the clock was heading towards two a.m. He had called Belle before he left Boston, telling her not to wait up, and she had sounded relieved that he was returning so soon. He slipped into the house as quietly as he could, taking off his coat and shoes and pouring himself a whisky. The fire had burned down to embers, but it still gave out enough heat to warm the room, and he sat down on the couch with a sigh, letting his head roll back. The soft sound of footsteps made him look up, and Belle came into the room in her pyjamas, a look of relief in her eyes.

“I’m glad you’re back,” she said.

“Sorry if I woke you.”

“No, you didn’t. I was still awake. Do you mind if I join you?”

“Not at all.” He sat up. “Drink?”

“I’ll get it.”

She poured a measure of whisky for herself, too, sitting on the couch beside him and drawing her feet up.

“How’s Carrie?” she asked, and he turned his head towards her with a smile.

“She’s fine. She took me there to prove some sort of point to your husband.”

“Gaston was there?”

She seemed to shrink in on herself, as though she was afraid at the mere mention of her husband, and he wished he had smashed his glass over the idiot’s head like he had wanted to.

“Carrie threatened him somehow,” he said. “Told him if he didn’t agree to the settlement you wanted she’d let slip what he tried to do to you.”

“Oh.” Belle winced. “Yeah, he wouldn’t like that. He hates people getting one over on him. Especially women.”

“She says there’s a meeting with him and his lawyers next week,” he said. “Do you - do you want some moral support?”

Belle sent him a tired, sad little smile.

“I think that would just make things worse,” she said. “I’ll be fine with Carrie there. Her paralegal’s about seven feet tall and pretty scary-looking, so I don’t think he’ll do anything worse than shout and swear a lot.”

“Good.” He took a sip of his whisky, and Belle sighed.

“I can’t believe I ever agreed to marry him,” she said softly. “And - and I can’t believe when I did, I actually stuck with him as long as I did. What the hell was I thinking?”

Gold was silent for a moment, thinking about his own past, his own mistakes.

“I think sometimes you hope for the best,” he said finally. “So you think things will get better. Either that, or you find it hard to believe your judgement could be that bad, so you choose to ignore what’s right in front of you.”

“Yeah, I can appreciate that,” sighed Belle. “I think there was definitely some of that going on towards the end.”

“Well, at least you got out,” he said. “Milah and I were miserable together for years before we finally bit the bullet. Much better for everyone concerned that we got divorced.”

“Did Neal think so?” asked Belle, and he pulled a face.

“He was disappointed at the time, but that didn’t last long,” he said. “Now he’s older he realises how unhappy we were.”

“Yeah.” She settled back, subdued, and took another drink of her whisky.

“I should have realised it was over when I found out about the Zelena thing,” she added. “I should have left then.”

Gold felt as though he’d been punched, the air snatched from his lungs, his heart thumping hard as unwelcome and highly disturbing memories crowded into his brain, clamouring for attention.

“Zelena?” he whispered, and Belle’s brow crinkled.

“Yeah - the woman Gaston was having an affair with,” she said.

“English?” he asked. “Red-blonde hair?”

“I - I don’t know, I never saw her,” said Belle, looking worried. “Are - are you okay?”

So that was why. That’s why she targeted me. That’s who wanted me tied up and helpless. What the fuck would he have done to me?

It was as though the room had no air, pressure crushing his body and making it almost impossible to breathe.

“Alistair?”

Belle’s voice cut through, concerned, and he tried to snap out of it, sending her a thin smile as he put down his glass and pushed to his feet.

“Excuse me,” he said faintly. “I just have to…”

He waved a hand and turned on his heel into the hallway, reaching for the handle of the front door with numb fingers and striding out into the cold air. It was Belle’s husband. Of course.

#rumbelle #rumbelle fic #fic: pixie dust #escort!Gold verse #my fic

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day6imagines · 7 years

Text

Dance With Me - College!AU

[ dowoon ]

*not requested

word count; 1.9k

genre; fluff

summary - A college!au in which Dowoon, a music student, crosses paths with a fashion major and they immediately get along, despite their opposite personalities. Dowoon is encouraged to dance at a gig in a local venue, instead of shying away and standing reluctantly by the sidelines.

Going back to college was never something I dreaded. I was just about to begin my third year at the country's most prestigious arts school. There was never a tedious, boring day being a fashion major; the subject was something I was passionate and inspired about. Third year would be just as fun and interesting as the previous two years, however it would be tougher with more detailed assignments and numerous of deadlines to meet. Last year I was fortunate to study abroad, appreciating my adoration for fashion even more.

After packing up and saying goodbye to my family for another few weeks, I got on the train, ready for a three hour journey back to campus. After I arrived, I followed the routine which I had grown accustomed to; dropping my bags off at my student apartment (which I shared with four other students) and greeting the students that had already arrived before leaving to collect this terms curriculum and timetable. I was delighted to see that for this term I had mostly morning classes, finishing early afternoon most days. I liked this since it meant no night classes, plus the campus and library were usually more quiet and less packed in the mornings. After I collected my information from the students office, I turned around to see the campus swarming with students, old and new. Something that I loved about attending an arts school was the fact that it was far from ordinary. The place was bustling with students chatting amongst each other, holding large portfolios, boxes of art supplies or cases for musical instruments such as guitars, violins, cellos et cetera. A sigh of contentment escaped my lips as I smiled, I was happy to be back and let another year begin.

Maybe I was beginning to regret ever thinking I liked morning classes. Waking up before seven am was proving to be a bit of a struggle. However, once I had gotten up and showered, followed by a cup of coffee, I was able to function and proceed to the main library. This term most of my classes were design and drawing, along with textile studies with a term project of piecing together a fifteen page portfolio along with designing garments. It definitely was quite a lot but I enjoyed the demanding work in which my major required. I chose my favourite seat in the library, by the back at the window in a corner surrounded my tall bookshelves and set out my drawing supplies, getting ready to spend the first hour of my morning before classes began practicing some sketches.

Most days I have lunch with two of my closest friends, one a music student and the other being a drama and theatre arts student. We would happily chatter away about various topics, complaining about our food choices which resulted in us just sharing each others food instead.

“Oh! There’s a sort of start-of-new-school-year gig at ‘The Venue’ on tonight, should be pretty fun,” Jae announced, picking up a piece of watermelon from my fruit box.

“Um, I suppose it could be fun, we haven't gone to any back to school event yet anyways,” I added, opening the cap off my water bottle and taking a sip.

“Then it’s decided, let’s go. We’ll meet up there at nine,” Jae explained, picking up his backpack and placing his notebooks inside the pocket.

“See you then, I’d better head to class now so I’ll see you later on,” I said, gathering my lunch’s rubbish and throwing it into the bin.

Deciding what to wear was always a challenging task, however with my different taste in fashion and devotion for it, I loved to spend ages matching different materials, colours and prints. Tonight I decided to pair an oversized plain white shirt with high waisted distressed black shorts which I got at a thrift store (I made them more my own by embroidering floral designs with brightly coloured thread) with floral printed heeled boots, accessorised with a plain black velvet choker and hooped earrings. I kept my makeup simple, only adding eyeliner and a small bit of glitter on my cheekbones. I grabbed my wallet, keys and phone, throwing them into my small bag before hurriedly making my way out of the apartments building and into the city. Butterflies erupted in my stomach as a wave of excitement hit me. I was looking forward to having a fun night out with my friends since I missed their company all summer long.

[ dowoon pov ]

“Thanks again Dowoon for lending me your spare drum kit, I was panicked we wouldn't get anything in time and this show is really important, I owe you one big time,” Sungjin explained, moving equipment onto the small stage in the bar near campus.

“You’re fine, honestly,” I said, helping him by carrying instruments onto the stage and placing them down in their specific spots.

“You should stick around for the show, even play a few songs in the warm up if you'd like, it'll be great,” Sungjin offered.

“I was actually going to just head home, but thanks,” I replied with a polite smile.

“Really? It’s your second last year here! You should be out having fun, please stay! Come on, let’s test out these instruments,” Sungjin elucidated, picking up a guitar. I laughed quietly before walking over to my drum kit. Shortly after we played a few songs, people started filing into the small bar. I stood up from the stool behind the drums before finding Sungjin and thanking him for letting me play a couple of songs.

“No problem Dowoon, anytime. Stick around for the show, I’ll chat to you later,” Sungjin quickly said, before disappearing behind the curtain by the stage.

I aimlessly walked over to the end of the bar where there were less people. Wonpil, another music student in the same year as me, saw me and came over, a big smile plastered onto his face.

“You’re here! I have some friends I would like to introduce to you! Come on, come on, they're over here,” Wonpil shouted over the loud music, pulling me by my right arm. Before I could respond and protest, he pulled me half way across the room before coming to a halt in from of three other people. The three people in front of me seemed merely familiar, but I could put no names to faces. After a brief introduction to everyone, Wonpil and the two other guys, Jae and YoungK, ran off and vanished into the dancing crowd of people.

“Hey, Dowoon, is it?” the girl who introduced herself as Y/N asked.

“Oh um, yes it’s Dowoon,” I stuttered, heat creeping to my cheeks instantly.

“It’s nice to meet you, I never see you out but I see Wonpil around and he has mentioned you a few times, it’s weird that we have been going to the same school for over two years and I have never even met you,” she said, a smile on her lips.

“Yeah, that’s strange,” I nervously laughed, attempting to hide my shy and timid demeanour with an easy going and confident facade, which was beginning to fail.

Her whole appearance was alluring, her effortless yet well put together ensemble absolutely stunning. She wore a natural bright smile which in turn caused her dark orbs to glisten. This stranger, who I knew nothing about, somehow caused me to fall into a trance where I was unable to form a sentence without stuttering and making a fool out of myself. She softly giggled at me and began asking me questions about me being a music major, thinking it was the most fascinating thing she had ever heard. This was something I instantly noted, she listened intently to what you had to say and paid utmost attention. I had never really liked anyone before and had never been in a serious enough relationship to know what it's like to be in love, but Y/N made me feel some way I had never felt before. The aura of confidence she radiated was enchanting and her soft, delicate voice was something I could listen to non stop and not get tired of.

"This band is amazing, I hope they play more gigs in the future," Y/N commented, holding a drink in her left hand. I worried about the way I even stood around her, did I look uncomfortable? Did I look awkward? I didn't want her to think I was this unconfident, shy person - which I may be, but she didn't have to know that.

"Oh, they're really good. Sometimes I fill in when the drummer can't make gigs," I added.

"Seriously? That's amazing! You play drums? I've never met a drummer before," she smiled, placing her now empty glass behind her on the bars counter.

"Yeah, I've been playing for years now, it's the reason I study music I suppose," I admitted, running a hand through my hair to brush it out of the way.

I learned that she was a fashion major which explained her unique and different style.

After we had spoken for a while, Y/N picked up my hand in hers and tried to pull me away from the corner we were currently stood in.

“Wh-what’re you doing?” I apprehensively muttered, scrunching my eyebrows together.

"We're gonna dance," she matter of factly stated, tightening her grip onto my hand attempting to make me move. However, my strength was advantageous - I could remain stood still, refusing to move.

"What's wrong? Why won't you dance with me?" she said, a tiny hint of sadness evident in her voice.

"It's not you, I really can't dance, like it's terrible," I replied, holding her hand back to reassure her it had nothing to do with her. I would've loved to have danced with Y/N, if it weren't for my horrifically bad and clumsy looking dancing skills.

She tried to stifle a laugh before covering her mouth with her hand.

"You'll regret it, don't worry, nobody's watching! Come on, dance with me!" She cheerfully said. Her soft voice distracted me, causing myself to forget I was supposed to be holding myself still but her tight grip on my arms defeated me, causing me to slightly stumble as she tugged me closer and closer to the dance floor.

"Come on Dowoon, dance like nobody's watching, no one here cares! They're only here to have a good time so let go and let's have some fun!" she hollered before holding my left arm up high in the air and spinning herself around underneath my arm.

“Live in the moment! Have fun and feel good! Come on, don't hide,” Y/N continued to call, swaying about to the loud, thumping music.

I could feel the bass and drums of the band underneath my feet and pounding my chest. Y/N held our hands together, twisting back and forth, her long hair swishing around and a beautiful smile prominent on her face.

Before I even realised what I was doing, my feet moved and I began to dance, causing Y/N to smile and laugh, something I wish I could see forever.

In those beautiful few moments, I didn't care who saw me, I did not care if people laughed and pointed at my horrendous dancing, people’s opinions of me and the self consciousness that had previously consumed my mind seemed futile now. All that mattered was that I not only learned to have a bit of fun but I got to spend an evening with the most different and ethereal person I had ever had the priviledge to encounter. I could not describe the happiness that engulfed me that night - I learned to let go and dance.

[ m a s t e r p o s t ]

[ now accepting request submissions !! ]

#day6 #day 6 scenario #day 6 imagines #day6 jae #day6 dowoon #day6 sungjin #day6 young k #day6 wonpil #dowoon scenario #day6 scenarios #day6 imagine #jae scenario #wonpil scenario #sungjin scenario #youngk scenarios #dowoon imagine

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captainignatiuspigheart · 4 years

Text

Another week, another near-sun tan. This week I’ve seen a friend in person (what the actual fuck?) and found a new direction for exercise. That sounds pretty good, right? It was extremely disconcerting to meet up with a person in real life – I’ve begun to feel a little like all my friends who have long assured me that they’ve met their best friends purely online – but three hours sitting in the local park in a government-approved triangle was lovely. I’ve been seeing others largely as things to be avoided as they blunder towards me, breathing heavily with no sense of physical distance. Apart from the postman and chin tilts to neighbours it’s the most human experience I’ve had of late. I also attended a properly fun Zoom birthday party too (thanks Mr Ben!), so clearly we’re getting used to these things.

Heading out in the direction of Dovecote Lane park eventually sent me that way on my bike too. I’ve found exercise really hard for the last couple of months. I’ve always relied on cycling to work (and the swim at the halfway point) for a few miles in each direction to keep me fit without feeling like I was doing exercise, and it’s been pretty good for keeping me fit and able to eat and drink what I like. Well fuck you very much lockdown, that’s been properly trashed. Cycling in an aimless circle round university park or Beeston has been quite cack, and while jogging on the spot clearly burns calories it’s too tedious. So I’ve started cycling out to Attenborough Nature Reserve. It’s not especially far, but I’ve rarely explored round there, so I’m enjoying heading off down a road with no clue where it goes. It’s not made me late for work… yet. Even when I didn’t sleep at all on Thursday night I got up and went for an explore before work. Must be good!

In between late night walks around Beeston, drinking too much and watching TV, we’ve continued our slow build of the LEGO Brick Bank. It’s quite lovely.

I’ve also finally returned to LEGO Star Wars: The Complete Saga on our Wii. I’m up to 30-something per cent and enjoying it enormously. I have discovered though that our TV really can’t handle proper dark contrast on a sunny day, so I’m dying a lot by falling off edges I can’t see. There have been a few levels where I’ve had to stand right in front of the TV (in sport mode), and just hoped I’d find the exit to a room. Still, I’ve got Indy and General Grievous to hop around and smash stuff, so I’m happy.

Oh yeah, and another bootleg Mando arrived this week – with shiny beskar armour! Baby Yoda will have his Mister Shiny Helmet. Nicely, he comes with a screwdriver accessory which I assume is supposed to be the tracking fob. There is something in me compelling me to acquire more of these guys… I’ve also just got the Armourer, but pics of her will have to wait till I’ve crafted a custom cloak. What is wrong with me…?

Watching: Hollywood

OK, so this should have been in last week’s post, but I’d forgotten that we’d watched it. That’s no indication of how good it is, everything belongs to the neverwhen at the moment. Plus we caned through it in three nights. This is a very strange show, offering us an alternate Hollywood of the 1950s in which the reviled minorities of the day can actually get a foothold in the industry. The show nails the golden era vibe, from movie producer boardrooms to the grim/delightful gas station gigolos. Over the first couple of episodes the show draws together the flailing careers of half a dozen interesting and purposely diverse young Hollywood hopefuls and then sets them together in a movie, despite, or perhaps because of, their race, gender and sexuality – all things that would have killed their careers in real Hollywood. It’s a very pleasing show; the acting is great, from the keen Jack Castello moonlighting as an escort from the aforementioned gas station (it and its owner, Ernie West, are an absolute highlight), aspiring black actor Camille, Archie the black and gay screenwriter who finds himself in a relationship with Rock Hudson (also a delight, and terrible actor in a fantastic screentest montage), and the awesome double act of Hollywood execs Dick Samuels and Ellen Kincaid, plus the quite distressing sleazy and manipulative agent Henry, played with soiled glee by Jim Parsons.

It’s really good fun, and a moving story – each success feels wonderful, and Hollywood getting behind this gang is immensely satisfying, as is the acceptance and coming out of various characters at all levels of the business. For me, it remained jarring however, for just how unreal the situation is compared to Hollywood of the ’50s – it never escaped its own unlikeliness. Most certainly worth a watch.

youtube

Doing: We Are What We Overcome – Live Specials

We’re continuing to livestream every other Monday on Facebook, this time on trying to be aware of our mental health states, as well as that of others. I feel like we’re getting better at this live babbling thing. It feels less awkward now. We’ll be streaming to Facebook next on Monday 1 June, and you can watch em all right here.

Reading: The Lock Artist by Steve Hamilton

I’ve been through another couple of weeks of struggling to read properly, or at least as quickly as I enjoy. After discarding half a dozen books less than one chapter in, I finally prised open my book cupboard and pulled out the first pretty thing I could find. It was this! A pleasing and sharply written story of a boy traumatised into silence by an event in his childhood (which is only fully revealed toward the end, and works very nicely), a lad who discovers he has two talents, drawing and lock picking… We’re given two main story threads to skip between: his life as the lock artist led by a series of pagers offering jobs that he responds to, and how he got into all this trouble in the first place. They’re both peculiarly endearing, and that’s partly down to the charming internal monologue which carries through all of his interactions, since he does indeed remain mute throughout. He’s funny, and sweet, enough of an outsider through his selective mutism to have a cynical eye, and yet through his silence other people just trust him. Including proper big bad criminal types. It all ends rather badly, but we’re told that from the beginning. His lengthy infatuation and distance romance via comic book pages that he and his sort-of girlfriend exchange is genuinely delightful. This is fast-paced and fun, with a harsh shade of real darkness in both his past and future.

Reading: Transformers vol. 1: The World in Your Eyes

This was a hard read for me. I’m a huge fan of IDW’s previous Transformers continuity, which ran for an extraordinary thirteen years (a feat that I don’t think any other Western comic series, still less one based on a toy line, has achieved), taking us from the brutal finale of the Autobot-Decepticon war through to peace time, with wonderful characters, alternating humour with dark political wranglings. This new reboot has quite a lot to live up to…

We’re taken millions of years back to Cybertron pre-war, introducing us to the sights through the eyes of newly forged Rubble, who’s being shown round by Bumblebee. Of course, it’s the worst possible time to show a new kid round, as the tensions between the establishment and Megatron’s “Ascenticons” are just now bleeding over into violence. It’s a lovely Cybertron, one we’ve only glimpsed before in flashbacks (or, memorably, time travel), and it’s a thriving world with vast architecture, travel and commerce. A successful world, which for what feels like the first time, has organic alien races living alongside the Transformers. It’s sad to think it’ll all be ripped apart soon…

It’s a very pretty comic, but is incredibly slow moving, even for the first chapter introducing a rebooted world. I suspect I’m finding it hard going from the well-established characters of the last continuity to seeing them all reshuffled and now filling different roles. It’s a cool era to set the story in though, and I think it’s got promise.

Building: LEGO Ninjago 70736 Attack of the Morro Dragon

I love Ninjago’s dragons and the insane aesthics the range has pursued down the years, giving us both traditionalish ninjas and dragons, but also Mad Max dieselpunk, enormous mechs, and more recently Tron-style arcade stuff. Bonkers. Oh, and also the stunning Ninjago City builds and the even wilder designs from The LEGO Ninjago Movie.

This set’s a little older, and like most of the Ninjago line I only pick them up when they’re quite severely discounted. Obviously it was the glow in the dark colours that appealed to me most of all, and those lovely wings. It’s a satisfying assembly, with a mini temple build, sky bikes (or something, I don’t really follow the stories), a couple of ninjas and three more of these evil ninjas with transparent legs and heads. Oh, and two ghosts. I’ve already put them somewhere but it’s the dragon I was interested in.

This is actually a smaller set than I thought it was, and comes together very quickly indeed. Despite being larger, and having more pieces than Master Wu’s dragon (a fantastic LEGO set), it’s a shorter build all round. The construction is like many of the others, a combination of big crunchy joints and the little Mixels ones for legs, wings and tail. I always enjoy the design of the dragon head itself, which gives the beastie a lot of character. The chin horn is oddly satisfying! All the glow in the dark pieces give the dragon its lovely roiling curves, but leave it sadly inflexible. It’s a dragon I’d love to coil around a building, but that’s gonna take a severe re-engineering of its body. It’s rather striking, and I imagine this one will remain constructed for quite a while, at least until I want to plunder its glowing parts.

And just because I liked it…

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Watching: Never Have I Ever

We watched this in a single night… I’m always thrilled to stumble across shows with under half-hour episode lengths at present. This is a pretty straightforward US highschool outsider tale, from the somewhat unusual perspective of an Indian-American family. That’s a pretty familiar trope in UK TV, and was very welcome in the even-more-familiar US high school setting. I’m not sure that there’s anything exceptional here, but it’s warmly told, with a number of fun and occasionally over the top performances, all solidly conforming to our expectations of a high school drama. I had some trouble figuring out how old the characters were supposed to be as it’s the usual casting combo of girls who must be in their twenties, but look about 14, and guys who are plainly in their mid-thirties. No wonder kids are so confused these days etc. As usual it’s the vibe between the BFFs that makes this fun to watch, particularly drama-queen Ramona Wong (wonderfully and worryingly odd in the lamentably cancelled Santa Clarita Diet). As filled with diversity and coming out stories as you could hope for, this is plenty of fun, if not especially memorable. Oh yeah, and it’s narrated by John McEnroe. Yes, the tennis player.

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Doing: MissImp’s Virtual Improv Drop-In – “Specific and True” with Terje Brevick

Continuing our mission to bring you improv from everywhere, this week’s episode features Norwegian improviser, Terje Brevick, with fun games and a good reminder of the value of details and honesty in improv.

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Last Week – a really busy week! Featuring another mental health livestream, books: The Lock Artist & Transformers vol 1, TV: Hollywood & Never Have I Ever, LEGO: Morro dragon and MORE. Sleep now please. #books #tv #lego #stuff https://wp.me/pbprdx-8EZ Another week, another near-sun tan. This week I’ve seen a friend in person (what the actual fuck?) and found a new direction for exercise.

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