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joshjacksons · 4 years ago

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Joshua Jackson interview with "Mr Porter" (2021)

Minutes before Mr Joshua Jackson joins me in a booth for a Friday afternoon drink at a vibey hotel bar in Santa Monica, he’s confronted by his past. Or rather, a woman in her early twenties who is binge-watching Dawson’s Creek, the teen show about a close-knit group of high-school friends coming of age in a sleepy American town, which made Jackson incredibly famous between 1998 and 2003. The series, which also made household names of Ms Michelle Williams and Ms Katie Holmes, went off air 18 years ago, but is now streaming on Netflix, to the bemusement of Jackson, who played lovable rogue Pacey Witter. “This girl was like, ‘Are you...?’ And I’m like, ‘Yes, I am. He got old. I’m sorry to break it to you,’” he says, before ordering an iced tea and a charcuterie board to tide him over until dinner time. “It always surprises me when young people say they’ve just got into Dawson’s Creek. I’m like, ‘Is it a costume drama to you? Do you feel like you’re watching a historical documentary?’”

The idea of a Friends-style reunion episode or a Sex And The City revival feels equally far-fetched to Canadian-born Jackson, now 43 and wearing it well in a pale green linen shirt and tailored linen trousers by Oliver Spencer that complement his fading brown hair and Cali-tanned skin.

“I don’t know why you’d want to [bring it back],” he says. “Nobody needs to know what those characters are doing in middle age. We left them in a nice place. Nobody needs to see that Pacey’s back hurts. I don’t think we need that update.”

And Jackson doesn’t need Dawson’s Creek. From Mr JJ Abrams’ sci-fi series Fringe (2008-2013) to the Golden Globe award-winning The Affair (2014-2019), from Ms Ava DuVernay’s ground-breaking true-crime drama When They See Us (2019) to the recent Ms Reese Witherspoon and Ms Kerry Washington-produced Little Fires Everywhere (2020), he has commanded the small screen – with a collection of dynamic and diverse work – ever since.

His latest role as Mr Christopher Duntsch, the Texas surgeon convicted of gross malpractice when 33 of his patients were left seriously injured after he operated on them and two of them died, in chilling Peacock crime drama Dr Death, is only stepping his career up another gear.

“I’ve never played anyone irredeemable before,” says Jackson, who is joined in the eight-part series (based on the 2018 Wondery podcast of the same name) by Messrs Christian Slater and Alec Baldwin. “He is charming, gregarious and has a high-level intellect, but he’s also a misogynist, probably a sociopath, certainly a narcissist and a complete incompetent who is incapable of seeing himself.”

If Duntsch is terrifying, then Jackson’s portrayal is even more so. The artist formerly known as Pacey is virtually unrecognisable (thanks to prosthetics) in the opening scene, but the real challenge for Jackson was allowing himself to view someone who is so “spectacularly evil” as a human being in order to walk in his shoes. “It’s a more damning portrayal of the man to make him into a human being, rather than just make him the bad guy,” he says. “He really believes he’s the hero, he’s the genius and that he’s the victim, so once I got past my own judgment, all the other things fell into place.”

Jackson might have his pick of stellar roles – and challenges – now, but it has not happened by accident. Take it from someone who has been in the business since landing his first job aged 14 in Disney’s live-action movie series The Mighty Ducks, opposite Brat Pack alumnus Mr Emilio Estevez.

“You try to make it look like it happens accidentally,” he says, “but there is no way to do this and not be ambitious. I’d say I’m extremely ambitious because I’ve been doing this cutthroat job for nearly 30 years. I’m in the pay-off phase of my career now. One of the benefits of surviving for as long as I have is you get to learn from your own mistakes.”

Such as? “I wouldn’t say, ‘I wish I hadn’t done that,’ because it all becomes bricks in a path, but [after Dawson’s Creek] I was not choosy enough about the things I was doing. You get stuck. You start trying to perform the performance you think people are hoping to see you do. I was so used to working all the time that I just worked all the time. There was definitely a conscious moment in my mid-twenties when I realised I wasn’t really enjoying the work that I was doing. My manager at the time just said, ‘Take a breath. You’re burnt out.’”

The turning point came in 2005, when Jackson was offered a role in the two-hander Mr David Mamet play A Life In The Theatre, opposite Sir Patrick Stewart. “God bless him, Patrick could have made my life miserable because I had no idea what I was doing, ” he says. “I hadn’t been on stage since I was a kid and now I was in the West End in over my head. But it reminded me that I actually enjoyed being an actor, that it’s not about the red carpet or travelling around the world. What I really enjoy is working on good material with good people.”

It’s no surprise Jackson’s time on Dawson’s Creek led to a career crisis. From the ages of 19 to 24, he lived with his fellow cast mates in Wilmington, North Carolina, filming day in, day out, in an arrangement he likens to college. “You get to the end and they’re like, ‘Here’s your degree. Go live now. You’re an adult. Go out into the world,’” he says.

But most graduates don’t have to deal with global fame. “It’s transitory. You’re only ever cool for a moment and then you become much less cool. I was always pretty dubious about flatterers,” he says, recalling a time he was stung in London in the mid-2000s. “I went on a date in Hyde Park with a woman whose name I will not use – she was socialite-famous – and she was acting completely bizarre, looking over her shoulder the whole time. I came to find out that she had hired a photographer to follow us through the park and gave a whole story to the tabloids about how I was going to meet her family.”

It was his growing fortune, rather than fame, that caused Jackson the most anxiety. “Suddenly, at 19 years old, I was making more in a week than most of my friends’ parents would make in a year,” he says. “It was lovely to have the money, but it was that feeling of nobody is worth that kind of money. You feel like a fraud and it took me a long time to forgive myself for not being the thing that I was perceived as.”

Born in Vancouver, but raised in Topanga, California, until he was eight (before moving back to Vancouver following his parents’ divorce), Jackson bought his childhood home in 2001 and lives in it today with his wife, British Queen & Slim actor Ms Jodie Turner-Smith, and their 15-month-old daughter.

“My father unfortunately was not a good father or a husband and exited the scene, but that house in Topanga was where everything felt simple, so it was a very healing thing for me to do,” he says. Fast-forward to 2021 and his baby daughter now sleeps in her father’s childhood bedroom. “There was a mural of a dragon on the wall in that room that I couldn’t believe was still there, years later. The owner [who sold him the house] said, ‘I knew it meant a lot to somebody and that they were going to come back for it some day.’”

Becoming a first-time parent during a pandemic sounds stressful, but it afforded Jackson months at home with his wife and child that his normal work schedule wouldn’t have allowed.

“I now recognise how perverse the way that we have set up our society is,” he says. “There is not a father I know who works a regular job who didn’t go back to the office a week later. It’s robbing that man of the opportunity to bond with his child and spend time with his partner.”

Despite his obvious career ambitions, fatherhood has changed Jackson’s priorities in “every possible way”, he says. “It’s 100 per cent changed how I approach my work and my life. That has been made so clear to me in this past year. For me to feel good about what I’m doing day to day, my family has to be the central focus.

“There are plenty of things left for me to do, but now the thing that gets me excited is experiencing the world through my daughter’s eyes. I can’t wait to take her scuba diving. I can’t wait to take her skiing. I can’t wait to read a great book with her. I’m not worried at all she’ll be a wallflower. She’s been a character from the word go.”

Jackson met Turner-Smith, 34, two days after his 40th birthday. He had been single since his 10-year relationship with German actress Ms Diane Kruger ended in 2016. “I was not looking to fall in love again or meet the mother of my child, but life has other plans for you,” he says.

The couple met at a party. Turner-Smith was wearing the same The Future Is Female Ejaculation T-shirt Ms Tessa Thompson’s character, Detroit, wears in the 2018 film Sorry To Bother You. “That’s what I used to break the ice. I shouted, ‘Detroit!’ across the room. Not the smoothest thing I’ve ever done, but it worked. We were pretty much inseparable from the word go. It was a whirlwind romance and I can tell my daughter I literally saw her mother across a room and thought, ‘I have to be next to this woman.’”

A self-confessed “useless” shopper, Jackson gives his wife full credit for his current wardrobe. He is jewellery-free, apart from a wedding band and a gold signet “JJ” ring on his little finger (a present from his wife), and discovered tailored sweatsuits (by Stampd and Reigning Champ) in the pandemic.

“Jodie has influence in the way that a wonderful wife encourages you, through love, to dress well. She was like, ‘We’re going to throw away all the sweatpants from your past and I’m going to get you some that actually make you look like an adult male and you will still feel comfortable around the house,’ and I’m like, ‘What an amazing idea!’ Who knew you could get sweatsuits that actually look good on your body?”

Jackson’s style has evolved, he says, “from slovenly teen to it’s-nice-when-your-clothes-actually-fit-you”. The penny dropped after he auditioned for his former co-star Estevez, who was directing the 2006 Mr Robert Kennedy biopic Bobby. He said to me, ‘You only got this job because I know you. You came in here to play a very well-put together 1960s political operative and you’re wearing jeans and a hoodie.’

“I had to grow up a little bit. We are very much raised in Canada to never, ever show off, so it took me a while to recognise it’s OK to look good when you go out.”

Still, when you’ve grown up in front of the camera, “every pimple literally documented”, and lived (very successfully) to tell the tale, you can probably be forgiven for the odd fashion faux pas.

“I wore a silk Ascot to an event once in Paris and I still have nightmares about it,” he says. “I looked like Fred from Scooby Doo, but you live and learn.”

#joshua jackson #interviews #jodie turner smith #dawson's creek #dr death #fringe #emilio estevez #mr porter #patrick stewart #michelle williams #katie holmes

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embrassemoi · 4 years ago

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No Body, No Crime ✁ 1

AU - Y/N L/N is a second-year law student attending Stanford and studying under Professor Aaron Hotchner. Along with his associate attorneys, Ms. L/N is alongside some of the most ambitious and cutthroat law students in the nation. However, her life gets flipped upside down as she’s thrust into a life of murder, sex and lies.

Main Pairing: Spencer Reid x [F]Reader

Content — Mature themes, blood, major and minor character death, violence, angst, triggering themes, bad coping mechanisms, drugs, mental health shit, alcoholism, lots of smut, language, fluff, mystery, thriller, mentions of cheating, canonical typical themes , dark academia vibes, explicit content - read with caution

DISCLAIMER: This story will contain MATURE content. It will include themes such as smut, violence, etc (see content). If you are not 18+ and unable to handle such themes, respectfully, please exit this story. It is not my intention to make readers uncomfortable or trigger them in any way. If you continue to read the story despite the multiple warnings, I am not responsible for any triggers that may pop up.

Also, based off this blurb!

I am also not a law student, so there is bound to be misinformation!

【 ao3 | Masterlist | Playlist 】

CHAPTER 1: Death and All His Friends

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Blood, she thinks, you never really know how much blood is in a person. Logically, she did know; she had to learn how many pints there were in the human body from med school and the mass amount of profile study cases. From looking at crime scenes, reading textbooks, medical journals and fake charts; blood has never bothered her, if anything, she got used to seeing and being around it.

There are roughly about ten gallons of blood in the average adult, but typically, losing more than forty percent will result in death. That was about two thousand millilitres.

But, you never realize just how much blood a person can hold, not until a human is slaughtered like an animal, eyes glossed over, body turned cold and stiff — splayed out in front of you. It seems like a lot more than what was described.

There’s a saying, bleed like a pig. Well, she understood what it meant now.

God, she sounded like Spencer.

“What are we going to do with the body?”

“Let’s leave it. We need to go back and clean!”

“No, let’s bury it.”

A chuckle of utter disbelief forces its way out of Derek’s mouth in a rush. It’s both strained and ragged and sounds as if he’s about to burst into tears, but the shock and anger seem to immerse deep in his bones and control his actions. His head shakes subconsciously, “You’re — you’re fucking joking, right? It’s the middle of winter! Tell me how the fuck we’re going to bury a body when the soil’s hard?!”

There’s a collective panicked sigh that goes through the group as the implications finally start to settle in.

“Be any louder!” Emily half-shouts. She paces back and forth, the freshly fallen snow crunches under her shoes as they leave footprints in their wake. Her hands make extravagant hand movements, almost in an attempt to speak with her actions. But, the only thing that has Y/N somewhat grounded is the rusty blood on Emily’s hands. The stark contrast of her pale skin against the deep red does nothing but make bile rush to her throat.

“The body is what gets us caught!” JJ cuts in through her half-sobs.

“The one time it snows in California! Since when do we get snow?!”

Sticky, cold, dry, flakey blood. It brings too much attention to the blood painting her body in a cruel, evil painting. Y/N lifts a shaky hand as she turns to observe the way the pads of her fingers were stained red. Underneath her fingernails, she can see the blood caking, dried underneath and can feel the heavy liquid travelling up her sleeve.

Her fingers pressed together before a hand shoots up, trying to pick off the blood in a hasty attempt.

Everything was uncomfortable — too uncomfortable and it was sticky and disgusting and there was too much happening. Her brain was overstimulated and all she wanted to do was yell or cry or strip herself clean from these heavy clothes, hiding the blood drenching her underneath. A hand went to claw at the fabric — she needed to breathe — she needed air and it was too tight and —

The falling snow had finally come to a stop, the ground becomes muddy, wet snow being tracked all around but aside from that, it’s dry out. Panic is slow seep within her body, only just registering the dull, prickling ache that travels up the side of her right arm. Not to mention the pounding in her skull felt like someone had taken a power tool, drilling a burl hole into the side of her head in hopes of creating a make-shift lobotomy. On instinct, her hand reaches up to her temples, massaging small circles in hopes to find relief.

But then she catches sight of her hand again from her peripheral vision, or rather, it’s as if she can feel it laminating her skin. Blood.

Now there must be smeared streaks of dried blood coating her face. Fuck, now she really feels like throwing up.

A soft wail can be heard in the background somewhere, but it sounds distant and underwater. She thinks it’s JJ. Her high-pitched cries are loud and she thinks that’s Derek’s voice yelling at her and god… it only amplifies her headache.

She needed an aspirin, Advil — maybe Spencer had some.

Her mind wanders back to the group. Emily… Emily — she’s — Y/N doesn’t know where Emily went actually. She could have sworn she was by the trees…

She continued to pick at her skin absentmindedly, and now she couldn’t tell where her blood started and the one that was sprayed onto her ended.

And Spencer, he’s pacing and hadn’t muttered a word since they left Hotch’s house. His body language is closed off, his hand rubbing up and down his arms in either a self-soothing method or because it’s cold out. She assumes it’s the former.

The one time — the one fucking time the asshole is supposed to be smart, his IQ magically drops below zero.

Everyone is arguing and they all hear the faint cheers, laughter, early fireworks and music blaring in the background. The sound of the bonfire crackles in the distance and all she can do is drown it out. She was supposed to be having fun. She should’ve been visiting home, or maybe studying of fucking Spencer, not wearing shoes twice her size, gloves to cover up her fingerprints; not trying to come up with an alibi and there definitely shouldn’t be someone else’s blood clinging to her. She should’ve been anywhere but here. It’s too much.

Lightheaded, Y/N stumbles backwards, supporting herself against a nearby tree. The shadows and black coat camouflaged her, engulfing her into the night and she feels an odd sense of comfort by it. But, it does anything but calms her down as her chest begins to rise rapidly up and down.

Oh god, oh shit, shit, shit! They’re all fucked — she’s fucked. Her DNA is all over the crime scene. The crime scene is on her and probably under the body’s fingernails. There was no way she was getting out of this. It wasn’t even her fault and look where she is.

She should’ve listened to her Grandparents; don’t go to law school, it’ll turn her into something she’s not. Y/N smiles twistedly thinking about it, they were right.

You can’t get away with murder.

Shit, fuck, fuck, FUCK!

“We need to stop wasting time,” Emily announces, appearing remarkably calm.

“W-we should call the police,” Y/N mumbles in a shaky voice. Her voice hitches and she sucks in a cry.

All of their heads, besides Spencer’s, whip over to her; she’s on the verge of breaking — possibly even running off and going straight to the local police station. Her phone suddenly feels heavy in her pocket.

“What we’re not going to do is that! Do you want to spend the rest of your life in jail?!” Derek exclaims. His mouth goes to open again before he suddenly halts, looking over to Spencer and shouting. “Ayo, kid-fucking-genius, could you, I don’t know — think?!”

The yelling makes her shrink in on herself. Yes, call the police, turn yourself in. Obstruction of justice; tampering with evidence, manslaughter, attempting to hide a body, invasion of privacy, possible perjury — all this leads to incarceration and more time. Maybe she could even get a deal, say that she was in shock, dealing with PTSD. Immunity! Maybe she could strike herself and Spencer an immunity deal.

God — they killed her. They murdered someone.

Immense guilt bubbles its way through her before she turns to gag on air. Her hands clutches her stomach as she heaves, distantly hearing the arguing background.

“— about Hotch?”

“What about him? He’s going to put us in jail himself. If we’re lucky, he’ll kill us so we can skip a life sentence!”

JJ cries louder. God was she fucking annoying.

“He doesn’t give two shits about her —” “Could everyone just stop for a fucking moment,” a new, irritated voice cuts in. It sounds like it’s been pushed through gritted teeth, muddled by straining and holding back tears. It’s Spencer.

His eyes shut, the palm of his hands pressed harshly on them before rubbing them hard. But, they travel up to his forehead and through his hair, pulling down so hard that Y/N would be surprised if he didn’t already lose a chunk. But within a swift motion, he crouches to the ground in a fetal-like position; the balls of his feet roll back and forth, making his entire body bounce in small rhythms.

He’s having a panic attack, judging by the way his breathing cuts in and out in large volumes, hyperventilation bound to happen soon.

The entire group stays silent before Derek has enough. He walks up to Spencer, a hand clutching his jacket which forces him to stare straight into his eyes.

“Don’t treat him like that,” Emily tries to cut in.

“If you don’t give us something good within the next few seconds, you better pray to god —”

With newfound determination, Spencer meets his eyes with a fiery look, his chest puffed out a bit and his voice is even.

“We burn it.”

━━━━━━━━━༻✈︎༺━━━━━━━━━

Friday, August 29th, 2003

Palo Alto, California. Apartment 7

Four months before

A clanging sound reverberates throughout the empty hallway for the third time within the last five minutes. Her keys.

An annoyed sigh involuntarily leaves her lips as she struggles to lift the stacks of heavy boxes in her arms. Her attention was drawn to a bulletin board near her door. A missing person’s photo was plastered, marked with an eye-catching red border. Printed underneath a photo of a man in bold letters: George Floyet, twenty-five-year-old student at Palo Alto University. Last seen on July 30th, 2003.

When Y/N L/N was fourteen, she vaguely remembered people asking her where she saw herself in the next ten years. Now standing outside her newly rented apartment, sweating as she juggled a stack of large boxes without tripping — well, she certainly hadn’t thought this.

Life had many ups and downs, as cliche as that sounded. She hadn’t expected to graduate university with an English and Human Physiology degree, nor had she expected into medical school before ultimately deciding to take the LSATs, pursuing a career in law.

Truly, had Y/N used one word to describe her career ambitions at the moment, she’d say she’s pretty fucked and clueless. Although, she’d liked to consider herself fairly motivated, resilient, perhaps even strong-willed and quick on her feet. Scratch that, if anything, the one thing she did pride herself on was her ability to compose herself quickly and the want to overcome fear. It was a motto, of sorts, which she’d been sticking close to: going with the flow.

If anything, those were the attributes that built the foundation of what anyone needed to become a successful lawyer. Yes, that made her situation sound a lot less… pathetic.

But certainly, standing in the middle of a corridor in a shitty apartment with walls too thin to save money on rent, she’d consider herself pretty pathetic.

Oh, the joys of moving.

Just as she felt one of the boxes tipping, the sound of shuffling fills the hallway. A pair of large pale hands come out of nowhere, swiftly catching the stacked cardboard boxes with ease.

When she looked up, she hadn’t quite caught a look at the man in front of her as he bent down to pick up her keys. But when he finally stood straight, eyes locking, she took note of his features

He was tall, much taller than herself and dressed in black slacks and a light lilac dress shirt which was pushed up by the sleeves. He was young, probably the same age as her or younger. He was wide-eyed, almost doe-like and wore a nervous yet seemingly gentle expression.

“Hello,” said the stranger. His hair was rumpled as if he’d just woken up as darken eyebags accentuated his face. His face was sharp, features dark — but in a soft sharp way that made the shape of his nose and lips the most noticeable. Pink lips, a tired look, pretty face.

This stranger was friendly and very attractive. That was her first impression of him.

“Hi,” she replied, a bit breathless from the weight of juggling the boxes. But still, she smiled and her head tilted to the side slightly.

“I couldn’t help but notice that you were my new neighbour, I hope you don’t mind me helping, you looked like you needed it,” he says nervously, his extra free hand goes back to rub the back of his neck.

Y/N’s eyes shoot over to the door at the end of the hallway, conveniently next to hers: apartment 8. He must've heard the banging against the doors and walls, and suddenly, she felt guilty. She must’ve woken him up.

“Haha, yeah! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be so loud.”

“No! It’s fine.”

Now, both stand there a bit awkwardly before she coughs, which has him nodding and fumbling with her keys in his hand, “Er — I have a couple of minutes before I leave for work, do you still need help?”

“Right, yes!”

Y/N hands him over her other box, her hand taking the keys back as she clicks open her door. The smell of cleaning products filled her nose along with the smell of old books. It’s spacious, considering what she’s paying for it. It’s a flat, aside from the bathroom and kitchen and there’s a small balcony that’s connected with another set of railings outside. The view of green trees and flowers could be seen and suddenly, Y/N considers herself lucky when she’s realized the place she’s snagged.

The man trails behind her, setting the boxes down on the kitchen counter before dusting off any non-existent lint off his pants. His eyes quickly scan the area, in an analytical fashion.

He clears his throat, “Well, it was nice meeting you.”

She nods too, walking back up to her door to lead him out. “Likewise, neighbour.”

This time, a real smile crosses his face before looking down sheepishly, a small tint covering his cheeks. “Please, I’m Doctor Reid — but please, call me Spencer.”

“Doctor?” Her face lights up with curiosity. This man looks as young as her, younger — and she’s only twenty-four.

“Oh, I don’t practice medicine,” he quickly adds. His hands go to fiddle with each other, “I have three PhDs and an IQ of 187,” he explains. However, it’s not in a blatantly rude manner — like he’s trying to flaunt it. If anything, he looks embarrassed. His head drops to look down at his shoes, trying to make himself appear smaller, seeming uncomfortable. But like she said, Y/N likes to believe she’s quick on her feet.

“Well then, Doctor,” she teases, which has him going a deeper shade of pink, “I’m Y/N L/N, I have no PhDs, I used to practice medicine and I have an IQ of — probably a hundred or less.

At this, Spencer visibly relaxes as a deep chuckle makes its way out. He nods again, making his way out the door and does a small wave before disappearing back into his apartment. Y/N leaves her door open, but her back is faced towards it as she hears his door click back open and she feels the vibrations of his door closing before the tapping of his feet becomes more and more distant.

There are a dozen other boxes she ends up hauling in, but she’s noticed that Spencer must have somehow carried a few of the boxes to the top of the stairs rather than just leaving them in the lobby.

As she wipes down the surfaces, music blasting through her earbuds before unboxing her new bed frame, a smirk crosses her face; cheap rent, enrolled at one of the top law schools in the country, has enough money saved for the next few months and a cute, tall, polite and a fucking doctor that just so happens to be her neighbour — damn, Y/N doesn’t mind this at all.

【 Next Chapter 】

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mikariin · 1 year ago

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1. How Many Stories do you have on Ao3?

126 *sweats in idk how to stop—*

2. What’s your total Word Count?

737,942 (I wrote 506,176 in 2k23 lol)

3. What Fandoms do you Write For?

Well, i fandom jump with my hyperfixation, but for the last year into this one it’s been One Piece.

4. What are your Top 5 Fics by Kudos?

1. EnStars! Kinktober (2k21) that kinda annoys me I didn’t even finish it lol

2. One Piece Kinktober (2k23)

3. 100 Tumblr NSFW Prompts -EnStars Edition-

4. Haikyuu: Group Chat Wonders probably never gonna finish that one either oops—

5. The Lovely Ms. “Fire Fist” Ace

5. Do you respond to Comments? Why or Why Not?

I try to. Sometimes it depends on the comment or the time I see it lol. I love the interaction though it makes me stupidly happy to see people comment on my stories :3

6. What is the Story you wrote with angstiest ending?

Tea Time with Hiiro. I found a sad prompt and made myself cry with it lol. Now my readers cry with me xD

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

(No) Strings Attached, maybe?? Or probably Which is Worse? Since the one I wanna say isn’t finished yet lol xD

8. Do you get hate on your fics?

No. Haven’t gotten any, thankfully, but I have visible confusion on the one crack fic I wrote xD

9. Do you write smut?

Yes. An alarming amount xD

10. Do you write crossovers?

No actually. Unless you count media in the same universe like TMNT 2003 and TMNT 2012 as a crossover, then yes.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

As of recently, apparently so. Keep an eye out for these story thieves people, they think they’re slick Istg—

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

No, but I’m hoping one day!!!

13. Have you ever co written a fic?

No, unless you count bouncing ideas off peoples head and hoping to come up with a legit plot line counts xD

14. What’s your all favorite ship?

MARACE ONE PIECE XD

15. What’s the WIPs that you wanna finish, but doubt you ever will?

Any of my EnStars stories— 💀

16. What are your writing strengths?

The amount I write and the way I can think outside of the box for plotines!

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Either not thinking a fic all the way through or my short attention span xD

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in a different language for a fic?

I don’t remember if I’ve done one yet, but I would lick to try!!!

19. First Fandom you ever wrote for?

Magic Kaito’s 1412 xD

20. Favorite Fic you’ve ever wrote?

Currently I’m working on my favorite fic which is To be Reminded of Her (TbRoH), but if we’re talking about completed work already published then it would have to be The Story of the Elbow Brace.

Tags: @lerya-fanfic @cyborg-franky @phoenixkaizen @nananananasposts @idkimnewherelol @ideas-4-stories and anyone else who wants to do it!!

20 Questions for Writers

@myfairkatiecat Thanks for the tag, sorry this took so long. (@sophieswundergarten thanks for the reminder 💕)

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

8 so far. It's not a lot, but I make up for it in length.

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

417,645 💀

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Exclusively tmbs so far, but I plan on doing some Wolf359 fics when I (finally) finish the podcast. Sadly all my ideas are long. I'm sorry.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Since I have so few fics I'll just give the list:

S.O.S., by a lot. I'd like to thank the show's cancellation for my unexpected success.

The Oldest Siblings , mainly due to it's association with SOS (it's the prequel in the series)

Treat Them With(out) Mercy

Who You Were Meant To Be

A Joy To Obey and It Should Have Been Us are tied

The Boys Who Waited

Sirens of the Sea and Sky: dead last with 3 modest kudos. This fic is the equivalent of having a kid in a school recital who screams the whole time and knocks down the set. He might be a disaster, but he's my kid and I'm proud. This fic is ridiculous, but it makes me laugh anyway. I don't know how burnt out finals Bods came up with this, but by golly...she did.

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Of course! I think I've responded to every comment I've ever gotten (if not I'm so sorry please let me know). I appreciate every one of them, and I love talking about the ideas in my idea and the fics I write, so please know that every comment you leave totally brightens my day! 🥰

6. What’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Hm. Right now "The Boys Who Waited" probably has the angstiest and most ominous ending, but we'll see what happens.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Probably "A Joy To Obey" since it's my main fluff fic with a nice ending. A great read if you like lighter stuff.

8. Do you get hate on your fic?

Not yet. If I did, I'm not even sure what I'd do. Depends on the hate. I might cry. I might laugh, honestly. I don't think I'm nearly important, good, or noticeable enough for that so I might be a little flattered ngl (unless it was something vulgar or hateful towards a certain group of people then I'd delete and block the person). I'm sure people have read my writing and not liked it, but I think they just click away.

9. Do you write smut?

No, that's not for me. Especially because I'm writing for a children's fandom, I just don't think that's appropriate.

10. Do you write crossovers?

No, but I've done some AU's on tumblr.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of. Also this is a small fandom so if a fic of mine DID get stolen, it would be pretty awkward and obvious. Don't plagiarize kids.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

No, but I'd be honored if anyone wanted to do that!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic?

No, but that could be fun!

14. What’s your all-time favorite ship?

Why the MV Shortcut, of course! /jk

I don't really have a lot of ships I get super invested in, I prefer platonic relationships. If I think of one I'll let you guys know.

15. What’s the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

You'll find out. (Don't worry about SOS. I promised I'd finish it and I intend to keep my word).

16. What are your writing strengths?

According to my readers, dialogue, characterization, themes, weaving multiple storylines together, and plot twists.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I can't write a short fic to save my life, and I can't edit to save my life. I also just publish my first drafts because I have no impulse control (sorry).

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

Funny enough I’ve done this, but only canon MBS dialogue where I've translated it directly from the show's subtitles. If I made an error, please let me know.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Mbs, and so far just mbs. Hoping to expand someday when I magically have more time (and finish Wolf359).

20. Favorite fic you’ve ever written?

SOS, just because of what a fun journey it's been.

Tags: @phtalogreenpoison @oflightningandstars @mvshortcut @sqenthusiast @itsgoghtime @amphibious-entity @mysteriouseggsbenedict and anyone who hasn't been tagged yet but wants to do it (sorry if I accidently double tagged)

#tmbs fanfic #ask game #ao3 author #ao3 #ao3 writer #fanfic writer #this took me too long damn it lol #Mika writes too much xD

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nymbus-cloud · 4 years ago

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A Crappy Rewrite of The New Prophecy

Make it about RiverClan. There was a lot of potential in the last series, and it was kinda just... forgotten.

A couple of changes to make in TPB to lead up to TNP:

-Instead of Silverstream dying, her kits die. Her and Graystripe go back to live in their own clans. (Bit of a disclaimer, a lot less major RiverClan deaths happen in this AU) Why? Because her character was barely explored. She was just “Ms. RiverClan 2003″ and then she dies. I feel like it would give her a chance to grow on her own, and would make for an interesting story.

Featherkit and Stormkit are Stonefur’s kits instead. This way, the whole fight between him and Blackfoot could still happen, because they are still 1/4 ThunderClan. Gives Tigerstar a reason to threaten them.

Stonefur lives, but is very injured. He has suffered a lot of physical trauma. Tigerstar tells the Med cats to keep him “barely alive”, as he could be used as leverage against his family.

Mistyfoot has 4 kits, which is confirmed. One dies as a kit of natural causes, but two other made is to 6+ moons. Primrosepaw and Pikepaw were killed by Tigerstar’s gang, as punishment for times Mistyfoot or Blackclaw rebeled against them. Reedpaw was the only one left till the end to be used as leverage, and later became Reedwhisker.

Now we get into the one year between TPB and TNP:

It takes Stonefur a few moons to heal up completely. Till then, Mistyfoot is made temporary deputy.

RiverClan is going through a power struggle. Stones family is against Leopardstar, because she turned on him, almost got all of them killed, and nearly destroyed the Clan. The other RC cats are taking her side. Their reasons: Stonefur is Half-Clan. They can’t possibly have a Half- Clan leader. He also went against the leaders word, and refused to kill his own kits (can you blame him?).

Featherpaw and Stormpaw are given mean looks by their clanmates. Besides, they are the kits of a Half-Clan cat. A cat who refused to follow his leaders orders, and is therefor, a traitor.

This power struggle only gets worse as time goes on, and continues into their Warriorhood.

Now, how the series goes:

The book is from Feathertail and Stormfur’s POV. Stormfur is chosen to go on the journey, while Feathertail stays behind.

Feather has’t forgiven RiverClan or Leopardstar for the mess they’ve made, but she’s had enough conflict. She doesn’t want Leopardstar as a leader and doesn’t want to deal with clanmates casting her distrustful looks. The only cats she knows she can rely on are her parents, brother, aunts, uncle, and the few friends she has who understand what its like to be cast out by their clan: Hawkfrost, Mothwing, Brambleclaw and Tawnypelt.

Stormfur wants to live a peaceful life. He wants it the way it was before he found out that his father was Half-Clan, and before Leopardstar tore the clan apart. It wouldn’t matter who was leader if he wasn’t in RiverClan anymore would it? But he can’t just leave his friend and family behind here, right?

I feel like it would have been an interesting way to start off the series, probably not the best AU, but somthing along the lines of that.

#warrior cats #warriors #silverstream #mistyfoot #mistystar #leopardstar #stonefur #stormfur #feathertail #mothwing #hawkfrost #tawnypelt #bramblestar #riverclan #thunderclan #the new prophecy #tnp #warriors au

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barbasbodaciousbeard · 4 years ago

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If You Love Someone, Let Them Go

Summary: Since starting with SVU, Sonny hadn’t kept much terribly close to the chest. The squad knew about his family, growing up on Staten Island, the classes at Fordam. What was hidden was why he didn’t date. Sonny Carisi was also separated from his childhood sweetheart, a separation neither ever took to divorce. They had the same haunts. They’d grown up neighbors. Their paths crossed every few months, and divorce talks would turn into reminiscing would turn into a night spent together, sometimes sex sometimes just talking until the early morning. It always ended with one of them waking up alone however. How will that change when the squad finds out?

Pairings: Sonny Carisi x Original Character,

A/N: I’ve outlined a few chapters of this. This is kind of set up, and I’m kind of toying around with it. I hope somebody likes it. I thought of it and had to try to write it.

June 1994

“You can’t catch me,” Victoria squealed, poking Sonny in his side before she took off running across the yard. The Carsisi girls, all three sisters and his mother, were on the porch with Victoria’s mother. Victoria was the same age as Bella, two years younger than Sonny, but he was always delighted to know she’d rather run through the grass with him. She always picked him. These were the days before hormones kicked in, he was only nine, but she was cool and funny and his favorite person, not just his favorite girl.

“I can to!” he took off, and the way she laughed as she ran across the yard made him slow down. His legs were certainly long enough he could have caught her quickly, but instead he jogged while she sprinted. When she dropped into the grass, he fell beside her, sprawling out lanky limbs beside her.

“I won.”

“You’re gettin’ fast, Tor.”

“I gotta practice so I can beat you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grinned. “I bet ma will get us pizza. Want to watch a movie?”

“Can we watch Who Framed Roger Rabbit? We been watching Gremlins a lot.”

“Can we get sausage pizza?”

“Deal,” she said seriously, holding out her hand, which he shook gladly.

“Sonny!” Bella called into Victoria’s yard. “Ma and Ms. O’Toole said you gotta stay where they can see you.”

“We’re in their yard!”

“Where they can’t see.”

“Fine!” Sonny scrambled up, offering his hand to help Victoria up. “You can’t catch me.”

“Can to!”

“Try,” he laughed, taking off to his own yard again. He jogged again, and this time her sprint caught him. Victoria launched herself at him, tackling him and collapsing with him as they both laughed. Gianna Carisi and Irene O’Toole found the pair asleep by a pizza box that evening, giving each other a knowing smile.

April 2003

“I can’t believe your ma let you come,” Victoria grinned, looking up at Sonny. “Mom’s going to be mom so I was going to be on my own a lot.”

“In New Orleans? That ain’t safe, is it?”

“I been here a lot. I know the safe parts.”

“I still don’t like the idea.” What Sonny didn’t want to admit was what his teenage brain had realized about his best friend. She was really pretty. She was really pretty and really nice and really funny. That meant she wasn’t safe. It was at the new years eve party that he realized it, seeing her in a pretty dress and flirting with a guy. Johnny was fine, but he got a gnawing in the pit of his stomach, his mind racing as someone else got the attention that he always monopolized.

When he found her crying that February because Johnny actually wasn’t fine and had cheated on her with a cheerleader, he’d wanted to fight him. Instead, he took two of those stupid mud masks she and his sisters always tried to con him into, a pizza, and listened to her cry. His sisters always braided each other’s hair when they were venting, and Sonny had learned from them. That found him carefully braiding Victoria’s auburn hair as she transitioned from crying to laughing. Nothing made him prouder.

When Ms. O’Toole invited him to keep Victoria company on the pair’s vacation, he jumped at it, and not just because he didn’t want Tor to be left alone. He’d get a week of his summer to spend every day with her, knowing Ms. O’Toole would be busier partying and staying out than spending time with her daughter. That always seemed to hurt Victoria, so maybe his presence would lessen that while getting him the opportunity to piece apart if he’d do anything about how pretty she was.

“Well, good thing I got my bodyguard,” she grinned. “Mom’s at Jazz Fest until the end of the weekend. We might see her after, but we’ll probably see her at the airport. We can go to a day or two of the festival, if you wanna.”

“I happen to know a gal that likes the zoo and aquarium here. I got tickets to do the zoo and then take the ferry to the aquarium.” He hoped it sounded like a date, but he knew it wouldn’t to her. Only, it kind of did, and Victoria had butterflies and wasn’t sure how to process them or where to tuck them away.

“Sonny, that’s really, really sweet of you.”

“Gotta make sure you get a good week, Tor.”

When she stretched up to kiss his cheek, they both ducked their heads to avoid the other seeing their cheeks turning pink.

October 2003

“Are you okay, Dom?” she asked him softly. He’d been a mess all afternoon, foot tapping and hands fiddling with the pages of the book he was reading for English. Things had been different since New Orleans. There was a nervous energy that hadn’t been there before, and she found herself catching him blush at things that he hadn’t before. It worried her, but it also excited her because she’d started blushing more too.

“Yeah, just thinking.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“It’s nothing.”

“I’ve known you twelve years, dummy. It’s not nothing. Tell me wha--” Her eyes widened when he cut her off.

“Do you wanna go to homecoming with me?” he asked, the words tumbling out quickly enough she had to process what he’d even said. Then, she was confused, brow furrowing as she looked at him.

“We always go to homecoming together?”

“Yeah. But do you want to, like, go with me? Like to the dance too.”

“Are you asking me to be your date?” Victoria could hear her heart beating in her ears, biting her lip as she watched him. For his part, Sonny didn’t look as much like he was going to throw up as he felt. Was she angry he’d asked? Was she assuming he meant as friends? He’d gone too far to back out.

“Yeah. I realized something when you dated Johnny. I like you a lot, Tor. More than as my friend. When I dated Julia, I kept getting in trouble for hangin’ out with you because I liked you more. She said I was crazy about you and I didn’t think she was right until you were flirting with Johnny and I got jealous. And then we went to New Orleans and I figured I’d realize I didn’t but I just liked you more, and now I probably fucked up our friendship and--”

“Shut up, the answer is yes,” she finally said, cutting him off by grabbing his face between her hands.

“Really?” he asked, smiling broadly.

“Yeah. I like you too, okay? That’s why I hated Julia. But I didn’t want us to mess up our friendship.” He pulled her against him in a hug, this time tighter than usual. Victoria’s arms looped around his neck, and she kissed him sweetly. “Ma!” Bella’s voice rang through the house. “He finally asked her! And they’re kissing!”

“Finally. Leave them be.”

June 2006

“I been basically living with you,” Victoria said, playing with his fingers as they laid in the dorm bed. “What if we moved in together when you find an apartment?”

“Ma ain’t going to handle that until we’re married, Tor. You know that.”

“But we’re going to end up married.”

“I know, but we gotta be married first.”

“Then let’s get married.”

“Doll, I’m supposed to propose.”

“Well, if we get married, when you move into an apartment we can live together, and I know I’m gonna marry you.”

“I know I’m going to marry you too. But what about a ceremony?”

“We could get married at the courthouse. Have a wedding later.”

“We could,” he mused, rubbing her back. “You still planning to go straight to work?”

“Yeah. I want to maybe go to pastry school. But I worked in that bakery the last year. I think I’d be a really good baker.”

“Me too.”

“Well, you willing to run off with me?”

“Gimme a minute,” he said, untangling from her and digging into the lock box under his bed. Victoria watched him, her brow furrowed. When he pulled out a little wooden box and moved to sit by her, her eyes were wide. He huffed, blowing hair from his face. “Ma gave me this last month because I think she knows us getting married is gonna happen. It’s Nonna and Nonno’s rings.”

“So you been thinking about it anyway?”

“Was thinking about proposing in October for our anniversary. But now seems like just as good of a time.”

“You wanna like propose or just be engaged?”

“Well,” he hummed, before giving her the grin she loved so much and setting the little box to the side and taking her hands. “Victoria O’Toole, you’re the best thing in my life. I’ve known you since I was five. And when I kissed you the first time, I knew we were gonna end up married. Our Mas were right. Will you marry me, Tor?”

“Of course, Dominick,” she grinned, tearing up as she pulled him in and kissed him. He fumbled to get the engagement ring from the box, the bands remaining as he slid the ring on her finger.

“Thank God it fits,” he chuckled, hand smoothing her hair back. “Now, we gotta book at the courthouse? Or do we just show up?”

“We book it. And then we go change my last name afterwards.”

“We can go tell Ma and the girls. Getting yelled at for keeping them outta the loop is worth it for this to be just about us.”

“I love you, Sonny.”

“And I love you, Tor.

July 2008

“So, do we stay here? Or do we go back to Staten Island? Or somewhere half way?”

“You’re close to manager at the bakery,” he said, rubbing her back as they laid on the couch. “Are you okay with that commute? I know you love working with Ruth.”

“I really do. And the commute isn’t too bad. I can do it at least a year. And we can get a better place there. Plus, I think being a cop’s gonna make you more tired than being a baker makes me.”

“We’ll start looking. Could be nice to be closer to family too.”

“Yeah,” she smiled softly, brushing his hair back. “Proud of you, Officer Carisi.”

“I don’t think dad and your mom thought we’d be able to get by.”

“We’ve done a damn good job, huh?”

“Been married and on our own two years. I know we got married young, but I’m glad we did. Dad was worried I’d feel like I was missing out, but I get to go out to bars with you. Way better. If we hadn’t started dating, same thing would be happenin’, y’know?”

“Yeah. I like doing all this stuff with you. Makes it better.”

“Good. Because you got like eighty more years, Mrs. Carisi.”

“I better.”

October 2010

“What’re these for?” Victoria asked, kissing Sonny softly as she took the flowers.

“Was doing traffic stops and remembered it’s been seven years today since I got smart enough to kiss ya.”

“You’re a sap.”

“But I’m your sap. Glad you’re still dressed. I’m taking you to dinner.”

“I love you.”

“Love you too, Doll.”

November 2011

“I thought you could use a little time. Something’s been up with you.”

“I’m fine,” he said flatly, eyes on the road as they drove towards the cabin.

“We can go home if you don’t want to,” she said softly, and he shook his head.

“I want to. I’m excited, doll.”

“Good. It’s your birthday. We ain’t had much time together.”

“I appreciate it. I’m sorry if I’m actin’ weird.”

“It’s okay. I love you.”

“Love you too.”

December 2012

“Sounds like we’re celebrating a lot,” Ma Carisi smiled, hugging her daughter in law. “A birthday and a big purchase?”

“Sonny told ya?” she grinned.

“Bella. I’m so happy for you, Tori. You worked hard for this.”

“Yeah. It’s really nice. Ruth told me she was retiring and I got nervous. Then she said she’d sell the bakery to me, and I thought she was joking.”

“She’s been like family to you. Think she knows it’ll be in good hands.”

“Thanks, ma. And thanks for planning this dinner. We aren’t ever all in the city.” She settled into her seat across from Bella and beside Gina. They all ordered drinks, and, after waiting a little while, appetizers. When the plates came and Sonny still wasn’t there, she excused herself, slipping outside. She dialed his number, cradling it to her ear as she bounced nervously in place.

“Hey, Doll.”

“Sonny, where are you?”

“I just got home. Where are you?”

“Dinner…”

“Shit, I forgot something didn’t I?” She could hear him fiddling with his calendar before he let out a groan. “Tor, I’m so sorry. Work’s just been crazy and-”

“It’s fine,” she said tightly, able to feel his family looking at her through the window. “I guess I’ll see you later.”

“I can come out now.”

“It’ll take you at least an hour, Dominick. We already ordered appetizers. I’ll just see you at home.”

“Okay. we’ll celebrate when you get home.”

“Yeah.”

“Love you.”

“Love you too, Dom.”

May 2013

“I’ll be home after class. I can’t make it home before.”

“Okay,” Victoria nodded, leaning against the counter. “I guess I’ll stay late tonight. Margy wanted to go early anyway.”

“Cool. See ya.”

He hung up, and it jarred her at first. He’d never hung up without an “I love you” and goodbye. She hated the feeling it gave her in the pit of her stomach.

I miss you. Can we have a date soon?

I’ll figure something out.

When she got home, she tried to stay up and wait for him, but she got a text he’d gone back to get some overtime. When she woke up to get ready for work, she let him sleep, heading out and leaving coffee on the warmer.

August 2013

“Hey, I’ll be home late again tonight,” he said down the line.

“Again?” she asked softly.

“I need the OT. And then I have class.”

“Yeah,” she muttered, fiddling with her wedding band. “Will I get to see you sometime soon?”

“You always do?” he said, obviously confused. “Anyway, I gotta go. I’ll see ya.”

And like that, he’d hung up, and she wanted to hurl the phone. Five years in, and it felt like she was losing him. He was working overtime, which she knew they did need. That said, it had been months since they’d spent time together, and even that time was only because they went to Easter at his mom’s house. She’d bought the bakery from Ruth, and there wasn’t any acknowledgement. He’d stopped saying goodbye in the mornings, and their phone calls didn’t end with an “I love you” as they always had.

Can I come stay with you awhile? She texted Rachel, who agreed easily.

“What’s up, Tori?” Bella asked when she answered the phone. “Sonny okay?”

“Same as he’s been,” she said softly, and Bella let out a sympathetic hum. Victoria had always been open with Bella, usually because she’d had a couple of glasses of wine.

“He’s not been himself.”

“He won’t talk to me about it,” she said, tearing up. “He doesn’t even say I love you any more. Bella, I can’t keep running in circles. I can’t do this.”

“Are you leaving?”

“He doesn’t really care if I’m here.”

“He does, Tori. He really does.”

“Then he can come and fix it. I can’t, Bella.”

“I don’t think this is a good idea…”

“I have to.”

“Keep in touch, okay? I want to know you’re okay.”

“I will. I just wanted someone to know.”

“I appreciate that.”

#law and order special victims unit #svu fanfiction #sonny carisi #sonny carisi x reader #sonny carisi x oc #writing

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eragonpaolini · 3 years ago

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ok I am interested in hearing about the mouse novel you started in 3rd grade

For anyone wondering what this is about, I mentioned this story a couple times in the tags, I don’t even remember on what posts lol. It took a minute to dig it up but I finally found it, wasn't even on my computer, it was on my backup drive lol. I’m gonna liveblog my reactions to it. Probably gonna be a long post, so

It's bad. It's very bad. I thought I started it in like 3rd or 4th grade or something but I found the earliest version in my 2009 folder which was 6th grade for me 😭. I don't think I was that bad at writing in 6th grade but it's really very bad. We're talking worse than My Immortal bad. It's possible I started it earlier and moved it to more recent folders over time (cause I took like 3 years to write like 6 pages lmao) but this is worrisome. I also found updated versions in my 2010 and 2011 folders which went up to 8 pages whoo! (But somehow only 2k words for the longest versions??) The "last modified" date is worthless cause I've moved it between like 3 computers and 5 flash drives/backups so all the versions say 2017.

That being said, there is a very marked improvement in the writing quality over those 8 pages that I'm almost proud of. That last page is frankly perfectly readable as a novel written for 8-12 year olds, though the story structure still needs a ton of work.

Oh shit, I just dug into the file metadata and found out it was created in May 2007, so 4th grade! Whew! I have an excuse for how bad it is. The newest version was last modified in April 2011 so that totally explains why it's so much better towards the end. Huh, just noticed I actually updated the intro in the most recent version, which makes it slightly more palatable lmao.

Well now that I've finished liveblogging my detour down memory lane, what the hell's the story about?

A town called Miceville exists in the lowest sub-basement of a human apartment building. The main character (named Cheddar Squigee) gets himself into a predicament, lost in the wilderness due in part to his own bad decisions and in part because of his older brother's dumbassery. Hopelessly stranded with no hope for rescue while his family is worried sick looking for him, Cheddar goes on an adventure with ghost pirates to find some treasure and save them from their curse (because I’d just watched Pirates of the Caribbean), before eventually reuniting with his family. I only got as far as the “he got stranded” bit with the beginnings of lore for the ghost pirates.

Some highlights from the story:

I think the very idea of a mouse story came from me reading some Geronimo Stilton books around that time. Look them up if you haven’t heard of them, they’re great books in my memory from when I was like 10 so I’m sure they’ll hold up over a decade later /s

There’s an “I didn’t know you could read” reference to Harry Potter

The entire ghost pirates thing is obviously lifted from PotC which I think is just hilarious

There’s a Clip Art pic of a mouse on one of the pages :)

The entire thing is written in Comic Sans font except for two parts which are 1) The chapter titles which are in Impact (that meme font fyi) and 2) The main title which is in the old MS Office 2003 WordArt lmao

Some lowlights:

I was a Brand Shill™, for Lamborghini of all things

I made Cheddar’s brother a major dick and a dumbass, which absolutely was not at all inspired by my relationship with my IRL brother, not one bit. There is nothing for a therapist to unpack there.

I don’t know why I specified the mouse city was in the sub-basement of a human apartment. The humans were never supposed to make an appearance or have any impact to the story. I could just have easily made it a full mouse world like Redwall or whatever.

Everything happens so fast (what is pacing and plot structure?) so if I finished the story at the current pace I don’t think it would break 30k words, not even a novel.

Anyway, thank you so much for giving me an excuse to take a couple of hours looking at this crappy story I wrote over a decade ago. No, no one can read it it’s still very bad.

#sorry it took so long #I had to find out where it was saved which took a while #and then I wanted to set aside some time to do a proper retrospective #this was fun #thanks for the ask!#hashtag #asks #anonymous

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brightlotusmoon · 5 years ago

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*huffs, falls down* Why did I spend hours on AO3 and MS Word editing a literally twenty-year-old TMNT fic into what turned into 16 chapters, fixing it up to be the 2003 show instead of a blend of 87, Archie, 90s films, Mirage? It's probably awful and filled with Year 2000 concepts that I didn't even know of in the year 2000. Although I made sure to edit some of it before I got exhausted. I'll need to go through each chapter. I've already made sure Mikey's eyes changed from brown to blue, no matter what, his eyes are always always blue.

2007 was the first iteration to give the turtles colored irises, with Mikey getting blue eyes specifically to show his innocence and youthfulness. Oddly, when 2012 happened, I know a few folks were disturbed that Leo got blue eyes.

See, in 2007, the older three got shades of brown, with Raph being golden. After that CGI film, 2003's last season gave the turtles eyes to reference 2007. They seemed to all be variations of green, and Mikey's was definitely blue-green. So then most of us fanfiction writers back then started a shared headcanon - Fanon - that 2003 Raph had golden eyes and 2003 Mikey had intense blue. Leo and Don would change between brown, hazel, and gray, depending on the writer. And damn it if I didn't become completely used to Raphie being portrayed with gold or amber eyes. Leo with gray or darkest brown. Don with hazel or chocolate. And Mike would often be described as having the most unique color of blue that reflected his unique character.

I got used to 2012 Leo with dark blue eyes, and I got used to Bayverse Leo with light blue eyes and Don with golden green and Raph with deeper golden, because that actually made it easier to detect each version. Some writers give the 2003 turtles each the green eyes from Back To The Sewers, so I just remember that they're not the bright vivid green of 2012 Raph. And 2012 Don has sort of an auburn brown rarely seen in humans.

This got away from me. Anyway, the story, Shadow Rising, is literally the second fic I ever wrote, a sequel to the first, the Cold Fire I rebooted in 2016. And holy shit, it is dark as fuck. It's full of torture. Poor Mikey. God's daaamn. I know I borrowed bits for the CFR fic but I haven't read the entire thing in, uh... *checks files* apparently three years, up until yesterday. What the hell did I do, putting it out there after two whole decades? It's so raw. It's so year 2000. Everybody is neurodivergent but it's not talked about because that wasn't a word back then, but I see it anyway, in how they just... are. I want to keep editing and bringing it up to 2020, at least the technology.

And I will eventually apologize to Mikey.

#my neurodivergent turtle children #the ninja turtles are autistic #the ninja turtles can cross over with anything #thirty years with the ninja turtles #i mean come on #why did my writerbrain do that #ow my writerbrain #autistic writers #being a writer #2003 tmnt #2003 mikey deserved better #tmnt 2003 angst needed more closure #why i write mikey with fibromyalgia #why i write disabled characters #writing neurodivergent characters #writing ninja turtles as neurodivergent symbolism #writing ninja turtles as imaginary coping mechanisms #angst fic #dark fic #welp time to give trauma to my characters #projecting my disabilities onto fictional characters #i created this tumblr because of michelangelo #i think i started the psychic mikey fanfic trend in the 90s #psychic mikey au #tmnt mikey is naturally psychic #tmnt mikey has always had adhd #donnie is tired #donnie is a sassy nerd isn't he #raph and his heart #leonardo the honor nerd

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adultswim2021 · 4 years ago

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Sealab 2021 #30: “I, Robot, Really” | December 21, 2003 - 11:15 PM | S03E10

“I, Robot, Really”, takes “I, Robot” to it’s natural conclusion of Quinn actually building robot bodies for the Sealab crew. Is it satisfying to see what was only spoken of in that monumental episode? No! Not really!

“I, Robot” is, for all intents and purposes, the first episode of Sealab. It was produced first, and it appeared on the DVD as the first episode. So, it’s significant that the final Capt. Murphy episode is a sequel to that first installment. Some might argue that it was poignant that Harry Goz (the voice of Captain Murphy) was embarking on his own voyage of leaving his corporeal form behind on Earth. That is to say, he was dying. Hell, you could hear it in his voice. So, an episode about Captain Murphy’s soul living on is a thoughtful send-off. But is the episode good? No. No it’s not.

This should seem obvious that the early appeal of Sealab was the dialogue-driven stories, and that by doing a show-don’t-tell version of one of their most beloved episodes is a mistake, especially when we are saddled with the crews lack of artistry when it comes to new animation. But, there are some bright spots. The whole concept of the mice inhabiting the former human bodies is very charming. The only laughs to be had from this entire episode spring from the mouse conductor in Murphy’s head. In fact, this episode would rank among Sealab’s worst if it weren’t for this bit. The only non-mouse line I appreciated was when Murphy rejects Debbie’s vying to also be in a robot body by saying “this is just for guys”.

Most of the episode involves Quinn getting drunker and drunker. His drunk acting is remarkably unfunny. There is a whole deleted episode called “Quinnmas” on one of the DVDs and it also revolves around Quinn’s alcoholism. The fact that they thought this was an avenue worth going down a second time is insane to me. Speaking of Quinn, this is maybe the only time they did overt continuity: Quinn references the events of “I, Robot”, as well as his hydraulic penis (which appeared, off-camera, in a deleted ending). I guess that makes this one sorta special. But, it’s also bad. Sorry.

MAIL BAG

I have what seems to be a particularly rare Master Shake Plush from the Adult Swim Carnival Tour back in 2012 that I got while I was at Washington State University. I'm currently on my way out of the west coast because of all the fires and left-wing violence in the cities so I was wonder if you would be interested in it. I was gonna put it on ebay but I have not seen any on there so I don't know what they go for. If you have any idea let me know.

I’ll take it for free. But if anyone has a Master Shake plush they wanna unload you should probably just put it on eBay and start the bidding at 50 bucks. Or, put it up for sale for like, $200 and patiently wait for somebody to eventually buy it. It could take years before somebody actually buys it for that price, but it could work. “the sky’s the limit here at eBay.com” - I couldn’t have said it better myself

The The is also the name of an 80s/90s british band that did the song "This Is The Day" which you may remember from an M&Ms commercial!

That is a good song, too good for the likes of an M&M commercial. I can only stomach diagetic music from those ads. Scoring those things really defies the spirit of the M&M novels that most of the commercials are based on

You sure do love bragging about watching season 2 of Slege Hammer! you littler weirdo.

I-- hey, fuck you! I’ve actually never watched season 2 of Sledge Hammer! I just know that season one ends with the world ending and they began season 2 by saying it took place before that. They also switched from 35mm to 16mm, which seems too nasty.

The best ones in 2008. Funny M&M's commercials collection. I’m one of M&M’s most diligent advertising collectors. I think, I have the largest and best video collection. I share this, with all the fans in the world. My lifetime of work to collect thematically the best videos here. Love and enjoy my collections! Peace and happiness for you! I just want one, a smile on your face. Enjoy my collection. It only takes a few words to tell a powerful story.

This rocks. Thank you. I needed something like this today!

Are you taking any more Popeyes Chicken nugget reviews? I just had them. I wasn't that wowed by them. They were too much like the tenders. I dont know. I rather just have those they are more fun imho. What do you think?

I had them the once. I don’t care for the tenders much. Everyone in their right mind should just stick with the regular ass fried chicken pieces. They are perfect. What a treat

#adult swim #adultswim2021 #sealab 2021

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atariince · 5 years ago

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Hi! The same Anon here: yes, I'm in!!! And what can you say about Galadriel and Finrod, you mentioned that there are parallels between both, what did you mean? I know that Finrod wanted lands to rule the same as Galadriel...

Great! I’ll make a little announcement here about my Twitch channel when everything will be ready (probably within two weeks or so).

Now, concerning your request, I must warn you first, my answer, which takes the form of painstaking yet not exhaustive analysis, will be quite long, but (I hope!) not too tedious.

[Finrod’s heraldry by J.R.R Tolkien, 1960, MS. Tolkien Drawings 91, fol. 29)

Felagund and Galadriel are alike in many ways, especially in their respective evolution, even though those two characters have quite different motives and temperaments.

We’ve already talked a lot about Galadriel in my last post, so I won’t repeat it. As for Finrod, we know he was “like his father in his fair face and golden hair, and also noble and generous heart, though he has the high courage of the Noldor and in his youth their eagerness and unrest” (UT 2 Ch. IV). Both Galadriel and Finrod were proud, “as were all the descendants of Finwë save Finarfin”, “and like her brother Finrod, of all her kin the nearest to her heart, she had dreams of far lands and dominions that might be her own to order as she would without tutelage” (UT2, Ch. IV).

Yet, although, Finrod “had also from his Telerin mother a love of the sea and dreams of far lands that he had never seen”, he wasn’t so eager to leave Valinor during the Rebellion of the Noldor:

“But at the rear went Finarfin and Finrod, and many of the noblest and wisest of the Noldor; and often they looked behind them to see their fair city…” (The Silmarillion, Ch. 9)

Whereas Galadriel “was eager to be gone” for the reasons we have already seen.

We can probably say they share this desire to rule over a kingdom of their own, even though it seems stronger in Galadriel, while her brother appears to be driven mostly by loyalty towards his cousins and his curiosity.

But beyond their temperament, there is a whole narrative arc that corresponds both to Finrod and Galadriel, and in order to try to keep it as clear as possible, we’ll go step by step…

Foresight : Fate and free-will

You have probably noticed that they both have the gift of foresight, which is mentioned, strangely enough, in two very different settings, and yet, the meaning of their words are quite similar. In The Silmarillion, (ch. 15), Galadriel asks her brother why he would not take a spouse, and

“… a foresight came upon Felagund as she spoke, and he said : ‘an oath I too shall swear, and must be free to fulfil it, and go into darkness.’”

As for Galadriel, in The Fellowship of the Ring (ch. 7), after Sam had looked into the Mirror, she explains that

“it shows many things, and not all have yet come to pass. Some never come to be true, unless those that behold the visions turn aside from their path to prevent them.”

As Tom Shippey explained in The Road to Middle-earth, here, “she articulates a theory of compromise between fate and free will”, and we find the exact same ambivalence with Finrod who should be “free to fulfil his oath” (although he can choose to not be free), while acknowledging his fate as something that is already written and from which he must not stray. In other words, it is his fate to take an oath that will drive him to his death, but he’s still free to ignore it, free to “turn aside from [the] path” that was appointed by Eru Iluvatar. That is where resides the tension of free-will.

Leo Carruthers in Tolkien et la Religion explained how this notion of free-will is fundamental in Tolkien’s work:

“If the heroes don’t have to make a choice because the path to take seems obvious… if criminals couldn’t repent, the story of the Lord of the Rings would be far less interesting” (Tolkien et la Religion) (my translation).

According to him, we can understand the term “Free People of Middle-earth” as people who “can use their free-will to decide between good and evil”. It is, as Carruthers comments, to be understood through the Christian notion of salvation, because “if mankind couldn’t tell good from evil, they wouldn’t be able to choose one of the other.” (we’ll talk about salvation later).

Coming back to Middle-earth, where fate has to do with the Tale of Arda as it was given in the Music. Finrod is free to follow the fate which appeared in his vision, or to refuse this role.

And what is Finrod’s role in the Tale of Arda? To help in Beren’s quest for the Silmaril, a tragic quest, but which, in the end, enhanced the beauty of Arda through the marriage between a Maia-elf and a Man, through the Peredhil, including Eärendil and his settlement in the sky with the Silmaril on his brow. And remember that Eärendil is a figure of hope for both Elves and Man.

Finrod knows the path of his fate will be a tragic one, but he also believes that there will be a happy ending; a happy ending which won’t happen if he decides to ignore his fate.

Estel and the eucatastrophe

And that’s what it’s all about : Estel, “a strong hope in Eru, which can’t be separated from trust”, says Carruthers, who then adds that it is obviously very similar to the Christian faith in God.

Finrod accepts his fate because he has Estel, he has faith in Eru and in the Tale, and he acknowledges that his sacrifice will be part of something bigger, something beautiful in the end (the well-known “eucatastrophe”). Tom Shippey wrote :

”Tolkien of course, being a Christian, did in absolute fact believe that in the end all things would end up happily, in a sense they already had… the difference between Earth and Middle-earth, one might say, is that in the latter faith can, just sometimes, be perceived as facts.”( The Road to Middle-earth, Ch. 5).

Estel means believing, it means having faith in the happening of a eucatastrophe, that is the “fairy-tale salvation” (T. Shippey, The Road to Middle-earth, Ch. 6).

I already talked a lot about Estel and Finrod in the past, and in an old post I wrote: “In the whole Beren-mess story I believe that Finrod saw himself as a sort of ‘martyr’, being convinced that he was accomplishing Eru’s will in helping Beren – Finrod clearly follows what I call the Estel-principle.” [I also already explained why I judged Estel to be an act of faith, so feel free to have a look at this other old post for more details.]

Remember his words in the “Athrabeth Finrod ah Andreth”:

“If any marriage can be between our kindred and thine, it shall be for high purpose of Doom.” (HoMe X, part IV)

As for Galadriel, just like Finrod with Beren and Lúthien, she becomes a tutelary figure for Aragorn and Arwen: not only they pledge their love in Lothlórien, but more importantly, Galadriel gives her blessing to Aragorn in The Fellowship of the Ring (Ch. 8), when she gives him the Elessar as a bridal gift. Celebrian being gone, it’s the grandmother’s role to offer it. But the stone is also a symbol of protection towards the couple, although Elrond has not yet completely agreed since Aragorn is not king yet :

“Arwen Undómiel shall not diminish her life’s grace for less cause. She shall not be the bride of any Man, less than the King of both Gondor and Arnor” (The Return of The King, Appendix A)

Galadriel accepts the marriage because she believes that it shall happen “for high purpose of Doom”, just like Finrod about Beren and Lúthien’s. And it’s no coincidence if Aragorn is called Estel: he is the hope of Mankind as the Fourth age draws closer. It can even be argued that, if Aragorn hadn’t had the blessing of Galadriel and the certainty the he would be able to marry Arwen once king, maybe he wouldn’t have accepted the crown with such eagerness.

Anyway, I do believe that Galadriel’s protection over the lovers is considerably important, as important as Finrod’s sacrifice for Beren’s life. Both become some sort of guardian angels for those two couples, and they accept this role (no matter the sacrifice they’ll have to make on the way) precisely because they believe in a happy ending, because of Estel, which is, in the end, the belief in a just retribution: if they don’t go astray, they will end up wiser and stronger, if not happier, whether in this life or in the afterlife (see Annie Bricks in Dictionnaire Tolkien, entry ‘Retribution’). As I said earlier, one of the most poignant embodiments of Estel is Eärendil, it is thus no surprise if Galadriel offers the Phial of Eärendil to Frodo.

Friendships with Men

If Finrod had long before his meeting with Beren become a friend of Men, Galadriel, on the other hand, hardly had any contact with mankind before the Third Age. It is thus significant that she, “the last survivor of the princes and queens who had led the revolting Noldor to exile in Middle-earth” (The Road Goes ever On), acknowledges and gives her blessing to the marriage between a Man and an Elf.

It is also significant that this blessing is symbolized by the exchange of gifts, for, as Eric Flieller explained in le Dictionnaire Tolkien (Vincent Ferré et All, entry “Don”), exchange between Men and Elves are “signs of alliance between the children of Eru”, just like weddings.

Moreover, Sébastien

Maillet ( (in “L’Anneau de Barahir”, Tolkien les racines du légendaire, 2003), noticed

that « finrod had received the difficutl task to guide men in their

discovery of Middle-Earth, while Aragorn accept the tole to govern them after

the Elves have left.”

Furthermore, another gift is present in the story of Aragorn and Arwen : the Ring of Barahir, the token of the union between Elves and Men, which Aragorn gave to Arwen, granddaughter of Galadriel, herself sister of Finrod who probably received it from their father in Aman (Finarfin being probably the one who crafted it), and who gave the Ring to Barahir, father of Beren, himself an ancestor of Aragorn and Arwen. (ha!) We go round in circle, aren’t we?

This ring is, according to Elrond’s words to Aragorn a, token of “their kinship from afar” (The Return of the King, Appendix A), a kinship which has been able to evolve (if not to exist) thanks to the protection and tutelage of the House of Finarfin.

In both cases we have an elven lord/lady, who is engaged in exchanges (of gift, knowledge, or assistance) with Men, with the hope (Estel) that it would save Arda from perils, and eventually lead to the accomplishment of the Tale of Arda. And for that they’re both ready to fight and to make sacrifice, of different natures of course.

Sacrifices

Finrod sacrificed his life in the pit of Tol-in-Gaurhoth. Galadriel sacrificed something much more complicated to define : she accepted the fact that the role of the Elves in Middle-earth was dwindling, she sacrificed her pride and her ambitions.

“She also possesses humility and a willingness to sacrifice her own desires for the greater good, as evidenced by her resistance to the temptation to take the One Ring from Frodo, even though this would make her the most powerful being in Middle-earth.” (source).

She also sacrificed her granddaughter when she accepted the marriage, since Arwen would never be able to follow her family in the West. Bur more than simple “martyrs”, Galadriel and Finrod are also fighters.

Fights : victory through defeat

Finrod actually contends with Sauron, during the famous song-battle, and soon after he has a real physical fight with the wolf sent by Sauron, while Galadriel’s own life isn’t directly in peril, and there’s no real face to face. In her case, it is a sort of a remote battle against Sauron through the Ruling Ring, its temptation and illusions.

We must also stress that she fights against herself, her own delusions and desires. Yet, in the end, her victory helped nonetheless in the defeat of Sauron.

It would be a shame to ignore the words of Sebastien Maillet (in “L’Anneau de Barahir”, Tolkien les racines du légendaire, 2003), who noted that, while Felagund didn’t succumb to the temptation to appear as a god to the mortals when he first met them (they thought he was a Vala, remember?), Galadriel almost yield to this tempting desire when the Ring came to her. Nevertheless, by freeing herself from her own illusions and pride and by defeating the temptation woven by Sauron, she avenged her brothers.

Nevertheless, Galadriel and Finrod are both winners and losers: Finrod was defeated by Sauron’s song and died as he killed the wolf. He wasn’t able to see the success of the quest of the Silmaril. Galadriel left Middle-earth at the end of the Third Age, defeated like all the elves, by the growing power of Mankind.

In terms of fights, we can also mention the parallel between the way Galadriel cleansed Dol Guldur and the passage in which Lúthien cleansed Tol Sirion which was first and foremost Finrod’s dwelling.

“Then Lúthien stood upon the bridge and declared her power: and the spell was loosed that bound stone to stone, and the gates were thrown down, and the walls opened, and the pits laid bare.” (The Silmarillion, Ch. 19).

“They took Dol Guldur, and Galadriel threw down its walls and laid bare its pits, and the forest was cleansed.” (The Return of the King, Appendix B)

More than an echo, I like to see in this similitude a symbol of revenge of Galadriel in the name of her brother whom she couldn’t help in the First Age. The fact that both Tol-in-Gaurhoth and Dol Guldur had become Sauron’s fortresses is particularly poignant.

Salvation

Beyond their half-defeat, they are still victorious in the end: Finrod’s sacrifice granted him salvation, just like the refusal to take the Ring in the case of Galadriel:

“In reward for all that she had done to oppose him [Sauron], but above all for rejection of the Ring when it came within her power, the ban was lifted, and she returned over the Sea, as I told in the Lord of the Rings (The Road Goes Ever On).

We’ve already talked about that so let’s focus on Finrod:

“They buried the body of Felagund upon the hill-top of his own isle, and it was clean again; and the green grave of Finrod Finarfin son , fairest of all the prince of the Elves, remained inviolate, until the land was changed and broken, and foundered under destroying seas. But Finrod walks with Finarfin his father beneath the trees in Eldamar.” (The Silmarillion, Ch. 19).

He’s the only Elda whose ending is given in such terms. Even Fingolfin’s afterlife isn’t mention, and the cairn made for him by Turgon isn’t described with such positive terms, it’s only “high”, whereas Felagund’s grave is “green”, inviolated”, “clean”. As for the mention of his walking with his father in Valinor, it is clearly an image of redemption.

He has won, because his sacrifice saved Beren, while his sister won, protecting Middle earth from herself, approving and protecting the marriage of Arwen and Aragorn.

In a draft for a letter to Peter Hasting (letter 153), Tolkien himself explains that:

“The entering into Men of the Elven-strain is indeed represented as part of a Divine Plan for ennoblement of the human Race, from the beginning designed to replace Elves”.

And from Felagund’s help in Beren’s quest to Galadriel’s farewell to Middle-earth while giving her granddaughter to Aragorn, the whole plan is made plain. (Ah!)

We must also mention other (aborted) elf-human love stories which involve the House of Finarfin: that of Andreth and Aegnor, and that Finduilas and Turin…If those two tragic relationships never actually happened (because it wasn’t for “hight purpose of Doom”), we nonetheless notice that the alliance of Men and Elves is being mainly constructed around the children of Finarfin and his descendants.

The betterment of the Noldor

Finally, all the tragedies Galadriel and Finrod encountered (including the Rebellion) are at the core of their own evolution: they grew wiser and more powerful than they would have, had they remained in Aman.

Indeed, if Finrod seems to have learned a lot in the contact of Men since his meeting with the People of Bëor, Galadriel seems to have had only a few connections with the Second-Born before the Third Age. And it’s only after her acknowledgement of Aragorn as the hope of Mankind and Middle-Earth that she can humble herself, accepting that her place is no longer in Middle earth.

That’s the power of Estel, which, for those two Elves, is also present in the songs they both sing to chase away darkness.

Songs of hope and “prayers”

In the song-battle against Sauron, Finrod tries to take the mastery by singing about “the birds singing afar in Nargothrond, the sighing of the Sea beyond, on sands of pearls in Elvenland” (The Silmarillion, Ch. 19). He here mentions his hope to escape, his hope to see Eldamar again : Estel.

As for Galadriel, in The Fellowship of the

Ring (Ch. 8), she sings Namarië, which ends with some hopeful final

lines: “Maybe thou shalt find Valimar. Maybe even though shalt find it.”

Tolkien explained that

“The last lines of the chant express a wish (or hope) that though she could not go, Frodo might perhaps be allowed to do so.”

(UT 2 Ch. IV)

Although

Even

if he then explains that the Quenya ‘Nai’ “expresses rather a wish than a hope,

and would be more closely rendered by ‘may it be that (though wilt find), than

by ‘maybe’” (The Road Goes ever on), hope is nonetheless present in this wish, if only for Frodo and for Middle-earth: if she asks for Frodo to be granted a ship to the West, it means she believes he will fulfill his quest and destroy the Ruling Ring. Her song reaches beyond the current, tragic situation, as if she was already expecting a happy ending, even if tainted with sorrow, just like in Finrod’s evocation of Eldamar during his fight with Sauron

in Tol Sirion.

Dreamlands and Craftsmanship

This powerful use of music is part of the powers of Finrod and Galadriel’s art, what the mortals call “magic”, that power of faëry (for more about this, see Tolkien’s essay “On fairy-Story”).

We’re talking here of their capacity to create images, between dreams and illusions, as in Finrod’s song, again:

“The chanting swelled, Felagund fought,

And all the magic and might he brought

Of Eveness into his words” (The Silmarillion ch.19)

or when he sings during the first meeting with the Men:

“Now men awoke and listened to Felagund as he harped and sang, and each thought that he was in some fair dream…” (The Silmarillion, Ch. 17)

Or when he changes the appearance of his companions when they approach Tol Sirion :

“Then Felagund a spell did sing

Of changing and shifting shape.” (”The Lay of Leithian”, canto VII, Home III)

In the case of Galadriel, this art of illusion is woven all around Lothlórien, also called “Dreamflower” by Treebeard, or “Dwirmordene”, that is ‘Phantom Vale’ in the tongue of the Rohirrim:

“Half in fear and half in hope to glimpse from afar the shimmer of the Dwimordene, the perilous land that in legends of their people was said to shine like gold in the springtime.” (UT 3, Ch. 2)

“…through the Dwimordene where dwells the White Lady and weaves nets that o mortal can pass”. (ibid.)

As Benjamin Babut explained in his article “Lothlórien la fleur des rêves” (in J.R.R Tolkien, l’Effigie des Elfes, la Feuille de la compagnie n°3, 2014), this word of Anglo-Saxon origin is to be related to “illusions, hallucinations”, which is to be connected to the name Lórien, originally the garden of Irmo, lord of dreams, to which Lothlórien is an echo.

Lothlórien is a strange forest of gold and silver, the Valley of Gold apparently so different from the underground fortress of Finrod in Nargothrond. On the one hand: stones. Trees on the other. Do you see a pattern, here ? We’re not talking of opposite elements, but of two features that complete one another: Aulë and Yavanna.

“And Galadriel, like others of the Noldor, had been a pupil of Aulë and Yavanna in Valinor (UT 2, Ch. IV),

A fact that makes her, and her brother, friends of Dwarves. For Galadriel “had a natural sympathy with their minds and passionate love of crafts of hand” (ibid.), and we know that Finrod worked hand in hand with them in the building of Nargothrond and employed them for the crafting of the Nauglamír:

“In that labour Finrod was aided by the Dwarves of the Blue Mountains; and they were rewarded well…And in that time was made the Nauglamír, the Necklace of the Dwarves.” (The Silmarillion, Ch.13)

Yet, and this is interesting, if Galadriel acknowledges their value and the need to unite all people of Middle-earth against Sauron, she “looked upon the Dwarves also with the eye of a commander, seeing in them the finest warriors to pit against the orcs (UT 2 Ch. IV).

In any case, she is nonetheless a craftswoman as well, she weaves the cloaks she gives to the fellowship, like she weaves webs of illusion around her realm.

By the Way, S. Mallet in his article also talks of the Ring of Barahir as a symbol of the illusion of Faëry…I think we’ve come full circle!

And now that all this has been said, I cannot emphasize enough Tolkien’s “near obsession” with the rewriting of the character of Galadriel ; he reshaped the character a lot of times after the publication of The Lord of the Rings; some texts are simply incompatible, and it would be purely vain to try to give a fixed, definitive depiction of her.

I’ll put a final period to this quote (source) :

”Whatever the reasons, the great importance that Galadriel had for Tolkien throughout the many iterations of his legendarium and in his reflections on his sub creation should lay to rest any criticism that he paid little attention to female characters in his work.”

#galadriel #finrod #lotr #aragorn #The Silmarillion #arwen #jrr tolkien #beren #luthien #lord of the rings #house of finarfin #wow #I'm so sorry if this mess is illegible #I hope this is not too confusing T.T #I tries my best T.T #ooc

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ask-de-writer · 5 years ago

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LOST TIME (part 1 of 3) A fantasy of Flocking Bay.

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to Flocking Bay

LOST TIME

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

5556 words

written 2003

Reproduction in any form, physical, electronic or digital is prohibited without the express written consent of the author or proper copyright holder.

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Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights. They may reblog the story. They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions. I will allow those who do commission art works to charge for their images.

All sorts of Fan Activity, fiction, art, cosplay, music or anything else is ACTIVELY encouraged!

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It stands out even in the dark ... It shouldn’t. It’s just a house. A damned old house. Not even that old really, not for New England. It’s a two story salt-box style with an observation deck under a cupola at the peak. It is probably just the setting. Rusty old iron fence, gnarled elderly trees, unkempt lawn not quite out of control, windows that the neighborhood kids haven’t broken. It should be a witch’s house but it isn’t. It is mine. I just closed on it yesterday.

The kids are going to have a field day this time. I don’t like the daylight... been on night shift as far back as I can remember. That’s a longish way back. But I’m not a witch, nor vampire. Nothing exotic that I know of. I’m just one of those people (you probably know one or two) who don’t show their age. If you envy me, think again. YOU try to explain to a traffic cop why your ID has you pegged for seventy+ and you don’t look over twenty. I carry a copy of my fingerprint record from the military, because they can check that.

Funny part of it is, I really don’t have the slightest idea how old I am. Traumatic amnesia the doctors called it, during the war. The head wound was minor, they said.

That is a matter of opinion. It robbed me of my past, my name, my identity, my loves and hates but left my skills intact. I was an empty shell. I am still trying to find my past.

The name that I use comes from more or less modern myth. Vandervekken. The Flying Dutchman. Wandering Dutchman would be more accurate. He sails the seas off the Cape of Good Hope until Judgment Day. He can’t find his home either. I bought the house because it is the first place that I have seen in over fifty years where I want to stay. You explain it.

The rusty gate opened silently, thanks to the bit of oil that I put on the hinges. Going up the uneven walk, between the looming trees is an experience. The door lock is old-fashioned but still works smoothly. Covered furniture could have made ghosts to haunt the place, if I were superstitious or given to being easily frightened.

As I said, I like the night. I even enjoy things with a bit of a spooky atmosphere. I also like antiques and handcrafted things which is why, if I ever find out who did it, I will cheerfully throttle whatever philistine covered the finely inlaid hardwood parquetry floors with battleship gray paint.

Stripping and refinishing those floors was on my priority job list. Actually, I shouldn’t beef too much. Pointing out the problem got me a price reduction of nearly $2000 on an already underpriced house with all of its furniture as part of the deal. Estates can be wonderful when you are on a tight budget. Too bad that someone else had to die to create my good fortune.

As I pulled the dust covers from the furniture, I saw that my good fortune was been complete. It was all sturdy, hand-carved hardwood with Chinese silk brocade upholstery. The furniture alone was worth what I had paid for the house and contents. The tops of even the smallest hall tables were inlaid with rich veneers, ivory and mother of pearl. You couldn’t buy furniture like this any more. Besides the cost, the ivory in the inlays is no longer legal to obtain. I could get as much from the sale of just one or two pieces as I could from a year of writing if I could bring myself to part with any of this treasure. It just feels like the house would not be complete without it.

Whoever it was that had died and left this for me to have has whatever blessings it is in my power to bestow. The only wonder is that this place stayed on the market long enough for me to find it. Usually, deals like this get snapped up by the real-estate brokers before people like me ever see them.

When I got to the kitchen, I received another little jolt. I knew that it was fairly up to date, but some thoughtful soul had stocked the fridge and set out a bit of a snack for me. Just cookies and a glass for the milk, which was staying cold in the cooler. Thoughtful. I wondered who did it.

While munching on the cookies, I opened a few windows to air the place out a bit. Going out to my car, I saw that the flags of the walk needed leveling because of the weeds that grew up between them. I drove around to the alley behind the place, opened the garage and parked Lilitu, my classic pre-war Packard touring car. She looked right at home in there. Few, even of modern garages were big enough for her. I ferried my few personal goods up to the house. On my last trip, I saw a couple of wide-eyed kids looking over the back fence.

“Told ya, told ya so!” one of them chanted. “There’s somebody sneakin’ inta the ol’ Vekin place!”

“I wouldn’t call it sneaking, to move into your own place,” I answered as civilly as I could manage. “I just bought it. Why do you call it the Vekin place?”

“If ya ain’t sneakin’, why ya goin’ in the back way? An’ after dark, too?” she shot back. I could now see that they were a girl and a boy. She was obviously in charge.

“I like nights. I’m a writer, so I can keep any hours I like. Why is it the Vekin place?” I asked again.

“Dun’no - Crazy guy named Vekin used to live there,” she contradicted herself.

“Lot of folks tried to buy the place since then,” the boy piped in.

“But nobody ever stays,” the girl finished for him firmly.

“So, this is the neighborhood’s haunted house?” I inquired jovially.

“No,” was as far as the boy got.

“Its down the street, on t’other side,” she cut in.

“I looked at that one,” I said thoughtfully. “The old Victorian. Somebody’s broken out all the windows. Not like here. If the Vekin house is so bad, why hasn’t some kid chucked rocks at it?”

“‘Cause we’re not THAT crazy!” exclaimed The boy, getting out a whole thought. The girl gave him a push, and they ran off into the night.

I got up about noon, after the most restful night’s sleep that I’d had since the War. After my breakfast and a quiet tour of the place from attic to basement, I went out. My goal was the local newspaper. THE FLOCKING BAY VOICE was sprawled across the plate glass window in Old English style letters of gold leaf and black. Smaller letters proclaimed Est. 1841. I pushed open the door. My nose was assaulted by the multiple odors of printer’s ink, paper and grease. The VOICE occupied one large room. An elderly web press crouched at the back of the space, behind several rolls of newsprint. Cubicles made offices in the middle of the room. An old oak counter that had once seen duty as a bar had several signs suspended over it on thin chains. They read ‘submissions’, ‘advertisements’, ‘subscriptions’, ‘billing’.

There was a bell on the counter. Some wag had put a sign on it, “Please ring bell, it won’t help but it will give you something to do.” I gave myself something to do, energetically, a few times.

A trim little blond lady answered the bell’s summons. She wore a green eyeshade and a pin on her sweater announced, ‘Lois Martin - cook, bottle washer & EDITOR in CHIEF.’ “What can I do for you, today?” she asked.

“I came to see what I can find out about the Vekin place,” I answered, trying not to stare at her.

“Just a moment, I’ll get the file out of the morgue. I was going to get it anyway. Somebody went and bought the place again.”

“Wait a minute,” I protested. “Someone buys a house and that makes news in Flocking Bay? This town must be even quieter than it looks.”

“Oh,” she retorted, “it can get downright interesting around here when the old Vekin place sells. You’ll see.” She disappeared among the cubicles and I heard her feet clattering down a flight of stairs. I heard a file drawer creak and slide, then slam shut. It wasn’t long before she reappeared, a rather fat file clutched in her hand.

“If you’d like, we can have lunch over at Mike’s Soda Shop,” she proposed. “He makes decent submarine sandwiches and real ice-cream sodas.”

“Well ... ” I pretended to hesitate, “I haven’t been invited out by a beautiful blond in a long time, so, yes.”

“I hope that I haven’t just made a fool of myself,” she remarked, laying aside the eyeshade. “You are Mr. Vandervekken aren’t you? The man who just bought the place?”

“Too true,” I said.

“Then I’ll make it an interview and deduct it from my taxes,” she smiled.

“You make enough to pay taxes?” I asked, looking back as we crossed the street.

“I have hidden assets. The paper is a tax shelter.” She opened the door of Mike’s and ushered me in.

As I was seating her, I just couldn’t help blurting out, “Your assets seem to be pretty obvious.”

She grinned, “Go ahead and stare. I don’t mind. If I did, I wouldn’t wear a snug sweater and put my pin just here.” She pointed, then added, “Looking at it will keep you off your guard while I ask my questions.”

“OK, Ms. Martin, but let me look at the file first. You can order for me. You know the food here,” I said, reaching for the file.

“Lois,” she replied, “call me Lois, everyone else does.” Then she hollered to the man behind the counter, “Oh, Mike! Two butterscotch sodas and a big turkey sub! Divide it in half!”

“How did you know that I liked butterscotch?” I asked. “It’s not that common a preference these days.”

“I just had a hunch, that’s all. You looked like another butterscotch type person.”

I was leafing through the file on the rather beat-up table while we waited. I couldn’t resist snorting with amusement at the name of the house’s builder. Capt. Von Der Vekin. The house had been built in 1894 by the Capt. and his elusive son, Charles. Nobody had ever seen Charles until he came into town, on April 1st, 1900, to report his father’s demise and burial on the property. He ordered a headstone hewn of the local limestone. Charles had returned from WW I with honors and lived quietly, claiming to be a writer, though nobody ever saw any of his work in print. When asked, all that he would say was ‘Pseudonyms are great for privacy’. He was not so lucky when he volunteered to assist the French resistance in 1939. He never came home.

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#LOST TIME #Part 1 of 3 #Flocking Bay #Written by De Writer

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