#you do a magical job with those scripts and don’t you ever think otherwise

[silacynthia]

Happy Birthday, Red!!

I don’t have a crossword this time but I do have some art

[maxwell-grant]

What are your thoughts on Jekyll/Hyde and his archetype of the human periodically changing into a monster ?

Jekyll & Hyde was the 2nd horror story I read following Frankenstein, I got it off the same library and it always stuck very strongly with me even before I got into horror in general. I even dressed up as Jekyll/Hyde as a kid for a school fair by shredding a lab coat on one side and asking my sister to make-up claw gashes on my exposed arm and paint half of my face, although in hindsight I think I ended up looking more like Doctor Two-Face than Jekyll/Hyde, but I was 12 and didn't have any Victorian clothing to use so I had to make do. The first film project I tried doing at film school was intended to be a modern take on Jekyll & Hyde, and I didn't get much farther than a couple of discarded scripts

Much like Frankenstein, Mr Hyde as a character and a story is something that's kind of baked into everything I do artistically. And it's not just me, as even in pop culture itself, none of us can escape Mr Hyde. I would go so far as to argue Mr Hyde may be the single most significant character created by victorian fiction, if only by the sheer impact and legacy the character's had.

(Fan-art by guilhermefranco)

Part of what makes Mr Hyde such a powerful and lasting icon of pop culture is that the very premise of the book invites a personal reading that's gonna vary from person to person. Because everyone's familiar with the basic twist of the story, that it's a conflict of duality, of the good and evil sides, but everyone has a more personal idea of what those entail. Some people make the story more about class. A lot of readings laser-focus on sex and lust as the driving force, and there's also a lot of readings of Mr Hyde that tackle it to explore a more gendered perspective, and so forth.

I don't particularly take much notice of the Jekyll & Hyde adaptations partially because the novel's premise and themes have become baked so throughly into pop culture and explored in so many different and interesting ways, that I'm not particularly starving for good Jekyll & Hyde adaptations the way I am for Dracula and Frankenstein. The Fredric March film in particular is one that orbits my head less because of the film itself (although I do recommend it), but because of one specific scene, and that's when Jekyll first transforms into Hyde on screen.

Out of all the things they could have shown him doing right that second, they instead took the time to show him enjoying the rain.

Just Hyde taking off his hat and letting it all cascade on his face with this sheer enthusiasm like he's never been to the rain before, never enjoyed it before, and now that he's free from being Jekyll, he gets to enjoy life like he never has before. It's such an oddly humanizing moment to put amidst a horror movie, in the scene where you're ostensibly introducing the monster to the audience, and it makes such a stark contrast to the rest of the film where Hyde is completely irredeemable, but I think it's that contrast that makes the film's take on Hyde work so well even with it's diverging from the source material, even if I don't particularly like in general interpretations of Hyde that are focused on a sexual aspect.

Because one, it understands that Jekyll was fundamentally a self-serving coward and not a paragon of goodness, and two, it also understands one of the things that makes Hyde scary: He wants what all of us want, to live and be happy. He's happy when he leaves the lab and dances around in the rain like a giddy child, he's happy when he goes to places Jekyll couldn't dream of showing up, he's happy as a showgirl-abusing sexual predator. Hyde is all wants, all the time, and there's not that much difference between his wants, his domineering possessiveness, and the likes exhibited by Muriel's father and Jekyll's own within the very same film, which also works to emphasize one of the other ideas of the original story, that Edward Hyde doesn't come from nowhere. That no monster is closer to humanity than Mr Hyde, because he is us. He is the thing that Jekyll refused to take responsability for until it was too late.

(Art by LorenzoMastroianni)

While many of the ideas that defined Mr Hyde had already been explored in pop culture beforehand, Hyde popularized and redefined many of them in particular by modernizing the idea. He was the werewolf, the doppelganger, The Player On The Other Side, except he came from within. He was not transformed by circumstance, he made himself that way, and the elixir merely brought out something already inside his soul. To acknowledge that he's there is to acknowledge that he is you, and to not do that is to either lose to him, or perish. Hyde was there to address both the rot settling in Victorian society as well as grappling concerns over Darwinian heritage, of the realization that man has always had the beast inside of him (it's no accident that Hyde's main method of murder is by clubbing people to death with his cane like a caveman).

I've already argued on my post about Tarzan that the Wild Man archetype, beginning with Enkidu of The Epic of Gilgamesh, is the in-between man and beast, between superhero and monster, and that Mr Hyde is an essential component of the superhero's trajectory, as the creature split in between. That stories about dual personalities, doppelgangers, the duality of the soul, the hero with a day job and an after dark career, you can pinpoint Hyde as a turning point in how all of these solidified gradually in pop culture. And I've argued otherwise that The Punisher, for all that his image and narrative points otherwise, is ultimately just as much of a superhero as the rest of them, even if no one wants to admit it, drawing a parallel between The Punisher and Mr Hyde. And he's far from the only modern character that can invite this kind of parallel.

The idea of a regular person periodically or permanently transforming into, or revealing itself to be, something extraordinary and fantastic and scary, grappling with the divide it causes in their soul, and questions whether it's a new development or merely the truest parts of themselves coming to light at last, and the effects this transformation has for good and bad alike. The idea of a potent, dangerous, unpredictable enemy who ultimately is you, or at least a facet of you and what you can do. That these are bound to destroy each other if not reconciled with or overcome.

You know what are my thoughts on the archetype of "human periodically changing into a monster" are? Look around you and you're gonna see the myriad ways The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde's themes have manifested in the century and a half since the story's release. Why it shouldn't be any surprise whatsoever that Mr Hyde has become such an integral part of pop culture, in it's heroes and monsters alike. Why we can never escape Mr Hyde, just as Jekyll never could.

It is Nixon himself who represents that dark, venal and incurably violent side of the American character that almost every country in the world has learned to fear and despise. Our Barbie-doll president, with his Barbie-doll wife and his boxful of Barbie-doll children is also America's answer to the monstrous Mr. Hyde.

He speaks for the Werewolf in us; the bully, the predatory shyster who turns into something unspeakable, full of claws and bleeding string-warts on nights when the moon comes too close… - Hunter S. Thompson

There is a scene in the movie Pulp Fiction that explains almost every terrible thing happening in the news today. And it's not the scene where Ving Rhames shoots that guy's dick off. It's the part where the hit man played by John Travolta is talking about how somebody vandalized his car, and says this:

"Boy, I wish I could've caught him doing it. I'd have given anything to catch that asshole doing it. It'd been worth him doing it, just so I could've caught him doing it."

That last sentence is something everyone should understand about mankind. After all, the statement is completely illogical -- revenge is supposed to be about righting a wrong. But he wants to be wronged, specifically so he'll have an excuse to get revenge. We all do.

Why else would we love a good revenge movie? We sit in a theater and watch Liam Neeson's daughter get kidnapped. We're not sad about it, because we know he's a badass and he finally has permission to be awesome. Not a single person in that theater was rooting for it to all be an innocent misunderstanding. We wanted Liam to be wronged, because we wanted to see him kick ass. It's why so many people walk around with vigilante fantasies in their heads.

Long, long ago, the people in charge figured out that the easiest and most reliable way to bind a society together was by controlling and channeling our hate addiction. That's the reason why seeing hurricane wreckage on the news makes us mumble "That's sad" and maybe donate a few bucks to the Red Cross hurricane fund, while 9/11 sends us into a decade-long trillion-dollar rage that leaves the Middle East in flames.

The former was caused by wind; the latter was caused by monsters. The former makes us kind of bummed out; the latter gets us high.

It's easy to blame the news media for pumping us full of stories of mass shootings and kidnapped children, but that's stopping one step short of the answer: The media just gives us what we want. And what we want is to think we're beset on all sides by monsters.

The really popular stories will always feature monsters that are as different from us as possible. Think about Star Wars -- what real shithead has ever referred to himself as being on "the dark side"? In Harry Potter and countless fantasy universes, you have wizards working in "black magic" and the "dark arts." Can you imagine a scientist developing some technology for chemical weapons or invasive advertising openly thinking of what he does as "dark science"? Can you imagine a real world leader naming his headquarters "The Death Star" or "Mount Doom"?

Of course not. But we need to believe that evil people know they're evil, or else that would open the door to the fact that we might be evil without knowing it. I mean, sure, maybe we've bought chocolate that was made using child slaves or driven cars that poisoned the air, but we didn't do it to be evil -- we were simply doing whatever we felt like and ignoring the consequences. Not like Hitler and the bankers who ruined the economy and those people who burned the kittens -- they wake up every day intentionally dreaming up new evils to create. It's not like Hitler actually thought he was saving the world.

So no matter how many times you vote to cut food stamps and then use the money to buy a boat, you could still be way worse. You could, after all, be one of those murdering / lazy / ignorant / greedy / oppressive monsters that you know the world is full of, and that only your awesome moral code prevents you from turning into at any moment. And those monsters are out there.

They have to be. Because otherwise, we're the monsters - 5 Reasons Humanity Desperately Wants Monsters To Be Real, by Jason Pargin

(Two-Face sequence comes from the end of Batman Annual #14: Eye of the Beholder)

For good or bad, Hyde has become omnipresent. He's a part of our superheroes, he's a part of our supervillains, he's in our monsters. He lives and prattles in our ears, sometimes we need him to survive, and sometimes we become Hyde even when we don't need to, because our survival instincts or base cruelties or desperation brings out the worst in us. Sometimes we can beat him, and sometimes he's not that bad. Sometimes we do need to appease him and listen to what he says, about us and the world around us. And sometimes we need to do so specifically to prove him wrong and beat him again.

But he never, ever goes away, as he so accurately declares in the musical

Do you really think That I would ever let you go...

Do you think I'd ever set you free?

If you do, I'm sad to say It simply isn't so

You will never get away FROM MEEEEEE

(Art by Akreon on Artstation)

[delldarling]

the city is hoarding hearts | arroven

male dragon x gender/body neutral reader 9015 words lemon | mention of drinking alcohol, face riding, size difference, fairly submissive monster, penetrative sex, poetry, touch starved note: behold! my modern epic fantasy universe! this world first appeared back in August for my Patreon Story of the Month, and though I haven’t revisited Arroven again just yet, I did return to this universe for December’s Story of the Month as well. 👀

Magic, despite people's claim to the contrary, is beyond rare these days. No one really claims that it isn’t real, that it didn’t once run rampant with it’s existence. After all, it’s impossible to deny when people have things like the architecture of the North to reference. The towers built into their seaside cliffs, spiraling up like the serpents of old reaching for the sun? Without magic, without gravity spells, and an everlasting charm on those spells, thick enough to double as a coat of paint, the towers would have fallen into the sea by now, dashed against the dark stones jutting out from the deep green waters. Many people, though especially the elves, think that the towers will endure long after the cliffs have crumbled into the water. Floating relics, you’ve heard more than a few people murmur, wonder in their voices, wouldn’t that be something?

Even more common now, there are people the world over that claim they have a spark of magic left still, that they can feel the rhythms of the magical tide flooding back over the world.

She Wakes is written on street corners and thick posters, spray painted on the underside of the colossal Echo Bridge. No matter how often they have workers doing their best to clean the graffiti up, the giant letters are back in place a few days later.

Despite how much you’d like to believe them, as everyone dreams of the rumors, of magic returning, you’ve never put too much stock into the whispered words. Why would you? No matter how often you’ve spent watching wispy clouds streak by your window, no matter how often you’ve taken a moment to reflect on the thought, to nurse a seed of hope… Nothing has ever come of it.

It’s why you keep trying to ignore that heavy ache in the arch of your feet, or the way you keep noticing advertisements for Arroven.

History books and the elderly all say that this is how it starts when magic finally blooms in someone’s blood. There’s an itch. An ache. A constant irritant that starts in your extremities and wriggles into your veins, and then coincidences will start to pile up. Small things, like noticing whenever the clock strikes 11:11 on whatever clock you pass. Or maybe it’s having the luck to switch the radio station to your favorite song without fail, or—

“Stop it,” you mutter to yourself when you spot it. You breath puffs out into the chilly air, adding to the fog lingering in the streets. You kneel, brushing aside some of the fallen damask leaves, their velvety backs clinging to your touch even as you do your best to shake them off. Just barely hidden under their litter is a postcard. Without even glancing at it, you know what you’ll find on the back, but you’re drawn to pick it up anyway, turning it over. It depicts a sprawling city with green undertones, the word Arroven written in a sloping, beautiful script along the bottom of the image. The edges are creased, almost lovingly, and there’s a small puncture hole at the top left corner, as if someone had it pinned to a corkboard for no short amount of time. 

Until this moment, you haven’t picked up any of the advertisements for Arroven. The stories all say that you can ignore it, that the magic will go away and fade from you like an ebbing tide if you only will it hard enough, but… You don’t know that you really want it to leave. Those seeds have hope might not have fully sprouted, but their roots have run deep, snaking through your veins. You swallow past the dryness in your throat and turn the postcard over, wonder if you’re going to get an address, or if there are words of encouragement intended for the last owner.

The postcard is faintly yellowed at the edges, but it’s otherwise blank.

You wilt, disappointed, but you don’t throw it back down onto the stones. If you check the railway listings, you’re more than certain that you’ll find a one way trip to Arroven suddenly dirt cheap. The pathway that will lead you there is probably paved with strangely good fortune, more invisible hooks ready to find a secure hold in your heart. You might as well find out if there’s anything to these claims of magic. You have far too much hope shored up in your bones and pumping through your chest not to at least try. 

-

A month later, and you’re starting to believe that whatever magic that led you this far has all but fled. Of course, you’re more than content with where it’s left you, a word rattling around in the back of your brain and clamoring to spill from your lips: home. Arroven feels like home.

It’s not just the city though. It’s your place. It’s the stones that pave the streets and the people that fill them. It’s the smell of bakeries and the faint hint of exhaust. It’s the clean smell of paper and ink from the stationary shop you’d stumbled into on your first night in Arroven, and the proprietor’s barely-there smile. You’d made fast friends with her almost instantly, like it was fate.

Mora, despite her solemn stature, and the vast amount of spiraling tattoos disappearing under the neck of her cleanly pressed shirts, is beyond kind. She possesses a startling, sparkling wit that leaves a smile lingering on your lips whenever you think of her snappy little comments. She’d given you a job in her shop a few days after you’d first arrived, perking up as soon as you’d come back into her shop. She needed a cashier, so she could have more time to develop her own inks, and then a few days after that you literally stumbled onto a showing of a furnished apartment. It had fit all of your needs, and your shoes had sunk into the plush carpet of the bedroom, like a quiet voice in the place asking you to stay.

The ache in your feet had eased, that strange little irritant in the back of your mind fading with every passing day. You haven’t put too much thought into magic since then, as there hasn’t been a reason when you have a new job to keep you busy, and a city to explore on your days off. You love it here, the sea green patina on the copper statues, the swirling architecture that extends to every building in the city, no matter how large or small. Besides, you know if you go looking into magic again, at the message boards or if you go hunting down books, it’s likely that they’ll all say much the same thing: She Wakes, and her gift will blossom in you, but not Forever. She moves us like pawns, adjusting us Just So, no matter how small the slot She needs filled. 

You’ve read it all before, have heard debates shouted in the streets or argued about in the back corner of classrooms. Magic moves through people as it wills, and no amount of pleading will keep it in you unless you’re a mage, and even then, that takes years of study. If the magic that led you here only existed long enough for you to make your home? Then you’ll have to be satisfied with that.

And you are, until that ache in your feet starts up again.

Late one evening, as you’re locking the back door of Rumoura’s, it floods through you fast enough to steal your breath. There’s no voice, no heavy hand on your shoulder, just a fierce pain that wells, threatening to bring tears to your eyes, until you turn to the right. You blink, surprise at the sudden and complete lack of pain, and take a ragged breath as you pocket the key to the door. When you feel steady enough, when your lungs no longer ache, you turn to the right and start walking.It takes you about ten minutes to realize you’re headed towards the main park, the one with ancient ruins of a half finished serpent tower peppered throughout its boundaries. You’ve walked through once, one golden afternoon with Mora, and you’ve been meaning to come back sometime on your lunch break. The past few days have been busy though, with a flood of students coming back to Arroven, stocking up on both casual and serious supplies from Mora’s shop.

Besides, there’s always been time to explore at your leisure now that you’re living here. 

Two towering trees make a grand arch over the park entrance, and the slow swirl of damask leaves spiraling down from the branches make you laugh.

“Coincidence,” you murmur, a small smile curling your lips, and you walk into the park. The paths are well lit, even this late in the evening. This part of the city doesn’t boast about it’s lack of crime, but most people feel it. There always seems to be groups of people roaming: Elven tourists, hooking arms and laughing over cups of tea and coffee, Orcish artists and musicians, setting up on benches or street corners, busking for the simple sake of sharing their art with others. You wander through the park, expecting to simply take in the sights among the meandering attendees, but.. You haven’t seen anyone for the past few minutes. Your footsteps start to slow, wondering if you missed a sign somewhere and you have the nagging feeling that you just need to find someone.

Cautiously, you keep moving, the sudden bout of nervousness easing when you see someone up ahead. They’re sitting at the foot of one of the rather large blocks of toppled variscite, a dark hoodie hiding their face. Their shoulders are broad, and their clothes are a little more ragged than you see on people around here, but it gives off more of a well lived look than a dangerous one. They’re tapping the toes of their boots together, the tread of them worn smooth, and a low, masculine hum reaches your ears the closer you get. He stops as soon as you’re within speaking range though, crossing his legs and leaning his elbows on his knees. There’s a street lamp not too far behind him, and with the hood and the angle of the light, it casts most of his face in shadow. All you can spy is a pair of long, thorn-like ear gauges, curling out from the depths of his hood. They’re bigger around than a thimble and sharp looking from this far away. 

“Nice evening, hm?” You say in greeting, hoping that if he doesn’t want to speak, he’ll just bob his head and let you move along. You haven’t run into any trouble in Arroven yet, but even with that strange ache, you don’t know that you can see your good luck lasting forever.

“A lovely one,” he mumbles and he leans back, hands grabbing at his knees and squeezing like he’s the nervous one.

That thought makes you stop, your eyes focusing a bit more intensely on what you can see of his skin. At first glance, his knuckles are bruised and paint splattered, nails split and a little too long, skin rough in texture. You blink, realizing that his knuckles aren’t bruised, his skin just mirrors the strange patterns of the variscite he’s sitting on, ink black and sea green, and the rough texture to his skin has pointy, scalloped edges.

The noise he makes isn’t a sigh, not quite, but he turns his face away, as if he expects you to ignore him, or run, and his hood edges back, just a sliver. The arch of his nose is straight as an arrow, and his nostrils are thin things, slashing upwards. His face has so many angles that it’s hard to tear your gaze away. You wish you could see his eyes, but he has them closed, like he’s still bracing himself for a blow.

“Are you.. Are you alright?” You ask, because it seems like the thing to say, with how tense he is, with how he’s waiting.

His eyes flash open, reflective in the depths of his hood. His mouth curls into a frown when he turns to look at you again. His eyes are still the eerie glam of a reflected light. “You’re not frightened?”

“Are you?” You ask, ignoring the thundering of your own heart. You’ve seen Trolls before, and even a few half-elves or half-orcs of varying descent, with skin that just barely reminds you of his, but.. You’re willing to bet he isn’t any of those. 

“A bit?” He says, unsure, and the edge of a violet tongue flicks out to wet his lower lip. “It’s been a few centuries since any of you have made yourself so at home here that you stumbled across me.” He hunches his shoulders, looking away from you for the breadth of a second, before he can’t help himself. His eyes flick back to you, rove over you from head to toe, almost greedily. “You felt a call then, an itch?”

“An ache,” you correct, staring at him with wide eyes. Centuries? The long lived races don’t often mention the time they have over others. It’s rude at the best of times, and most of them are terrible sticklers for manners. 

“At home here, you said?” You ask, knowing that something about him seems terribly familiar. 

Your question makes him pause, brow lifting before he finally pushes himself to his feet. He unfolds, all long, heavy limbs, but doesn’t move from his spot on the variscite. “M-.. Arroven. You do think of the city as home?” He breathes in, hesitantly lifting his chin. “Not to be rude,” he says, a little awkwardly, “but you smell like Arroven.”

All at once, the old poem flickers back into your mind, the one about hearts and desires and winter. The oldest folktales of the first cities, those built around the serpent towers, all seemed to carry the poem with them. It was both a warning and a blessing to those that wished to stay. You’d have to hunt down the entirety of it, but the ending couplet?  

The city promises, you’ll be most adored So can you, will you, join the hoard?

You bite down fiercely on the desire to blurt out dragon, but he must sense it, might even see the aborted twist of your lips. 

“..you’ve figured it out, then?” He asks, and when his shoulders droop, you spy the barest edge of a wing, tucked in close to his back. “If being in my immediate vicinity is a problem, I quite understand, but please stay in the city. You-” He blows out a breath, large hands fussing about with his hoodie pocket. Everything about him reads awkward, almost shy. “You’re safe here, I promise.” He breathes in again, like he can’t resist, eyes falling closed when his violet tongue appears, there and gone before you can blink. “You belong,” he murmurs and tangles his fingers in the material of his hoodie, like he would reach out if he didn’t stop himself.

Inexplicably, you wonder if Mora knows about the city patron. If you should waltz into the shop tomorrow and announce: I’ve officially been welcomed to the hoard.  ...Sort of. Before you lose your nerve, before you can bite your tongue, you ask. “An official welcome involves more drinks though, doesn’t it?”

-Arroven, the dragon, the founder of the city, is sitting across the table from you, slouching in a barstool that has a difficult time encompassing his enormous body. Despite his height, and the way his hood shadows his face in a frankly ominous way, no one is paying him any attention. One of the bartender’s had slid a drink list your way as soon as you’d claimed the seats, but she hadn’t even glanced at Arroven. In fact, you think her eyes might have skipped right over his seat. It’s a little disconcerting, seeing as he’d claimed that Wink was one of the best bars around, but if they ignore him, if they can’t see him?

“What’ll it be?” A different bartender asks, a tall elf, with his hair plaited back in a complicated braid. He has pleasant features, though he looks a little flustered, a lock or two of dark hair escaping his braid. You think he might be on the newer end when he fumbles a bit with the card you slide his way, olive skin flushing when his fingers nearly touch yours.  

“Uh, the special,” you finally decide, expecting him to turn to Arroven so he can order as well. Your jaw drops when he whirls, not even bothering. “Ar- hey, wait!” 

The elf turns back, smiling vaguely, looking even more tense now that he can’t leave straight off, but he doesn’t seem to see Arroven when you gesture towards him. His gaze zips right through the neckline of Arroven's hoodie, straight on through to the next customer. 

Perturbed, you lean in close to Arroven, heart skipping a beat due to his proximity. He smells faintly of musty books, and stone, cooling in the early evening after baking in the sunshine of a warm day. "Didn’t you want something?” You force yourself to ask, unwilling to let the elf leave without at least checking with him first. He doesn’t have to get anything, but you’d hoped he would, if only so you can spend a while longer in his company. Maybe the flirtatious tone you’d struck had made him uncomfortable?

For a moment Arroven hunches further into his sweatshirt, and you think your fears might hold weight. You are a little close, and you still don’t know each other terribly well yet. You straighten, hoping you don’t look as embarrassed as you feel and Arroven heaves out a sigh. He finally tugs back his hood, though the elf behind the bar doesn’t even blink. “Just a.. a Beetle Wing," he mutters, large, sharp teeth catching the light. The elf nods, though his gaze is still on you when Arroven speaks, and turns away to go make the drinks. 

Without the darkness of night, without his hood shadowing his face, you see that his eyes aren’t permanently reflective. In the dim lights of the bar, they’re a lovely shade of blue-green that matches well with his skin. What you thought were ear gauges were actually his horns, thick and curving, and trailing after the clean arch of his jaw. His ears are heavy with plugs though, and they clink against his horns when he turns, noticing that you’re staring. The scent of hot stone grows stronger when you smile at him, and then he huffs, looking away and running a hand through his already tousled, short dark hair. You catch sight of scales on his scalp and then blink. It’s not hair on his head, it’s feathers. His eyebrows are much the same, in miniature. Fine, thin feathers, as ink dark as the scalloped edges of his scales. 

“So,” you tease, hoping your questions won’t come off as prying. “Can the rest of the people in here see you at all? You said that it’d been a while since anyone had felt at home enough here to stumble across you, but.. I don’t know exactly if that means Magicis is at work, or something else.”

Arroven breathes in, glancing up at the filigreed round sign hanging over the bar. There’s a single neon eye in the middle, opening and closing on loop under the word WINK. Even with the noise of people talking, and the music coming steadily from the small corner of a dance floor, you can still hear the faint buzz and click of the neon switching over. “Not many,” he finally confesses. “If the proprietor were here, she would see me, but she’s been here for a.. For a while.” She’s one of the long lived races then. Arroven turns, taking a quick look over the other patrons, tense, as if he expects one of them to approach. “The couple near the dance floor there,” he finally says, pointing out two women leaning into each other, stealing sips of each other’s drinks. “The orcish fellow on his phone. They can see me, though I doubt they’ll realize who I am. Just living here doesn’t make someone part of the hoard, though it’s always a step in the right direction.” For a second, he looks like he might let the subject drop, but then he cringes, glancing at your eyes before he looks away. “I don’t- I don’t steal from the people living here, whether they’re part of my hoard or not, even if they don’t realize I’m around. Even if they can’t see me.”

That’s reassuring, though you hadn’t planned on diving into that topic.

“What then,” you ask, leaning your chin in the palm of your hand, and your elbow on the bar, “makes someone part of your hoard?” 

Arroven’s rough looking scales don’t shine, but the neon light over the both of you shifts again from blue, to pink, and back. It was already hard for you to take your eyes off of him, knowing who he is, attracted to the nervous quirk of his lips, but now? The magic that you’ve only ever felt the after effects of, the strange aches and coincidences, it feels like more in this moment. More than a soft nudge in the correct direction. Arroven is sitting at your side, winking neon sign a spotlight over both your heads.

Hesitant, like he’s waiting for you to stop him, Arroven lifts his hand, reaching out, and taps once, softly, against your sternum. “It sounds esoteric, but the only explanation I have is that all of you feels like you should be here. From the way you smell, to the echoes of your voice or your footsteps along the pavement...” Arroven swallows, and then inhales, letting his hand fall away from your chest as his eyes close. He doesn’t pull his hand back completely though, just lets his hand hover over your thigh. “It’s always the desires of the heart that bring my hoard home,” he murmurs and starts to sway towards you.

There’s a soft clink on the bar, your drinks being set carefully in front of you and Arroven. When you look, the bartender still hasn’t noticed the city patron, the dragon, but the drink is still clearly set aside for him. Your card is placed very quickly next to your glass, the elf flashing you a much more jovial smile than earlier. 

“Your drink has been taken care of,” he explains, but doesn’t stay behind to point out who might have bought them. When you look, Arroven is sitting straight up in his seat, and his guilty expression is answer enough.

“I was supposed to be welcoming you to the city,” he murmurs, turning in his stool so he can take hold of his glass. The liquid inside is iridescent, shifting from what looks like violet, to a strange umber. You’re willing to bet that it’s more blue and green, but the neon light isn’t doing it too many favors. Arroven lifts his cup, patiently waiting for you to do the same and then quietly toasts your arrival. The clink of the glasses rings in your ears with the clarity of a bell, echoes lasting far longer than the noise itself.

“Goodness,” you say, coughing when you finish your swallow. Your drink is a little stronger than you thought it would be, heat already spiralling down into your chest and filling your belly. “So, uh, the city blessings seem to be true, I take it?” You don’t look at him as you speak, afraid he’ll cringe away from the mention of them.

“Blessings?” Arroven asks, and then you have to search up the poem. He sounds like he doesn't know, but they're supposed to be as old as the cities. Or near as.

“Sometimes they vary, from city to city. But most of the time they have almost the same structure. The same meaning,” you explain, pulling up the poem on your phone. “Hoarding hearts, keeping people safe in winter. The, uh-” You turn it his way, but he doesn’t take the phone from you, just reads the words out of the palm of your hand, brows raised by the time he gets to the end.

“‘Sinking talons into your thighs?’” Arroven’s slit pupils grow wide, nearly drowning his iris in darkness. He straightens, taking another hasty gulp of his drink. He laughs when he’s finished, nerves finally beginning to ease. “That’s how they’re translating it these days?” He asks, but you notice his eyes lingering on your hands, drifting down to your knees and the way you’re sitting. 

You pass a good portion of the evening, teetering back and forth with conversation about the city now, and how it was when Arroven had first settled. For all that he’s wearing modern clothes and walking on two feet, you can see him in a larger, more draconic figure, delving into the variscite mines and overseeing the people that had decided to settle under his watch.  

He’s just as enthralled with your stories though, hanging onto your every word, even though he’s still clearly a little anxious. He abandons his hunched and wary demeanor as soon as you start talking about the magic though. All the little aches and nudges and postcards that had led a clear path to his city. To him.

You insist on buying the next round when he makes to wave down the bartender, who is still completely oblivious to his presence, but Arroven stops you with a hand on your wrist. 

"Another time," he says, just loud enough for you to hear. "A welcome isn't a single round, is it?" He asks, a tentative smile revealing a small glimpse of those sharp teeth.

You could argue. You have the feeling that he would let it go if you pushed, but the smile sways you. It's the first time he's spoken without lowering his eyes mid sentence. You accept the drink, and try not to stare when his smile grows, shy and small and all the more endearing for it.

You both pretend not to notice each other grinning after that.

It’s just past 1 AM by the time the both of you leave the bar, only slightly unsteady after a few drinks and a few plates of bar food. Warmth floods you when Arroven’s hand finds your elbow, just barely keeping you from stumbling off the edge of the sidewalk and into the street. All it takes is a single stroke of his thumb over your arm for you to throw aside any worries you might have about flirting. 

He's reciprocated, in quiet ways, for the last hour or so. He’s leaned into you whenever you lowered your voice, had let his eyes linger on your hands and thighs after you brought up the poem.. The worst thing he can do is say no.

“Come to my place?” You blurt and Arroven stutters, hand spasming in his grip on your arm. For a heart wrenching moment, you think he might turn you down, but he finally bobs his head, gauges clicking against his horns with the motion. “...You said you’d been out of the loop with the people living here,” you start, mouth dry, wondering if he knows what you’re trying to ask, but still a little too sober to spell it out. “I’m asking, I’m not just asking you to come visit. I-” 

Arroven stops your worried speech with a slightly awkward smile. “I know what you’re getting at,” he finally says with a gentle huff of a laugh, hand sliding down your arm until he can twine his fingers about yours. His breath hitches, and for a moment you think he might stop, might pull away. “I- I would love to,” he says quietly, and squeezes until his fingernails gently prick the back of your hand.

Wordless with triumph, you flash another smile his way, heart pounding as you keep hold of his hand, ventral scales dry, but slick against your palm.

“The walk back to my place is a bit of a long one from here,” you confess, glancing at the handful of cabs loitering along the street. “Seeing as you got the drinks, I can—” You nearly trip over your own feet when Arroven tugs you back, keeping you from approaching any of the cabs. 

“I don’t.. Fit very well,” he says, apologetically. “If you would rather take one, I can, but if you aren’t opposed..” Arroven’s wings, still tucked in flat along his back, quirk and stretch, spreading wide enough that he nearly clips another leaving bar patron in the face. They don’t move, don’t see him, but they blink, as if a gust of wind just hit them, and shield their eyes until they’re well past you and Arroven.

His statement leaves you staring, jaw beginning to grow slack. “Are you saying you can fly us back to my place?” Your eyes trace his wings again, the fragile veins spider webbing across the membranes. It’s not that you thought they were ornamental, but it’s one thing to see them, and another to know you’ll get to witness their use first hand. 

Arroven’s shoulders start to hunch, but his eyes flick down to your hand, fingers still curled around his. He smiles instead. “Yes?” 

You glance at the cabs, and then back to Arroven’s tall figure and broad shoulders. As much as you’d like being pressed up against him, trapped in the backseat of an uncomfortable cab isn’t quite what you’d pictured, and he’s already nervous enough. That settles things. You nod, just the once and lift your chin to meet his eyes. “Flying it is then! We can’t have you getting stuck in one of those, can we?”

While Arroven walks you through how he’s going to pick you up, how he’s going to hold onto you, some of the people on the sidewalk start to watch you. You’re nodding readily at what they assume to be empty air. You spare a second to wonder if they’ll see you vanish, or if they’ll be able to see the equivalent of a magical wind carrying you away. That would cause quite a stir, wouldn't it? You forget to ask Arroven about it though when he holds out his arm, waiting patiently for you to step closer, fingers gentle in their continued grip on your hand. 

He’s still giving you the chance to turn away. 

You take a breath, thinking back to the nerves you’d felt, packing up a bag and deciding to visit somewhere based on coincidences and the hearsay of magic. You think of Mora, and the apartment that feels more like home to you than nearly anything else ever has. The way everything fits here, every piece of the city you've set foot in branded on your brain, clearer than any map. You step close, eagerly letting Arroven curl his arm around your back and then lift you up in a bridal carry. His forearms and biceps tense, bracing you as he prepares, and then the snap of his wings flaring open makes your heart jump before he leaps. His wings catch a sudden breeze swooping into the street, allowing it to lift the both of you well clear of the ground before he starts to flap. The slight dip in elevation as he finds his rhythm makes you clutch a little tighter, but Arroven doesn’t complain. In fact, when you glance at him, he seems to be holding back a smug little smile.  

It’s cold when he finally crests over the top of the nearest buildings. Between the chill, and the fast growing height between you and the ground, you have no issues absolutely clinging to Arroven’s neck. You don't feel like you're going to fall, but it's still safer than sitting meekly in his arms, isn't it? You try to twist your head about to see everything below you, but another rush of cold wind makes you squint. It takes a moment before you realize Arroven isn't moving though, he's simply keeping the both of you suspended in midair.

“Your address?” Arroven asks as soon as you start to frown, his voice rumbling against your ear.

“Ah.” You give it to him, laughing when you meet his still-shy gaze. “I suppose that’s a little important.”

While the walk would have left you both a little tired, the flight is a fairly short one. You have just enough time to relish all the places you’re pressed in close, to enjoy what little warmth you’ve managed to keep with the wind seeping through your clothes, when Arroven lands in front of your quiet building. There are no witnesses but the dim streetlights, the sound of his flapping wings muffled by the mist beginning to roll through the city. Arroven lowers you almost reluctantly, fingers slow to uncurl so you can step down onto the pavement. He takes a step back as soon as you do, like he needs the space between you to think.

“Still up for coming inside?” You ask, giving him the same chance he’d given you earlier. You jerk a thumb at the locked door, searching for your keys with your other hand. 

Arroven’s head jerks forward almost too fast, the dark feathers on his skull prickling upwards. His wings snap closed, tight against his back again as soon as you unlock your door. It’s only mildly nerve wracking, having him follow you up to your place, and you think it might be because of how nervous he’s acting. He flinches away from the wall when he barely brushes it, almost tripping over his own boots as he goes up the stairs. He’s been shy from the get-go, but this-

“Arroven,” you murmur, turning to look up at him, hand pausing on your door handle. “Is something wrong?”

He breathes out, turning his head so the plugs in his earlobes clack against his horns, blue-green eyes roving over the hall. “No,” he says slowly, forcing himself to stop hunching into his hoodie, to take his wringing hangs out of the front pocket. “I’ve just, it’s just that I keep-” He stays where he is, brow furrowing for all of five seconds before he’s huffing and stepping into your space. When Arroven leans down, his pupils are needle thin, that sunshine warm smell suffusing the air. He was summoning up courage, you realize, just in time to let your eyes fall closed as he cradles your jaw with both hands. They dwarf your human face, his fingertips easily reaching all the way to the back of your neck, but his touch may well be the softest thing you’ve ever known. His kiss is more the brush of his mouth over the shape of yours, a slip of a taste when his tongue follows the curve of your lower lip. He hums, softly, but when you kiss him back? When your tongue touches his and you try to stand on your tip-toes to deepen things, when you stumble a step closer—Arroven’s groan is gratifying. Achingly slowly, he draws his hands down the side of your neck, leaving you free to control the pace of the kiss. His thumbs trace your collarbone, slow, deep circles that make you wish you weren’t standing out here, fully clothed and too warm.

You pull away, licking your lips and glancing down the hall. There’s no one there, despite your pulse loud in your ears and your breath heaving, surely loud enough to wake even those in the very depths of sleep. Arroven’s breath hitches, and for a moment he sways, ready to chase you for another kiss. “Wait, wait,” you say softly, trying not to smile too wide when his eyes flicker open, dark pupils growing larger. He starts to straighten, embarrassment lifting his shoulders. “Maybe we should get in my house first?” You rush to say, not wanting to potentially scar one of your neighbors, but not wanting him to rush away either.

His mouth opens on reflex, and then closes, slipping into a gentle smile. “Yes,” he says, and then you have to swallow, watching his eyes slide down to your hands and then further down to your knees.  

You get your door open before he touches you again, but you’re only a few steps inside when Arroven reaches for you. He strokes the back of his knuckles down your forearm, fingertips only barely grazing your hips. “I’ve missed this,” he whispers, one of his fingers catching two of yours. “Touching,” he explains, the edge of his thumbnail stroking over your wrist and the base of your thumb and back. “Being close to, well…” He breathes in when you step into him, and grows as still as a statue when you balance against him, reaching around his middle to swing the front door shut. This close, Arroven still smells of sunshine, but there’s a sweeter, crisper undertone that makes you want to close your eyes to savor it, to breathe it in. He’s nearly vibrating with you pressed close though, hands hovering somewhere over the middle of your back, trying to keep himself still. He’s waiting for you to give him the go ahead, still caught up in his nerves... Or maybe just manners?

You grin, gently pushing yourself back a step before you smooth out your expression. “Part of your hoard?” You wonder aloud, but then you can’t keep yourself straight faced any longer, wanting him to recognize the words for the gentle teasing they are. You smile. “How about you touch me then?”

Arroven huffs, pleased, and then you quickly discover how needy he can be. He kisses you all the way down the hall, his wings nearly catching on picture frames, hands trembling in their stroking over your back. He keeps pausing at the top of your hips, like he wants to let his hands drift lower, but focuses on his mouth instead, mouth and teeth moving from your lips, to your jaw and down to your neck. You don’t think he’s willing to risk going further though, knowing that it would likely end up with both of you unbalanced and on the floor instead of the bed. 

“Distracted?” You ask, reaching blindly around your doorframe, searching for the lightswitch as Arroven’s tongue flickers over the pulse on the left side of your neck. Your own breathing stutters for a moment, heat building in your veins. “You keep-”

Arroven’s breath puffs over the damp patch he’s left on your skin as he lifts his head, violet tongue sliding along the sharp points of his teeth. “Hardly,” Arroven interrupts, and his wings tense when you hook your fingers into the neck of his hoodie, drawing him further into the room. Your fingers find the lightswitch, the soft ring of the bulb lighting strangely loud in the room. “You’re all I can see. All I can focus on. ..am I missing something? Cues?” He asks, voice gone lower when you give his hoodie a fierce tug. He follows, all too willingly, fingers flexing around your hips. 

“Hardly,” you say back, teasing as you back up towards the bed. You pull when you lean back, expecting him to let you fall, to fall with you, but his wings flare again. He catches himself on the blankets, hands to either side of your body, the blue-green of his eyes swallowed by his pupils as he takes the sight of you in. “Still good?” You ask after a moment, because he’s staring, because he hasn’t moved a muscle. 

“Tell me,” Arroven blurts, arms tensing as his fingers twist into the blankets. “Tell me what to do,” he pleads, gaze catching on every sliver of bared skin he can find. “I’m.. finding it a little difficult to think. All I want to do is make you happy, make you want to-” He stops, feathered brows drawing together as he considers his words.

You arch an eyebrow, your hands stilling just shy of his chest. The way he’d hesitated, his flighty touches? they all make a bit more sense now. He’d asked you to stay in the city, had mentioned your belonging here. If you wanted to leave, if you insisted on stopping, Arroven wouldn’t keep you. But he wants you to stay here.

  “Little to no thinking,” you muse, unable to keep from smiling as he hangs onto your every word. “Undress me,” you finally decide, and his nostrils flare before he sets to work. He’s terribly careful, every brush of his scaled knuckles whisper-soft and cool against your skin, but his breathing is ragged by the time he’s finished and your heart has sped in response. You’re tempted to make him undress himself too. In fact, he would probably do just as you asked, but you’re too impatient to get your hands back on him. “Hoodie off,” you declare, half amazed that he’s obeying your whims, “and lay down on the bed.”

Arroven listens immediately, tucking his wings in close before he’s pulling off the hoodie, careful around the curl of his horns and the arch of his wings. He isn’t wearing a shirt, but with his wings, you understand why. Most of those with wings don’t favor mass produced clothes or modern fashion. He’s on the bed before you can finish pushing yourself back up, jeans low on his hips, pale belly and chest all the brighter compared to the black and teal pattern of his scales. His legs spread reflexively when you stand, jeans growing taut when you reach for him. Your hands are steady, even if your pulse isn’t, but Arroven doesn’t seem to care. He looks blissed out from this much touch alone, jaw gone slack, eyelids heavy as you unbutton and unzip his jeans. He exhales when you pull at his jeans, eyes zeroed in on your face.

He’s thicker than he is long, and as pale as his abdomen, save for a violet tinge that makes you think of his tongue. Nestled as he is in the ‘v’ of his unzipped jeans, it’s all you can do to keep yourself from stroking him straight away, or even leaning down to-

“Maybe I can think,” Arroven says hoarsely. He lifts one of his hands, gentleman-like, offering it to you palm up. “Let me?” He asks, though you’re not entirely sure what he wants you to let him do.

Mannerly, you can’t help but think, lips twitching as you place your hand in his. The older races are, generally. It’s something to fall back on if they’re nervous or unsure. Not that most of them would ever admit to it.

“Are you thinking I should leave your boots on?” You get one knee on the bed before you pause, glancing back at his legs still hanging over the edge.

Arroven hums, but his grip on your fingers tightens for a second, not wanting to let go. “I’ll worry about those later,” he says, and then inhales sharply when you straddle his lap, cock pulsing as you settle against him. If he wants to let his jeans tangle around his boots, you’re not going to complain. It’s a bit of a thrill, knowing that he’s too impatient to fuss with them.

“Boots on, then. Now, what am I supposed to let you do?” You lean forward, drawing an aimless, spiraling pattern from his abdomen up to his ribcage. He’s much warmer now, with you astride his thighs and his wings trapped beneath him on the bed. It looks uncomfortable, but he hasn’t mentioned them once.

Hesitant, Arroven’s hold on you loosens, and then his hand drops to your thigh, eyebrows furrowing when he finally speaks. “Sit on my face?”

The brevity of it, the tone of uncertainty, makes your mouth twitch. “Jumping right in there, aren’t we? And here I thought you were kind of shy.”

“I am!” Arroven blurts and then covers his face with one hand, laughing quietly at himself. “I am,” he says, a bit more composed when he lets his hand fall away. “Though shyness has hardly ever been a factor in my favor. What is it humans say? Better to rip off the bandage?”

You crawl halfway up his body, smiling wider when he forgets to breathe. “Had to get the anxiety out of the way?” You brush a kiss over his chin, eyes catching on the curl of his horns. He’s moved so carefully that you’ve yet to feel the sharp points of them catching your skin, but if you sit on his face… You ignore Arroven’s disappointed sigh as you turn away to stroke the pad of your thumb over his right horn, wondering whether he has any feeling in them. They’re as ink dark as some of his scales and twisted in a lovely spiral that perfectly circles his pointed, gauged ears. Arroven isn’t reacting like he has sensation in them, though he reacts to every other little touch of you against his scales. “You’re going to have to help me balance,” you confess, sitting back against his middle. “Because even though they aren’t terribly sharp, I rather think I’ll be risking my thighs. Don’t you?”

Arroven stares, blinking, and then he looks horrified, which makes you wonder how long it’s been since he’s been close to a human, if ever. 

“I’m not against this,” you add, grinning, “just to be clear.”

For a moment, all he says in response is a strangled sounding “Ah,” before he blinks again, glancing up at the ceiling. “I can... I will help. I’ll be careful. More than careful.”

It takes a few moments, and some adjustment, before you’re finally able to settle over his face. Your heart starts to pound a little faster when Arroven opens his mouth, those dagger-like teeth flashing in the dim light. His hands are strong though, curling around your thigh and bracing your hip. He’s too tall for you to do more than help balance against his chest, though you can see that he’s still wonderfully hard, and his cock is starting to leak. You’d love nothing more than to take him in hand, to taste him, but then Arroven nips your inner thigh, and you stop paying attention to his cock and start focusing on sensation. Your fingers curl at the first hot swipe of his tongue, pressing a little hard into the ventral scales over his chest, and the next slow lick has your eyes falling closed. 

It’s not easy to stay steady, to keep your arms and legs from quivering the longer he licks and slurps. Arroven sucks small kisses over your thighs and the left cheek of your ass, his teeth only ever the barest pressure on your skin. His horns graze you, but he’s true to his word in keeping you balanced. The texture of them against your skin is just something more to feel, to enjoy as he tilts his head this way and that. Pleasure builds, faster by far than the magic that built in your veins, that left you aching with the need to come to the city. If that ache had been anything close to what you’re feeling now, warm, and slick, with the heady pressure of Arroven’s fingers on your skin, you would have picked up on the breadcrumb trail a lot sooner.

“You’re go- going to push me over the edge,” you warn with a gasp, legs starting to tremble. He moves you in response, starts to rock your hips so all he has to do is stick out his tongue, but your hands are shaking now too, cluing him into your urgency. Arroven shakes his head from side to side, a little wild, the plugs in his earlobes clattering against his horns with every shift. You bite down on your lower lip, orgasm rolling swiftly over you and nearly choke on the curse that wants to leave your mouth. He keeps you there, aching and weak, until you pat awkwardly at his chest, releasing you reluctantly with one last obscene noise of satisfaction. 

You sit next to him, still a little unsteady and grin down at his pleased, messy face. “Now, unless you have any other lovely thoughts to share - your turn?”  

His rough sounding “Please,” has your libido jumping back into overdrive, but it’s safety that has you slipping off the bed to dig out a bottle of lube from your things. He’s half pushed himself back up when you come back to the bed, resting on his elbows, fingers twisted gently into the blankets. His wings are partially stretched out now too, one of them reaching all the way to the end of your bed. 

“Are your wings alright?” You ask, wondering if you should throw away the idea of climbing back into his lap, lube already pooling in the palm of your hand.  

Arroven smiles again though, waving away your worry. “Tense,” he offers, as explanation. “I was more focused on you, but they’re good. I promise.” His cock bobs as you approach, and then he lays back down, irises vanishing into the ether of his pupils. 

“If you promise, I suppose I’ll let it go.” You close the lube, only a bit ungracefully, and toss it to the side, climbing back onto the bed and straddling his thighs.

  Your first wet squeeze of his cock has him whimpering, your hand barely fitting around him at his thinnest point. When you stroke, he bucks nearly unseating you until he claps his hands onto your thighs, muttering a hasty apology. Despite being tempted to laugh, you narrow your eyes, squeezing him just a little harder. “You don’t have to be still, but move a little slower for now, hm?”

“Of course,” he rushes to say, and then his jaw goes slack when you press him against you. “Oh,” he breathes, nails pricking your skin as you hold him in place. You rub yourself against his cock, up and back down, a slow undulation that makes you tense, still sensitive from your earlier orgasm. 

And then you straighten, pressing the head of his cock into you. The first slow stretch of him inside you echoes the steady ache of magic, has your breath rushing from your lungs in a gasp. “Fuck,” you breathe and then glance at Arroven’s face. His head is tilted back, mouth open to reveal all of those sharp teeth, and his eyes are closed tight. You think he might be keeping himself from looking at you, might be trying to stem the urge to buck again, to move at all. You tilt your hips and press yourself down though, wiggling, and then Arroven is cursing. You don’t recognize the language, but you understand the sentiment behind it, the pleading tone that softens the edges of the words. It’s hard to concentrate, to keep yourself from getting distracted when all you want to do is sink down every inch of him and then just lay on his chest, trying to catch your breath. “Too much?” You manage to ask, but all Arroven does is shake his head and then carefully ease his grip on your thighs, stroking down to your knees and back up. Your legs, among other things, are definitely going to ache after this.

You ride Arroven until he’s a shaking, breathless mess, until he can’t help but tense his thighs every time he bottoms out, and you can barely stay up. You reach up, fingers just barely brushing his chin to make him pay attention. “Fuck me,” you command and his wings stretch to either side with force. You nearly scream when he starts fucking into you with purpose, and as lovely as your neighbors have been, you have the feeling they’re going to complain at some point. Every thrust has you tightening up on reflex, still shaky from your earlier orgasm, and it’s all you can do to keep yourself upright. A few moments later and Arroven arches as he comes inside you, clutching tightly to you until he’s finished, breath deep and rasping. You don’t wait. Carefully you flop down next to him, smiling tiredly against the blankets. You’re not sure your legs will carry you for the next hour or so, but it’s hardly something to complain about. 

“Do you give all newcomers to the hoard such a.. Vigorous welcome?” You ask, laughing, your voice rough, not really expecting him to answer. Even though he’s clearly a little more comfortable, even though he’s been clinging to your skin and he looks wrecked by all the activity. Arroven nearly chokes.

“No,” he says immediately. “Moments like this,” he murmurs, reaching out for you, ventral scales on his palm smooth over the apple of your cheek, “moments like this are few and far between.” There’s a low rumble of noise from him when you roll close to brush another kiss over his lips, eyes fluttering closed. It’s all you can do not to laugh again, not to quote the poem at him or interrupt the soft moment. It still sits in the back of your mind though, sweet and lilting.

the city is hoarding hearts

it draws them in, with coin, with art

reflects their dreams on mirrored glass

sings siren songs to catch them fast

the lights?

they gleam, they glitter, bright

it steals a piece, with every sight

roots get worn

they split, they splinter

'but i'll keep you warm, in the depth of winter'

the city whispers, it cajoles, it cries

it'll sink it's talons into your thighs

it tears, it scrapes, it batters the unwary

but oh, the love it gifts, to those who tarry

the city promises, you'll be most adored

so can you, will you, join the hoard?

[uhlikzsuzsanna]

[Warning: The below contains MAJOR spoilers for Loki Season 1, Episode 5, “Journey Into Mystery.”]

In the penultimate installment of Marvel’s Disney+ series, Loki gave truth to the phrase “the more the merrier,” as several Loki variants made their marvelous debut in The Void at the end of time.

Convening in the literal dumping spot for all things pruned by the TVA, Loki (Tom Hiddleston) met a horde of variants ranging from Classic Loki (Richard E. Grant) and Kid Loki (Jack Veal) to Boastful Loki (Deobia Oparei) and the ever-popular Alligator Loki. The Void is also where he reteams with Mobius (Owen Wilson) and Sylvie (Sophia Di Martino) with the goal of uncovering the truth behind the TVA’s control.

In order to get there though, Classic Loki made the ultimate sacrifice of distracting The Void’s all-powerful Alioth just long enough for Loki and Sylvie to enchant the smoke monster creature. Although brief, Classic Loki’s appearance was certainly impactful. Below, Grant opens up about what drew him to the MCU (Marvel Cinematic Universe) in the first place, his Classic Loki costume, and what it was like working with Tom Hiddleston — a performer he’s admired for years — and fan-favorite Alligator Loki among other things.

What initially drew you to the MCU?

Richard E. Grant: [Tom Hiddleston]… I jumped at it. He has an encyclopedic depth of knowledge of all things Norse and Loki, he was a walking, talking resource. You could ask him anything and he could explain everything with great articulation and he’s passionate about everything. He was very, very informed. So that made it a delight to do.

(Credit: Disney+/Marvel Studios)

And taking that into consideration, Classic Loki is a variant. What direction did you take when tackling the role? Did you refer to the comics or take inspiration from Tom Hiddleston’s role?

Well, I was inspired by Tom and led entirely by what was scripted. I was very struck by the fact that, in one scene, I had to talk about not being the God of Mischief so much as being the God of Outcasts. I thought that that was the key to who he was in this episode, that he is very isolated by living immortally, and that he’s arrested by the TVA when he gives in to his need and desire to have human connection again.

My major disappointment was that I didn’t get to have muscles because in the Jack Kirby drawings and the original sixties comics, and certainly in the costume design that I was given with my face on it, I thought that I was going to be stepping into a muscle suit. I was born without any, so I was fairly rattled that I didn’t have that. I thought, “well, how am I supposed to fight as an Asgardian when I’ve got only my own muscles?” They said, “Don’t worry about that.” It did worry me, and it still worries me.

(Credit: Courtesy of Marvel Studios)

The costume still worked though, something that not many could pull off either. Was it fun getting into that or was the helmet as heavy as it looked?

The helmet is heavy, but more than anything, it was just very tight. But I was on it for such a short time, and it’s my job. So actors like to complain about things, but yeah, it was all fine and handleable. I so longed to be able to step into a muscle suit. I didn’t have to go to the gym. I’d have biceps and big shoulders, but that was not to be.

Well, really your Loki’s strength lies in his magic. What challenges did you face working in such a special effects-laden episode? Was there any tricks behind the scenes to help get you into the role and moments like the final face-off with Alioth?

Well, Alligator Loki looked like something made from three stuffed cushions that had been sewn together with a head and then a body and four little legs and a bit of a tail. So that was something that could either be dragged along next to us or thrown when it bit Loki’s hand off. But, otherwise, everything else had to be imagined. It’s the nature of your job that you have to use your imagination, so the magic is really what the CGI and the production designers come up with. The special effects were apparently extraordinary. I haven’t seen it, but I’ve seen stills, and it does look amazing.

(Credit: Courtesy of Marvel Studios)

It really does look amazing. But were the sets as complete looking as they did appear on screen? All the Lokis convened in the bowling alley and it just looks so impressive. What was it like to step onto a set like that?

The bowling alley set was all intact. Everything that you saw, we saw. When we were in the Void, we were on a football-sized landscape of grasses and mounds and things. But all those derelict ships and things that you see, we didn’t see any of that or the distance. It was all blue screen. So all that came afterward.

For the most part, all of the Lokis were there for you to interact with. What was it like getting to work together and expand upon this character fans have loved for so long?

Tom Hiddleston is the beginning, the middle, and the end of it all for me, so anything that Tom approved. If Tom felt that it was all right, and Kate [Herron, the director], who was so invested in it thought it was steering in the right direction, then I thought, oh, I must be doing something that they think is all right.

(Credit: Courtesy of Marvel Studios)

It’s a very odd thing when you come into a world that is so established, and then into a series that has been ongoing for episodes prior to your arrival, and then you leave. So you’re sort of parachuted in and then out of it. So you look for reassurance, and I suppose, some kind of stability from the people who are doing it all the time when you’re not. A bit like being a new person at school, thinking, have I got the right uniform on? Am I going in the right place or do the right things? It’s fear-filled at the beginning for me from that point of view.

As you mentioned, it’s a challenge bringing a new character into an established world, but Classic Loki really did make his mark. Do you think he really found his “Glorious Purpose” in sacrificing himself?

Yeah, helping [Loki and Sylvie was] the thing he was meant to do. Making that ultimate sacrifice.

(Credit: Courtesy of Marvel Studios)

You spoke earlier about working with Tom Hiddleston. Some cast members have mentioned his “Loki Lectures” on set, were you one of the lucky listeners and if so, how did it help you get into the head of the God of Mischief?

I did. Tom came and saw me on the first day that I worked, and I think he spoke almost nonstop for about two hours in sharing all his knowledge and wisdom about playing Loki. So it was incredibly helpful and useful. That was like an introduction into this universe from the man himself. That’s never happened to me before, and then I had that privilege of being in a situation like that. I’m very grateful for it.

Loki, New Episodes, Fridays, Disney+

[skdubbs]

Let Love Find You

Chapter 1: An Awkward Introduction

Summary: Love has a funny way of finding you when you’re not looking for it. Commander Fox discovered this the hard way when a box arrived on base and pique his interest. 

Here it is. I can’t believe I'm finally doing this. A huge huge HUGE shoutout and thank you to @detroitbydark​ for all of the encouragement, feedback, and listening to my ramblings about this story. You’re the best. 

This story will be the first in a collection of three interconnected stories taking place at the same time. I hope you all enjoy! 

It all started with a box.

Commander Fox of the Coruscant Guard stared at the parcel currently sitting on his desk amidst piles of carefully cataloged holopads. The contents of said package laid innocently next to the box. He’d had part of it scanned and tested, twice. Absolutely nothing alarming to be found. And yet Fox was still unsettled.

In the year since taking up his post, he’d never been rendered speechless. Well, today the boys could mark it down in the books. Truly, the commander didn’t know what to say. Or think. Or do. The mental conundrum Fox found himself in was beyond exasperating. Sighing, Fox shook his head, then glanced at the flimsi note he held. Once more, he read the delicately written script.

To: Commander Fox of the Coruscant Guard

Dear Sir,

I’m sure this package and its contents might cause alarm and confusion. Please don’t allow it to do either. This is simply a token to express my thanks to the troopers involved with the skirmish in the market district on Level 3 nearly four rotations ago. Their actions saved my life and that of my daughter. When we expressed our gratitude, my daughter felt the shock trooper didn’t think we were sincere. Hence, this small gift. I ask that you please see to it that the troopers involved receive this token and understand how grateful we were for their timely arrival. For there are citizens on this planet who are aware of the services the Guard provides to ensure our continued safety and peace. Thank you for your help in this matter.

Sincerely,

Arissa Blunt

Fox knew without looking it up what skirmish Ms. Blunt referred to, as well as the troopers involved. Reach’s report had made mention of the two citizens he’d pulled away from the fire fight, a young woman and child. Interestingly enough, Fox had also heard through the guard barrack’s grapevine that Reach spent most of that night crowing about a civvie thanking him and how pretty she’d been. According to Reach, her body was a man’s wet dream.

At the time Fox had scoffed and pushed the matter out of his mind. He had far more important matters to contend with than one of his trooper’s infatuations. All of the men would have one at some point or other. It was a natural result with overexposure to civilians after a lifetime of social isolation. Fox was one of the few he knew to never fall to such an affliction. That didn’t mean he hadn’t dabbled and explored his options. The commander had simply never experienced the magic of someone capturing his attention for more than a moment of a little physical pleasure. Until now.

Commander Fox was intrigued, all because of a box of homemade ginger spice cookies, a short note, and an infatuated trooper’s embellished description. Again, Fox sighed. Maker, he needed a drink. And it wasn’t even 1200 yet.

He commed Captain Stone, the squad leader there on the day in question.

“This is Stone,” came the greeting.

“Captain, round up the troopers involved in the skirmish on Level 3, I’m sure you remember the one,” Fox instructed. “They’ve got a gift waiting for them in my office. Apparently Reach’s story wasn’t completely fabricated.”

There was a beat of stunned silence. It was brief, but Fox knew it for what it was. Shock. “Right away, sir,” Stone replied.

Fox disconnected, then turned to inspect the baked goods still sitting on his desk. Ginger spice cookies. Homemade, no less. Damn, they smelled good.

Fox smirked. What the men didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them. He plucked one cookie from the pile, taking a small bite to test the flavor. A groan of delight broke past his lips. This was one of the best frekkin’ things he’d ever had the pleasure of eating, and that's saying something. After all, the position of Commander of the Coruscant Guard afforded certain luxuries and privileges that few other clones were allowed.

The commander took another bite, savoring the taste. What he wouldn’t give to have something this good to eat every day. His eyes found the note again, sitting on his desk in stark contrast to everything else. Arissa Blunt. One has to wonder what kind of woman she was. Fox had every intention of finding out.

-----

After giving the boys their gift (the looks of shock and delight on their faces had caused a grin on his), Fox decided to investigate. It took little effort to find the information he needed. Another perk to his position.

Arissa Blunt, single human female aged 22 standard years. Currently a member of the Republic military’s research and development division located here on base. His brows had raised at that. He merely needed to leave his office and walk across the facility in order to find her. Her focus was prototype military-grade weapons. So, she worked on creating better ways for his brothers on the front to do their job. While he didn’t know her, Fox felt a swell of appreciation for this woman.

He was shocked and intrigued to find she held her position with no formal training. Instead, Ms. Blunt came into the program through the recommendation of a member of the board. It was highly irregular. Perhaps some nepotism was involved? But that made no sense either. According to her file, Ms. Blunt had no living relatives, only a young daughter named Gemma. Cute name, he’d thought.

Out of curiosity, Fox looked her up too. Gemma Blunt, single human female aged 5 standard years. Currently enrolled on scholarship at a school for gifted young children located noooo in a more well-to-do area of the upper levels. So, the kid was smart.

A part of Fox was impressed. And even more intrigued, especially as he gazed at Ms. Blunt’s photo. Reach hadn’t exaggerated, she was quite pretty. Not in the glamour model sort of way. But you could see the potential lying underneath her cute veneer should she ever try to be one. And those eyes….well, they’d surprised him too. Most humans didn’t have violet colored eyes, at least not naturally. But on her they were stunning. They drew you in and spoke volumes. As if the secrets they held were more than just her own. She could know yours without you evening realizing. A fanciful thought perhaps, but there all the same.

And that is why Commander Fox found himself making the long trek to the R&D division on base a few hours later. Amazingly, he had an hour free. Plenty of time to pay Ms. Blunt a visit. He could convey the men’s appreciation and slake his curiosity.

He’d found a technician by the name of A’tron Rogers when he arrived. The man had the audacity to scoff at him when he stated who he was looking for. Fox wisely kept his helmet on, knowing full well what kind of person he was dealing with. It was rather obvious what Mr. Rogers thought of clones and about doing anything for them. One had to wonder why he was in a position that required him to help create weapons that helped said clones.

“Yeah, she’s back here,” he’d snapped. “Follow me.”

Resisting the urge to call the man on his insubordination, Fox followed. They made their way further back into the lab and came to a stop at what looked to be some kind of long range canon. However, the weapon wasn’t what caught Fox’s attention.

Fox froze, his brain gone blank. Before his eyes, bent over at just the right angle, was perhaps the most perfectly shaped ass he’d ever seen. His mouth watered while his blood rushed south. Mentally, he cursed. This was not a good way to start an introduction.

“Blunt!” Rogers practically screeched, trying to get the technician's attention. It certainly did the trick, albeit in a painful way. Arissa’s head shot up, caught by surprise, only to have it collide with the paneling of the prototype she’d been working on. A string of low muttered curses followed the loud clang. Fox winced in sympathy.

After a moment or two, Arissa straightened, seemed to take a steadying breath, then turned to face them. Her eyes widened for a fraction of a second when they landed on him. However, she recovered quickly, her face becoming unreadable as she turned to her coworker.

Fox wished he could say the same. That beautiful shebs he’d been staring at not long ago should have warned him at what else he’d see. Because, by the maker, Reach hadn’t exaggerated. Not one bit. Arissa Blunt truly was a man’s wet dream. Her hair was up and covered, but he didn’t need to see the dark brown wavy locks again to know how it finished the masterpiece that stood before him. Even wearing coveralls covered in grease splotches couldn’t detract from that hourglass figure or the small waist. And her breasts. By Fett, they were a handful and more. So much more. Again, Fox was grateful he’d chosen to keep his bucket on. He’d have looked like a gaping fool otherwise.

Arissa addressed Rogers, her voice even and devoid of emotion. “Did you need something, Rogers?”

The shorter man huffed, obviously put out by her lack of response to him. Fox made a mental note of that. Maybe it wasn’t just clones the man had a problem with. “You’ve got a visitor. Commander Fox here needs to speak with you.”

The technician’s gaze swung over to him, that violet gaze holding him captive. Again, he noticed a moment of trepidation, as if she feared his presence. Fox scowled, annoyance flaring. Her reaction was classic for a citizen. They either looked at him and his brothers with fear or disdain. He wasn’t sure which pissed him off more.

“I see,” she replied. “Well, I’m due a fifteen anyway. If you need me, we’ll be in the conference room.”

Rogers snorted, then left. Yup, that chakaaryc really didn’t like Arissa Blunt. Fox focused his attention on the woman before him. As he looked closer, her nerves became more obvious. What did she have to be nervous about?

“Ms. Blunt,” he greeted, his voice stiff and formal.

“Commander Fox,” she greeted in return. Grabbing a rag, she wiped her hands off, then motioned for him to follow her. “Whatever you need to tell me, it’d be best said in the conference room. Otherwise, everyone else in the department will know about it before the end of the day. You wouldn’t think it, but the lot here are as bad as a bunch of gossiping housewives.”

Nodding, he followed. As they left the lab and made their way down the hallway, Fox couldn’t help his eyes from looking. The sway of those hips were going to haunt him. Another curse ran through his mind.

Soon enough they reached their destination, Arissa gesturing him inside. He took up a position further in, standing at attention while he waited for her to shut the door.

“Would you rather sit, Commander?”

“No thank you, miss. But please don’t stand on my account. Have a seat.”

He patiently waited while Arissa got comfortable. Once she seemed settled, he dove right in. “I assume you know why I’m here?”

That flash of trepidation was back. It was gone immediately, but still, he saw it.

“I think so,” she quietly answered. Her tongue came out to wet her lips. Despite himself, Fox felt a knee jerk reaction to the tiny movement. Maker, this needed to stop. Now.  

“Then explain yourself,” he ordered.

That got her attention. Arissa straightened, her brows furrowed in confusion. “Explain myself? I thought the note I left was pretty self-explanatory.”

“Perhaps,” he hedged. “However, your reaction to my appearance here would say otherwise. I thought you appreciated what the guard does for the citizens of Coruscant. Someone who is appreciative doesn’t respond with fear in their eyes.”

Arissa’s eyes widened, first in shock, then in anger. However, when she next spoke, her voice remained even. “From my point of view, your sudden appearance here is rather suspect. Troopers, let alone commanders, don’t make random visits to this part of the base. Any fear you saw was my worry that I’d done something wrong.”

That made Fox pause, considering. Her words in the note had sounded sincere. And someone who feared or hated clones wouldn't have sent something in the first place, not without it having some sort of repercussion. Perhaps she had a point. Finally, Fox relaxed his stance.

“I suppose your reaction would make sense then,” he conceded. “I apologize for alarming you, Ms. Blunt.”

She shrugged. “Don’t worry about it, you couldn’t have known. I’m sorry I gave you the impression I was like all those ungrateful idiots out there.”

Fox stared at her. Well, that was certainly one way of putting it. Apparently Ms.Blunt lived up to her name. He cleared his throat. “Now that that’s settled, would you mind explaining to me why you felt the need to do such a thing?”

Arissa started fiddling with a loose thread of her coveralls. A nervous tick. “I already told you in the note I sent with the package. My daughter thought the trooper who helped us didn’t believe we meant what we said. I was helping to make him see otherwise.”

A scoff escaped him. “Forgive my own cynicism then. I’m used to people having ulterior motives. It’s my job to find them.” He shrugged. “So, it’s a little hard to believe there wasn’t something else behind your actions, appreciated as they are.”

While he knew he was being something of a di’kut, Fox needed to know. He wasn’t lying. Any civilian he’d ever met had some sort of ulterior motive, most often to the detriment of his men.

She didn’t speak for a while, sitting there in quiet contemplation. Then, those violet orbs caught the gaze of his visor and held it. She wanted to get this right, he realized. She wanted him to believe her. “Maybe because men who didn’t have a choice in choosing this life deserve something good once in a while.”

Speechless, that’s what he was. She said it so plainly and without artifice. Fox knew she meant it, every word.

“I see,” he replied, voice quiet and low. “Well, allow me to express my gratitude and that of my men. It may not seem like much, but those sweets were the first gift any of those men have ever received. It might be the only one.”

“You’re very welcome, Commander Fox.” Her voice was quiet too, her eyes soft and understanding. How Fox wished he could get lost in them for more than just a few minutes. It was time to go. Now.

“You’ll excuse me then, Ms. Blunt, for taking up your time. Thank you for seeing me on such short notice. I’ll see myself out.” Fox made to do just that, not leaving her a chance to say anything in return. He was almost to the door when-----

“Commander, could I ask a favor?”

Fox stopped, then looked over his shoulder. Here it comes. “What is it?”

Arissa gulped, her nerves showing once more. Fox smirked. Already in such a short amount of time, Fox knew he’d enjoy setting her on edge on a regular basis. It was a shame their paths likely wouldn’t cross again.

“I know this may seem silly, but would you be willing to write a short note to my daughter? I know it’d mean the world to her to hear how much the troopers that helped us enjoyed the cookies.”

“Can’t you just tell her?”

“I could,” she allowed. “But she might think I’m lying. Sometimes she has a hard time believing things if she doesn’t have evidence. Finding out you came to tell me yourself just how much the gift was appreciated will be suspect without some kind of proof.”

“Is your daughter really that cynical?”

Arissa laughed, shaking her head. Fox had to admit she had a lovely laugh. Fett, he was going soft. “No, not cynical, commander. Just a child who needs encouragement that something is real when she’s had so many other disappointments.”

While Fox was curious as to what she meant by that statement, he didn’t ask. Honestly, what was the harm in writing the kid something? There was none. Besides, he was more than happy to do it.

“Well, I’d hate to disappoint.”

The smile she gave him made an answering one pull at his lips. Thankfully, his helmet hid the sight. Yeah, this was definitely not good.

------

“Mommy! You’re home!” Gemma squealed in happiness as Arissa stepped through the door. Arissa was barely inside before her five-year-old daughter wrapped her tiny arms around her torso and squeezed.

Arissa paused, soaking the moment in. A smile pulled at her lips while the hint of tears teased her eyes. This right here made everything worth it. The ridiculously long days. The demeaning remarks and catty behavior from her coworkers. This was her why, the reason she kept putting up with everything.

She wrapped her arms around Gemma and squeezed back. “Hello to you too, Gemma. Did you miss me?”

“Yes!” Gemma pulled back, her strawberry blonde curls bouncing in her excitement. “Did you miss me?”

Arissa chuckled, ruffling her daughter’s hair. “Yes, sweetie.”

“Welcome home, Arissa. Long day?”

Arissa glanced up, making eye contact with the teenager lounging on the lumpy pale green couch in the apartment space that served as a living room. She barely withheld a grimace, thinking back over her day. “Just the usual, Trix.”

Although it really hadn’t been. Not when a certain unsettling clone commander decided to pop in and pay an unexpected visit. Gods, she’d thought for a moment there she’d done something wrong, that somehow the gift Gemma had practically begged her to make was illegal. Panic had filled Arissa, assuming the worst. But then he’d thanked her. Thanked her. Like a box of ginger spice cookies was the best gift his men had ever received. That wasn’t really too far off the mark, though, was it? And that black visor. When he’d held her gaze, Arissa had felt as if she were naked. She couldn’t remember anyone ever making her fell that way. Definitely not something one wants to feel upon meeting a commanding officer of the GAR. 

Shaking her head, Arissa focused back in on the present. “Did the two of you eat yet?”

Trix suddenly appeared uncomfortable, a look of guilt flashing in her eyes. “Yeah, we did. I, um, thought it’d be nice to treat Gemma to something. We went to Dex’s Diner and had the works. Saved some for you, too.”

While she knew why Trix might feel guilty, Arissa couldn’t fault the teenager for spending the money instead of eating the leftovers in the fridge. A year of being homeless and dodging traffickers and drug dealers had done a number on Trix. The kid’s useless father had abandoned her just days after her mother passed away. And the lower levels of Coruscant were not kind to the young and innocent. Arissa knew this fact quite well. Trix was finally getting back on her feet, working at a local bakery to make some money while attending school at night to finish her primary education. She lived in the third bedroom and watched Gemma when Arissa had to work late. And Trix positively adored her. So if Trix wanted to spoil Gemma with a night of burgers and shakes, Arissa wasn’t going to complain. She was far too grateful for the help to even think of chastising the teenager for splurging.

“That sounds like a lot of fun. Thanks for thinking of me,” She smiled at Trix, hoping the teenager understood she wasn’t mad. “I can’t remember the last time I had Dex’s. Is it as good as I remember?”

Gemma giggled. “Even better! Oh, and we got to meet Dex. Did you know he’s a besalisk? I’ve never seen one before. He answered all my questions, too. Didn’t act like I was a bother or anything.”

“Of course he wouldn’t. Because he realized right away what a bright and inquisitive mind you have, sweetie.” Arissa’s heart warmed at the kindness the diner owner had unknowingly extended her daughter. Gemma truly was inquisitive, wanting to know anything and everything. And amazingly she remembered it all. However, there were some people who found the girl’s nearly constant questions an annoyance and something to discourage. It was why she’d done so poorly in school until transferring into a private academy. Thank the maker for that scholarship. She bent over and lifted Gemma up, holding the young girl as she made her way to their small kitchen table. “Now spill. How was your day?”

Asking Gemma that question was all the kiddo needed to start regaling her mother with the events of the day. Arissa listened attentively as she went about putting her dinner together. She laughed when Gemma explained how a boy in her class had water come out of his nose during lunch and praised her when told how she’d received perfect marks on yesterday’s exam. Trix stayed with them for a while, interjecting comments here and there before retreating to her room to start on her school work. They wished the sixteen-year-old good night as mother and daughter both knew they likely wouldn’t see the teenager again until morning. Arissa was done with her dinner and working on a mostly thawed nerf milkshake by the time Gemma asked how her day went.

Arissa had thought long and hard how she wanted to present her surprise. She pulled the note from her back pocket and slid it across the table’s surface. “I had an unexpected visitor today. He asked me to give you this.”

Curious, Gemma carefully unfolded the note. Even at such a young age she handled everything with a great deal of care. Violet eyes scanned the note, then widened in shock. When Gemma finally looked back up she was smiling from ear to ear. “He wrote a note. He really wrote a thank you note!”

The smile breaking across Arissa’s face almost hurt. Seeing her daughter’s happiness at something so small was beyond precious. Mentally, she filed the image away to remember when the moody teenager years hit. “I was told not to read it. That it was top secret until your eyes saw what was inside. Think you could read it to me?”

Gemma nodded enthusiastically.

“It says: Dear Miss Gemma. Thank you for the lovely gift of ginger spiced cookies. I have shared your present with the troopers involved in the skirmish four rotations ago in the market. They were very surprised and grateful for your thoughtfulness. They rarely get a thank you for their work. Your mother tells me you are a bright student and love to learn new things. Did you know that members of the guard love uj cake? I highly recommend trying it. Please continue to do your part as a good and loyal citizen of the Republic.

Sincerely,

Commander Fox of the Coruscant Guard.”

The excitement radiating off of Gemma was contagious. She truly was happy from Commander Fox’s words. Arissa sent a silent thank you to the commander for taking the time to fulfil her request. Maybe she could find a way to let him know how much his note meant. But he must be very busy. Why would he care about any of this?

If he didn’t care, why would he bother in the first place? He could have said no.

“Do you think I could write a reply, mommy?” Gemma asked. “Maybe we could make them some uj cake since they like it so much and leave a note with it like before.”

That made Arissa pause. “Perhaps. But don’t you think the rest of the guard might get jealous when only a few of them get to have some?”

Gemma’s brow furrowed as she contemplated that possibility. “I guess you’re right. I know I wouldn’t like it if only a few of my classmates kept getting something and I didn’t.” Then her face brightened. “Maybe we could make some for everyone! That way no one felt left out. Oh but,” Gemma frowned as she realized something. “That wouldn’t work either. There’s so many of them, aren't there?”

Arissa hmmed, feeling her heart squeeze with regret as her daughter’s face fell. For someone so young, she truly had a compassionate and giving nature. She wanted everyone to be happy. “I’m not sure how many there are, but yes, there are a lot of men in the guard. Far too many for us to make enough for everyone. I’m sorry sweetie.”

The evening wore on, the hours passing as the world outside transitioned from day to night. Despite her disappointment, Gemma managed to recover. They played a few games, took care of Gemma’s bath, and cuddled on the couch to watch a silly holomovie before Arissa announced it was time for bed. Arissa read a story of her daughter’s choosing, sang her a song, and kissed her good night. Once Arissa left the room, she’d make a cup of tea and curl up on the couch with a book, losing herself in the passionate romance of her current novel before heading to bed as well. It was like so many other night’s, this ritual their evenings had become. But tonight would be different.

“Mommy?”

Arissa paused, turning back to face her daughter. Only the top of her head and her eyes were visible above the fuzzy purple comforter she’d cocooned into. “What is it, sweetie?”

“Will you please tell Commander Fox thank you for writing me that note? I really did like it. And I think he’d like to know that, too.”

The breath whooshed out of Arissa’s lungs. She hadn’t expected this. But how could she refuse? “Of course, Gemma. I’ll tell him tomorrow. Now, get some sleep. You have a big day at school in the morning.”

“Can you make rainbow berry pancakes for breakfast?”

Arissa couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped, Gemma’s tone was just too hopeful. “I think I can manage that. Now, sleep little one.”

Gemma giggled, happy at her mother’s answer. “Okay, okay. Good night, Mommy. I love you.”

“I love you too, Gemma.”

Arissa closed the door and made her way to the kitchen. She tinkered around the small space, getting things ready for the morning while her tea water boiled, then steeped. Once finished, she grabbed the old and worn romance novel off her caf table, the flimsi pages yellowed with age. She happily made herself comfortable on the couch as she dove into the world of high passion…..

Five minutes later, Arissa was back in the kitchen, a notepad open to a clean page while her holopad came to life. She scrubbed a hand over her face, sighing. “I can’t believe I’m actually doing this.” As soon as the piece of technology was up and running, she began bringing up Republic military records, trying to get an accurate head count of how many men filled the ranks of the Coruscant Guard.

------

Now, while Arissa was toiling away at the kitchen table trying to work out a plan to fulfill her daughter’s wish, said daughter was busy working on another matter instead of sleeping.

Gemma waited for her holopad to boot up, reading the note from Commander Fox almost obsessively. She’d never thought in a million years her mother would come home with any kind of news about the gift she’d begged her to make. Instead, she’d brought home a note. A note! Gemma very quietly giggled, pressing her face into her pillow to better muffle the noise. She was in the next star system from how happy that little piece of flimsi had made her. The five-year-old sent a desperate plea to the gods, asking them for the chance to meet this Commander Fox. Yes, she’d asked her mom to thank him, but she wanted the chance to tell him herself how much his note meant to her. And she wanted to show him just how much she could learn when she set her mind to it.  

Finally the holopad came on and Gemma brought up a search engine. Adults were always so surprised when they saw how well she could navigate tech at her age. For whatever reason, it was astonishing. Gemma didn’t pretend to understand why. Carefully, she typed in uj cake, then hit search. She skimmed over a promising article. It did sound rather yummy. Perhaps she could convince her mom to help her make some after school tomorrow and she could share it with the class. The kids would probably like that. Maybe it’d help her make a few friends.

The article said the recipe came from Mandalore. Intrigued, Gemma decided to search the planet, not knowing what she was getting herself into. What she read fascinated her. Hours went by and Gemma refused to sleep, far too invested in learning more about this old creed of warriors. She had only nodded off when her mother came to wake her, far earlier than usual.

Gemma’s groggy eyes met her mother’s. “What is it, mommy? Is something wrong?”

Arissa shook her head, a hint of mischief lighting her eyes. “No, sweetie. I just needed your help with something. How would you like to help me make some uj cake this morning? I think a certain clone commander would appreciate it.”

It took a moment for Gemma’s sleepy brain to understand exactly what her mother was saying. When she did, she shot out of bed so fast she almost knocked her mother over. Excitement took care of the exhaustion she’d felt just moments ago.

“Yes!” she exclaimed, then dashed out the door to the kitchen, her mother’s laughter following after her.

What neither realized then was how their actions that morning would come to shape the rest of their lives.....and those throughout the galaxy.

[zalrb]

Do you think there's a reason Keira Knightley always has great romantic chem with her partners? Is part of it good acting, maybe the way she chooses roles or luck? Do you think there anything she was in that didn't have good chemistry?

OK I’ve already spoken about acting and chemistry and why I separate the two, like, ad nauseum at this point so I’m not really going to get into that except to say that it’s funny because James McAvoy did this interview about chemistry saying he doesn’t believe acting and chemistry are separate and yet when he spoke about having chemistry with Keira, acting wasn’t really brought up: 

People always go on about chemistry like it’s separate from acting, and I don’t know that it is. I don’t know that it is. I’ve worked with people that I didn’t necessarily like and I’ve had chemistry with them and I’ve seen people who are very much in love with each other and its like, fucking dead - and they’re good actors, as well! So, I don’t know… We got on really well. We were both really serious about this film. We both loved these characters and we quite quickly cottoned on in rehearsals that we were on similar pages, if you know what I mean. And we had similar views on what was going to work and what wouldn’t. It felt like we both had an ally, really, we both had somebody backing each other up. Not that we needed it wasn’t like we were in the face of some tyrannical director who we didn’t believe in - collectively we felt backed up by him – but we just felt supported, y’know? And also when you can have a good laugh with somebody, you can communicate with somebody freely, when you can do that, you can start having that thing, chemistry, I suppose.

And it’s interesting because what he’s describing is that ‘thing’ called chemistry and not acting.

And it’s something Keira sort of echoed:

I think as far as chemistry goes, you can have the best actors together – and in fact they can be in love with each other – and for some reason you won’t have chemistry on the screen.  I don’t think anyone ever knows what makes that final bit of chemistry work.  If they did then you’d make sure you worked with people like that all the time.  I think that obviously it helped that we got on.  Obviously the script is fantastic.  So maybe that’s the answer, but actually I don’t know.

But when it comes to drama/romance or romcom movies, chemistry between the leads is central, which means that if you’re doing your job right as a director, you’re going to work hard to find two people who work well together. 

Like for Last Night for instance, Keira Knightley was cast first and then the casting was in relation to Keira to the point that people asked the director if she built the character for Knightley:

I didn’t simultaneously cast all four — you sort of have to build a cast like this to ensure they are a good fit. I began with Keira, so then the chemistry, for example, between Joanna and Alex had to be distinct from the chemistry between Joanna and Michael. You are presenting two different paths her life could have taken.

Now with Last Night, a common criticism for the movie funnily enough was that everyone else lacked chemistry except for Keira and Guillaume

 except that what they were going for with Joanna and Michael was a sort of lived-in chemistry

 and there is supposed to be a kind of tension there 

otherwise the movie wouldn’t be happening so I’m kind of just like, I get it for those two. 

Joe Wright -- who did Atonement and Pride and Prejudice and Anna Karenina --- also took a really long time for his casting Atonement and for Pride and Prejudice chose to cast actors who got along on and offscreen

I specifically cast the actors because of their mix on as well as off screen. I really enjoyed the shooting process, and I enjoy bringing groups of people together and seeing how they get on

There actually isn’t much on his casting for Anna Karenina which is funny because despite the fact that they did their jobs, I think it’s one of her lesser duos

so like there are lot of Keira Knightley movies I haven’t seen so I’m sure the mark hasn’t been hit every single time but when it has been hit usually the casting is rigorous to find her someone she has that magic with.

[mcfanely]

Golem AU

For @razzle-zazzle‘s Golem AU, because I can’t get enough of it

Gaia Brookstone could do many things, She was a dancer first and foremost, something that had caught the eye of her now husband, Lou; she was creative, imaginative, and gifted with incredible powers passed down through her family lineage. The Earth seemed to bend to her guidance, shift and form under her steady hand. Maybe that was why ceramics and pottery came so easily to her? But faced with the inability to have her own biological child, she resorted to something only she would think was possible. A clay Golem, one with free will. Guided not by instructions, but by heart and soul, by magic. He would be her masterpiece, a worthy inheritor of her elemental powers. He would be her son, Cole. 

Part 1: Spells and Sigils, 2477 words

Cole found himself staring at his reflection in the mirror again. 

He would have thought that he was used to what he looked like, since not that much ever really changed about him on a day to day basis, yet sometimes he still caught himself staring. 

Staring at the water dripping from his hair following the morning shower, carving a path that was crafted by the muscle on his shoulder and down his chest. Then it eventually met its routes end, dropping off, missing the towel he had wrapped around his waist and hitting the wooden floor of his bedroom in the monastery. More drops of water followed in its wake. Cole still stared. 

It was probably because of the day. That was it, it was because of the day he was looking at himself in a different light that didn't make itself known on normal days. 

It was only once a year, when this day came about. The anniversary of the day his mother had finished her magnum opus, a project that she'd put her life and talents and everything into. Something she'd crafted so lovingly, skilled hands moulding an immense amount of clay; painting perfect and exact amounts of glaze onto the visage of an adolescent male. Months and months of work coming to fruition in the form of something she'd always wanted but had always eluded her. 

This was the day that she'd brought her son into the world. 

The day that she had finally filled him with magic and life, the day she'd created an extremely unique being. 

Well, with the elemental power of Earth along with an innate grasp of magic courtesy of her parents and pure talent for ceramics, it was no wonder that she'd managed to create something that had never been done before.

A clay Golem, this time guided by a soul. A Golem with elemental powers, one that wasn't controlled by instructions on a small piece of paper or stone tablet placed under the tongue every morning. 

There was free will. The ability to speak, to walk around, to eat and enjoy food, to feel emotions and love. All due to a neat and flowing script of runes dutifully marked over his body. 

Cole lifted his hand and slowly ran his fingers over the scripture situated above his left collarbone. The words were a deep black colour, easily mistaken for a tattoo; the colour had faded just a little from what it used to be but the glyphs were still clear. 

'Speech' or 'The act of speaking', was the literal translation. 

Everything he was, was held in these short symbols on his skin, and without them he was literally nothing but a soulless automation with nothing else. No emotion, no self-awareness, no thoughts -- he'd been there before. Twice, actually. 

The first time was on the Dark Island, and a misplaced swing from a stone warrior had taken a good chunk of stone from his shoulder and rendered the speech rune useless. 

Then there was Chen's island, where all of the runes had been blurred due to the loss of his elemental abilities and with them his soul. That hadn't been a fun experience, from what he could remember of it. He was lucky he'd been able to plan for the scenario. 

But the runes were a part of him, always had been. 

He was Cole Brookstone, son of Lou and Gaia Brookstone, and today marked the ninth year of being given life. 

His birthday. Even though, technically, he wasn't born by conventional means. 

Even though he wasn't even human. 

Cole let out a small breath and went over to his bed to get ready for the day, pulling his gi over his still sodden hair. At least he didn't need to keep his lack of humanity a secret anymore, since a damaged rune and Misako with an in depth knowledge of old magic made keeping everything under wraps pretty hard.

Though he had been lucky in some respect, since if Misako hadn't been there to explain the situation and help fix the rune, then Cole would have found it very hard to guide his then very concerned family as to how to properly put a broken Golem back together when he literally had no words to use. No voice. Nothing. 

Still, birthday or not, there was no rest from training; not when the resident electric chicken had some method of finding its way into anyone's room who wasn't awake and in the courtyard on time. 

Cole shuddered at the notion and towelled off his hair as best he could, though his gi had definitely not been spared from the water. 

Today was just a normal day. A regular day. Birthday celebrations were never his thing anyway. 

If he could just have a relaxing day training, then he'd class that as a win.. 

Though that went out the window as he swung open the door to his room, and the blue blur that was Jay shot past without so much as a 'Look out!'.

"Hey, watch where you're going, Ozone Breath! Some of us are still waking up!" Cole shouted down the hallway as he stepped out, his hands absentmindedly tightening his belt a little. Something to fiddle with. 

Jay turned back with a grin and a raised eyebrow, "Someone hasn't had his morning coffee!" He shouted back, then turned and made his way outside. 

How he had any energy at that time in the morning, Cole wasn't entirely sure. But he could put it down to him staying up all night playing video games, and running on leftover adrenaline and fumes. 

At least that meant training would be a breeze. 

Cole walked outside. 

Everyone else was already there, and in a mixed state of wakefulness. Zane, as per usual, was sitting down in a meditative position near the centre of the pavilion; Kai was swinging his sword randomly at a training dummy before a large yawn broke free from his mouth. 

Cole liked to think he was awake enough for early morning training, but the fuzziness in his vision and his slightly dragging feet even after a good shower said otherwise. 

One good thing about the day was that no one was the wiser to it's significance. They just got on with everything, and for that he was thankful. 

"Ever think we should move training into the afternoon." came Lloyd's voice as he walked out into the courtyard, stretching his arms above his head. If Sensei Wu had been within ear shot, those words would have earned a sharp tap to the head with his bo-staff. 

Jay sighed, "We tried that once, but Sensei said we were wasting the day."

"And what better time to get things done?" Cole raised an eyebrow, spreading his hands as he walked towards the general middle of the group. "Train in the morning, then we have the rest of the day to do whatever."

"Morning should start at nine, not at six."

He couldn't help the eye roll at Jay's remark. "You know, maybe if you went to sleep instead of playing games all night you might not feel like walking roadkill. It's not like we're doing it for no reason, being a ninja is a full-time job." Cole looked around the group, "And I don't want Sensei to start messing with us again."

There seemed to be a unanimous thought that ran through the team in a second, and acknowledgement that no one wanted to go through that experience again. Even Zane winced at the memory of a booby trapped monastery. 

Cole clapped his hands once. 

"Right, sooner we start, sooner we'll finish. Sparring with weapons today, no powers."

"Ha! Because Kai is always losing his!" 

There was a growled, "Shut it, Jay!” then Kai turned to face Cole, “Anyway, who said you were deciding what we were doing?" The question was general, and expected. 

"I don't see anyone else with any plans. Plus, we need to learn to not rely on our abilities. We've all lost them before at some point or another."

"Yeah, but when we lose our powers we don't become decor." Jay said. 

Cole rolled his eyes. He was used to that, the teasing, it actually made him smile slightly. If you couldn't laugh at your flaws--

He went over to the weapons rack and hefted a hammer. Heavy, but balanced. Perfect. 

"Jay, you're with me."

Jay spluttered, "What? But I was going to go against Zane!"

"You can go against Zane afterwards, as well, if you want." Cole gave a slight smile, resting the head of the hammer against the ground, "Don't want to fight me? Scared or something?" 

There was a laugh from behind him, and it sounded like Lloyd. 

That just seemed to spur Jay on, his voice growing an octave. "Me, scared of you? Not in a million years, dirt clod." 

"Really? You know, you had me fooled. I thought I saw you shaking in your boots."

Arcs of lightning flickered briefly over the chain of Jay's nunchucks before they died down just as fast, "I'm not-- You know what, fine! Just don't cry when I put you on your ass." 

"I don't cry."

There was a brief pause, "Is that like a Golem thing? Or--" 

"No, no, it's a choice. I just do the exact opposite of what you do and I haven't cried in years."

Cole could see Jay getting riled and tightened his grip on his hammer, but otherwise didn't move a muscle.

"You can fight Zane. I get it, don't want to go against me. No shame in admitting that you're--" 

The first strike came as fast as lightning, and he'd barely shifted out of the way before the second one descended. 

This wasn't Jay using his powers, he was just scary fast. Which was why the choice of sparring partner was to both of their advantages. Jay was fast, Cole was strong. They both had contending qualities that they needed to learn to fight against. 

On the third strike, he lifted his hammer, supporting it with two hands and received a reverberating clang of metal through his arms when both the weapons made contact. 

Though the fight didn't stop there, it was only getting started. 

Cole already felt wide awake. 

He stepped forwards and swung his weapon, missing Jay by a hair breadth. 

The next blows were traded sharply, fluidly. Moving from offence to defence in less than a second. 

Cole would be lying if he said he didn't like sparing against Jay. He was a formidable opponent, especially when he stopped cracking jokes and focused. Which was rare enough. 

"Come on, Sparky, you really think some fancy nunchuck spins are going to beat me?" He took a small step back to catch his breath. He didn't know what the rest of the team was doing, but with the amount of area they were using up for this spar, they were probably watching what was happening. 

Then in the next second Jay was right in front of him, and the nunchucks connected with his cheek a millisecond later. 

Cole's face snapped sideways, though he held his ground. His feet barely even moved from their position, if only for a minor step back. His eyes widened, though he opened and closed his jaw as if to check it was still working, and still connected to his face. 

His reaction to the strike, or lack thereof, seemed to translate over to Jay. 

Jay, who stood there, slack jawed and nunchucks held loosely in his grip. "You just--! What?" He shouted, "You didn't even move! Did you even feel that?" 

Cole carefully ran his fingers over his cheek. If that hit had been any harder, or with a more formidable weapon, it could have caused a bit of damage. "I felt something." He admitted, then raised an eyebrow at Jay, "Definitely something." 

"You-- what? Was that like--" Jay paused, his hands moving a mile a minute, as if he was trying to find the words. "That was a Golem thing, wasn't it? That better have been a Golem thing!" 

"It was a Golem thing." Cole admitted, then rolled his shoulders. "Try harder next time, you might make me take two steps back."

Famous last words. 

They traded blows for another minute before Jay got another solid hit in. 

This time a direct downwards strike to his shoulder, and Cole's hand immediately shot up to the site of the impact with a pained grunt. 

Jay, meanwhile, seemed elated he'd got another hit in. 

"Ow." Cole mumbled, wincing as he fingering at a gash that was now sliced into his gi. It was just washed, fresh on that morning and now he'd either have to stitch it or bin it. 

No, Jay was going to fix it, if he was so happy to have caused the damage in the first place. 

Cole straightened himself up, lightly waving off an approaching Zane with a small smile, then he wheeled around to the blue ninja dancing about the courtyard. 

The hit had hurt, and whilst they were no stranger to bumps and grazes from training, they didn't purposefully aim for injury. 

Jay had. Whether he'd realised it or not, he'd gone in with the intent to make contact again. Maybe get a better reaction than the brick wall one he'd gotten beforehand. 

If Cole had been any closer to human, that strike would have shattered bone.

"Jay, you i- i-" Cole faltered for a second, the word catching sharply in his throat. He gave a small cough to clear it, and dropped his hammer down onto the stone inlay. 

"Y- you i-." Cole frowned. He knew what he wanted to say, he knew what word he wanted to use. 

It just wasn't coming out.

"Cole?" He saw Kai walking over, his eyebrows furrowed. "Are you okay?" 

"I- I'm f- f- fine." He ground out, then brought a hand up to quickly cover his mouth.

Cole looked around the group, at their analysing and confused expressions; one hand was still cradled tightly over his shoulder. 

"Are you hurt?" came the question, though Kai had probably already established an answer for that. 

Cole definitely had. 

Yet physically he felt fine, sure his shoulder stung and his words were jamming in his throat, but he was fine… 

He was--

His words.

He quickly felt over his shoulder, his fingers moving in a calculated motion, small circles. Down over his chest, up to his neck, over his collarbone--

Then they dipped into a prominent crevice that hadn't been there that morning. A crack, he didn’t even need to look to know that. He could feel it, the flaking clay, the rough edges and the fissure that marred once smooth skin.

A crack, over his collarbone. 

Directly through the runes.

____

Cross-posted to AO3

Part 2 coming soon!

[norahastuff]

Dean was applying to be a cop in the finale!? Gosh it’s like someone who’s never seen the show or only seen the first season wrote it. Deans never been a dog person. Dean would never leave Cas like that and have fun at that pie fest talking about moving on. Jesus not even a second of that episode was in character. I’m so sick of shows having s1 HIMYM like endings ugh

The thing is HIMYM? Yeah it was a bad finale and it didn’t make any sense to shoehorn in the ending they’d written back in s1 at the end of an 8 season-long series - characters grow and change in ways you wouldn’t expect them to back when you first created the series - but HIMYM foreshadowed that ending. A lot. The entire final season they pointed towards what was going to happen. Actually, even the season before had a couple of pretty anvil heavy scenes that showed what the endgame was eventually going to be. Spn didn’t do that.

I can very easily accept series finales I don’t like as long as they make sense and I can see how we got there. I’m a very “journey, not destination” kind of tv watcher, so a bad finale doesn’t usually ruin the rest of the story for me...this is kind of a first though. Because why spend so much of your season (seasons plural?) focusing on found family? On how important Dean and Cas’ relationship is? On what a profound impact Cas had on Dean’s life? On how Cas’ powers were fading? On all the problems with heaven and hell and the empty? That last one was a pretty big thing that was referenced in multiple episodes and then just no follow-up. All of that (besides the Dean and Cas stuff) was just handwaved by Bobby saying Jack fixed it. Actually that’s not true. Bobby said Jack fixed heaven, nothing about hell or The Empty.

I’ve been thinking about it lately trying to make sense of it all, and it felt very in tune with Singer’s vision of the show, or at least my perception of what I see as Singer’s version of the show based on the way I’ve heard him talk in interviews/panels over the years.  And I want to stress this is all just complete speculation on my part and I’m not even saying it’s what I think happened, we don’t really even know enough to say, but from everything I’ve heard him say in the past, it did seem like he had a very brothers only view of the show, and that his ending would reflect that. I mean Dabb wrote the episode...but he’s also been the showrunner that put the most focus on found family and growth, and you can’t see either of those things in the finale. I do hope that by some magic we someday see a pre-covid version of the script. It’s entirely possible it mightn’t be good either, Jensen did have problems with it, but I have to imagine it would at least make a little more sense. 

I mean at least we might have been spared Dean not being allowed to interact with anyone and anything in heaven besides his car and the double carry on extravaganza. Maybe there would have been some resolution of all those dropped plotlines. Maybe Cas and his impact on Dean’s life would have been granted more importance than a brief smile from Dean...though I still maintain how easy it would have been, even in this nonsensical version of the finale we got, for Sam and Dean to have a short conversation where Dean talks about how he’s trying to be the man Cas thought he was and needs to carry on and perhaps even *gasp* show some emotion about his best friend of12 years dying for him. That was the subtext of what Dean was doing anyway so why not just say it?

But if originally in the finale there was supposed to be some kind of acknowledgment of Cas from Dean (I’m not talking explicitly romantic here) it would maybe be possible to write off Dean not saying anything at the pie fest because we’d perhaps see it at another point. But in the version of the finale we saw, there was no “Dean’s feelings for Cas” related moment (Jimmy Novak related or otherwise - don’t get me started!) so it just seems hollow and empty.

I don’t know if Dabb was just done by the time post covid rewrites came around and didn’t want to revise the script taking into account that there wouldn’t been any Cas/Misha/Jimmy (lord help me) appearance. I mean it’s not a conspiracy to say Misha was supposed to be in the finale so Cas’ significance was going to be felt in some way (regardless of how big or small that was supposed to be) and yet in the final version there’s no real indication at all that Cas mattered, to the story or to Dean. Like it’s not rocket science to say if an important main character who’s been on the show for 12 years and has profound relationship with one of the lead characters, a relationship that was given extended focus in the final season, if that character or actor is supposed to have an appearance in the finale and it gets cut for whatever reason, you rewrite a scene or two to reflect what would have been shown in the cut scenes. And Dabb seemingly didn’t do that, for whatever reason.

So yeah...to be honest that’s kind of where I’ve landed on this. It looks to me like Dabb stopped trying and/or caring at the end, whether that’s because of external pressure or because he just thought “meh good enough” (I don’t doubt that Singer probably thought it was good enough) I mean I don’t think that’s something we’ll ever know unless he talks, and he’s not exactly known for being forthcoming. 

As for finding out the details of the original ending? I don’t know if/when that will happen, but it certainly seems more likely than Dabb revealing his motivations and decision-making process. 

Oh and the job thing...not to defend the finale but was it ever proven that the application was to be a cop? I didn’t notice it when I watched the ep, and I have no intention of rewatching it. I mean Dean’s in the database a dead serial killer many times over. Don’t think that would go down too well at the interview. 

Yeah and in regards to the dog...I got nothing. I think the thought process was Jensen looks adorable hugging a dog and since we’re throwing the rest of his character’s personality out the window, what’s one more trait?

[gffa]

WHY I WILL ALWAYS DEFEND THE CGI IN THE PREQUELS--They were doing some pretty mind-bogglingly new stuff that had never been done before and creating all these tools and techniques that are still being used today and, honestly, while not everything holds up, a shocking amount of it does.  The work that went into The Phantom Menace really was amazing: ‘ALL FILMS ARE PERSONAL’: AN ORAL HISTORY OF STAR WARS: EPISODE I THE PHANTOM MENACE [x] ‘Well, This is the Future’ Once in production, The Phantom Menace would lean heavily on digital effects and technology, with more visual effects shots than any film in ILM’s history. John Knoll: I think the first time I really got exposed to what was ahead of us — I suppose the first thing was we read the script. There were, I think, three or four of us: myself, [visual effects supervisor] Dennis Muren, I forget who else was there. I think there were three or four of us, went out to the Ranch. There was one copy of the script [Laughs] and so basically what it is, we sat together in a room, and somebody started and would hand off the page that they had just read to the next person in the line. I don’t know, I was third in line or something, and I would get the pages and read them and hand them on. It was pretty overwhelming. I had a million questions because you’re reading it written on a page, you can imagine a lot of different ways that that could be executed. That could be a full set, the alien character that’s being discussed, I haven’t seen a design yet so I don’t know whether that’s just a guy in a suit or what. Initially reading through the script it seemed like it was a pretty big and ambitious thing. Sometime later we had — and there’s video of this, I think it’s on the making-of video — we saw the storyboards. George had the art department draw up storyboards for the whole movie. It was 3,600 storyboards, something like that. George walked us through all the storyboards. It wasn’t just telling us what was going on and this is this and that, he was also kind of mixing in what he was thinking about [for] shooting methodology. He had a number of colored highlighters, he had a magenta, a blue, and yellow highlighters, and as he was going down, things that he was going to shoot in front of a blue screen he’d scribble blue where he’d imagine the blue screen would be, and I think yellow was for live-action, and magenta was for CG characters like Jar Jar or battle droids or whatever. He sort of went through that, he went, “Yeah, it’s going to be this,” sort of telling us what was happening in all the frames. I was used to a situation where almost every show we did there was something that we were doing that was new, that we’d have to develop new tools or new techniques to do, but it’s like almost every storyboard was something that we hadn’t done before or didn’t have tools that could do. I was taking notes the whole time, making note of all the things we were going to have to do in R&D, or new things that would have to be developed to handle doing dense scenes with thousands of characters in them, or robust cloth simulations, or rigid body dynamics. There was a pretty long list of things. I walked out of that meeting with my head spinning, because it was not only massive in terms of sheer shot number, but in terms of all the new tech that has to be developed to get it done.

Rob Coleman: I remember going back to California and building the team up, and doing the early animations, and as time went on, I started really suffering in terms of insomnia and stress and freaking out, and I knew the world was waiting for this film. After a couple of months, three months, I actually drove up to Skywalker Ranch to resign the job to George. So I booked the time in to see him, and I went in there and I started fumbling and saying all this stuff through three hours of sleep, or whatever I had. He’s like, “What are you talking about?” I said, “Well, just, the world is waiting for this, and the pressure of this, and I’m not sure if I can perform, and…” He goes, “Hey, hey, hey, wait. You’re working for one person. You gotta make one person happy. That’s me, and I’m happy. I think the animation you guys are doing is great.” I said, “Y-you do?” He said, “Yeah. It’s great. It’s my problem to worry about the world, and I’m not even worried about them. We’re making these films for me. You’re making me happy, so you can relax, and you can go back down to ILM and everything will be fine.” I was the happiest guy driving back down Lucas Valley Road. I was like, “Oh, my God!” From that point on, I was fine. I slept like a baby, I was able to do it, I was able to focus on it. George Lucas: You don’t really start something unless you think you’re right, and think that you’re on the right track and what you’re doing is going to be great. It never occurs to you that it’s not going to work. Otherwise you wouldn’t do it. That’s what keeps people from doing things. So I didn’t worry about that part. I knew that the process of making a film was very difficult, and most of it was grounded in nineteenth century technology — or older than that, actually. And it had just reached its limits and there wasn’t anything anyone could do about it. That was especially true in visual effects. And it was through visual effects that I began to realize we had the power and the knowledge to develop something that really would make a big difference. I started that whole process. I wanted to raise my kids, so I retired, but I spent my time building up the company and at the same time developing this digital technology. Rob Coleman: As reference, I think there were around 200 [effects] shots in Men in Black, and there were 2,000 shots in Phantom Menace. John Knoll: I’ll give you an example of some of the things we had to develop. I think prior to Episode I, the most complicated CG animation we had ever done was on Mars Attacks!, years before. We had one or two shots that had like 16 or 18 Martians in it, and they all had the little spacesuits and the helmets and their props and all of that. But that nearly brought the whole system down to its knees because having that many rigged characters in a scene at once just was more than the systems could handle at the time. I was regularly seeing shots where there were 50 battle droids, or a big battle scene where there are two characters fighting in the foreground, but the background had hundreds or thousands of characters back there. This is a whole order of magnitude of higher complexity than we dealt with, so we’re going to need to have systems for managing that level of complexity. And then a few years before, I think it was maybe ’95, we had done Spawn. There was a number of shots where Spawn’s cape does something magical, and we’d done cloth simulations for that that didn’t look super realistic, and it was fine for the movie because it was kind of stylized. The cape was almost a character in itself. We didn’t have a particularly good or usable cloth simulation system. But looking at the designs of the characters, they’re all wearing clothing. Jar Jar has clothing, and Boss Nass has clothing, and Watto has clothing, and we’re going to have to do digital doubles of the Jedi to do some of stunty things that we can’t shoot for real, and they need to have their cloaks and all of that. We’re going to need to have a good cloth simulation package in there. And we said, all right, we’re going to have to develop that. And then we had — there were lots of shots of Jedi cutting through battle droids, so the pieces of the battle droid clatter down onto the ground and that’s hard to animate completely from scratch, and there were so many shots, that, all right, we can’t fake it through that. We need to have a rigid body dynamic system. These were the things I’d been seeing at SIGGRAPH and technical papers about how to do those believable physical collisions, and we’re going to need a robust rigid body simulation system that’s integrated into our pipeline. It was just a lot of that kind of stuff. All these things that I knew were technically possible; we didn’t have any tools that did that. Rob Coleman: Part of my problem was, for months, there was no crowd system, which meant there was no Gungan battle. No ability for my team to animate hundreds of characters back then. It just didn’t exist. I remember there was one line in the script that said something along the lines of “The Gungan army walks out to battle.” That was six months of work — that one sentence. You were like, “Holy [expletive], how do we do that?” And that was one sentence out of a 100-page script. Ultimately, it was a matter of acquiring the right tools to accomplish what George Lucas was asking, using the latest versions of software already available, or developing new techniques. Rob Coleman: We had a database with all the different Gungan walks, runs, throws, falls, fights. We had little vignettes. We’d have Gungans and battle droids, upwards of five of them together in a little cluster, and we’d animate that. And then we could put that cluster into any shot, and we could rotate it, and it wouldn’t look the same to the camera. So we could create a finite number of those and then we could place them, and we’d actually get a fair amount of movement into the shot. We’d just be able to use it over and over again, and we’d put some hero work in the foreground, and the audience would never know.  Jean Bolte: Back then they called it Viewpaint, it was the first software that was developed to paint onto computer graphic models. I was the Viewpaint supervisor. Most people know this, but Viewpaint was a huge leap forward in Jurassic Park. Dennis [Muren] has always acknowledged that. As I have stated publicly, I don’t want to make it sound like I think my job was the most important contribution to computer graphics, but it was a very important one. The work that we were able to do, because we could paint onto the models, transformed the look of everything. Up until then we’d had The Abyss water tentacle, we had the mercury man in T2, very simple, very rudimentary, you know, the shading on things didn’t allow for very much believability, really. What we were able to do with the paint software, even in the very early, early stages there on Jurassic — I didn’t work on Jurassic, but I was having a good look at it. They were able to contribute a bump surface and a paint surface to give things the scale pattern, the aging, obviously the color, the different qualities of specularity. And in addition to that, for anything that was hard surface, there’s the aging that comes into making something rusty or dented or scratched. And when you have that, suddenly a thing has a story. It has a history. In addition to it having the believability, you can introduce the backstory as to, why did it get dented here? Why are the scales roughed up in this area? What kind of creature is this thing? Is it dry? Does it hunt? Is it an apex predator? Is it moist? All of that stuff is the story. So even if you’re making a creature that has never been seen before, you can kind of establish what its niche is in nature, and then contribute all of that to the look of it. The dinosaurs in Jurassic, that was a huge breakthrough to be able to see that. So the software being very rudimentary still functioned and continued to update. Every project there were things that were written into the software and in our technique and approach that allowed us to get more and more realism. The Phantom Menace featured several completely digital characters. Jar Jar Binks, played through motion-capture by Ahmed Best, would be the most high-profile, a supporting character that shared screen time with our heroes. Initially, the idea was for Best to perform in a suit and have Jar Jar’s neck and head created digitally, but this proved more costly and labor-intensive than just using a full CG model. Watto, the junk dealer, and Sebulba, Anakin’s rival podracer, were two other completely CG characters that played prominent roles. Ahmed Best: George wanted a character that was part-Goofy, but very physically aware. He really moved me toward what eventually became the walk. He wanted me to move slower, longer. Jar Jar was taller than I am, so he really wanted Jar Jar’s head to move in a specific way, so that forced me to try to come up with a physicality so that Jar Jar could move in a way that would work once animated. But a lot of it was just a collaboration of movement, me giving George options, and him saying, “Yeah, more like that.” The voice was the same thing. It was just me giving George options, and he was like, “Yeah, do that one. Do that voice.” George Lucas: I was tired of putting masks on people. I was much more interested in having them be all-digital so you could do more things with them. More freedom.

Ahmed Best: Jar Jar’s character, the movement and the motivation, was really based off of Buster Keaton. George really honed into that aesthetic when it came to me. Jean Bolte: Casper had a speaking character, Dragonheart, that was a speaking character, but there was something about Jar Jar being a character in this film that was a huge step further. I mean, he had to work in so much of the film in so many different environments. He had to sit there and interact as if he was somebody George had cast and put into a suit. Ahmed Best: It was great. I loved it. It never really felt like I was this other thing. It felt like we were all actors in the movie working together. This whole idea of me being in the movie or not being in the movie never occurred to all of us while we were shooting. It was never a separate thing and, subsequently, that’s what mo-cap has become now. It’s become actors in the movie, doing the motion, and then animation later building the realized, fantastical look of the character. But the actors are an integral part of the filmmaking and an integral part of the collaboration. And that kind of started with Phantom Menace. Rob Coleman: I believed in my crew, and I believed that I’d understood what George was looking for from a performance point of view. Ahmed Best: After principal [photography], I spent probably another year and a half, maybe two years, going back and forth between ILM and New York working out some of the kinks. That final battle scene with all the Gungans and the droids and the battle tanks, that was me, George, Rob [Coleman], John [Knoll], everybody at ILM, up in San Francisco figuring it out. It was just us in a room, there was nobody else there. I was doing all the motion that Jar Jar did in the final battle scene. George really wanted that to feel like not only just a live-action battle, but he wanted it to have the same physical comedy as a Buster Keaton movie. We worked really hard on that final battle scene. Jean Bolte: One of the things about this film is that this is what George wanted. He wanted them to have a similar kind of quality to the animatronic characters who also were not necessarily always 100 percent believable. But they had a charm to them, they had a life in them. That was more important than anything. I think Jar Jar has this quality. Ahmed Best: For me, it was just such a joy to be as creative as I wanted to be because I knew I had so much room. And George was really generous with the amount of room he gave me to bring Jar Jar to life. Doug Chiang: Watto was completely out of nowhere, and that scared me, because the genesis of Watto was that I did an early trader baron portrait that George really liked. The story of that character changed eventually, but he liked that. One day he came in and said, “Remember that portrait of the trader baron? Take that portrait, let’s put on a body, and add the feet, and add bat wings.” And that was the brief! It scared me because it didn’t make any sense, and I thought it was going to be a complete cartoony character that people are going to laugh at. I remember we spent weeks and weeks designing it, trying to make it very real, and George kept saying the same thing. And then literally one day I said, “Okay, I’m going to take George exactly at his word, and draw exactly that.” And it worked. One of my big appreciations for George is that he can push us quite a bit. I learned to trust him that he knows what he wants, and he will then stop us if we’ve gone too far. And right now Watto is one of my favorite characters. Rob Coleman: The amazing thing about The Phantom Menace, I think, certainly for the ILM animators, is we were moving from putting creatures in scenes to actually being actors in the movie. This is what I was trying to get across to them. The notion of getting up and acting things out. Talking about what’s happening internally inside a character’s head. Do they believe in what they’re saying? What do they want from the scene? Everything you would talk to an actor about I was trying to teach these animators. Jean Bolte: The main characters, Sebulba, Watto, and Jar Jar, were things that I had painted. Those were great. I mean, Jar Jar, obviously, was an important character. I remember that Doug Chiang [paid] very, very close attention to him. After there was artwork from Doug, and the model, then I would do the texture paint on it, and then Doug Chiang would take a frame render and paint on it. The next morning I’d come in, I’d see what he had done, have a meeting with him, I would incorporate those changes into Jar Jar. That process went on every day for weeks and weeks and weeks. Rob Coleman: I remember showing [a test of Watto] to George, and he was so excited that he showed him to Frank [Oz], who was doing the actual rubber puppet of Yoda on that first one. And then Frank said to George, “Well, this is the future.” And George was just beaming. The centerpiece action sequence of the film is the podrace, a fast, furious race between Anakin Skywalker and a smattering of strange aliens, through a course that includes a stadium, caves, rocky terrain, and the occasional Tusken Raider sniper. John Knoll: I had been playing around with a desktop tool that did two-dimensional physics simulations. It was called Interactive Physics. You could draw 2D shapes and you could have gravity and drag, and you could attach springs or chains to them and let them collide, and kind of do what they do. Seeing the designs for the podracers, they’re supposed to be suspended on repulsors, like Luke’s speeder, where they just sort of hover, and if you disturb them they have a kind of springy action to them. So they’re supposed to be just kind of hovering there, and then the cables go back to the cockpit. I just kept thinking that they should be, as they’re driving along, bouncing and springing and kind of look like they’re being held up by springs.

I used this Interactive Physics program to build a top down version of a podracer in 2D, where I had two engines and chains that went back to a cockpit. Then I attached thrusts to the engines, and I hooked them together by a spring network. I would jostle them a little bit and they would have this nice secondary springy motion that you would never have the time and patience to animate believably. I just really liked the look of it. I talked to Habib Zargarpour, my friend that was doing all that [computer animation software] Maya beta testing, and I said I want to try setting something up like this in 3D where we make up a frame and we suspend the pods from springs that attach to the frame. Basically, what we’re going to animate is, we’re going to animate the frame, we’re going to jostle it around, and when we animate the pods we’re basically just animating this frame. The pods are just going to hang from that, and when we move the frame, they’ll kind of bounce around and we’ll get all this really nice secondary motion. So that’s how the animation system worked, we weren’t actually animating the pods directly. We’re animating this frame that was holding them up. That was, I think, the first time that we’d done vehicle animation that was all being driven by rigid bodies and dynamic simulation system. Jean Bolte: I remember the first time I saw the podrace come together on the screen, and I was like, “This is it. This is amazing and it’s a beautiful collaboration.” The model makers and the computer graphics department come before me in the [process]. It’s first artwork, then the model makers get busy, the CG model department gets busy modeling, then it’s passed off to paint. Often it goes back to model and back to paint and back to model. John Knoll: Yeah, it’s a mixture. Doug and the group had designed this racecourse that had all these very distinctly different-looking regions. It was all pretty deliberate because George wanted you — if you saw two racers in one particular terrain — to immediately understand where you were in the racetrack. “Oh, that’s the area right past the stadium,” or “There’s the arches,” or “That’s the area where they get into this narrow canyon.” So if you kind of understood what that racetrack is like, then you cut to this character and you kind of know, “Oh, he’s like 10 seconds behind Anakin because he’s still in the crater field,” and that kind of thing. We had all these different terrains we had to create, and some of them were more closed in than others. A couple of them, like Beggar’s Canyon, and there was another sort of cave, this stalactite cave, I figured were closed in enough that we could do in miniature.

(The stunning podrace arena miniature.)

(Thousands of painted Q-tips stood in for audience members in the podrace arena miniature.) The podrace stadium was another one where I really felt like we’d get a lot of benefit out of building a miniature of that. Partly I was kinda looking back at how people had done things in the past, and the Ben-Hur stadium from the chariot race, that always really impressed me. Those were done in miniature and they just looked amazing. We’ll build a miniature of that arena, and we’ll shoot all the elements outdoors, and we’ll get that really nice, realistic daytime look. And then there were other terrains where it was just wide open and we were going at 600 miles an hour, and it seemed like the only way to do it was this CG projection technique. It was a whole mixture of whatever technique would work. Ben Burtt: I followed through with the podrace from day one to however we ended it. [Laughs] Even in the earliest stages of temporary assemblies of the race I showed George, I always was starting to put sound in. I, of course, had a library to start with of aircraft, and some automobile, cars, and things that had high-speed racing-type sounds that I could manipulate. I would sketch those in a temporary way. As we went along and the podrace developed, I would go out and record new vehicles, as would [sound designer] Matt Wood and a few others. We’d send them out to races to get drag strips, cars, we did some — everything from antique biplanes with wires humming on them to running an electric toothbrush up and down a harp string. It wasn’t just restricted to aircraft or anything. We did a lot of cars, a lot of aircraft of different types, and then manipulated other sound effects. George Lucas: The podrace was the direct result of my lifelong fascination with racing. I thought it would be fun to build really intense race vehicles that were as much sort of chariots as they were anything else, like two horses and a chariot. I took that idea, and plot-wise, it was necessary to get them off the planet. Obviously, you could come up with a million different ways, but I have a tendency to always go toward the racetrack. It was very dynamic. And it’s fun. I love it. The digital revolution of which The Phantom Menace was part did not stop with effects; it played a big part in the editing of the film and the entire delivery method. Still, the movie was ultimately made utilizing techniques both new and traditional. George Lucas: I’m not sure where my embrace of technology comes from. All art is technology. Film, or the movies, were the highest point of technology in the art world. You just had to learn a lot, and there’s a lot of technical things to deal with. So that wasn’t the issue as much as it was the fact that I didn’t mind change. And I didn’t mind change because I actually physically worked in it. I worked as an editor, I worked as a cameraman, and I know how difficult it was just working in the medium where you have little splices of film, you can’t find them, when you go to look for something you have to go through reels and reels of film. It takes a long time and it’s very frustrating on lots of levels. Just the whole idea that back in the Kodak days, you’d shoot the film, and then you have to send it in to the drugstore to get it processed, and then bring it back to see what you have, is slow and frustrating. And the whole thing was built on that, whereas if you do it electronically, digitally, you can see what you’re doing as you’re doing it. So you know exactly what you’re doing. Ben Burtt: Phantom Menace was shot on film. It was the last of the ones shot on film, but it gets transferred to a digital form, then we’re cutting on Avid editing machines. Once you’ve got the image in the digital realm, rather than a physical piece of film, of course then it opens up the door to the amenities of working digitally. You can cut and paste images, and you can duplicate them, and you can flip flop and enlarge them and shrink them, doing all kinds of stuff with a lot of fluidity that you would never have if you were working on a physical film. George loved that world of manipulation after the fact. You learned working for George that no shot as the camera saw it was final. [Laughs] It could be thought of as just an element for further development.

(Jean Bolte paints a Sebulba maquette.) Jean Bolte: When Jurassic came out, the company offered to train those of us who were interested in making the switch — they referred to it as “making a switch to computer graphics.” I had no intention whatsoever of making a switch [from the model shop]. What I always wanted to do was to train on this, in the new technology, learn as much as I could about it, but also keep the door open in the model shop. I had to fight kind of hard to make that work. But I think I was fairly successful because during Episode I, I was still able to go back to the model shop and paint maquettes, sort of keep both doors open. I loved that. John Knoll: To be perfectly frank, I was getting a lot of pressure from George and Rick to do less with miniatures and more with digital techniques. And what George told me, this was, I think, during Episode II or III, he was pushing back on me wanting to do so much with miniatures. He said, “Listen, the future is in computer graphics with these digital techniques, and you’re using miniatures as a crutch. You’re going to have to get better at doing this computer graphics work and expand the palette of things you’re going to be able to do that way. And the way you’re going to get good at it is doing it, so I’m going to kick the crutch out from under you and it’s for your own good. Don’t build so many miniatures. Do this stuff more with digital techniques because you need to be doing that.” Even though my preference would have been to keep doing what I was doing on Episode I. I look back on a lot of the miniature work we did on Episode I and I think it still looks amazing. Like Theed city, I think a lot of those shots are completely convincing. You’d never know. And I think the podrace stadium looks pretty good, and the podrace hangar looks really good. And there’s a lot of extensions that I don’t think people even know are extensions that are in the Nemoidian ship, of the corridors and the bridge and all of that. You’d never know. 

[atamascolily]

Okay, I have calmed down enough after reading Aftermath: Empire’s End that I can address the bit that really got to me.

TL;DR: the entire “Contigency” business is based on an extended chess metaphor and... I have questions.

Previously, we have learned that a Jakku orphan named Galli Rax stowed away on Palpatine’s Space Yacht so he could get away, only to be caught by Palpatine. Palps told the kid that he had two choices: die, or go back to Jakku and make sure no one stumbled across the Mysterious Thing (”the Observatory”) Palps was constructing out in the desert. Galli chooses the latter, and Palps sends him back to Jakku and Galli does his thing. Ten years later, Palps shows back up with the space yacht to compliment Galli on a job well done and take him away.

O.... kay. I’m not sure how Palps was able to ensure Rax would keep his end of the bargain. Sure, he has a supervisor Yupe Tashu and a bunch of droids, and I suppose they could have killed Galli, but... there didn’t seem to be anything stopping Galli from running away? I doubt even Palps would have bothered to stalk one kid just to prove a point, but it just seems really weird from Palpatine’s perspective to be so hands-off.

Anyway, so the first thing they do in their Big Reunion is Palps teaches him how to play chess. And I don’t just mean Thinly-Disguised Space Chess as a stand-in for the real thing, I mean actual chess.

Here’s the passage that made me start to howl and gibber from a world-building perspective:

“It’s a very old game. Shah-tezh, in this interation, thought over the eons I have seen it spawn many variants. Dejarik. Moebius. Chess. In most of the iterations the core mechanism remains.”

To be clear: this is Palpatine talking. What the hell does he mean by “over the eons I have seen”? That’s not the sort of thing you say if it’s something you know from a book or a story, that’s what you say if you’ve personally experienced it. Is Palpatine really that old?? If so, this is HUGE, absolutely earth-shattering bombshell from a world-building perspective. Is it ever followed up on? Not that I can tell.

What. The. Actual. Fuck.

(To be fair, I’m not against this, per se, but I just... feel like if it was important.... it should be relevant.... and not name-dropped once and never mentioned again? Like, it matters? AAHHHHHHHHHHH.)

The other thing that made me scream, is, of course, the fact he comes right out and says it’s Chess In Space, which.... While I have used “holo-chess” as a synonym for “dejarik” in my fics, and Wookiepeedia says “holochess” is an accepted synonym for dejarik in nu!canon, this particular passage reads weirdly to me because it implies that chess as we know it on Earth is a separate but related game to dejarik, not just another name for the same game. And I... have questions about that, just like I would if “poker” suddenly appeared in the GFFA lingo along with “sabacc”.

{Also, I just want to note that the Persian word for chess is shatranj. Per the “History of Chess” article on Wikipedia:

Players started calling "Shāh!" (Persian for "King!") when attacking the opponent's king, and "Shāh Māt!" (Persian for "the king is helpless" – see checkmate) when the king was attacked and could not escape from attack. These exclamations persisted in chess as it traveled to other lands.

This isn’t the first time real-life details have migrated into Star Wars - “Tatooine” is named after a location in Tunisia, and the Lars’ farm is located in the “Great Chott” which actually exists on Earth.... but still. I’m just saying.}

And again, this is probably me being stupid and petty about Details That Don’t Matter, except that the one is actually huge from a plot and thematic perspective, so it’s hard not to get tripped up on it.

Anyway, so Palps instructs Galli in the intricacies of shah-tezh, and it all boils down to one thing: “without the Imperator, the demesne cannot survive”.

And That’s the reason why Palpatine has to personally make sure the world burns after his death, because it means that his Empire has completely failed if he dies and deserves to be punished. O.... kay then.

(Granted, Palpatine is a crazed narcissist, but... there’s like no way this makes logical sense, right? And Rax doesn’t even think “oh, that’s insane, but I have to agree to stay alive”. Even at this juncture, when he barely knows Palpatine at all, he’s completely swallowed the Kool-Aid. Which is odd because he’s very skeptical about other things.)

Anyway, Palps repeats it because it’s his guiding principle: “If an Empire cannot protect its Emperor then that Empire must be deemed a failure. It collapses not only because its central figure is gone, but because it must not be allowed to remain.”

He’s so incensed he nearly strangles Galli, but then he relents, and says Galli is “the Contigency” and if he fails, he’ll be replaced, because literally, “destiny”. Then they go watch opera, because Palps hasn’t found anyone to watch opera with him since that one time with Anakin and... Vader isn’t into that, lol.

(The problem with making opera Galli’s thing is that ALL OF THOSE SCENES ARE FLASHBACKS or referred to in passing in the narrative rather than viewed directly. So we don’t see him poised at the opera, plotting, the way Palps did in ROTS, or contemplating art like Thrawn does. So it’s easy to forget that he has this quirk. Also, it makes him feel like a Thrawn knock-off. But I do like that it’s canon that he’s just the Biggest Drama Queen ever, though.)

I’ve said this before in earlier rants, but to repeat: I do not see Palpatine as having the relative humility needed to even consider his own death seriously. in ROTJ, he acts 100% confident that he’s gonna come out the winner. So to come up with an entire elaborate plot, on the off chance that someone might off him seems just... kinda OOC?

Sure, he’s the type to have wheels within wheels and all kinds of schemes going on simultaneously, but... this one involves placing a lot of trust in Galli Rax going along with the script, and I just... don’t get why he would assume Rax would automatically go along with it, or be able to. There are just so many variables that the novel doesn’t seem to address and it’s just hard for me to imagine Palpatine doing this without making other/additional Contigencies, not just one.

Anyway, so it turns out “the Contingency” is to lure both the Imperial remnant and the New Republic fleets to Jakku and then literally blow the entire planet up to take everyone out at once, while a handful of specially chosen loyalist ride off in Palpatine’s Space Yacht for the Unknown Regions to form a new Empire. Which... okay, sure, why not. In theory, this sounds pretty cool and it involves all of Palpatine’s favor tricks, including a planet-destroying superweapon.

Where it actually breaks down is in the details, of course. And Palpatine is still dead, of course, so it does shit-all for him, except for some vindictive satisfaction while still alive, I guess. 

(And if he is planning on coming back, it seems weird to burn down the house you plan on re-occupying later? I guess? *shrugs*)

Anyway, it turns out that Palpatine has a whole network of Observatories, where he does all kinds of secret, evil things:

Palpatine began establishing the Observatories before the start of the Galactic Empire, infusing each with purpose: Some were meant to house ancient Sith artificats, others designed to host powerful weapons designs (or the weapons themselves), others still meant as prisons harnessing the lifeforces of those captured within for a variety of strange purposes.

(which, given that the Ashmead’s Lock prison on Kashyyyk is powered by its inhabitants’ life force a la The Matrix, strongly suggests that it, too, is an Observatory, although the book does not say that directly and canon will probably never mention the energy-harvesting thing again despite ALL OF THE QUESTIONS THE EXISTENCE OF SUCH TECH RAISES.)

I’m okay with this passage, because it means that the Maw Installation, the Eye of Palpatine, and Wayland are all part of this system. It feels very much in-character. However, only Jakku is part of the Contigency, at least according to Galli, but--tbh, I kinda doubt it, because when have we ever known Palpatine to tell the truth? Or have Only One Plan?

Anyway, for decades, the Observatory computers have been plotting a route through hyperspace into the Unknown Regions. (I thought this was something only Jedi could do, since they were supposedly hard-core Space Navigators? Otherwise, what was even the point? *shrugs* Why do you even need a “Sith Wayfinder” anyway? *cough cough*) Then there’s an obligatory Thrawn reference, since Thrawn is canon, but Rax is pretty dismissive and says that the only reason Palps tolerated Thrawn was for his secret navigational insights into the Unknown Regions.

So if Palps loses his original demesne, he’s just gonna go conquer the Chiss or something? Except he can’t, because he’s dead, so what ever. I don’t even know, okay? Does anyone know what happened to Thrawn or the Chiss post-OT in the Disney ‘verse??

Anyway, Palps is convinced there’s something in the dark side waiting for him out there, which Galli is dismissive of. You’d think a guy who had literally been Force-choked would be more accepting of this instead of assuming it was just wishful thinking, but okay then. This is pretty clearly meant to be an obvious Snoke reference, which gets wonky with the TROS retcon that Snoke was a clone-puppet of Palpatine the entire time!

Anyway, Rax gets Yupe Tashu all geared up with Secret Evil Sith Gear and a Magic Kyber Crystal and tosses him into the planet’s core, and it starts the self-destruct process. Except it doesn’t because Rae Sloane kills Rax at the last moment, puts a stop to it, and steals the yacht full of feral children and flies off into the sunset to carry on Rax’s master plan because the New Republic destroyed the Imperial fleet while she was distracted and she apparently is tired of all this shit? Okay.

Anyway, she makes a deal with Armitage Hux that she’ll keep Brendol from abusing him if he keeps the feral kids from attacking her, and apparently it works out. This is supposed to be the origin of the First Order, and I guess they find Snoke or something, but none of the details are ever explained in any material I can find, so.... *shrugs*

I just really don’t understand how the First Order can be functional under the conditions herein described and how it logically evolves from This One Ship to a massive, disciplined force capable of wiping out the New Republic.

So I finished the book and... was kind of mad, because it just felt like a complete waste of my time. Overally, this whole thing just seems like a lot of build-up that doesn’t go anywhere, and provides weird backstory that only raises more unaddressed questions for things that really didn’t need it. 

also, it’s darkly amusing to me that this book comes out saying, “yup, the ST is a literal game-board reset of the OT, and Palps fully intended for it to be that way, even though we at Disney had no plans to bring him back as a villain at first” and I just... well, props for honesty, I guess?

anyway, the whole thing is a mess from a world-building perspective, and even though Star Wars is Fake and In Space, I just get grumpy when things don’t line up, especially since that was supposed to be one of the major selling points of this new canon in the first place.

[allthefilmsiveseenforfree]

Sonic the Hedgehog

I never played Super Mario Bros. until I was in college - we were a Sega household or we were nothing. While my friends were busy rescuing Princess Peach and throwing barrels as Donkey Kong (is that how that game works? I have no idea), I was zipping along collecting rings and fighting a mad...robot...doctor? Not really sure what Dr. Robotnik’s whole deal was, but the point is I was a Sonic girl through and through. In spite of feeling a little silly, that means I was genuinely excited about the movie adaptation, which is frankly ridiculous as video game movies couldn’t be less of a cursed movie genre. Even amongst horrifying character redesigns (why the TEETH??) I kept my optimism intact. 

I loved Sonic so much as a child that, as an adult 20 years later, I adopted a pet hedgehog named Hamish. Those of you who know me well have probably met Hamish or have seen his pictures on the internet in his annual Halloween costumes (tiny hats are key). He was most people’s first hedgehog friend in real life, and I delighted in learning as much about hedgehogs as I could so that I could teach people fun hedgehog facts. Despite normally living 1-3 years in the wild and 2-4 years in captivity, Hamish kept right on trucking, running miles and miles every night in his wheel and eating dried grubs out of my hand as a treat for almost 7 years. He got sick a couple weeks ago - stopped eating and drinking, and when I took him to the vet he got some meds and supplies for syringe feeding and it seemed like he might be able to recover. It had been a really stressful few days, and I was constantly worried about Hamish, so I wanted a little bit of escapism - a fun, probably forgettable family movie sounded perfect. And after I got back from seeing Sonic the Hedgehog, I gave Hamish his medicine and food and held him in my hand for the last time. He passed away that night while I was asleep. I’m not usually the type to ascribe significance to coincidences like that, but it felt like there was a reason I saw this movie on the day I did. Was my faith misplaced? Was this a mere trifle or a fitting tribute to Hamish’s memory? Well...

I think the things that I loved about the movie are many of the same things that I loved about Hamish - a playfulness, a sense of humor, and in spite of a silly-looking exterior, a beating heart full of affection and comfort. I was all primed for disappointment - I had high expectations, the studio went through that costly redesign, and I was already in a pretty emotionally tangled up place. Not the best circumstances going in, which makes it all the more impressive that Sonic is one of my favorite films I’ve seen this year by far. 

The basic plot is simple - Sonic (voiced by Ben Schwartz) is an alien who had to leave his home planet in a hurry, and uses magical golden rings to travel portal-like to other planets where he will be safe from any enemies who want to harness his powers. So he’s been hanging on Earth for awhile, hiding out in a teeny town in Montana. Sonic is kinda obsessed with the town sheriff, Tom (James Marsden) and his wife Maddie (Tika Sumpter), who are a nice, normal, kind couple who love each other and their town - all Sonic wants is to be friends with them because he’s so lonely. One night, that loneliness manifests in a big way through his superspeed powers - enough to garner the attention of Dr. Robotnik (Jim Carrey, returning to the rubberfaced comedy that made him famous). In his efforts to escape Dr. Robotnik, two things happen: Tom discovers Sonic’s existence and subsequently makes Sonic lose his magical rings. So you know what that means - oddball buddy road trip movie time as they go on a quest to get the rings back!

Some thoughts:

Ben Schwartz is amazing in this role. It’s perfect casting, and a great voice performance as he injects so much joy and wonder into every moment. You really feel Sonic’s outsider status, his loneliness, his yearning, and his ceaseless joy at every new experience he has. 

There is a Very Good Dog in multiple scenes of the movie! He is doing the best job!!

Such a fantastic surprise to see Adam Pally in a supporting role as a deeply earnest and clueless deputy. 

And is there any more reliably affable actor than James Marsden? I have never NOT liked him in anything I’ve seen, and he seems like just a general good-natured stand-up guy. His chemistry with Sonic is really great, which is always impressive when you imagine him acting next to a tennis ball or otherwise strange CGI stand-in. 

One of my favorite things about the film is Tom and Maddie’s marriage. Even though Tom is one half of the madcap buddy duo that makes up the bulk of the film, Maddie is his equal partner. They are shown to genuinely like each other, and she is never depicted as the nag or the lame wife who is trying to stifle his adventures or act as the Voice of Reason who is demanding he come back for his safety. She supports this crazy ride because Sonic is in danger and she has a big heart and wants to help him too. I’m particularly glad they didn’t shove her into a subservient nonexistent wife role, or an Angry Black Woman role. I just think it’s so good for kids to see this married couple who are working together to help someone and who love AND like each other.

The biggest highlight is obviously seeing Jim Carrey return to his form as a sort of evil, power-hungry Ace Ventura. He’s over-the-top, his whole body is made of rubber, and he’s having the time of his life. Case in point - he has a dance sequence in the middle of the film that made me grin so hard my face hurt. He’s cartoonishly evil in the best way, and it works because Dr. Robotnik is one of those villains that wants to fuck shit up just cause. That’s difficult to buy into, but Carrey’s madcap performance and his absolute commitment to being the smartest person in any room and hating everyone else for it really makes it work.  

I was so delighted by how tight Patrick Casey and Josh Miller’s script is from start to finish. There’s an actual good reason Tom and Sonic are stuck together. Sonic loves watching action movies (from the bushes outside Tom’s house) so the movie is full of fun classic action movie homages and lines that keep things light and fun even in the midst of some peril. And there’s real emotional and physical stakes here as Sonic tries to find a friend and a place he can call home where he won’t have to worry about running from his enemies. 

Did I Cry? I teared up a little near the end at some very tender friend talk!

There are two extra scenes during the credits - don’t miss them, particularly if you are a fan of the whole Sonic mythos in general!

This movie is sweet, fun, genuinely funny, and just as quick as its namesake. I went into it just for a little escapism, and came out with a movie that will forever be tied to my memories of one of the best friends I’ve ever had. I think Hamish would be proud, Sonic, and I’m glad I got to have the time with both of you that I did. 

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[spellnbone]

Edgar writes the Theatre & Arts Column for the Daily Prophet. His philosophy is that if someone has a voice, they have to use it to do good; this means that on the one hand one has to push art to its limits or even further, and on the other hand one has to make those voices heard which don’t have a platform yet.

Edgar’s Introduction to Theatre

Much like most families with comfortably filled wallets, the Bones would take their children to the theatre on the weekends quite often. Most of the children adored it but also took it somewhat for granted -- which made the culture shock of moving to England only worse. There are theatres in Hastings, yes but they are small and not at all as dramatic and colourful as what the Bones had grown to know in Mexico. They lacked imagination! And since there was no theatre club at Hogwarts either, it was only on his first trip to London at the age of thirteen that Edgar rediscovered his love for this art.

After that, he began reading and loving play-scripts more than novels, eventually writing down his thoughts, comparing, analysing, interpreting with fervor and a very new, strange sensation growing within him: passion. For someone who found interest in literally anything he encountered (except Quidditch), it was a surprise to many to see Edgar so into something (though one might not forget that his new love for theatre came around the same time as he was beginning to grow apart from Amelia). His friends from school might still remember that one of the best ways to get Edgar talking in a social situation was by expressing a badly thought-out opinion about theatre. Suddenly the shy boy who so often was accused of boot-licking would throw himself into passionate speeches about love, death and every other grand topic of life inbetween.

(One of his favourite topics, that is, urban legends he loved to ramble about for hours was Mundungus Fletcher. Each and every article covering the fiasco was bought six times and each and every time Fletcher’s photograph was cut out and glued to various surfaces; Edgar’s notebooks, the under-side of the topbunk above him, the walls in his room at home. It was the same grotesque-fascination-turned-unstopple-obsession that the Muggle play Cats had about ten years later).

It was during this time also that Edgar began reading the news. Initially he only ever snatched the arts section (despite its terribly boring focus on mainstream theatre), he’d eventually also begin reading the other articles, finding himself growing more and more educated and opinionated about political topics, too.

His passion ended where the stage began, though. He never tried to direct a play, write one himself, or -- Morgana forbid! -- tried to star in one. He was quite content to be but an observer. However, after graduating and leaving England to finally go back to Mexico, he fell in love with an actress of a small travelling troupe (and shortly after with her brother, the director), and before he knew it, he was travelling around the world with them.

When he came back to England, he wrote for the hebdomadal East Sussexian Wizarding paper, simply because the owner was a good friend of the Bones family and needed someone to fatten up the paper with some think-pieces. Edgar neither saw his calling in that nor ever made a name for himself, he was mostly just passing his time, trying to figure out what he really wanted to do with his life. It was only when he met up with Ainsley Abbott again around his 19th birthday that he began considering journalism as a proper career. She’d told him that the Daily Prophet was looking for a new arts columnist and remembered that he had always had a thing for theatre.

London’s Theatres

Contrary to movies, most other Muggle art isn’t completely disregarded by the Wizarding World. Of course one will always find some bloodpurists who think that all magicless art isn’t worth their time, but the more commonly agreed upon opinion is that when it comes to old-fashioned art, Muggles aren’t all that bad at it. The Daily Prophet has therefore always covered the Wizarding Westend as well as the Muggle Westend productions, giving the former more attention but never discriminating between them all too much. They are, after all, similar in many regards: the leads will most likely be traditionally good-looking, born and raised in this country and culture, and introduced to the director by personal connections. The themes of the plays perpetuate conservative values and ideals and have to please the broadest audience possible, therefore not contain any smut or controversial themes.

They’re usually even located in the same buildings as the Muggle theatres, either in magically hidden back halls or underground:

“Two, reserved on the Daily Prophet.”

The lady behind the counter, despite looking just like the other ticket vendors next to her, gave it a nod and handed them their keys. They were small little copper things, meant for a one time use of a door that was titled: “Staffs Only”.

Muggles had this thing to believe that theatres were haunted. The possibility of that, considering just how few people actually died in such places compared to normal apartment houses, were slim, and the idea absurd once you knew what truly caused the mysterious whispers, the unexplained floor-board creaking, and distant moaning: A second theatre down below. Wizarding. Vibrant, crowded, cheerful.

Not having even yet reached the first floor below, the music already met Edgar and Amelia. The chit chat was lively, and unlike the Muggle theatre above, time had not changed the customs of exhibitions and shows here: Roasted-nut sellers were walking around with their goods on a tray hanging down their neck, a fire-spitter was entertaining a group of kids in a corner, and on the stage stood one of the actors, cheering and shouting blurbs about the play in an attempt to motivate the audience. No seats but on the upper balconies, were ladies sat whose robes were so fluffy and wide that their companions for the night attempting to sit next to them probably needed to shout to have their words heard.

The idea to even pay attention to those independent artists who always seem angry or angsty, who always seemed so desperate to speak up about issues that no respectable Wizard would care about? It was unheard of by the general Wizarding Public who didn’t have a great variety of news outlets.

It was only when Edgar accepted his job as the new arts columnist that the ‘Off Westend’ productions -- that is, the exhibits shown in garages, the plays held on rooftops, the stories told by otherwise drowned voices -- were finally given a platform through and by the Daily Prophet.

Edgar’s Own Private Resistance

For about eight years now, Edgar’s been publishing little articles of about 300 to 500 words a day which are usually reviews and recommendations, as well as longer think-pieces on the Sunday edition. They’re all signed E.V.Bones (or at times solely E.V.B when the space is spare), much like his letters, so it all depends on the wit of a person whether they know who is writing the column or not. It’s earning him 6 to 10 galleons per piece, that is 40 to 70 galleons a week, which (at least in modern equivalent) is 210 to 350 pounds a week, so he’s not poor but also far from becoming rich with this. As of now, he never considered changing his job, though. Partly due to the fact that he gets to see all sorts of plays for free, partly because he usually does all his work at the office only once a week (usually a 12 hour work day) and has the rest of the week to deal with Order business. But most importantly he’s still at the Daily Prophet because it allows him to fight this war in his own, quiet terms.

Upon reviewing a play, Edgar always asks two questions: how does this further the progress of art, and how does this further the progress of society? While the opinions in his writing are always expressed quite subtly (as otherwise, Edgar’s arch nemesis Kenny Mack, his editor and son of the Daily Prophet’s current owner, will simply censor out what might be too controversial for the general readership), they’re never suppressed or gentle, certainly never excuse conservative, problematic productions.

(It was because of one of those harsher reviews of his that he met the then-adored Lydia Avery, who he had equated to a piece of morning toast -- something you thoroughly enjoy in the moment itself but would never crave if hungry or a somewhat interesting person. Most of his review had been about the blatant racism of the play, though, and and yet, while up until this day Lydia might still be upset about it, Edgar never left their conversation with anything other than appreciation for her. He’s well aware that actors are a symptom of an ill society, not the illness itself.)

The idea that he could use his job for something bigger, something good, came the night after Ainsley had suggested he take the job at the Daily Prophet. “Me?” he had asked over a cup of tea, not even 20 years old then, not yet in the Order, not yet jaded and made brave by war, not yet used to the idea that every helping hand counted, “Reviewing art for the whole of Britain? Why would anyone care about what I have to say?” “They don’t,” Dell had replied in this earnest way of his, “but it’s not about you anyway. It’s about them. There’s people out there who have no one who listens to them, even though they have something to say, even though so many others want -- no! need! -- to hear what they have to say. It’s not about you. It’s about them. And you’re the one who’s going to make sure they’re heard.” “But the Daily Prophet? It’s so conservative.” “Not your column, it won’t be. Not if you write it.”

What his brother Dell was saying and what Edgar grew to understand over the years, was that there are so many Muggleborns and Halfbreeds out there who never see themselves represented in a positive, hopeful light in stories, or at least by the actors telling those stories. The mainstream theatre productions simply do not care to show such representation, to tell such diverse stories. It’s the back-alley theatres that dare to break the rules of what is acceptable, to break the norm, to help society and art evolve. And Edgar hopes that by writing about this, more people will be able to realise that they’re not alone. That there’s others like them, out there, everywhere. That despite the way the (relatively neutral) Daily Prophet reports it, Voldemort doesn’t have that many people on his side, at least not compared to just how many people are against him. By drawing attention to those smaller plays and their values, he helps to grow and foster a community where like-minded people can meet and share their opinions and realise that they’re not alone at all.

And thus, Edgar had accepted the job, his agenda of political nature, safely tucked between 8 and 11pm, and sometimes also during matinées.

[theoneandonlyameliajones]

Jealous

Summary:

Juvia has been spending a lot of time with Gajeel lately, and Gray doesn’t like it. He decides to follow them while on a mission and drags Levy along. Gruvia and Gajevy with some Gajuvia and Gravy brotp. Takes place after the grand magic games ish, so Gajevy is not together yet.

“Be right there Gajeel-kun!” Juvia yelled out to the dragon slayer. They were ready to go out on another mission. ‘Why is she taking so many jobs’ thought Gray. This was Juvia and Gajeel’s third job in the last week and she was barely at the guild anymore. Moreover, anytime she was spending at the guild, she was often seen sitting with Gajeel. She hadn’t been as clingy as she normally was either. She still gave him heart eyes and called him Gray-sama, but things were different. Gray against his better judgement, couldn’t help but wonder if there was something going on between Juvia and Gajeel. 

“So, how long have Juvia and Gajeel known each other,” Gray asked the celestial spirit mage sitting across from him. He tried his best to act indifferent, but Lucy knew better.

“Well, they were in Phantom Lord Together, so quite a while I assume.” Lucy observed. Gray’s eyebrows began to furrow in frustration. 

“Well, were they always this close?” he grunted. His usually cool demeanor failing him in the process.

“They are pretty good partners,” Lucy admitted, “They’re like Natsu and me when you think of it.” That was it for Gray. If they were anything like Natsu and Lucy then he had to know what was going on. He looked at the job request board and found that there was a job in Kunugi which was just a little past Onibus, where Gajeel and Juvia were going. He hurried over to Mira to accept the request. Even he wasn’t so sure why he felt so compelled to see Juvia and Gajeel.

“I’ll take this job!” Gray exclaimed as he slammed the flyer onto the counter. Mira looked at the flyer and back at him in confusion.

“Gray? This job doesn’t really seem your style. It asks for a well read wizard, someone that can break a curse. I’m sorry Gray, but this seems better suited for someone like Levy, but if you're looking for a job, I have a perfect one for you. A couple of igloos were destroyed at the Phoenix Mountains a few days back and they’re looking for an ice wizard to help rebuild them. Plus, the reward is better than this job too.” Mira noted. Gray thought about the job, it really was made for him, but the Phoenix Mountains were on the other side of Fiore and he needed to know what was going on between Gajeel and Juvia. 

“Thanks Mira, but I think I’m going to decline. I just-- uh really want to visit Kunugi. I heard there was- um some nice stores there-- yeah stores. I need to get some new clothes anyway,” Gray managed to get out, quite unconvincingly.

“I’m sorry Gray, you’re just not suited for this job.” sighed Mira. Gray was almost ready to admit defeat, but just then a little bluenette script mage walked in. Gray suddenly had a new idea.

“Hey Mira, If I’m able to get Levy to go with me, will you let me take the job?” he asked hopefully. Mira nodded in response, and Gray rushed over to Levy pulling her away from her seat. This earned him some protest from Jet and Droy, but he paid no attention to them.

“Gray! What are you doing!” yelled Levy as she was being guided to the counter.

“Levy please take this job with me!” pleaded Gray, his motioned in the direction of the flyer. Levy took a look at it, satisfied with what it was asking, but looked back at Gray in confusion. Sure the ice mage and her were fellow nakama, but they didn’t typically interact with one another, let alone go on missions together.

“I like the job Gray, but it seems like something Shadow Gear and I would take. Shouldn’t you take that other job.” Levy motioned to the other flyer Mira had pulled out.

“Please Levy, you can have all of the reward if you want, I just want to head over to Kunugi,” Gray admitted. This threw the script mage off even more. Why was Gray asking her to go on a job that he didn’t even want the reward for?

“Okay, I’ll go with you,” Levy agreed and Gray perked up at the sound, “ If you tell me what this is really about. Why are you picking this job over then one that is clearly made for you.” Gray let out a sigh of defeat, ‘guess there is no point in hiding it’ he thought.

“ Fine, the truth is Kunugi is pretty close to Onibus and that’s where Gajeel and Juvia are for their job. I know it might sound weird, but they have been really friendly lately. I just want to know if there is something going on between them. It’s not like that’s a bad thing or anything, it’s just that it’s good to know which of your fellow nakama are dating, right?” Gray rambled. Levy’s cheeks grew red, Juvia and Gajeel? She never really thought of them as a couple. Though now that Gray mentioned it, they were hanging out quite a lot recently. Levy felt herself grow curious.

“Okay, let’s go!” she said excitedly. She bid farewell to the rest of Shadow Gear, which left Jet and Droy very confused. Team Natsu was used to its members taking jobs on their own or with other people. Hell, even Gray took a couple jobs with Juvia before. Shadow Gear on the other hand always did jobs together. Gray knew that they probably suspected something, when Levy took this job with him. What he didn’t know was that Jet and Droy believed that Levy and him were an item, and were planning on getting back at Gray for it.

Their job went quite well. At first Levy incorrectly translated the curse and a few monsters were released, but Gray was able to defeat them easily with his ice-make magic. She got it right the second time though and Gray was ready for her to take all the reward money as promised. However, Levy was adamant that they split it, so they did. Later they decided to get off at Onibus instead of Magnolia to check how Gajeel and Juvia were doing.

“ How do we even know if they are still here?” asked Levy. Gray couldn’t explain it, but something told him Juvia was still there. He had somewhat of a radar for her. It came in handy, especially when he was trying to avoid her. Although, this time it was him trying to find her.

“ They’re here,” Gray said bluntly and Levy nodded, not wanting to question the ice mage.

“So Gray, when did you start liking Juvia?” Levy asked innocently, which got Gray all flustered.

“What do you mean?!?! I don’t like her!!” Gray yelled, but the blush on his face said otherwise. 

“ Then explain to me why exactly we’re here?” Levy retorted. The blush on Gray’s face began to deepen in color.

“Well, you know because Juvia is my fellow nakama, and I’d like to know if she is in the right hands with that Gajeel. He’s such a brute, it is only right to keep an eye on him- “

“What are you talking about! Gajeel is nothing short of a gentleman,” Levy interrupted, the color of her face soon matched Gray’s.

“ Now you are one to talk. It’s obvious you have a thing for Gajeel, you’re like his little cheerleader,” teased Gray.

“That’s not true--” yelled a now very flustered Levy, “ might I remind you, it was you who asked me to come on this mission!” 

Gray laughed at the smaller mage, she really was quite lively. In a large guild like Fairy Tail, it was hard to get close to everyone. Levy was one of those people who he always admired, but never really got a chance to know. He was glad that he had the opportunity to know her better, even if he was the one dragging her around Fiore. Just then, he spotted Juvia and Gajeel walking together. He pulled Levy to the side, so they wouldn’t be spotted. Levy understood what was happening and kept quiet despite Gray’s roughness.  They were too far away to hear what they were saying, but close enough to see what they were doing. Juvia seemed to be resting her head on Gajeel’s shoulder as they walked, and Gray had to stop himself from leaping out.

“Gajeel-kun, Juvia is sorry for crying like this,” Juvia blurted out as she buried her head on Gajeel’s shoulder.

“Don’t worry about it, just tell me what’s wrong sprinkler,” Gajeel said softly. He patted her a few times on the head, This was his weird way of comforting her.

“Juvia is thinking of giving up on Gray-sama,” she admitted. 

“That stripper, well good riddance. He’s not good enough for you, but why are you doing this now?”

“Juvia realized that Gray-sama does not feel the same way about Juvia as Juvia feels for Gray-sama. Juvia does not want to bother Gray-sama anymore, so Juvia will leave him alone from now on.” She let out a sob after that. Gajeel stopped walking and pulled her in for a hug. For a while, Juvia stayed crying in Gajeel’s arms. However, this looked a lot different for Gray and Levy who were still watching intently.

“Why are they hugging for so long!?” questioned Levy, who appeared just as angry as Gray was at that point.

“I don’t know, maybe we should go over there…” 

“No,” insisted Levy, “I want to see where this goes.”

After crying for a bit, Juvia finally calmed down. “Thank you Gajeel-kun, Juvia is so lucky to have an amazing friend like you!” Gajeel blushed at the comment. “Anyway, how are things going with Levy?” she asked. It was now Gajeel’s turn to be frustrated, he let out a long sigh.

“I like her a lot, and I think she might like me back. Still, after all the awful things I’ve done, I don’t think that I'd be good for her, ya know.” admitted Gajeel.

“Juvia thinks Gajeel-kun is underestimating himself. Gajeel-kun is so kind, and him and Levy-san would make a very cute couple,” Gajeel blushed again at the comment.

“Gray sure is an idiot! Juvia you deserve so much more than that stripper. Though, I’m not sure if you should give up on him just yet. It’s that big heart of yours that everyone loves. Hell, if it wasn’t for that heart, I don’t think I would have ever joined Fairy Tail.”  Juvia smiled at his comment. At that moment, She noticed a stray feather that had gotten stuck in Gajeel’s hair. She reached up to get it, but was interrupted by an angry Gray and out of breath Levy.

“Don’t kiss him!” yelled Gray.

“Huh?” Juvia let out. A flustered Levy grabbed onto Gajeel, her eyes filling with tears.

“Gajeel, why didn’t you tell me that you and Juvia are dating. I get it, she is taller and has bigger breasts than me, but still.” This caught Gajeel by surprise. He looked over at Juvia who only shrugged at him.

“What are you talking about! I’m not dating Juvia!” yelled Gajeel loudly.

“Gajeel-kun and Juvia are just friends,” added Juvia.

“What?” Gray and Levy both said simultaneously.

“Yeah, me and the sprinkler are just friends. What got it in your head that we were dating, and what are doing in Onibus in the first place,” Gajeel stared daggers into Gray.

“Wait, if you two aren’t dating than why have you been going on all these missions together,” asked Gray.

“ We’re nakama, that’s what you do with your comrades idiot. Plus, Juvia is the best friend I got around here.” he added with a blush.

“What about that hug we just saw?” questioned Levy, “you guys were embracing for a long time?”

“Oh, Gajeel-kun was just comforting Juvia. Juvia was upset about Gray-sama and Gajeel let Juvia cry on his shoulder for a bit,” Juvia added.

“Okay, but you were about to kiss him weren’t you?” Levy asked again.

“You leaned up all close to him, it sure looked like you were about to make-out” Gray said through gritted teeth.

“Oh that?” Juvia blushed, “I was just taking a feather out from his hair.” she pulled out the feather as proof to show to Gray. Both Gray and Levy were a little dumbfounded, they had really misinterpreted the situation. They all stood in an awkward silence, until Gajeel decided to interrupt.

“I’ll ask again, Why are guys even here?” . Gray opened up his mouth to come up with some excuse, but Levy beat him to it.

“ We’re sorry Gajeel. Gray thought you and Juvia were dating, so we accepted a job in Kunugi and decided to come over here to see for ourselves. I’ll be honest Gajeel, I didn’t like the thought of you with another girl, so I had to come!” Levy explained, and with that the truth was out. Juvia looked at Gray who focused his eyes back onto the floor, but they both understood that that was their cue to leave.  Gajeel took out his arm and gently bonked Levy on the head.

“ Who said I ever had eyes for another girl,” Levy looked up, tears welling in her eyes.

“Gajeel--” she let out, but she was interrupted by a kiss from the iron dragon slayer himself. It was soft and innocent and totally unexpected from someone like Gajeel.

“ The only girl I want is you, shrimpy.” he said as he bonked her once again on the head. Levy smiled back at him and put her arms around him for a hug.

Meanwhile, Gray and Juvia walked in silence. Juvia looked over at him several times, but Gray’s eyes were focused on the floor. He felt a little embarrassed for thinking that Gajeel and Juvia were dating and for coming all the way out here.

“Gray-sama?” Juvia let out. Gray didn’t respond and Juvia frowned in response. She didn’t want to bother him any more than she had been these last few months.

“Juvia,” Juvia turned to face him immediately, “ so why were you upset?”

Juvia felt herself getting embarrassed. “ Juvia was upset because she was planning on giving up on Gray-sama. Juvia feels bad for bothering Gray-sama this entire time.” she admitted. Gray let out a long sigh. He hated that he was the cause of her pain.

“Do you know why I came out here, Juvia?” Juvia shook her head in response, she had somewhat of an idea, but it confused her why Gray would care if Gajeel-kun and her were dating. Gray looked like he was about to say something, but instead he buried his face in his hands and groaned in frustration. 

“Gray-sama?” uttered Juvia.

“God Juvia, do you know how frustrating it is seeing you with him. I know you’re friends, but when I see you two together, I just want to---”

“Just want to?”

“ I just want to do this,” he grabbed Juvia and kissed her quite ferociously. Needless to say she was quite taken aback, but after some time she melted into the kiss. 

“Gray-sama?” she said, wide eyed and out of breath.

“Sorry Juvia, I needed to do that. God, I know I’ve been awful, but I like it when your mine Juvia. I hate to admit it, but I’m the jealous type, especially when it comes to you. I may be too late, and you might want to give up on me, but I need you to know Juvia, I love you.” Gray turned a bright shade of red when he was met with silence.

“ Gray-sama,” she said after a while, “ Juvia really wishes Gray-sama told her this before she started crying on her mission today.”

“ I know, I’m sorry for making you--” he was interrupted by Juvia wrapping herself around him.

“Gray-sama should know by now that Juvia will never stop loving Gray-sama!” she purred. Gray let out a sigh of relief and hugged Juvia tight, he would never let anyone else have her, she was his.

The two new couples returned to Magnolia together. On the way there, Gajeel and Juvia shared embarrassing stories about each other from their Phantom Lord days and Gray and Levy couldn’t help but laugh. However, when they got to the guild hall, Jet and Droy had other plans for them. As soon as he walked in, Gray found himself immobilized by plants and then in a flash covered with a mysterious sticky liquid.

“ No one dates Levy without our permission!” yelled Droy loudly. Gray seethed with rage, but Juvia’s laugh calmed him down a bit.

“Juvia thinks Dory-san and Jet-san are a bit confused. Levi-san is dating Gajeel-kun, not Gray-sama.” explained Juvia. Jet and Droy shot devil eyes at Gajeel, but he responded with a playful ‘gee-hee’ and began to chase after them as they ran in fear. Levy followed behind him, making sure that he didn’t hurt the weaker mages.

“I’m surprised you didn’t go all ‘love-rival’ on Levy after hearing that.” commented Lucy.

“Juvia knows that she has no more rivals for Gray-sama’s love,” she mused as she pulled the now sticky ice mage in for a kiss.

[chiseler]

THE MYSTERY OF SUNN CLASSIC PICTURES

It was like the positive, life-affirming New Age mysticism of the hippies took a sudden turn for the dark and very strange. In the mid-Seventies, as the country was overwhelmed by a creeping atmosphere of impotent anger, paranoia and existential despair in response to Vietnam, Watergate, race riots, Kent State, the Tate-LaBianca murders, bomb-tossing student radicals, pollution, high-profile assassinations, the oil crisis and the emergence of disco, Americans sought solace in some form by plunging headlong into a collective national obsession with all things Mysterious and Unexplained. Suddenly Bigfoot was all the rage, as was The Loch Ness Monster, The Bermuda Triangle, UFOs, psychic phenomena, near-death experiences, apocalyptic Biblical prophecies, and ancient astronauts. People were desperate to hold onto something, anything, no matter how ridiculous and fanciful, as the whole world seemed to be crumbling and burning around them. If something pointed toward an unseen world, a world outside this stinking mess we were stuck with, or better still promised the complete obliteration of this stinking mess, then at least there was a glimmer of hope. Almost overnight, a cottage industry cropped up, flooding the market with cheap paperbacks, magazines, movies and TV shows—even comic books and board games—devoted to unexplained phenomena of all sorts. Personally I didn’t give a Toss about the state of the world, but I still subscribed to UFO Reporter magazine, had a shelf full of cheap paperbacks with titles like The Search for Bigfoot and From Outer Space, and never missed In Search Of…, the half-hour syndicated series narrated by Leonard Nimoy that  delved into one mystery or another every week. For god sakes, I even had the Bermuda Triangle board game.

But in what may have been the strangest phenomenon of all, far more bizarre than the legends surrounding Area 51 or the Philadelphia Experiment, in 1971 Schick teamed up with the Church of Latter Day Saints to launch a low-budget movie studio that aimed to become the epicenter of High Strangeness culture.

Yes, a razor blade company and the Mormons decided to make movies together. How could the results be anything but unfathomable?

(It’s worth noting before we get too far that in my research into the history of Sunn Classic Pictures, it became clear the indie studio, which still exists in some vague form today, seems to have gone to some great lengths to fog their early history, never once mentioning the Mormons, and in some cases denying there even was a Sunn Classic Pictures prior to 1980. With only a few  rare exceptions, the reasonably small Sunn Classic catalog, now owned by Paramount, never received any kind of home video release, which only adds to the mystery.)

As the official story goes, in 1971, the employees of Schick—a subsidiary if the pharmaceutical company Warner-Lambert—approached Rayland Jensen and asked him to launch a new movie studio. Appalled by all the filth and violence and sex and cursing that infested American movie screens, as well as the so-called “intellectuals” who thought these movies were “good,” they felt real Americans needed a family-friendly alternative. Those Schick employees concluded Jensen was just the man for the job, as a few years earlier he’d handled distribution for a nature picture released by the Utah-based American National Enterprises. The picture had done very well.

Okay, let me stop there. As I said, that’s the official story, as far as it goes and as little sense as it makes. The real story goes more like this.

In 1971, a renegade group of American National Enterprises employees, led by Jensen and inspired by that same disgust with what American movies had become, broke away to form a new production company to release family-friendly, G-rated pictures. Patrick Frawley, the ultraconservative, paranoid, anti-communist conspiracy theorist who also happen to run the Schick razor blade company invested a bundle in the new venture, ensuring he would have some say in the kinds of movies the new company would release.

With headquarters divided between Salt Lake City and Park City, Utah, the newly-christened Sunn Classic Pictures (aka Sunn international, aka Schick Sunn Classic Pictures) set out to Make family-friendly features and documentaries aimed at working class, conservative, God-fearing Americans who didn’t go out to movies very often, likely because of all the above-mentioned filth and sex and violence and cuss words. Moreover, they wanted to make certain these warm-hearted films turned a healthy profit. This involved two basic techniques.

The first was four-walling, a distribution method American National Enterprises helped pioneer. Instead of spending a fortune on all those prints necessary for a massive nationwide theatrical release, Sunn instead rented theaters serving the target demographic, inundated the market with ads and gimmicks, then screened their new film at the selected theater for no more than a week. After that extremely limited run, they packed up and moved the print to another theater far away. It was a tricky ploy. On the upside four-walling a picture allowed the production company to keep all the box office receipts without having to divide them among various middlemen.

If they knew the film was a stinker, it also allowed them to skip town before the bad reviews could do them any damage. On the downside, those limited runs also meant the picture would be there and gone before any positive word of mouth could work its magic. Sunn would try four-walling a new movie for a few months, and if it was making money, they might consider a nationwide release. If not, then they’d start trying to sell it to TV for syndication. It wasn’t a tack that worked all the time, but often enough to make it worthwhile, and it left them more of an escape route than a national release ever would.

So. “Family friendly.” Yes. If you want to make Disney-style pictures but don’t have Disney-style budgets to work with, animated features are out. So are live action films with any kind of special effects. Basically what you’re left with are nature films, right? No expensive sets, very few actors, and as a result very cheap to make. So Sunn began producing wilderness adventure stories.

In those very early days, you can definitely smell Patrick Frawley’s hand in the development process. Films like 1971’s Toklat, in which a man is forced to track down and kill a beloved pet bear after the bear kills a local rancher’s livestock, is a prime example. (As it happens, Toklat was the first Sunn picture I ever saw, Green Bay being a conservative working-class town, and so on Sunn’s demographic map. ) There was something decidedly Nietzschean about those earliest releases. Most of them featured lone individualusts with strong principles who flee the corruption of modern civilization to face the harsh realities of nature alone.

Now, think back and ask yourself honestly” what kid in his right mind has ever liked nature films, Nietzschean or otherwise? Maybe Mormon kids did, but certainly not normal kids. Nature movies are dull as dust, all those endless shots of trees and rivers and shit. Even if it’s supposed to be a true adventure story about some historical frontiersman, so what? Where are the explosions and car chases and monkeys doing funny things? You know who liked nature films? Grandparents! Grandparents loved them because they were wholesome and taught valuable lessons. They insisted on dragging their grandkids to them because they didn’t have to worry about being embarrassed or having to define certain words on the trip home.

The handful of films Sunn Classic released in their first three years—most all of them wilderness adventures about solitary manly sorts learning to dominate nature in one way or another—did okay. They didn’t lose money, but they also didn’t become runaway hits.

In 1974, even after several rewrites, no one at Sunn Classic Pictures had high hopes for the next film on the docket, something called The Life and Times of Grizzly Adams. Sure, it was loosely based on an historical figure who again fled the corruption of the modern world to live in the wilderness, befriending a grizzly bear along the way. But the character was not some stalwart and steely-eyed Ubermensch—he was gentle and kind-hearted. What the hell were they going to do with that?

Enter Charles Sellier, and the second technique that would be central to Sunn Classic’s success. Sellier, today considered one of Sunn’s true founders together with Rayland Jensen, was a recently-converted Mormon in his thirties, as well as the author of the 1972 novel upon which Grizzly Adams was based. As Sunn’s new executive producer, he had a different—and eventually hugely influential—approach to marketing films.

Sellier set aside an estimated $85,000 for market research before a new film went into production. This involved targeting the desired demographic with door-to-door and telephone interviews asking housewives and construction workers what kind of movies they would like to see. This also involved screening early rushes from films currently in production for hand-picked test audiences in order to get their reactions and advice. This is, of course, standard operating procedure now, but it was radical back then, and something that mortified directors and screenwriters. In some cases Sellier even had members of the test audience wired to biometric scanners to measure their reactions to the scenes they were being shown, and use those reactions to have a script rewritten more to the test audience liking. If audience pulse rates went up whenever a certain character was on screen, well, they’d build up that role. If a certain animal warmed their hearts, well, maybe they’d make a whole movie about that particular animal.

Sellier’s method of crowd-sourced filmmaking was first tried on The Life and Times of Grizzly Adams, and sure enough, the film, starring former viker movie regular Dan Haggerty, became Sunn’s first bona fide international hit, bringing in over $20 million. The film was such a smash among grandparents it quickly spawned a Sunn-produced TV series, which was also a big hit among grandparents. To date, the Grizzly Adams franchise remains Sunn’s biggest cash cow.

But something else happened in 1974 that would help make that iconic Sunn Classic logo as familiar and comforting as the Toho, American International, Shaw Brothers and Troma logos. To some of us, anyway.

In 1968, Erich Von Daniken published Chariots of the Gods?, a book which argued, through some mighty suspect and loosely interpreted archaeological evidence, that aliens had visited Earth thousands of years ago, and among other things helped build the Egyptian and Mexican Pyramids, Stonehenge and the statues on Easter island. It was one of the first major hallmarks of the High Strangeness Culture to come.  Originally published in Germany, the book became an International sensation among those with a very high tolerance for pseudoscience, pseudohistory, and bullshit in general..

In 1970, German director Harald Reinl made a documentary based on von Daniken’s book, and it, too, became a big hit across Europe. As sillyassed as the whole thing was, I’d argue the film was even more effective than the book thanks to the visual presentation of all the supposed evidence.

Well, after seeing how much money Chariots of the Gods? Was pulling in overseas, and interested in such topics himself, American TV producer Alan Landsburg acquired the U.S. rights, re-edited the filmn, brought in Rod Serling to narrate, and broadcast it in 1973 as In Search of Ancient Astronauts. It would be the first of a trilogy of TV documentaries about ancient astronauts produced by Landsburg and narrated by Serling.

Noting the ratings that Landsburg doc brought in, as well as that European box office, Sunn obtained the US theatrical rights to In Search of Ancient Astronauts, changed the title back to Chariots of the Gods? And began four-walling it around the country in 1974. It didn’t matter that by that time countless articles and books had completely debunked all of von Daniken’s claims, nor that critics had savaged the film, in some cases even calling it racist for purporting indigenous people in Mexico, Africa an elsewhere could never have created these wonders by themselves. The picture made money. It may not have been Grizzly Adams money, but enough to leave Sellier and Jensen convinced they might be onto something with these documentaries about weird shit. Documentaries were even cheaper to make than nature films, and the demographic they were aiming at seemed eager to believe in monsters and aliens and conspiracies, so there you go. For the next five years, along with the wilderness adventures and wholesome TV adaptations of Huck Finn and Gulliver’s Travels,  Sunn gave the half-wits like me what we wanted.

In 1975, Sunn picked up the theatrical distrobution rights To The Outer Space Connection, the last of Landsburg’s ancient astronaut trilogy (as well as one of the last things Rod Serling worked on before he died). This final entry argued not only that aliens had visited earth thousands of years ago, but had planted humans here in the first place and had been guiding our evolution ever since. This wasn’t exactly a new idea, and could be traced back, so far as I’m aware, at least to Nigel Kneale’s 1958 BBC miniseries Quatermass and The Pit. But the film, directed by Fred Warshofsky, went several crazy steps beyond Kneale, claiming we know exactly where the aliens came from and why, that the Mayans were themselves aliens, and that these same aliens would return to Earth on Christmas Eve, 2011.

The TV documentaries made enough of a splash for Landsburg that he parlayed them into the above-mentioned weekly In Search Of… series, which began airing in 1977, right around the same time Grizzly Adams hit the airwaves.

Both Chariots of the Gods? And The Outer Space Connection helped cement the template that would define the rest of the Sunn-produced High Strangeness documentaries that would follow, making them so effective on the young, the susceptible, and the merely desperate. The real key, it seems, far beyomd the film’s actual content, was conscripting an authoritative host/narrator who can present the most insane pseudoscientific theories and shaky evidence with a straight face while repeatedly using terms like “indisputable,” “Proven beyond a doubt,” and “scientists agree.”: “It’s an incontrovertible fact these ancient carvings prove alien visitors walked on Earth over five hundred centuries ago.” It was the simplest of carnival sideshow techniques, but one that kept drawing suckers to the theaters.

The same year they released The Outer Space Connection, Sunn also released The Mysterious Monsters, which was less a documentary than a series of vignettes about Bigfoot, the Yeti, and The Loch Ness Monster. Director Robert Guenette had been making what you might call speculative Sunn-style documentaries long before Sunn even existed, so he was in familiar territory. In fact, The Mysterious Monsters includes scenes borrowed from Guenette’s 1974 TV movie, Monsters: Mysteries or Myths?, which coincidentally had been narrated by Rod Serling. The (mostly) new and expanded Sunn production was hosted by Peter Graves, who was as straight-faced as they come. In between shots of Graves and ten other men in cowboy hats wandering the forest on horseback looking for Bigfoot, we get eyewitness accounts from those who claim to have actually seen Bigfoot, Nessie, or the Yeti. Unlike most Bigfoot films of the era (and there were a bunch), The Mysterious Monsters infers a decided fearlessness and hostility on Bigfoot’s part, claiming he not only terrorized innocent victims, but wandered into the suburbs to terrorize them. The recreated Bigfoot encounters here are kind of fun, and in fact the film contains two solid scares, at least if you’re nine. Nessie and the Yeti get short shrift, and those scenes of Graves riding through the forest with that hopeless hunting party are interminable, but the picture was another big hit,arriving at precisely the right time given 1975 was a banner year for Bigfoot cinema. In the end, and where he got his information who the hell knows, Graves announces there is a community of some two hundred Bigfeet living in Northern California, though Graves and the hunting party find none of them.

Another hallmark of Sunn’s documentaries was that most inevitably ended with an outlandish, shocking, unexpected, and wholly unsubstantiated claim. The influence of mondo films—Mondo Cane, Africa ama and the like—on Sunn’s documentaries is undeniable. But while mondo films aimed to shock grindhouse audiences with footage (whether real or created) of bizarre and extreme human behavior, Sunn aimed to leave family audiences womderstruck at the possibilities of a mysterious world of magic and monsters just beyond our perceptions.

In 1976, Sunn followed up The Mysterious Monsters with The Amazing World of Psychic Phenomena, also directed by Guenette, this time narrated by Raymond Burr. The film is less a cohesive documentary than another shaggy dog series of vignettes exploring extrasensory perception, astral projection, and telekinesis as well as ghosts and spiritualism, featuring an all-star cast of celebrity psychics including Jeanne Dixon and Uri Geller. Not surprisingly, Burr, who doesn’t seem terribly convinced himself, informs us that there is irrefutable scientific evidence that all these powers are absolutely real and for true.

That same year also saw the release of one of Sunn’s more patently ridiculous outings, In Search of Noah’s ARk, a film which, in many ways, proved a turning point. The film was the first to be hosted/narrated by character actor Brad Crandall, who would go on to narrate most of the remaining Sunn Classic documentaries, as well as appearing in a few of their TV shows. It was directed by James L. Conway, who quickly established himself as Sunn’s go-to in-house director, churning out five or six features and TV movies a year.

Apart from turning to mostly in-house staffers to make their films instead of bringing in outside directors and celebrity hosts, In Search of Noah’s ARk also marked the point at which Sunn further fed their demographic by adding a decidedly fundamentalist Christian focus to many of their films, from Noah’s Ark to their TV series Greatest Heroes of the Bible to two documentaries about near-death experiences to 1979’s (and grammar be damned) In search of Historic Jesus.

In business terms it was a savvy move. To this day, films aimed at a fundamentalist audience, especially if they support a strictly literal interpretation of the Bible, can bring in more money than most Hollywood films. They certainly bring in more than most Mormon themed films, and apparently the more patently ridiculous the involved claims, the better.

The supposed “scientists” who lay out the evidence that the remains of Noah’s honest-to-God ark are still sitting up there on top of Mt. Ararat (should anyone care to take a look) aren’t, um, scientists at all. One, a supposed physics professor, argues there’s a mountain of geological evidence proving the world was deluged by an all-consuming flood, um, five thousand years ago. Another claims the ark was first discovered by a Russian expedition sent by Tsar Nicholas II in 1916, but all the reports and evidence were destroyed by dirty communist revolutionaries, um, two days after the expedition returned. It all goes downhill from there, and you have to feel some pity for the poor gullible fools who believed all this nonsense.

I saw nearly all of Sunn’s documentaries in the theater when I was a kid, and now feel sorry for my mom, dad, and older sister, who I suspect drew straws to see who had to take me whenever a new Sunn picture hit town. When I was ten I bought every last nutty claim. Going back and watching them again four decades later, I find myself blurting, “Wait, what?” Aloud after nearly every scene. They do, however, remain fascinating artifacts and a mirror of a certain psychological makeup. They’re also still fun as hell for all their crazy dumbness, if you keep your critical thinking skills at the ready.

Sunn found themselves in the middle of a shitstorm in 1977 with the release of The Lincoln Conspiracy, also directed by Conway. Historians, critics and the media at large attacked the film for presenting as fact a convoluted conspiracy claiming the assassination of President Lincoln was an inside job, closing, as Oliver Stone’s JFK would years later, with a demand the investigation be reopened. Conway would later claim the film was just a silly speculative docudrama based on a couple recent books, but even the authors of the books denounced the film. Still, a little controversy has never been known to hurt the box office.

Over the next few years Sunn continued to release two or three pseudoscientific documentaries  a year, including Beyond and Back, Beyond Death’s Door, and The Bermuda Triangle, the latter of which claimed all those ships and planes vanished after being zapped by a malfunctioning Atlantean particle bean that was lost somewhere on the ocean floor near Bimini. Bimini? Well, I gotta say, as explanations go, it makes about as much sense as any other.

A personal favorite from the late Sunn era for its sheer nihilistic simplicity was 1979’s Encounter With Disaster, this time directed by Charles Sellier himself. Using his patented market research techniques, he brought a test audience into a theater and showed them dozens of newsreel clips of fires, earthquakes, The Hindenberg, race car crashes and the like, measuring responses to see which were considered the most exciting. He then strung all the most popular disaster footage together and released it as a feature.

Encounter With Disaster was perhaps the one true mondo film Sunn released during their brief heyday, and a definite anomaly. Toward the end, instead of documentary footage, talking heads and manipulative narration, films like The Bermuda Triangle, Beyond Death’s Door and In Search of Historic Jesus cane to rely more on speculative recreations with actors, sets and scripted dialogue. Although a narrator does pop up occasionally to say, in essence, “Yup, this really, really happened!,” the films come off more like splintered docudramas than documentaries, which somehow makes their assorted theses seem even less plausible.

It’s worth pointing out here that In Search of Historic Jesus, as delightfully awful as it is, does, without saying as much, offer a clear case study of the effect Sellier’s marketing machinations could have on a film.

Directed by Sunn’s in-house cinematographer Henning Schellerup (who prior to Sunn had worked on everything from softcore porn to Corman productions) and again narrated by Brad Crandall, Historic Jesus clearly began life as a documentary aiming to present all the independent historical evidence proving the Biblical account of Jesus’ life was accurate. Given there was precious little of that to be found, it became a documentary about the Shroud of Turin. Given there wasn’t really ninety minutes worth of material about the Shroud of Turin, they shot an interview with a fake scientist offering some, um, plausible scientific explanations for the Star of Bethlehem, then plundered some footage from the Noah’s Ark movie (though oddly the data offered in the latter somehow changed between 1976 and 1979). All this left them with a film that was about twenty minutes long.

The film was saved when Sellier gathered a test audience of fundamentalist Christians. After showing them a few scenes, he quickly learned they didn’t need any scientific or historical proof that Jesus really existed. They just wanted to hear more Jesus stories.

Taking their advice, the bulk of the film became a  string of recreations of Jesus’ Greatest Hits acted out by amateur actors playing Jesus, Mary, Herid, Pontius Pilate and assorted disciples. No effort whatsoever is made to prove these recreated scenes actually happened. So instead of a pseudoscientific, pseudohistorical account of the, um, historical figure known as Jesus of Nazareth, it became another Sunday School-ready Jesus movie, all primed and ready to be rented to church groups across the country. In short, then, calling the film In Search of Historic Jesus actually makes sense.

By 1979, Sunn’s documentaries seemed to be running out of gas. They were still turning a profit (especially that Historic Jesus thing), but the profits weren’t what they once were, and the films were costing more to make. Also, other production houses had picked up on the Sunn Classic formula and began releasing High Strangeness docs of their own. In 1978, for instance, Amran Films and RCR released The Late Great Planet Earth, based on “Biblical scholar” Hal Lindsey’s massive bestseller which claimed all the prophecies in the Book of Revelation were coming true, and the long-promised Apocalypse would arrive any day now. If I remember correctly, the world was supposed to end in 1986. The film was hosted and narrated by Orson Wells, who had once been asked to narrate a Sunn film, but was so horrified by their marketing practices he turned down the job.

(A few years later in 1981, Welles would also narrate a documentary about Nostradamus’ prophecies, which was directed, coincidentally enough, by Sunn Classic alumnus Robert Guenette. Just to illustrate how influential Sunn’s experiment had been, The Man Who Saw Tomorrow was distributed by goddamn WARNER BROTHERS, of all places.)

What struck the real death knell to Sunn’s hugely successful string of pseudoscientific and pseudo historical extravaganzas was a changing culture. We were own the brink of Morning in America and the Reagan Era. Interest in silly monsters and psychic phenomena was waning as everyone put the ’70s behind them, focusing instead on the stock market, the threat of nuclear war, cocaine, designer clothes and other tangible real world issues.

Charles Sellier

In 1980 Sunn Classic Pictures was bought out by Taft Enterprises, a Cincinnatti-based conglomerate.  The suits in Taft’s entertainment division had a few ideas of their own about what American moviegoers wanted. When they correctly saw that the days of four-walling were about over as the business ties between the major studios and national theater Chains grew stronger, Charles Sellier walked away to continue writing, producing, directing and marketing films on his own terms. In 1984 he directed the notorious holiday slasher film, Silent Night, Deadly Night, a picture remembered more for its ad campaign than anything in the picture itself. Sellier also later converted from Mormonism to evangelical Christianity.

When Taft likewise decided family friendly entertainment was a dead end, that the market for G-rated wilderness adventures simply wasn’t there anymore, that a film had to be rated PG or R if it hoped to make any money, Jensen and a few other original American National Enterprises refugees quit in disgust, and once again formed their own production company to offer honest American families wholesome entertainment options. Their first film was 1981’s Private Lessons, a teen sex comedy starring Sylvia Kristel. It made a lot of money.

Director James Conway stayed with Taft for awhile, helming several pictures, including the monster movie The Boogens . Interestingly, the very first Taft/Sunn release, perhaps formulated to attract Sunn’s core audience, was the Conway-directed Hangar 18, starring Darren McGavin, Robert Vaughn and Gary Collins. It was the perfect transitional picture, a sci-fi conspiracy thriller loosely based on what might well have been the subject of the next Sunn Classic documentary: Roswell and Area 51. Conway later went on to become an executive at Spelling Entertainment, overseeing a mountain of wildly successful crap.

Over the subsequent decades there were more sales and acquisitions, with the various companies overseeing the Sunn Classic brand themselves being gobbled up by even larger faceless corporate entities. Sunn vanished, then reappeared, then vanished again. Today there are vague, mysterious hints that Sunn Classics Pictures has been re-launched after Rayland Jensen teamed up with Lang Elliott, original founder of Tri-Star Pictures. But if Sunn really has risen from the grave, would it matter?

For good or ill, over the course of that five-year stretch between 1974 and 1979, Sunn Classic Pictures illuminated one strange facet of a very strange era, warped millions of impressionable minds (like mine), fully capitalized on a nation’s despair and collective neuroses, and left an indelible mark on the culture. Take even a cursory glance at what’s airing on the History and Discovery Channels, or at how the marketing departments of any movie studio large or small operates today. They simply wouldn’t be what they are In the second decade of the twenty-first century had it not been for Sunn Classic Pictures., and fore that we can thank the Mormons, a right-wing kook, and Bigfoot.

by Jim Knipfel

[clansayeed]

Bound by Destiny ― Chapter 3: The Evidence

PAIRING: Kamilah Sayeed x MC (Nadya Al Jamil) RATING: Mature

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Destiny ⥽

Nadya Al Jamil (MC) has been struggling from the day she moved to Manhattan, but her new job as assistant to the mysterious CEO of Raines Corp was supposed to turn her luck around. Until she finds herself caught in the middle of a war involving the Council of Vampires who secretly run the city. An evil from the birth of Vampire-kind stirs beneath, feeding on the conflict, and finds Nadya bound to a destiny she never asked for.

Bound by Destiny and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the Bloodbound series and spin-off, Nightbound. Find out more [HERE].

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

Everyone said nothing good would ever come of falling into an online video rabbit hole. Unfortunately for Nadya they were right.

[READ IT ON AO3]

She doesn’t see hide nor hair of Katherine in the days following the Gallery, and can’t help but suspect that’s kind of the point. Adrian doesn’t mention her name, her presence, or the fact that he essentially ditched Nadya at an event full of strangers to conclude whatever business he and Kamilah had with her.

He does make it up to his secretary just as he said. When he picks her up Monday evening there’s a sample box of gourmet cronuts from a news-featured local bakery with a reservation line as long as the one to get a photo on the bridge where King Anton proposed to Princess Caoimhe. Before she can message Adrian what he wants for dinner on Wednesday there’s an email from security downstairs about a food delivery — which just so happens to be from one of the best Brazilian steakhouses in the city. And just when she doesn’t think he could be any more impressive (or desperate for forgiveness) he sends her off Friday near-dawn with front-row tickets for her and Lily to Saturday’s evening performance of On Summit Blackspine.

“No — nope, no freakin’ way.”

With his hands in his pockets Adrian is like a wall of generosity. He simply won’t take it back. “I insist. You two were looking at tickets anyway, right?”

“Well, yeah,” she splutters, acts like she has no idea how to hold two small pieces of paper, “but we were looking at tickets, like, a year from now, and… way way up in the nosebleeds!”

Adrian completely disregards her protests; even when they start to venture into ‘why were you listening to my lunch break phone call’ territory. He doesn’t seem somber — like he’s genuinely repaying some sort of debt — at all. In fact she’s never seen anyone look so excited about something they won’t be partaking in.

He joins her in the elevator ride down but doesn’t have any of his usual things. He’s staying late but won’t hear a word of her offering to keep him company.

Before the revolving door separates them Nadya plucks up her courage and turns on her heel to look Adrian in the eyes. He startles back, but his composure is never more than a hair’s breadth away.

“You know you don’t have to do anything, right?” It’s as sincere as she can make it; any more emotion between them and she might as well be bawling into his tie.

“What do you mean?”

She groans in protest. “Adrian, you know exactly what I mean. All this stuff —” her gesture is open, vague, but he’s a smart guy, “— and whatever you have in mind about making it up to me. You don’t have to do any of it. Please tell me you understand that. I mean it. I need to hear you, like, verbally say it.”

He laughs in that familiar kind way of his; even puts on a squared jaw and teasingly stern frown when she swats his arm.

“I understand, Nadya, I do. But I can’t help it. I left you on your own most of the night, and didn’t even tell you when I was leaving. Just let me do this, please?”

Eventually his kicked-puppy eyes break her resolve, but only just. “Fine. But this is it, Raines. No more apology gifts.”

“Alright, alright! No more. Though returning the Maserati might be an issue…”

Nadya’s heart falls into the pit of her stomach. “The wha —” But Adrian’s awful at hiding his smile, even worse at hiding the shit-eating grin it grows into, and though he could probably dead-lift her without a second thought she hopes the numerous smacks she wails on his arms do some kind of damage.

He waves her off, calls out “Tell me all about it Monday!” and she’s the one left watching him retreat back into the building.

While riding the subway Nadya’s thoughts wander — and not for the first time either — to whether or not other Manhattan secretaries had such eccentric bosses. Doubtful.

There isn’t time the next night to think about Adrian’s oddities — all thanks to Lily. If she spent the whole evening worrying about work and why her boss was so nice it was a guarantee that her roommate would use any physical force necessary to snap her out of it.

“I can’t believe you had all day to catch up and you spent it rewatching AME!”

While they certainly aren’t dressed up to rival those she’d seen at the Gallery, Nadya and Lily are still the best-dressed things to grace the subway in a long time. Nadya had been ready to call a rideshare until Lily so graciously reminded her how expensive drinks and snacks were likely to be at the show — and they already had subway passes.

“The stage show debuted last year,” Nadya argues defensively, “it’s not like they’re gonna edit the script for every new episode that airs.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I’m pretty sure.”

They compare notes of knowledge and trade fan-theories on the ride; every time Lily riles herself up over the book plots Nadya has to pat her shoulder and remind her to use her subway voice. It may have been way too much for Adrian to spend on someone who managed his datebook but she couldn’t deny how much she missed hanging out with her best friend.

“Check it out,” Lily whispers in her ear, and Nadya turns her attention away from the seating chart above the door to the sight of Lily’s dress shirt unbuttoned and spread Superman-style; revealing her collector’s edition The Crown and the Flame book-cover tee; a memory from their first Christmas together.

It sends them both into fits of giggles — the attendees around them may be averse to laughter and joy but they certainly were not. The doors open soon after and they take their seats — smack dab in the middle of the front row.

The lights dim, the curtains part, and all the reviews Nadya read about how ‘difficult and underwhelming it was to bring something filmed on-location and with tons of CGI to the stage’ can go shove it because the Five Kingdoms are beautiful.

Lily steals her phone Monday afternoon for a quick text. Nadya doesn’t think much of it — they’ve lived together long enough with little boundary — until she’s about to go down and wait for Adrian on the curb but instead he’s blocking her path in the doorway.

“Uh…?” The confusion doesn’t last long — not when Lily practically assaults Adrian with one of her signature bone-crushing, spine-deforming, lung-shrinking hugs. She praises a litany of gracious thanks so fast she’s out of breath before Nadya can pull her off.

To Adrian’s credit he’s not phased in the slightest — back again with that silly grin. “Well that solves my mystery,” presenting his phone screen to them both, “because when I saw how the text was signed I thought you confused me for someone else.”

When she takes the phone and spots the ‘xoxo’ signed at the bottom of Lily’s request for Adrian to meet her at the door, Nadya’s cheeks burn scarlet.

“I’m gonna kill you.”

“I figured.” Though Lily doesn’t seem ashamed in the slightest. “I just wanted to thank him in person. I had the chance, so I took it.”

“I take it that means the show lived up to the hype?” Adrian looks between them eagerly; and even Nadya relents and nods.

“It was amazing.”

“They had a full. sized. dragon puppet. Of course it was amazing!”

They’re running an hour late — Adrian insists it wasn’t any trouble but when Lily’s highlights became ‘recounting the show scene-for-scene’ Nadya had to get them out — but even the CEO’s reassurance falters when the elevator door opens to Nicole standing tersely in front of his office door.

All these months and she still doesn’t understand the dynamic between Nicole and Adrian. He’s her boss, both their boss, yet sometimes it feels like Nicole is the one ordering him around, keeping him on task — a feeling curiously accompanied by her presence in the general vicinity.

Today is no different. Her frown turns into barely-expressed rage as she looks between them. If she held her files any tighter there might be nail-shaped punctures in the paper.

“You’re late.” Nicole gives a terse click of her tongue and strides between them — parts them physically — towards the waiting elevator.

Adrian glances at his watch. “Not by much. It’s not as though Lester is clamoring to see me.”

“A certain degree of professionalism is required when handling… delicate matters such as these.”

While they argue, Nadya starts slowly inching towards her desk. Tries to make as little noise as possible as she lowers her purse down and starts taking out her work. Either it works or she’s suddenly magic because they continue to bicker on as though they’re alone up in his office.

“I don’t know anyone in the world who would call Lester Castellanos delicate, Nicole.”

The elevator door tries to close behind her but her heel wedges in the gap and forces it open. It feels like a metaphor to Nadya.

“You know very well that’s not what I mean.”

Adrian raises an eyebrow. “Then what do you mean?”

There’s no questioning the spiteful look Nicole flashes behind him. Gaze pinned straight on Nadya with a crinkle in her otherwise perfect mask of stone-cold witch.

“Not here. Downstairs.”

She’s a little more than half surprised that Adrian doesn’t pull the cinematic-cliche ‘anything you need to say, you can say in front of Nadya’ line. But it wasn’t a full surprise — there were just some things she wasn’t privy to yet. The fact that she knew as much as she did with less than a year under her belt was astonishing to say the least.

Instead, Adrian casts half a look over his shoulder. His eyes not quite meeting hers.

“Very well.”

Then they’re both standing in the elevator — Nadya watching it close from the other side.

It’s either a trick of the LEDs or Adrian looks apologetic before the door shuts with a soft ding.

Lunch — the midnight version of it — rolls around and Nadya tries not to seem so obvious in how she sneaks glances at the lift. Hoping, willing it to open. It’s almost maddening. Almost; until she replays the pair’s confrontation for the umpteenth time in her head and catches something she missed before.

Her fingers fly across her keyboard; pb&j abandoned in front of her.

Lester. She knows that name; can still hear it in Adrian’s voice clear as day.

“What have you contributed, Lester?”

The browser isn’t even finished loading her results when the unease settles in. What was once a tightly-wound ball of panic that kept her from even looking in Adrian’s direction had dulled, yes, but somehow that just made things worse. There had been a chunk of time in which she really considered Adrian might be involved with killers; or that he may very well be one himself. His charm wasn’t the only thing that disarmed her — because Adrian’s charm didn’t have the same luster it did when she first started working for him.

Nadya remembers the smile he gave her as he reassured Nadya over her interview jitters. It was something easy, practiced. It was easier to fake something around someone you didn’t know — that’s how she’s lied her way through the confidence to report directly to such an important member of the industry. Now — things changed; well hadn’t they? From daily drives to silly quips hiding behind a chocolate fountain. They’d grown close.

Somehow she hopes that means it’s harder for him to lie to her. It’s certainly harder for her to see him as a murderer. Kamilah Sayeed, on the other hand…

Lester Castellanos looks exactly like a man named Lester. Either his mother was psychic or he decided to grow into a name that oozed lecherous intent. Right off the bat a few clicks here and there on her screen outline his meat-packing company (along with several FDA violations and one unionizing strike three years ago) and how his ‘father’ ran it before he took over after Y2K. Only there aren’t any photos of Mister Castellanos with his father… or without him, actually. Plenty of local news rags have snapshots of him with a pretty (paid) girl on each arm; coming out of a Lacroix spring debut, donating to Senator Vega’s reelection campaign, having some small branch of the Metropolitan Museum of Art named after him for his generosity.

Nadya’s so close to giving up — to associating Adrian and Lester as businessmen of the same tycoon-ishness — when a grainy streaming rabbit hole catches her eye. Not that she’d ever admit she was looking so intently but that maroon pantsuit? Hard not to recognize.

Probably doesn’t help that she’s had more than a few dreams about it…

It’s been ages since she’s watched anything that wasn’t taken on some form of camera phone. But the date stamp in the corner and the slight lag between audio and visual definitely mark this as a remnant of the bygone VHS-era. Probably when Lester was inducted in as CEO of his company.

There. She spends what feels like hours pausing, rewinding, dragging the player to a specific spot and having to time her two-fingered assault on the keyboard just so but the victory is sweeter than she could have imagined.

Behind Lester’s flouncy gestures for some speech about bringing ‘old industry’ back to Manhattan — the flicker of maroon. And beside Kamilah’s pixelated waves of dark hair stands a figure two heads taller and with cheekbones definitely made to exist in the time of high-definition photography; distinctive even from a distance.

Adrian’s grainy figure leans down and whispers something in Kamilah’s distorted confidence. Maybe she laughs; maybe she frowns. She doesn’t look away from Lester’s speech.

And in the corner: [03 JULY, 2001]

An uncharacteristic calm falls over her. Maybe she’s done enough freaking out for the day — or over Adrian Raines, for that matter — and she’s numb to new information. She deletes her browser history — doesn’t think it’ll do much good if anyone really wanted to see what she was looking at — and clocks back in. Loses herself in the work. For once in Nadya’s life the mindless, soul-sucking tedium of an office job is a good thing. Doesn’t really need much brain power, makes it so she doesn’t pay attention when the lift door dings and Adrian returns from his meeting with a slump in his shoulders.

That is until he looks over her shoulder.

“You’re already working on the MacCombe spreads?” He sounds surprised.

“I finished all those return calls—here —” she hands him three neon-pink post-its with different names and dates scribbled on them, “— don’t worry about memorizing them; I’ve updated your datebook with the appointments. Though this one, Volenti, is a lunch at some rooftop Italian place, so I’d avoid the morning coffee.”

She expects him to pay it all little mind. After all, this is what he’s paying her for: clerical nonsense, not to be his friend and a pesky detective on the side.

But Adrian’s all about subverting expectations; plucks the note from her fingers and frowns at the time.

“I can’t make it that day. I’m booked up all afternoon.”

Nadya quickly pulls up both his digital datebook and brushes aside an open folder to the desk calendar she has color-coded to the nines. Even Adrian’s eyes widen at the sheer mess of her incoherent organization.

“Uh, no you’re not?” Which isn’t so much questioning her boss as questioning her own appointment-making skills.

“I am. Tell Mrs. Volenti she’ll need to change it to a dinner reservation.”

“Well maybe we can squeeze—”

“Nadya.”

She looks at his face for the first time since he returned. When Adrian realized ‘professional personal space’ wasn’t really her forte — a habit picked up from living in close quarters with Lily, no doubt — he started testing his own waters until it wasn’t uncommon for both of them to just reach over one another without a second thought.

He takes up that personal bubble, now; towers over her in a way that makes Nadya shrink back in her chair slightly.

She’s never heard that sort of tone from him before. Harsh, cold, almost mean. Nadya shivers.

The hard look in Adrian’s eyes softens instantly. His tone stays firm.

“Change it to a dinner reservation. And book me up for office calls that day.” Then, as if their friendship is an afterthought; “Thank you.”

His office door closes behind him absolutely silent — she can just imagine him being as delicate as possible with the creaky old wood.

Nadya takes a few minutes to collect herself in her personal bathroom. She emerges, still counting down from one hundred, and grabs the note with Volenti’s number to reschedule.

“BOOM! HEADSHOT!”

Nadya looks down at her pint of ice cream with a grimace. No matter what the commercials said, they were liars: lactose-free ice cream was a crime against humanity.

“Did you see that? I’m pretty sure I couldn’t replicate that move if I tried.” Lily talks half to herself half to her one-person audience as she studies the controller in her hands. She brings it close and strokes her thumb over the joystick.

“Tell me your secrets… please?”

The controller vibrates — makes Lily scream in response. Then a horde of zombies swarms in on her character on the television screen and she scrambles to return to diligent gamer-mode.

Maybe time passes, or maybe Lily suddenly has the ability to teleport. Both options are equally likely as one minute Nadya successfully tunes out the groaning roar of digital catastrophe and the next Lily’s plucking the barren spoon from dangling awkwardly in her mouth.

“Hello? Ground control to Al Jamil; can you read me, Al Jamil?”

It takes Nadya a moment to blink away a sluggishness she didn’t know she had.

“You say something, Lil’?”

“I mean,” she seriously thinks it over, “nothing more than my usual gaming banter — which is still worthy of an epic quote-book. How was your trip to Planet of the Mush-Brains?”

Crouched in front of Nadya’s armchair, Lily steals a bite of melty ice cream — cringes at the lie that is ‘lactose-free’ maple pecan but forces herself to swallow it.

There’s a quip about the squishy mess that would be planet Mush-Brain on the tip of Nadya’s tongue. Instead she looks down at her half-reflection in her roommate’s smudged glasses and erupts in gooseflesh.

“Can I ask you something weird?”

“Weird on a scale of…?”

“Weird.” Nadya confirms. Lily grins.

“You fuckin’ bet.”

There’s a pause where she breathes in deep, tries to process the words about to come out of her mouth, and she goes for it.

“Do you believe in vampires?”

They’ve lived together long enough now to go through all the theories, discussions, and conversations generally reserved for the butt-crack of dawn or when midnight seems to stretch on forever. They’ve bought matching sleeping bags and sometimes have camping nights in the living room (though Lily is forever banned from buying candles — because sometimes ‘the aesthetic’ just isn’t worth possibly burning down an entire apartment building); laid head-meet-toes for hours and talked about the things that made them who they were; what they dreamed about, their genie wishes, and the things unproven that they still believed in anyway.

Vampires included.

Lily props her chin on Nadya’s knee and blinks slowly. She reminds Nadya of a cat sometimes.

“Sure,” she shrugs, “I guess. Are you talking about that video that went viral about that Norwegian metal band that said they drink each other’s blood before gigs?”

Nadya blanches. Some things should just never be said with a straight face. “No! What?! Who—where do you find these things?”

"The internet.”

“Right — I mean — no. Not Norwegians. Like… actual vampires.”

It’s stupid; ludicrous even. It’s not something she’s even going to go through the process of explaining out loud because some things even Lily might find absolutely bonkers. And she once went on a date with a Flat-Earther.

Maybe her roommate’s actually taking her seriously because she takes a long pause before answering.

“Sure, I guess. Depends on what kind.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, what lore are we talking? And also, is this a sleeping bag situation?”

Nadya wants to say yes. She wants them to push the coffee table aside and lay down together so she can vent every crazy idea she’s processing — and then some. But the room looks lighter than it did a few minutes ago and when she glances at the stove clock her heart sinks. 06:08 glaring at her in bright ugly red. Lily ‘Freakin’ Superhuman’ Spencer is no stranger to pulling all-nighters before work but Nadya has a feeling if she unloads now it might tempt her roomie to call out to stay by her side.

And while the company would be nice there was one thing she liked just a little bit more: being able to make rent.

“Nah,” she’s not convincing anyone, least of all her best friend, when she waves it off and jostles Lily onto her rear end by standing, “I was just thinking weird things.”

But now Lily’s caught the scent. Leans in sans personal-bubble as Nadya puts the melted ice cream away.

“What kinda weird things? When did you start thinking them? Who made you think weird things?”

“It’s nothing, Lil’.”

“Obviously not.”

“And you’re suddenly Sherlock Holmes…?”

“I talked to my controller, Nadi’. And you didn’t stop me.”

“Well as long as you weren’t tonguing the joystick.”

“Ew,” Lily recoils, “you know I don’t do sticks. Stop changing the subject!”

But it was just enough to get Nadya time to slip out from under the gaze of nerd-glasses scrutiny; she’s already closing her bedroom door. Lily never could resist a lesbian quip.

“Good luck at work!” She calls, and leans against her door with a heavy sigh. Nothing’s stopping Lily from knocking until she answers, or more frighteningly; nothing’s stopping her from breaking into a rendition of the song from Frozen.

But Lily respects her space. She’s just crawled into bed when she hears a call of “See ya!” and the front door slamming shut.

She texts Adrian half an hour later calling in sick. She gets sick time, right? Of course he answers when she’s on the cusp of real sleep.

[TEXT]: Are you alright?? -Adrian

[TEXT]: yeah Lil gave me her cold. sorry. can I do it like this or do I have to call hr? [TEXT]: please don’t say I gotta call nicole

[TEXT]: No this is fine. I’m sure I can survive one day. -Adrian [TEXT]: Actually take a long weekend. See you Monday. Feel better.

It’s more than she asked for so why does something uncomfortable settle in her gut? She stares at the text chain, squints until her eyes begin to blur the words, and then it hits her.

No ‘Sincerely, Adrian.’ Whatever he’s doing this early (which, honestly she’s surprised since everyone has to sleep sometime but not him, apparently) has him occupied enough not to be, well, himself. And there’s a part of Nadya that feels like if she sends him a message asking about it he might very well respond. Her fingers hover over the buttons on screen long enough for her hand to prickle with pins and needles.

She turns off the ringer, tucks the device under her pillow, and forces herself to sleep.

They are grown-ups, thank you very much. They have grown-up jobs and grown-up bills and grown-up credit cards and checking accounts and monthly interest fees. And while most of grown-up life sucked a big one, having jobs that only operated during the business week was a small perk in a sea of ‘wait, I didn’t ask for this.’

Lily doesn’t bring up the ‘V’ word all weekend. They aren’t best friends for nothing — Nadya’s way ahead of her and knows when the questions itch on the tip of her tongue. Doesn’t help that Lily’s magically, totally spontaneously decided to bring out her old copy of ‘Blood Suckers 3: Fast-Forward’ to brush up on her apparently rusty vampire-cyborg slaying abilities.

With a grocery-store pizza crisping in the oven and the tinny sounds of the cybernetically-enhanced undead wailing their deaths throughout the entire apartment things feel… normal. They feel like they used to. Before Adrian, before Raines Corp., before her internet browsing history was shamefully filled with the beginnings of research into the possibility that the creepy spookies might be legit.

There’s only one job that has followed the pair of them into grown-up life: knowing how to take care of each other. They were a bit rusty — but still got the stuff.

Lily’s eyes are glued to the screen, thumbs twitching on the joystick and slamming into buttons because hitting them harder made the little in-game avatar attack faster—obviously. Nadya can’t stop watching in amusement as she scoots, inch by inch, towards the edge of the couch in anticipation for this level’s boss battle.

“Die cyborg scum! For a third and final time!”

Any harder and she might actually break the triangle button. But Nadya doesn’t get time to warn her — not with the sudden shrill screech of the smoke detector.

“The pizza!” She’s up in a flash — yanks the pie way from the heat where it falls lamely on the floor and spews blackened bits all over the tile. The alarm chirps on out of spite.

Nadya waves a dish towel at the collecting smoke — god she really loves Lily to death but the fact that she’s the only one picking herself up to do anything is frustrating to say the least.

“Lil’! Open the windows! Please?!”

It’s enough to pull her roommate out of the distant and horrible year of 5048; then a mad dash to unlatch the fire escape window. Winter forces in like that time Lily thought they could rent out their couch space to gap-year European students. She’s chilly but effective in sucking the smoky air outside. Snowflakes flutter in but vanish on contact with the decades-old carpeting.

Above them; the sudden THUD THUD THU-UD of unfortunately all-too-familiar workboots. Then a shrill voice cuts through the aged plaster holding their building together by a thread.

“What’s that awful noise?! Marty, stop stomping you fucking idiot! I’m tryna watch my show here!”

“It’s those dykes downstairs!” Marty’s delightful holler suddenly grows sharp — echoes from his open window to theirs, “CUT THAT SHIT OUT! You ain’t takin’ us to Hell with you!”

Like a holy sign the detector ceases; angry red blinking slowing down into green, false-alarm peace.

Lily glares at the white plastic in contempt. “Rude neighbors I can live with — but a homophobic smoke detector? Nu-uh. Where’s my bat?”

While Nadya tries to dissuade her from beating them into a replacement fine Marty resumes his best lumberjack impression above them. The hazards of living somewhere with rent security.

The bat may have just been a comic-con prop but there’s nothing comical about the slew of rusty nails sticking out of the business end at odd angles. It takes a solid chunk of time to talk her down, talk her into unleashing her aggression back on Lestat-meets-the-Terminator.

After a bit of sleuthing — and with pizza crust char smeared on her cheek — Nadya holds out the culprit with all the conviction Law and Order could teach: a chunk of the plastic wrapping melted into a gloss on top of a pepperoni.

“I’ll have to call the store in the morning.”

Lily snarls at her game with new vigor. “Why?”

“Because — we caught it. What if there’s a bad batch?”

“I mean, maybe. But you don’t know that.”

“Neither do they unless I say something.”

“So…” Hunger stakes both Lily and her boss battle; ‘PAUSED’ flashing on the screen in bright blocky letters while Lily pushes up her glasses, “no pizza?”

The air hurts her face. Why did she willingly choose to live in a place where the air hurts her face?

There’s definitely an open pizza joint a few blocks over — you don’t have enough money to geomap the entire world and lie about late-night pizza — but not only are people like Nadya one of the reasons food delivery services were invented, she’s just not as familiar with her neighborhood as she once was. At the moment she blames Adrian for that.

“Stupid ritzy lunch deliveries,” she mutters, keeps her lips moving and tries not to lick them and ohp—there it goes, now her lips feel like she’s well on her way to frostbite, “stupid fancy dinner hotels, stupid employee-only rooftop restaurant, stupid DiGeronimo’s plastic-riddled pizzas of death.”

She’s glad there’s no one around to listen to her muttered tirade. Some things a woman just has to complain about alone.

“Why am I the one out here anyway?” she asks no one in particular — the snowflakes picking up speed around her, maybe, “I can’t even eat the darn pizza! — Then again I was totally gonna eat the pizza. Hey, universe, if you’re listening, I was gonna eat the pizza. I was gonna be punished enough. So like… let up on the ice age, will ya?”

The universe doesn’t let up on the ice age. If anything it feels like the snow drift is picking up speed. Flakes turn to fat droplets on her glasses that distort the world around her. Cupping her hands over her mouth does no good — can’t exactly see with fog over her lenses.

Huddled under the drooping awning of a closed bodega, her shaking hands fumble around for her phone and the map. “Nooo… how did I end up on the wrong side of the friggin’ park?!”

Lily will wait for her cheesy delight, she decides — kicks the sticky snow from her boots and trudges across the street towards the park entrance, she will wait until I’ve regained feeling in all ten fingers and all ten toes and not a minute before.

It’s all very Every Crime Serial Ever. Literally, Nadya swears she’s seen at least a dozen winter-themed episodes start with a young woman taking a shortcut in a dark park. But there’s more on the line than empty stomachs and another night of instant ramen now. Now; it’s a point of pride. It’s about making it out into the storm and returning, victorious, from the highest peak with tales of wonder and mystery.

So she keeps to the snowed-over pathways even when the cold wet starts to seep into her thick fuzzy socks — keeps under the glow of lamp posts the city abandoned a long time ago where she can find them. Distracts herself with thoughts of delicious melty cheese and sneaking a few mushrooms onto Lily’s side before she gets back to the apartment — and wonders if the delivery driver might take pity on her poor frozen soul and drive her back to her block rather than making her return with a pizza-sicle.

That’s the problem with expecting something bad to happen, though. When you expect it you do everything in your power to not think about it — to not run around freaking out over every fallen leaf and garbage-diving raccoon. There’s definitely a difference between using smart caution and just straight up stamping down every bad feeling rolling around in your gut.

Nadya, unfortunately, is prone to the latter. Years of jeers and teasing and being called irrational will do their damage eventually — and for her they come together as the knowledge that she shouldn’t be doing what she’s doing but not enough wisdom to turn back.

There’s a loud crash. Nadya screams loud enough to warm up her insides. Her keys held tightly between each knuckle in self-defense on one hand and phone ready to emergency dial with the other. Fear creeps in at the edges of her vision; makes the darkness outside the safety of the lamp’s light appear alive, undulating, thriving off her terror.

In the dark void between one lamppost and the next a hollow metal creaking grows closer—closer—closer—and she’ll never tell a living soul (that’s a lie, she’ll probably tell Lily when she stops having nightmares over this mess) but she might have accidentally unclenched her legs a little too quickly as an upended garbage can rolls a path through the fresh snow with the contents painting a trail behind.

I’m a good citizen, dang it, but I wanna keep my fingers. Because what horror movie starts with the victim being ripped to shreds while she’s saving the environment during a polar vortex?

The distant Lily-adjacent voice in the back of her head quips something like “holiday horror movies, duh!” but it’s too quiet — too soft over the sudden primal roar that carries on every gust of winter wind.

She’s cold. She’s afraid. There’s the strangest taste of almonds on the back of her tongue?

Then everything is warm and dark. She briefly considers crawling out of bed to have Lily remind her to pack a lunch in the morning.

Instead she welcomes sleep.

[spacebrick3]

Evenfall University: Ring of Fire Part 4

Part 4 of Mira’s adventures at Evenfall! And things are starting to take an interesting turn, here in @note-katha‘s university, and who knows where it will lead them…

The problem with grand proclamations like “changing the world” is that there’s a lot of groundwork. Everybody knows the leaders of the revolution, but few the ones who build the stage. “So…how do we find the First Circle?” Mira asks awkwardly, waiting outside her dormitory (and missing her class). “I mean, it’s not like we can just go up to a teacher and ask.”

“You’d be surprised,” Sam says, “but…generally better not to. Keeps them at a distance, at the very least. But they rely on their warnings more than any actual security - trust that we’ll listen to the authorities of the school, mostly.”

“What does that mean? Their authority’s pretty solid if there’s no information,” she says, glancing sideways with a frown. The early-morning sunlight shines strangely off of her, a faint translucence to Sam’s skin. Or maybe it’s just a holdover of her aura, the lighter gold over the darker brown giving it that strange effect. “I mean, no one has to guard any of the scrolls from Alexandria because they’re all gone - have they done the same here?”

Sam motions for Mira to follow, one corner of her mouth ticking upwards into a smirk. “No. They’re still in the library. Just sitting there, on the shelves. After all, they wouldn’t destroy the information that helps them, would they?”

“And…we can just pick them up?”

“No, they’re restricted. There’s a spell - it manipulates you, tells you that you don’t really want the books. People turn away and they’re convinced it’s their own reasoning, and they have no idea. After all, put up a wall and everyone will want to break in - make them think they have a choice, and they’ll willingly give up their own knowledge.” She grimaces. “Insidious, really, prying inside your head.”

It doesn’t sound good. She’d like to think she wouldn’t be affected, that she’d be strong enough to break through such a spell, but she can’t even convince herself of that. If it’s even real. Everybody speaks of it as though it’s real, because for them it defines their life, and can she risk otherwise? Can she take the risk of venturing blind into something she knows nothing about?

She doesn’t know. “So…how do we get the books, then, if we can’t even…keep wanting them?”

“Oh, leave that to me,” Sam says. “Because it’s Third Circle magic, manipulating mind and emotion. And that’s a certain speciality of mine - but I do have to be careful, to make sure they don’t know we’re there.”

“You think there’s a warning system or something?”

“I know I’d set up something if my magic was tampered with,” she says with a shrug. “So…Mira. So far you’ve not lent yourself to stealth-“

Stealth. Right. “Yeah. I’ll…leave that one to you, actually.” Mira shakes her head, rubbing her forehead with a rueful grin. “There’s a reason I’m here at Evenfall, a reason it was a good idea for me to be here and not at some normal university. And that reason, or at least all of it you’ll get, is a distinct lack of stealth on my part.”

That gets her a raised eyebrow, but no comment. “I…see. Um.”

“I mean, you don’t have to worry or anything,” she adds, “it’s not like it even made the news. And I’m not planning on trying again, obviously, plus there are less abandoned NASA workshops - well, I thought it was abandoned-“

For whatever reason, that doesn’t seem to reassure her. She pushes open the door of the library, glaring at the single student sprawled in the corner. “Right. The books should be upstairs, on the third floor, directly opposite from where we are now. I assume you know the structure of the library?”

“I’m still new here, Sam.” She looks around, at the old stone drilled into to let cables snake in and out. Lights glow in the ceiling, the filaments gaining the quality of all old libraries - bright, white light fading to yellow, with just enough flicker to make them appear aged. Books covered in velvet and gold, or at least the important ones, others tucked into shelves or stacked on top of them. “I’ve literally never been here before.”

“Oh, yes. Of course. Each floor gets quieter, as you go up - fairly standard, although it’s imbued with its own magic. Fifth Circle and Third Circle, mixed to restrict Voice and Emotion, as well as boost Mind. In a sense. There are several layers, all overlaying one another, and it will be a challenge to break one and not the other.”

You know in movies? When the scientist character says a bunch of what’s supposed to be ‘fancy scientific formulas’ and is really just a bunch of words jammed together? And all the other characters stare blankly and the one Action Hero™ asks ‘speak English’ to general laughter?

That’s what just happened, except with magic. “I…okay…”

“It doesn’t matter,” Sam says. “It’s not your problem. I’ll be the only one heading upstairs, and the only one who has to deal with this. There shouldn’t be anyone in the top floors, not this early. It’ll be your job to keep them out.”

“What?”

“Mind work is delicate, and what we’re doing is very against the rules. If you’ve been breaking into workshops and you’re not in jail, your lying skills are probably better than your stealth. So lie.” Sam picks a book from the shelf, turning it over in her hands. “Make up something, I don’t care what.”

“I thought you said no one was here.” Mira looks around, noting the exactly one (1) student. “I mean, a lot of this is available online - just being on campus wifi gets people access to papers and stuff. We should be fine.” Except in her dorm, of course, where the wifi runs at the speed of a slug. At 1 fps (frame per slug).

Sam blinks, rubbing her head. “Right. Computers, of course. Then…come with me, kay? You’re still lookout.” The stairs spiral up the outside of the library, glass strips running down their length. They climb together, half in sunlight and half in shadow, Sam frowning at a name scratched into the wall. “That wasn’t here the last time…”

The scratch is in jagged script, the sharp edges of something carved with a knife. Into stone, somehow. Remember Alian, it reads, tucked away in the corner. “Do..you know an Alian?”

“No. Something probably happened to them, though, or it wouldn’t say ‘remember’,” she says, sighing. “Come on, we’re almost there. Can you feel it?”

Her voice is dropping, quieter with each step. “I think so, yeah,” she says, and she’s whispering. “How quiet do we get? Or…are forced to get? Does it quiet us just…all the way?”

“Not quite,” she whispers, “for the people who talk to themselves while studying. But close.” The landing onto the third floor is lined with silver, instead of gold, a colder blue replacing the warm light of downstairs. It’s hardly more modern, with embossed panels set into the wooden wall and shelves of dark mahogany, but certainly colder.

Colder, and hostile somehow. “Maybe we shouldn’t be here,” she says, resting a hand on the door. “It doesn’t feel - I don’t know. But I don’t think-“

“You’re not going any further,” Sam says. “It’s already affecting you, here. Just watch the stairs, make sure nobody gets up here. Say there’s, uh, maintenance or something. Bookkeeping that cannot be disturbed, by even the slightest motion.” She sighs, tapping out a asymmetric rhythm on the wall. “Now…have they changed anything?”

 “You’ve been here before?”

Sam doesn’t answer. “Mind magic is a tricky thing. Sensitive, see. It’s difficult to manipulate from here, no matter what you do. Maybe…it’s a spiderweb, and so any motion on it will disturb the web, no matter how careful.”

“So…what will you do?”

She gives a small smile, though there’s something unrecognizable behind it. “The perks of not being a first-year. There’s some…uh, manipulation of Mind magic you can accomplish. It’s difficult, and dangerous, but it’s the only way to get past. It’s built for a purpose, a specific purpose - to change things in one way, and it can be bypassed.”

And we’re back to the, uh, magical jargon. “That’s not an answer. I asked what you’d do, not how you’d do it.”

“Impatient.” She takes a breath, staring out across the shelves. “Mind magic doesn’t fight itself. It can’t, or it would tear the web apart from the inside. And magic is part of you - you’ve seen the auras, and all it takes is…letting go, I suppose. Separating mind and body, or just putting one above the other.”

“Still not an explanation.”

Sam glares at her. “Just watch.” She takes a breath, then fades, the floor of the library visible through her. The parts of her in the sunlight are barely there, only a faint outline of gold. “Look. Mind over matter, quite literally.”

“I-“ Mira shakes her head, waving a hand through where she stands. “You…feel like syrup?”

“Don’t do that!” she whispers, swatting her hand away. “Would you want someone waving their hand through you?”

“How - what-?”

She makes a show of brushing herself off, still irritated at her. “It’s like…learning to swim, I guess. That’s the only way I can think of it,” she says at last. “But I’ve heard it’s different for everyone who tries it.”

“What do you mean?” she asks, still hopelessly lost.

“When you first learn to swim, you - you’re scared,” she says, shrugging. “You cling to the shore, barely in the water. That’s how most everybody is, clinging to the world. And it’s terrifying to let go, but…if you can…well, if you can let go of the shore, of the world, then…” She gestures at her transparent self. “But stay in shallow waters.”

That’s ominous. “What’s…what’s in deeper waters?”

“Nothing’s there,” she says darkly. “Nothing at all. If you’ve ever been to the sea, you know how it drops off, how the shore falls hundreds of feet to the ocean floor. You stay in shallow waters because otherwise you drown, and there’s no way back. Those are the realms of…of ghosts, of spirits, mostly, the minds who’ve lost all connection with the world.”

“But you still have one.”

Sam scowls. “Yes. Although it’s still scary, letting go. There’s a reason people cling so desperately to the world, and there’s always that fear, that I’ll never be able to get back. That I won’t hold tightly enough to the world and I’ll be lost, falling back into-“ She sighs, breath shaking a little. “Never mind. Just keep watch.”

“I’ll do that.” Sam strides into the library, vanishing as she walks into the sunlit patches. She leaves no footprints, no trace that she’s ever been there. “Wait-“ Mira whispers after her, though it’s much too quiet. “How are you going to carry the books-?”

She’s gone. “Right, then,” she mutters to herself. “…what more can the First Circle give us? She can - she’s like, psychic or something, and Ardis - that is his name, right? - can control time. Apparently.” Mira can’t get closer to the shelves, her own fear that she doesn’t belong there keeping her away. 

Except it’s not her own fear, is it? It’s somebody else’s, manufactured and put into her own head. And she can’t escape it. Mira tells herself it’s not real, and that doesn’t make it any less so. “Get out of my head!” she whispers at it, pacing back and forth on the landing, and it doesn’t.

Maybe that’s what the First Circle does. Maybe it doesn’t do anything but protect her from magic.

It takes exactly 40 minutes and 11 seconds for Sam to return, according to her watch, or enough time for the sun to burn off the last of the fog as it rises. She has a stack of books in her arms, the pages faded to yellow and with dust still thick on the covers. “I got the ones I could,” she says, handing Mira the stack. “The ones that will help you most, anyway.”

“How do you know - how can you tell?” she asks, brushing the dust off one of the titles. The Inner Circles of Magic, it reads, A Comprehensive Guide to Exploring the Second and First Rings. The author is unreadable. “What will be useful and what’s not, I mean?”

“I have my ways,” she says, wincing as she becomes (mostly-, although Mira doesn’t mention it) opaque again. “Probably best to leave, and quickly, too. Come on, you probably already want to-“

She’s not wrong, and Mira hates it. “So what now? We have the books, but…”

“That’s the easy part,” Sam says, shaking her head. “Magic is an art, and - well, any closer to believing in magic?” she asks, almost resignedly. 

Yes. “No.”

“Great. Time for you to become an artist, with colors you can’t see.”

Tag list: @lady-redshield-writes, @no-url-ideas-tho, @ratracechronicler, @ken-kenwrites, @ravenpuffwriter, @cirianne, @lonelylibrary @maxbeewriting, @endlesshourglass, @thebloodstainedquill,  @anip-ocs, @note-katha @dreamwishing, @incandescent-creativity, @fatal-blow, @danafaithwriting, @wri-tten, @writingwhithotchocolate, @katekyo-bitch-reborn, @klywrites and @dogwrites!

(and if you liked this, don’t forget to check out Evenfall University at @note-katha, since it is actually their amazing story and all!)