#especially as someone whose been a bob's fan since the beginning :)
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i just saw the bob’s burgers movie alriiiiight! :D
(well ok not just but ya know ;) )
it was a blast to watch! there were so many people in the theater and they were all laughing! it was like we were watching an ep of the show together! :D
spoilery thoughts about it below ;)
the trailer reminded me of the simpsons movie (which i saw in theaters back in ‘07) and while that one had big af stakes, this movie had big stakes. i liked it a lot more!
the lighting and some shots in the movie were so well done and reminded me of sailor moon eternal! :D
there were some young girls who giggled throughout the movie and it was very cute! i was 8 (going on 9 later in the year) when bob’s burgers came out so i wonder if they were too...
the little flashback to bob and linda seeing their empty restaurant was so sweet! :’)
i loved seeing so many characters! :D
i liked how gene explained the itty bitty ditty committee to rudy and darrell! it was nice for people who haven’t seen the show
also there were so many ep callbacks! a couple off the top of my head is tina’s heat rash, which is the itchy crotch from the pilot! and teddy puts ‘bob burger’ on the cart which is what he thinks bob’s name is ;)
oh yeah there was another callback when bob was lying on the floor! it was just like tina in that one season 1 ep! :D
he groans just like her! :)
everyone in the audience laughed at linda kicking bob in the nuts! :D
and the girls giggled a lot at bob’s little grill dance!
bob yelling while mort and teddy are in the restaurant brought me back to the early eps! :)
louise’s hat story is sweet :) (even if it’s a tad different than she remembered wink wink...)
i was hoping the mechanical shark would be in the sinkhole BUT THAT SKELETON THO OMG :o
louise in the hole reminded me of the taffy factory ep and i half expected taff to appear lol ;D
it was neat to see jerico again! :D
oooh i just remembered another reference! linda wishes gene luck on his math test and says ‘four!’ which is like in the ep with gene, alex and courtney playing their basement game when she randomly shouted out numbers and bob was like ‘saying random numbers isn’t math’
mickey sounded a tad off and turns out it was a different actor but it’s cool! at least it wasn’t like in his most recent ep appearance...
some of the cronies’ dances were funny :D
when bosco was at the biker bar i was like ‘come on show us the one eyed snakes!’ AND BOOM there was critter! ;D
bosco’s car was obvious cgi but that was cool cgi! :D
the cuff link looked cute! :)
i liked how ron wears chapstick just like his buddy hugo :)
tina trying to roll under the bed tho! :D
the last character i expected to see was felix’s girlfriend! :o
when the kids were going through the wharf i hoped bob and linda wouldn’t catch them! :o
erik would’ve absolutely loved mr. fischoeder’s organ! :D
the trap doors have erik vibes too! :D
grover wanting to build a mega park reminded me of pv mall turning into pv :/
it also reminded me of felix’s evil plan in the wharf 2 parter ep!
grover’s spider walk in the underground tho! :o
i thought mr. goiter would be among the merry go round horses there but he wasn’t :/ (or maybe he was and i didn’t spot him?)
some parts in the chase scene reminded me of tangled the series and what do you know mercury filmworks helped animate it! :D
some young girls ran up to the standee right after i took the pic from my last post and asked ‘where’s nat?’ unfortunately...
i was a bit bummed that nat wasn’t in it (so were the standee giggle girls i bet) but it’s ok because there were so many characters! i almost thought she’d drive by in her limo to continue the chase scene
grover BURYING THE BELCHERS ALIVE was so scary!!! :o
i loved seeing bob’s mom!!! the hat connection with louise is so sweet :’)
little bob looks like gene! or should i say travel-sized bob ;)
linda losing her spirit and bob being the one to bring hope was sweet too! :)
i don’t remember the joke exactly but linda said it in the car and everyone in the audience laughed! :D
the belchers couldn’t understand teddy through the car window but i could a bit ;)
i love how brave louise was! :D
zeke doing parkour tho! ;D
i thought it was ok that louise’s head wasn’t shown! some things can stay a secret ;)
my parents and i are usually the only ones in the theater when the end credits scene plays but there were a handful of people who stuck around! :D
overall this was an amazing movie and i’m so glad i was able to enjoy it with so many fans of the belchers! :D
#this was an awesome way to start summer break! :D#especially as someone whose been a bob's fan since the beginning :)
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Doug Clifford Interview: Shuffle & Flow
Photo by Brent Clifford
BY JORDAN MAINZER
For All the Money in the World is a time capsule. The album, written by Creedence Clearwater Revival drummer Doug Clifford and Greg Kihn Band bassist Steve Wright, was recorded in 1986 but won’t see the light of day until the end of the month. Since then, it’s been waiting in Cosmo’s Vault--the self-proclaimed storage area for Clifford’s unreleased music--until the right time. “There’s some good music on this album,” Clifford told me over the phone earlier this month. “Right now, more than ever, we need some good music that’s uplifting and makes you feel good.” Plus, for Clifford himself, the tunes have barely scratched the surface: “To me, it’s still new.”
After Creedence Clearwater Revival broke up in 1972, Clifford released a solo album and later joined the Don Harrison Band, which also featured former CCR bassist Stu Cook. In 1995, he and Cook formed Creedence Clearwater Revisited to play CCR songs live without singer John Fogerty, who retained artistic control over CCR. Revisited’s last show was in February 2020 in Mexico, and based on what Clifford told me, that’s likely their last, at least in this version, as Clifford is suffering from Parkinson’s Disease. All in all, though, he’s ready to move on from those songs, instead choosing to look into different parts of the past. Last year, he unearthed his lost second solo album Magic Window. And now, with For All the Money in the World, released under the name Clifford/Wright, he’s beginning to revisit a series of recorded writing collaborations whose release never came to fruition.
Though Clifford/Wright was formed around the rhythm section, the rest of the band that plays on the album is nothing to sniff at: guitarists Greg Douglass (Steve Miller Band), Jimmy Lyon (Eddie Money) and Joe Satriani and keyboard players Tim Gorman (The Who) and Pat Mosca (Greg Kihn Band). The lead vocalist picked for the project was Keith England, whose emotive howl ties it all together on the title shuffle and stadium anthem “I Need Your Love”. While the first two songs sound like something you might expect to be recorded in 1986, other tracks operate under different styles and recording aesthetics. The rockabilly echo of “She Told Me So” lies in stark contrast to the ripping guitar jaunts of “Lost Pride Fever” and “Weekends” and the funk snap of “You Keep Runnin’ Away” and “Just In The Nick Of Time”. Indeed, some songs on here sound like they could be Steve Miller or Eddie Money jams, but for the most part, they sound like lost relics of rock radio, comfort food for troubling times.
Clifford hopes For All the Money in the World is more than nostalgia, though. For one, he’s “calling the shots,” releasing the album on his own label, Cliffsong Records, with a distribution deal through Bob Frank Entertainment. “It’s like a publisher’s outlet for the songwriters involved,” he said. “It’s really kind of exciting.” His hopes are that the songs do land on today’s rock radio or do well streaming so they can release it on vinyl. “I still get a kick out of it,” Clifford said about hearing his songs on the radio. Not bad for somebody who started playing in bands at age 13. And while it’s very much not a CCR album, he’s excited for CCR fans to hear it, okay with the long-disbanded legendary outfit as the connecting bridge for listeners. They might just come away with a new favorite song.
Pre-save/pre-order For All the Money in the World, out August 27th, here, and read my conversation below with Clifford, edited for length and clarity.
Since I Left You: I was struck by the variety of styles on this album. You think to yourself, “What would music written around the 80′s sound like?” There’s some of that, but there are other sounds, too. Do you remember consciously trying to write in a number of styles?
Doug Clifford: Yes, because we were trying to get a record deal. We were the only writers in the group, and we wanted them to know we could write more than just “Bad Moon Rising”. There’s really not much in there that sounds like Creedence. With Steve Wright on bass, that changes a lot of things. It puts a different spin on it from the standpoint of the house the songs are built on, the rhythm section. It’s exciting. I listen to it as if it’s another band. [laughs] Normally, I don’t do that. Steve passed away in [2017], so we won’t do any more writing or playing, but this album is a chance to hear a great bass player and songwriter. I’ve got three terrific guitar players in there, too, Joe Satriani, Greg Douglass from Steve Miller Band, and Jimmy Lyon from Greg Kihn and Eddie Money. A guitar extravaganza. A lot of good stuff coming from this record.
SILY: Not only does the record sound different from CCR, but I heard a lot of the other projects the players were involved in, like Eddie Money and Steve Miller.
DC: Yeah, but when we were doing the writing, those guys weren’t in the band. Steve Miller is one of my best friends. He loves “She Told Me So” on this record. He sent me an email all excited that said, “I was dancin’ around my studio! You still got it!” [laughs] I love that guy.
SILY: I like songs like that, that have a little more of a shuffle.
DC: That would be [the title track], too. I love shuffles.
SILY: You’ve said people need songs like this at a time like now. When you wrote and recorded them, did you know you’d put them away for a while?
DC: Not really. If you’re a songwriter, you want to have versions of your songs that sound radio-ready instead of just [recorded on] an acoustic guitar. I produced everything that we wrote, so we had good versions of our work and presented it that way. The idea was not to put these things out as albums, but for record companies. Then you’d go out and play, and they’d send their A&R guy. Steve didn’t want to play in any of the clubs we’d have played in, and you need a band that plays, so that started the tailspin of this project. [After that,] I did a solo singer-songwriter album [Magic Window], and I did projects for areas that had overgrown forests and droughts. I had kids that were going to school. So I sort of slowed down on the music and slapped [these songs] in Cosmo’s Vault. That’s where they stayed till a year or so ago. I [finally released Magic Window], but nothing happened because...COVID hit, and it really changed everything. There’s been enough time that we’re all living through the virus that it’s time to hear [For All the Money] on the radio to make me feel good. It’s a labor of love that all songwriters have. Allowing people to hear the excellent musicianship of Steve Wright playing bass. There’s a little difference in my playing as well. It’s fun, really enjoyable.
SILY: When you were originally writing the lyrics and instrumentation, were you going for a feel-good, uplifting type thing?
DC: When you’re looking for someone to invest in you and put you on their label, you want them to like your music, too. I’ve never been a guy to write songs that make you feel bad. [laughs].
SILY: What were you looking for in a vocalist, and why did you end up going with Keith?
DC: We were so fortunate to have Keith in many ways. He was the youngest guy we were working with. I would be the guy to teach him the songs, as the writer of the words. He had to sing those words and get the idea of the song across, which is a big job for any singer. He took special care to get the essence of the song. It makes a big difference to learn the words and melody. I took extra time to write the melody, because I’m putting the words out there, and a lot of time, the melody would depend on what the words were. You have to give the singer places to breathe. I gave Keith liberty to let me know if something wasn’t working for him vocally, to sing it the way he was comfortable. He always came through. The idea of a song is like a chapter in a book. It has to have meaning and a certain ambiance and feel to it. That’s at least my approach to writing and performing, really. He nailed every song in a very professional approach. That’s not an easy thing to do, especially over 11 songs.
There are other songs in the vault from the sessions that he did. He was the only singer we had. I’d like to see success, not just for myself and Steve, but for Keith. He was the only guy on the session that wasn’t in a band that had a Gold or Platinum album, and he’s very deserving of it. I’d love to see this thing be successful on that level because I’d love to walk up to his front door and knock on it and hand him a Platinum album. He’s still trying to do it. He has been for 30-some odd years. He can still hit most if not all of those notes. He doesn’t complain about it, he just stays at it, trying to get to that spot. I’d like to see that happen for him.
SILY: This album was recorded in a number of different studios, and some tracks do sound a bit lower-fi or raw. Did the difference in sounds among the tracks correspond to the different studios you recorded in?
DC: Not really for that reason. What’s really important is trying to get an attitude out of a certain song. It is rock and roll after all. The sound of the studio wasn’t something that dictated the direction.
SILY: At what point did you decide to name the album after the title track?
DC: That song, the first time I heard it, it was one of those that Steve said, “Listen to this!” He had the chorus and the lyrics. [sings] “For all the money in the world, girl / For all the kisses in the sea, baby...” I went, “That’s a hit.” Whenever I play that song for people, they all say, “That’s a natural hit.” Being a shuffle adds a lot to do with it. Shuffles have a magic to them. You just can’t help but tap your foot. Your body moves with it. The approach to have it be a shuffle is right up my alley. Creedence didn’t ever do one, and I always wanted to have a shuffle to record. There it was! It was a natural as the first song on the record. The second one that’s out now is a different type of song, to show the album’s versatility, but I had an inkling that it might be a good idea to name it after the first song on the album.
SILY: At what point did you come up with the order of the tracks?
DC: Listening. [laughs] That’s very important. Again, they’re like chapters in a book or story. I did a lot of shuffling around--there’s that shuffle again--seeing which order played best. It took a while, but that’s something worth spending time on. You want to get it right.
SILY: You’ve said any of these songs could be a single. Do you have a favorite?
DC: [The title track] is probably my favorite for that reason. It’s simplistic in its style, and usually, those are the best ones, the easiest ones to understand, though everybody has their own understanding of music. It is art; you can look at a painting, and 10 different people can have different opinions on it. It’s the same with music. Each song has a different meaning to a different person. That’s great; that way you can touch millions of people instead of 10.
SILY: What’s the story behind the album art?
DC: The story behind the album art is my son [Grady Clifford] did it and I needed a cover. That’s it! I didn’t tell him anything. When I saw it for the first time, I just went, “Wow!” He’s very talented. He did the Revisited cover. Whenever I need art, I don’t tell him what to do. He just does it. My wife [Laurie Clifford] is an artist, too. She did the artwork for [CCR]’s first album. Very recently, she got it in the de Young Museum. They had a show of album covers from the 60′s. The Clifford family has a drummer and artists. One of the things about going from vinyl to CDs is the art is a pretty good size. I miss a lot of aspects of the packaging. I have a couple of good album cover folks within the confines of the house here.
SILY: What’s next from the vault?
DC: A project I did with the same songwriting concept. Two of us did all the writing. The other guy was Bobby Whitlock. I’ve got a Bobby Whitlock album with a group we had for a short while. Bobby’s wife didn’t like living in the East Bay. She wanted to live in the Northeast. Happy wife, happy life, so we had to split when we were close to getting a deal. Another addition to Cosmo’s Vault!
youtube
#interviews#doug clifford#greg douglass#de young museum#bobby whitlock#for all the money in the world#brent clifford#creedence clearwater revival#greg kihn band#steve wright#cosmo's vault#don harrison band#stu cook#ccr#john fogerty#magic window#clifford/wright#steve miller band#jimmy lyon#eddie money#joe satriani#tim gorman#the who#pat mosca#keith england#steve miller#cliffsong records#bob frank entertainment#creedence clearwater revisited#grady clifford
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Warlocks Are Attacking: Full muggle timeline.
(Hello internet, welllllcome to film theory!)
This is a detailed timeline of the headcanon I made about James Sirius Potter being in a band, specifically the tl during which the band pretended to be a lost 80s band in the muggle world, explained in this post (which I recommend reading first otherwise you may be quite confused).
This is honestly a super random thing I wrote when I was bored, but I ended up getting super invested in it so guess what, you guys are subjected to it as well now!
Written in the style of a YouTube video, I’ve heavily based the discography of Warlocks are Attacking on the band I Don’t Know How But They Found Me.
Enjoy!
~
On April 17th 2025, a piano cover of The Scientist by Coldplay was released on the YouTube channel JSHarkness04. A completely ordinary- if not low quality- video where the person behind the camera is neither seen nor heard.
More covers are uploaded over the coming months in the same style, and really the channel gains no special interest or notoriety. A few edit videos are uploaded, the usual crack stuff, and a few more covers.
On January 23rd 2026, a vlog is released showing the YouTuber moving into his new house. We finally hear and see the person behind the camera, a British dude around early twenties whose name is revealed to be Alex, and his girlfriend. Again, there’s nothing out of the ordinary in this video, and it’s only a few minutes long.
A few more piano covers are uploaded, as well as another edit video, and then...
This is where it starts.
On May 3rd 2026, a video is uploaded entitled “Warlocks are Attacking”. In it, Alex talks about how he was clearing out the attic of his new home when he came across some old cassette tapes. All the tapes had writing on them, all different, except for the phrase “Warlocks are Attacking”. Judging by the labels, it appeared to be the name of a band, while the rest of the writing could be taken as song titles: Bleed Magic, Do It All The Time, Nobody Likes the Opening Band, etc. Alex said he had listened to some of the tapes, and confirmed that they were songs correlating with the titles. Alex said he’d never heard of the songs before, nor could he find any trace of the band’s existence online, but that some of the tapes had been dated 1986.
This video didn’t really have a conclusion, but only two days after it was uploaded, another video- only a minute long- was uploaded entitled “New Channel”, where Alex explains that he would be setting up a new YouTube channel to showcase the songs he’d found on the tapes, and hopefully be able to find out who the band was.
On May 25th, two videos on Alex’s new channel, given the name “Warlocks are Attacking” were uploaded. The first one was 30 seconds long entitled “Introduction”, which was nothing more than a man’s voice introducing the band. It didn’t cause much suspicion, especially since the record label that the band was apparently signed to was called “None You Jerk”, obviously a fake label. So the introduction could most likely just be a joke made by the band and recorded.
The second video was a simple lyric video for the song “Nobody Likes the Opening Band”. And in the description he explained the story again of how he found the tapes, and asked if anyone knew the song, or the band.
More songs were uploaded, Choke, Bleed Magic, Absinthe etc. And soon the channel started to grow, both from people who genuinely enjoyed the music, and people who were intrigued as to whether or not this really was a lost 80s band, or whether the entire thing was fake.
Theories started circulating, and people started to try and find hidden messages. They started with the username of the original channel JSHarkness04 but search J Harkness, or even JS Harkness, and the only real result you get is Captain Jack Harkness from Doctor Who. So it seemed that the only thing that the username implied was that the YouTuber was perhaps a Doctor Who fan.
People searched for hidden meanings in the piano covers, the moving house vlog, even the random edits. But no one came up with anything. So eventually people started to give up and accepted the fact that the whole thing was real, and the songs really were from old cassette tapes found in some guy’s attic.
That being said, there were a select few people who just weren’t convinced. Mainly because of the fact that the songs were good. They weren’t experimental pieces from a band trying to find its sound. They had their sound. They knew what they were doing. So how come no one had ever heard of them? Did they really never play these songs to anyone? Not even for an underground gig?
Well, that’s the thing. There’s no saying they didn’t. If you heard a song forty years ago at some random gig, would you remember? And even so, a number of things could have happened that would have stopped the band from ever having their songs released. Maybe they broke up, maybe they couldn’t find anyone who wanted to pick up their songs, maybe they died was one theory someone had.
Point is, the quality and consistency of the songs was really the only evidence that this whole thing was fake, and even that evidence was sketchy.
But then, on November 7th 2026, an altogether different video was uploaded titled “Comfortably Numb- Pink Floyd (cover by Warlocks are Attacking) (found footage!)”
In the description of this video, Alex claims that he found some video tapes in the attic that had been hidden away. A few had been recorded over, but he was able to find a few complete videos of the band.
In this video, we see three band members in what looks like a garage jamming out a cover of Pink Floyd’s Comfortably Numb. And people went crazy. Not only did we finally see what the band members looked like, but we also found out their names. The video, which was dated 1983, had credits edited to the beginning, easily done in the 80s so there was no implication that it wasn’t legit.
Anyway, the credits show that the singer in the video is called Noah Mori, the keyboardist is called Lyra Thomas, and the drummer is called James Potter.
People took apart this video piece by piece, trying to find evidence of either the band being new, or some connection to the YouTuber. Maybe something in the garage was from a time after 1983, maybe the 70s Doctor Who poster in the corner had something to do with JSHarkness04. But all in all, once again, there really was nothing to suggest that it wasn’t real.
However, one thing that was noticed was that, when comparing the singing voice of Noah to the singing voice in the other songs released, they sound completely different.
So despite everything, no one could say for sure who the band members were. We didn’t know if the drummer and the keyboardist were the same, nor did we know who the new singer was. We didn’t even know if they had more than three band members by the time 1986 rolled around, or even if some of the original members had left. All we knew was that the singer had been switched, either with a new singer who wasn’t in the video, or with James Potter, since he was the only other guy in the video.
After the video was released, not much else happened, except the occasional release of another song, which were combed by theorisers looking for evidence that the songs couldn’t have been written and recorded in the 80s but once again came up short.
By this point, the band had grown a real cult following, increased even further when the songs were put on Spotify by Alex.
On March 18th 2027, another video was released, titled “Choke- Live Performance” and showed footage of an actual gig where the band was playing their song, filmed on an old camcorder by someone in the audience, completely unprofessionally as the camera would bob down every so often. Once again no evidence was found of it being faked. However, it did open new possibilities: the band had played gigs. Which means that someone must have seen them play. Not only that but it confirmed that the singer had been switched to James Potter, while the drummer was now Noah, and Lyra was still the keyboardist.
People went onto various sites trying to find anyone who may have been present at a gig in the 80s to see the band live, but no one came forward.
Well, a few people did. But the only evidence they could give was their word, so no one knew whether or not to believe them, which means no one could for definite write off the gig as being fake.
The next stir in the band’s fanbase came with a video simply entitled “???”, a one minute video, with the same voice as the introduction, talking about indoctrination:
Indoctrination program, designation "CVM51-D".
Congratulations, you have been selected.
You are special.
Only the very best and brightest are considered for placement in our patented Temporal Arts program.
We invite you to follow along, as we work together to decode and exploit the secrets of time and space for our benefit.
Each volunteer pairing will be assigned a chaperone.
Our white shadows will oversee your progress.
Be sure that our company's interests maintain the highest priority throughout your journey.
Please enjoy your experience, and remember:
Time is on our side.
Predictably, people were very excited to analyse the text, and while it could still be taken as just a joke by the band, and therefore still no evidence of the band being new, it was an odd thing for the band to do if their songs were never released. A waste of time in a way, especially after already doing it once with the introduction. The voice also wasn’t familiar, though some say that it sounded a little like Noah when compared with the Pink Floyd cover, but putting on an American accent and edited to sound like something out of a PSA.
Another song was released entitled “Need You Here” and then came an actual music video. Or at least, an attempt at a music video.
It was for the song: “Nobody Likes the Opening Band” and in the video we see James singing on a stage, with Lyra playing the piano in a corner and Noah entering onto the stage to play the accompanying tambourine. It’s clearly a music video rather than footage from a show, considering the rather humorous moments that it involves, but executed with complete seriousness.
It also cuts out at the end and shows footage from some kids show which, according to Alex in the description, was called Bagpuss, and was aired in the UK from February 12th 1974 to May 7th of the same year, indicating that the music video had perhaps accidentally been taped over.
(Badly edited example I made of the end of the mv).
While the music video itself didn’t cause too much of a stir, the kids show at the end did, as people claimed that if the show had aired in 1974, and the band hadn’t established itself until at least 1983, how had they managed to accidentally tape over the video with the tv show? People thought it was deliberate, and therefore a sign that the band wasn’t real. Others claimed Alex had done it himself as a joke.
Looking back in the coming months, people saw this video as the start of the band slowly revealing itself to be not what it first seemed. But more evidence didn’t come for a while.
After the release of the song “Mad IQs”, another music video was released, and this one seemed much more professional, as if the band was really trying to make a proper video. It was still filmed in the 80s camcorder style, and it was still very simplistic, and possibly low-budget, again implying that this was a band doing everything themselves.
Released on the 23rd December 2027, the video was a cover of “Merry Christmas Everybody” and once again had the rather quirky vibe of the Opening Band video, where James is unsmilingly singing the song while Noah sits next to him... playing dead? And Lyra comes in halfway through and begins decorating the lifeless Noah with Christmas lights. So at least, if nothing, we know the band has a sense of humour.
An acoustic cover was released of Choke, then a few more songs. And then another music video which so far was the most professional out of all of the ones released. The song was called “Social Climb” and for the video, they actually had a set: a very fancy mansion. We don’t know whether they rented the mansion out, if they borrowed it from a friend, or if one of them even lived there, but by this point they had seemingly become determined to be a real band, which is why the whole idea of them having no recognition whatsoever was odd.
But it was the next video that caused much more of stir, and was the real proper beginning of the band revealing their true identity.
On the 12th September 2027, another cover video was released of David Bowie’s “Heroes”, though was much more in the same style as the Comfortably Numb cover, suggesting that this video was made quite soon after. It was still filmed in the same garage, though with a little more editing, and James was now the singer, and Noah the drummer.
Once again it had credits, but this time they were a little different:
Songwriter/drummer: N. H. Mori
Keyboardist: L. A. Thomas
Singer/guitarist: J. S. Potter
Doesn’t seem like anything out of the ordinary, right? Well, that’s what most people thought too, but others were adamant that the initials were a sign, because if you notice, James Potter: J S Potter.
People were convinced that the initials JS were linked to the username JSHarkness04, and even brought up the 70s poster of Doctor Who seen in the first footage video as evidence that the username was something to do with James, and therefore showing that the entire thing was contrived.
Some people accepted this, but a lot of people were still sceptical. After all, it could easily just be a coincidence.
Another song was released, and then one more music video on November 16th.
This one was the most different- and the most professional of all the music videos on the channel, for the song “Do It All The Time”.
According to the description, it was sent to Alex by “an anonymous donor” saying that it had once been aired as an educational video in their school, around the year 1987/88.
And while the video could have been created in the 80s, it’s format is much more satirical than anything. The description could easily have said that it was another- and much better- attempt from the band at creating a music video, but instead the description gave an explanation that seemed... off. Not because the uploader had grown cocky, but because the band was finally making its transition from being surrounded in theory to being simply aesthetically satirical.
That being said, it still wasn’t concrete evidence.
There wasn’t another video until December 23rd. Another Christmas one, this time for a song called “Oh Noel” with James sitting alone in front of a decorated fireplace and singing.
Another subtle reference to the band’s identity was revealed with the lyric “I met you in December ’93”, obviously quite a few years after the band was supposedly around.
The next music video was for “Modern Day Cain”, and this is where the band’s identity properly moved away from the convincing 80s set up. The music video had a similar vibe to “Do It All The Time”, though the content was different. In this case, the video was mock footage from a TV show, which, according to the description was called ‘Superstar Showcase’, aired in 1989.
No such TV show ever existed, which was rather obvious by the footage, as once again it was very satirical.
So by now, only the most stubborn of fans were still convinced that the band was really from the 80s.
But no one was really disappointed. The band had executed their persona well. They had maintained the belief that they were a lost band for over two years, and revealed themselves so subtly that people hardly noticed.
The entire act was wrapped up on April 17th 2028, exactly three years after the first video was uploaded on JSHarkness04′s channel, with the release of a cover of “Debra” by Beck. A song released in 1999.
I should mention by this point that the channel JSHarkness04 had been uploading relatively consistently the entire time, most likely for the extra realism to the act. But once the act had been dropped, the channel went dormant.
Since then, the band has been releasing new songs here and there, and they still keep up the 80s persona, but now that they don’t have to be so careful, they’ve been able to have more freedom over what they post. An official music video for “Choke” was released, with the description:
“Pop Time Live was a short-lived music television program that aired briefly in Eastern Europe in the early 1980s. The show, and its producers, had hoped to capitalize on the then popular ‘Italo Disco’ movement, but audiences found its lack of authenticity objectionable. Labeled ‘NOT FOR BROADCAST,’ it is believed that this particular Warlocks performance never made it to air due to the band’s refusal to properly pantomime to their own song.”
Again, no such show existed. So now it was clear that the band was now a fully satirical 80s persona, and eventually they made live appearances, and even interviews, where people were finally able to find out exactly who they were, and that the band had actually been formed in 2021, and their plan to pretend to be an 80s band had first been made up by Noah who filmed one of their performances when they were first starting out (and James was still the drummer, Noah the lead singer) with the idea already in mind. And Alex was a friend of the group who had agreed to play along, but that the Warlocks’ YouTube channel wasn’t run by him, but by all three members of the group.
And as of now, that really covers the entire timeline of Warlocks are Attacking.
~
But heeey. That’s juust a theory. A film theory. Aaand cut.
#only on tumblr could I post something like this and people wouldn’t think it was weird#or at least I hope people don’t think it’s weird#im so fucking invested in this as well though#harry potter#james sirius#Harry Potter next gen#Harry Potter next gen hc#james sirius potter#james sirius hc#Harry Potter oc
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Bill Buchalter interview
Bill Buchalter was a level designer for Sunstorm Interactive.
He’s worked on 3 official add-on of Build Engine games: Cryptic Passage for Blood, Suckin’ Grits On Route 66 for Redneck Rampage, Caribbean Life for Duke Nukem 3D.
Interview, November 2020:
Corentin: Can you introduce yourself?
Bill Buchalter: My name is Bill Buchalter. I’m an avid gamer of all kinds – video games, board games, and especially tabletop RPGs. I’m currently a freelance writer for AAW Games (Adventure A Week Games) writing mini adventures for Dungeons & Dragons 5E. I live outside Indianapolis, IN with my wife Jane, our three kids, and our dog Roxi. When I’m not gaming, I also enjoy music, playing guitar, hiking, and camping.
C: With Sunstorm Interactive, you're credited for level design on Cryptic Passage, Caribbean Life and Route 66. How did you start working with Sunstorm and what do you remember from that time?
BB: In the mid 90’s, maybe around 1995 or 96, I was very into playing Duke Nukem 3D. Like most PC gamers at the time, I had played Castle Wolfenstein and Doom, and Duke Nukem just blew me away. Back in those days, when we played online, we would use a 3rd party program called KALI. You dialed up on your modem, logged onto the internet, and then used KALI as a portal to chat with other gamers and find someone to play with. The KALI software would then allow you to network together over the internet and play PVP matches. It was crude, and the lag could be horrible, but we didn’t know any better at the time and we loved it!
I remember I was in a B. Dalton bookstore in the mall one day (another relic of the 90’s that is long gone!) when I found a book called the “Duke Nukem 3D Level Design Handbook”. I was intrigued, and as I flipped through the pages it talked about a program on the Duke Nukem CD called Build, which allowed you to create your own levels. I had no idea Build existed, let alone how to use it. I bought the book and spent the next couple weeks diving into learning how to use Build. I was hooked!
Making my own maps quickly became an obsession. I would share them with my friends on KALI and I quickly earned a reputation for making user maps. I remember there was a map building competition, but I don’t recall who sponsored it. A guy named Robert Travis won the competition. When I saw his maps, I was blown away! His designs were so much more advanced than mine. He was using tricks I had never thought of to get lighting effects and set moods. I had to reach out to him to pick his brain.
Robert responded and we began talking and quickly figured out that we both lived in Indianapolis. He was working for Sunstorm at the time and invited me to come to their office to discuss level design. I met him there one evening, and he showed me some of the stuff he was working on. We ended up playing Duke all night on Sunstorm’s network with some of the other guys in the office. I was in heaven!
Robert introduced me to Anthony Campiti, the lead producer on Sunstorm’s next project – Cryptic Passage, an add-on for a Build engine game called Blood. They invited me to design some levels for the game and I jumped at the chance. Robert assigned me to design an opera house level and immediately I got pictures in my head of the theater scenes from Interview with a Vampire. I went home and worked furiously on designing the level. I was still rough, but with Robert’s help I tweaked things here and there and slowly learned his techniques. In the end I was really pleased with the level I’d designed. Robert and Anthony were happy too and asked me to design a second map specifically for deathmatch.
The next project Sunstorm was working on was Suckin’ Grits on Route 66, an add-on for another Build engine game called Redneck Rampage. Robert again asked if I’d like to be a part of that team and assigned me to build a truck stop level. Using a lot of the things I’d learned on Cryptic Passage, and the campy feel of the Redneck Rampage game, I had a lot of fun designing that level.
The last project I worked on for Sunstorm was Duke Nukem Caribbean Vacation. By this time Duke’s popularity was beginning to wane, and Quake was taking over. Robert was already starting to experiment and learn how to use the Quake engine. I was a new dad at the time (my first daughter had just been born) so unfortunately, I didn’t have the spare time to devote to learning a new engine. I barely had the time to design my level for Duke Caribbean, but I did manage to finish the casino level for that project. I do recall that Robert ended up going through in the end and changing a lot of the aspects of my level to fit the theme they had in mind. I remember being a bit disappointed and not really feeling like the level was “mine” because of so many of the changes. It was the last project I worked on for Sunstorm.
I kept in touch with Robert and Anthony for a while after that. They were branching out, working on other projects, and even trying to develop their own FPS game that I don’t think ever really got off the ground. Sunstorm was having the most success with their Deer Hunter line of games that at the time were selling well in Wal-Mart. Sadly, I eventually just lost touch with those guys.
I’m sure this is WAY more information than you were wanting (I’m a writer… I can’t help but go off the deep end!) but you dusted off some fond, old memories for me, so I apologize for walking so far down memory lane!
C: I see that you're still making maps, different kind of maps! This makes me wonder if maybe you were involved with W!Zone (a pack of maps for Warcraft 2 released by Sunstorm). Can you tell us a bit about that if possible?
BB: I didn’t have any hand in the W!Zone project for Sunstorm, but I loved the Warcraft series. As was common for many video gamers like me, who had roots in fantasy games like D&D, I played a lot of Warcraft and eventually got sucked into the world of MMOs with Ultima Online, Everquest, and World of Warcraft! If only I had back the time I sunk into those games!
These days I’m exclusively writing and designing for Dungeons and Dragons. I started about ten years ago writing for D&D Organized Play in a campaign called Living Forgotten Realms. I co-authored two adventures for that with my good friend, Michael Pearman, and authored a third adventure on my own. As you know from tracking me down via AAW Games, I’ve now authored six adventures for them, five of which are already published and one that is still in the works but should be released soon.
When I do manage to find time for video games, Diablo III is my game of choice these days. I’m looking forward to Season 22 starting here shortly, and like many others, I’m really hoping for something great with Diablo IV. I’ve been a huge fan of the series since the beginning, and even wrote an entire campaign for D&D 5E that translated the story of Diablo III into Dungeons and Dragons for the players in my home game! Thanks again for the opportunity to share some of this history. It was fun putting it all down and reliving those days!
C: There are two signatures in the Truck Stop level for Route 66. Do you remember anything about that ? There also several levels with no known credit : Fun Park, House of ill Repute, Mystery Dino Cave, Bigfoot Convention.
The signature on the truck stop is Route 66 was a joke! I was the only designer on that one. I just signed it "Billy Joe Jim Bob Buchalter" as a joke for bad redneck name. I wasn't the kind of guy that had to sign my maps the EXACT same way every time. :)
Other than the truck stop, I don't recall designing any other maps for Route 66. I pretty sure none of those you listed below were mine, but I don't recall whose they were.
Finally, here are some final comments Bill made after reading through some forum posts:
Wow, I am really quite humbled that you guys looked so deeply into my work! The fact that you could recognize my build style is pretty cool - I didn't even know I had a style! LOL. The truth be told, the reason you probably had so much trouble telling my levels from Robert's is because he was a big influence on me. I learned a lot from him and incorporated a lot of that into the stuff I built.
Its funny how reading through that thread you linked brought back memories... I remember now that my biggest disappointment from Duke Caribbean was that my only level in the game ended up being a secret level - that some people wouldn't even find it or ever play it. I was actually pretty excited about that level. I was the one that suggested a casino because my folks had retired to Vegas, so I'd been in a lot of the casinos there and had some great ideas for the map. I'd forgotten all about the restaurant I worked into it, and the big fish tanks.
There seems to be some debate about Robert. From what I remember, he was a really good guy. Maybe a bit tough to work for, but only because he really strived for our designs to be the best they could be, and he demanded that of both himself and the other designers. As I said before, I learned early on to accept criticism and critique and not take it personally. It was just Robert doing his job. I'll be the first to admit that I designed better levels thanks to the stuff I learned from Robert.
Someone on the message board made a very astute comment, basically to the effect that "Bill had to have other work out there. Sunstorm wouldn't hire an unproven guy off the street." But truth be told, that's exactly what they did! I hadn't done a single thing before working there. But I think a few things played in my favor. First, I lived in Indy, just 15 minutes from their office, so it was easy for me to go in and work directly with Robert. Second, while I didn't have anything officially published, I did have a disk full of the maps I'd designed on my own, and Robert thought I showed promise. I would design at home a lot, then go into the office a couple times a week and sit with Robert while he critiqued my work and offered advice on how to improve it.
I'll be honest - I'm blown away at the number of people STILL playing these old maps we made so many years ago. I watched a couple YouTube videos of a guy playing and reviewing Duke Caribbean and Blood Cryptic Passage. His high praise of both Full House and the Opera House really made my day. It's nice to know that people enjoyed my work.
_____________________________
Thanks a lot to Bill Buchalter for taking the time to answer these questions!
Thanks also for sharing... “Big City” !
A Duke Nukem 3D map he created back in the day before joining with Sunstorm Interactive which was never released before!
Screenshot:
Map download:
https://msdn.duke4.net/bigcity.zip
______
External link:
Duke4 forum blog megathread:
https://forums.duke4.net/topic/11471-blog-interviews-of-build-engine-video-games-developers/page__pid__353013#entry353013
The forum posts Bill read, mentionned above, can be found here:
https://forums.duke4.net/topic/9418-duke-caribbean-multiplayer-levels/
#build#build-engine#blood#duke nukem#redneck-rampage#duke#nukem#duke nukem 3D#video games#route 66#caribbean life#cryptic passage
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Zemblanity | Jimin (M)
→ summary:
“I’ll write a song for you, Park Jimin,” you say, unaware of the weight of your promises slowly finding its way around your neck.
”Pinky swear?”
The noose tightens. “I swear on my life.”
→ genre: fan!jimin, idol!reader, horror/thriller, angst, smut || part of this collab!!
→ warnings: major character death, non-graphic descriptions of rape and sexual harassment, psychological + physical torture, physical violence, and obsessive behavior
→ words: 11.8K
→ a/n: this physically hurt to write, mostly because i was drunk 99% of the time. also a lot of triggering material in this, so be warned. and i’m sorry jimin for always making you the bad guy... some day, i’ll write a soft fic for you. (special thanks to @seokkbuns for supporting me the whole way... love you)
Sometimes you wished the universe would congratulate you for being a decent human being. Sure, that would defeat the purpose of giving awards in the first place, but can you really help that you wanted to be recognized for your mediocrity, occasionally? Maybe a little ribbon for opening the door for a stranger, or perhaps a coupon from Mcdonalds for not parking in the handicap spot. You weren’t asking for a lot.
Hell, where the fuck was your Nobel Peace Prize for not absolutely decimating your annoying, hoity-toity, bitchass, toe-sucking CEO? If you could somehow convert the anger slowly seeping its way through your veins into renewable energy, you could probably power the entirety city of Seoul at this point.
“Y/N. How difficult can it be to produce one fucking album?” President Kim Namjoon groans, gesticulating at the air madly like the buffoon that he is. All he needs is a banana and unicycle, and his Harambe cosplay would be complete.The ridiculous mental image hardly calms you down, dumbfounded by the absolute audacity of his question.
“Are you seriously asking me that question, or are you just pretending to be an idiot to make me angry?” You seethe, teeth gnashing in a way that would probably make your dentist cringe. Namjoon is not fazed by your reaction. Instead, he reaches into his desk drawers and pulls out a thin stack of papers. You can’t see any of the text, but you have a good idea as to what it was about.
“This is a compilation of news reports written about you and Serendipity over the past year,” he emphasizes, slamming a page filled with graphs and jargon whose meaning escape you. He jabs a finger at one of the angry red graphs, and you can see that he was pointing at what appears to be a significant drop. “As you can see, there haven’t been many reports, if at all.”
“So? That’s what happens when an idol group is waiting for their next comeback.” You shrug your shoulders, kicking a leg up onto his table just to piss him off. Namjoon is quick to stab your ankle with a pencil in retaliation, causing you to pull back with a yelp. “Yo, what the fuck! That hurt!” You exclaim, rubbing the reddening spot sullenly.
“It’s like you’re purposefully being difficult, Y/N.”
“So you’ve noticed?”
Namjoon heaves a sigh, and you speculate that it might have been his thirtieth one within the past hour. A tense silence befalls the two of you, and you watch as the older man rubs his temples in frustration. You can’t help but notice the age lines beginning to form on his forehead, and do your eyes deceive you? Were those wrinkles under his eyes?
“You’re getting old, chief,” you comment, grabbing one of Namjoon’s numerous pencils to poke the lines away. He swats at you tiredly, but it is clear that he knows it is useless scolding you. If getting mad at you would produce results, you would’ve bended to his will ages ago. As it is, the man looks ready to drop dead in his seat. He slumps over his desk, eyes closing in meditation.
“No thanks to you, I assure you,” he mumbles back, voice muffled from his table. “Why can’t you just be like Hoseok? He writes music like it’s his only drug.”
“That’s because that kid is literally always on drugs, chief.” You snort, crossing your arms. “And at least the drugs help him with inspiration. Me? I’ve been stuck in a ditch since January. You know this, Joon.”
“I know. It doesn’t make it any less frustrating. What happened, Y/N? I’ve given you almost everything you could ask for.” Namjoon says, lifting his head up to stare back at you. He appears as dejected as you feel. “Why isn’t that big head of yours making music like it used to?”
“You haven’t given me everything I could ask for.”
“What else do you need? You have the studio, the resources, the funding…”
“Time. You haven’t given me enough time.”
Namjoon sighs his thirty-first sigh. “That’s simply a request that even I cannot grant, Y/N. You and I both know that this industry… it moves quicker than any of us would like. Soon enough, people will forget your name. Your members will be left in the dust. Do you want that, Y/N? Are you willing to succumb to your writer’s block in exchange for your members’ livelihoods?”
The two of you already knew the answer to that. You could only glare back at him, irritated that he had used the only weakness you had, the only people you were willing to risk a limb for.
He smiles sadly back at you. “Three months, Y/N. We need an album by December, or else your group is gone. I don’t want you to fail, believe me.”
Oh, I believe you, you think bitterly to yourself, slamming the door to his office with more force than necessary. Of course the bastard doesn’t want you to fail. Other than Hoseok’s group, Serendipity was the only other money-making group in the company. Rookie group after rookie group have debuted in the past, but none of them have stuck out to the public. They were all waiting for you to come back, whenever that may be.
“Maybe I should just go solo,” you whisper wistfully to yourself, but the image of your three other members staring at you in betrayal is the only thing holding you back.
It would have been easy, too. As the main vocalist in the group, you could potentially survive if your group were to disband. With numerous songwriting and producing credits under your belt, you could definitely stay afloat for another year or so.
These thoughts have been burdening your mind for months now, but you have tried your best to hide this from your members. Perhaps the stress of speaking with Namjoon is what allowed your walls to crumble, making your internal conflict clear as day on your face. Contrary to how you had acted in front of your superior, you actually did feel the strain of your hiatus. Your members were itching to return to the limelight, especially since all of them lived and breathed performance. You hated going home everyday, their eyes sparkling with hope for news of a comeback, only for it to fizzle out as quickly as it had come.
With all this mind, you suppose you shouldn’t have been all that surprised when you arrive back in your dorm that afternoon, your three sisters are sitting forlornly in the living room, waiting for you to arrive.
“What’s with the impromptu meeting? Did Sooyoung clog the toilet again?” You try to joke, but there is no sign of mirth in the eldest’s eyes. Sooyoung clearly means business if she can’t even bother cracking a smile; the kind leader has never looked so dark.
“Y/N. We need to talk,” Sooyoung says. The two younger girls nod in tandem, their head bobbing like pendulums on a taut string. You feel sweat beginning to form on your palms.
“I know what you guys are want to say and I get it. We all want a comeback. Do you think I don’t want to return to the stage? To perform in front of thousands of fans?” You can’t help yourself for immediately going into defensive mode. It feels like you were being cornered by a pack of hyenas, as you were certain they had gathered here to gang up on you. Your worst fears are getting realized, and the thought of going solo passes your mind for the second time that day.
“You sure aren’t acting like it,” Hana murmurs, but the maknae stomps on her feet to silence her. Hana yelps in shock, pouting sulkily.
“Shut up, Hana,” Gowon warns, her normally bright face marred with a deep frown. She turns to you, smiling apologetically. “Sorry, Y/N… She didn’t mean it.”
You snort. “Yeah? If she didn’t mean it, then why the hell are you all sitting here just waiting to attack me?”
“We’re not here to attack you, Y/N. Stop overreacting,” Hana says, rolling her eyes. She yelps again, rubbing her arm petulantly where she had been slapped, but Gowon’s face is an indomitable fortress. For once, you wonder what your maknae would do if she were truly pissed off.
“Y/N, we just wanted to ask if you needed any… help?” Sooyoung tries, brows furrowed in concentration. It is obvious that she is choosing her words slowly, as if she is afraid to startle you off like a deer. “Like, I know none of us are even half as good at producing like you, but if you need someone to take the wheel instead…”
“No, that won’t be necessary,” you say, voice edged with ice. You had not meant to say that as coldly as you did, but you couldn’t help that the stress was talking for you. Hana’s face goes dark in an instant.
“Oh? Does little miss producer have her shit together? Because at the very least, you’d think you would have some work to show for it,” she mocks, irises dancing with flames. Gowon tries to get her to shut up, but the elder seems to have a lot more to say.
“You think we don’t know what you do in that studio of yours? Sooyoung-unnie looked through your hard drive and found hundreds of unfinished samples. Hundreds! If you’re so good at your damn job, then I don’t see why you can’t finish even one of your stupid––”
Before you realize it, your palm is stinging with heat as the two other girls stare in shock at Hana’s reddening cheek. Hana stares at you too, mouth opening in shock rather than in pain. You raise your hands up in surrender, appalled by your own actions. The silence is a blanket, suffocating the air out of your lungs as the two of you are locked in a heavy stalemate. Then, she scoffs.
“Oh, is that all you got? Not even an excuse? If you can’t even defend yourself, I don’t even know why I’m bothering to listen,” she says, standing up to leave. Gowon tries to tug her back down, but she swats the younger’s hand away. “Sorry Gowonnie. I know you care a lot for Y/N, but I can’t care for someone who doesn’t even care for us,” she hisses. The slam of her bedroom door reverberates across the dorm, rattling your bones.
With Hana gone, Sooyoung sighs deeply, rubbing her temples not unlike the way Namjoon had done earlier that day. You hate yourself for not noticing the deeper lines forming across her forehead, too.
“Y/N. We know that you are very proud of your work, and that you’re trying your best. We really do. But it wouldn’t hurt if you could at least… be transparent with us.”
You snort, disbelief coloring your face at Sooyoung’s audacity. “I can’t believe you can say that with a straight face after you looked through my stuff without permission.”
Sooyoung has the decency to look guilty. “I’m sorry, Y/N. You left your studio door open once and well… I was just curious, you know? You never talk about your music process with us, and the girls and I were wondering if you actually… still cared.”
The sadness in her voice quickly dispels any dredges of anger still left in your body. Sighing in defeat, you haphazardly throw your tired body where Hana had been sitting. With the cool leather of the couch enveloping you in a hug, it is only then that you notice how incredibly weary you felt.
“I know. I’m sorry, I really am,” you murmur, closing your eyes so you don’t have to see their disappointed faces. You can feel Sooyoung’s soft hands carding themselves through your hair. “I just… I’m trying so hard to make an album for you guys but it’s just so difficult because I have to think about charting on Billboard and adjusting beats to the choreographies…”
“We understand, unnie.” Gowon says softly, patting your knee. “And believe me, it’s all thanks to you that we were able to win seven times during our last comeback. We don’t always have to beat our last record, you know? I’m sure the fans will love anything you put out.”
“I know,” you sniffle, allowing a few tears to escape. The same gentle hands leave your hair to wipe them away. “But I still don’t wanna disappoint you all…”
“You won’t, Y/N. We’re all very proud of you,” Sooyoung says, wrapping her arms around you. Gowon joins soon after, and you feel guilty for allowing yourself to believe them. You don’t deserve their patience––not after all the grief you had inadvertently put them through.
“I doubt Hana feels the same way,” you laugh, but it comes out sounding more like a creaky door more than anything.
Gowon pinches your cheek lightly. “Ah, she’ll get around. You know how she gets when things don’t go her way. I’d say we were all itching to slap her once or twice in our life.”
The three of you laugh, only feeling slightly bad for bad-mouthing the poor girl. As grumpy as the younger girl might be, all of you still love her despite her faults.
“Y/N-unnie? I have a suggestion, actually.” Gowon says, once the laughter had died down. You hum, raising your eyebrow at her.
“Yeah? Do you want to help me write some songs?”
Gowon shakes her head, waving her hands in embarrassment. “No! Well, I do, but that’s not what I wanted to suggest,” she says, rubbing her neck nervously. You squint at her, curious as to what has gotten the younger feeling too anxious to say.
“Do you think that maybe… a vacation might do you well?” she says, almost too quietly. You think you must have misheard her, and judging by the way she pouts back at you, the confusion must have been visible on your face.
“I said, you need a vacation, unnie. A real one, and not one that will get filmed for a reality show or something,” she repeats, firmer this time. From the corner of your eye, you can see Sooyoung nodding in agreement.
“That’s a great idea, Gowon. Y/N, I think you need a little break from all the stress. Perhaps you can get inspiration during your time away from work,” Sooyoung adds. You turn to face the eldest, eyebrows reaching your hairline at the fact that she was even agreeing to such a terrible idea.
“It’s not a terrible idea, for your information,” Gowon huffs, seemingly having read your mind. “Out of all of us, I think you deserve to relax and learn how to have fun.”
You splutter indignantly, somewhat offended at Gowon’s frank admission. “I know how to have fun! I bought a rice cooker last week with a coupon from the newspaper. I saved $20!”
“Oh my God,” Sooyoung laughs, shoulders shaking with mirth. “How the fuck are you younger than me, ahjumma?”
“This is what I’m saying,” Gowon deadpans, flicking your forehead. You yelp, rubbing the area with a pout. What is it with this girl and doing bodily harm on her members? “When I mean fun, I meant regular, young adult stuff. Shit like…”
“Going to karaoke! Watching movies! Travelling! Spa treatments! Reading books!” Sooyoung lists, bouncing up and down in her seat. If you hadn’t known better, it is as if Sooyoung was planning her own vacation instead.
“Maybe sex?” Gowon adds, and that earns a strangled cough from you.
“Gowon!” You yell, slapping the giggling maknae in the back. “Who told you about the s word?”
“Learned from the best,” she says coyly, earning another slap from you. “Ouch! Okay, I’m joking. But I have to admit, Sooyoung-unnie has some good ideas. Maybe you should travel or go back home?”
“If the company will even let me,” you say, rolling your eyes. “Do you really think Namjoon-ssi will let me leave when he basically gave me only three months to produce an album? I don’t think so.”
“I’ll make him agree,” Gowon says ominously.
“You’ll make him agree,” you repeat.
“Yup,” she says, a mysterious smile on her lips. “So, since you’re agreeing to my proposal––”
“Who says I’m going?” you interject, but Sooyoung slaps a hand over your mouth, silencing you.
“Hush! I have an idea. You see, one of my old high school classmates owns a spa resort up in the mountains near Busan. It’s super remote, so you don’t even have to worry about being recognized by anyone.” She prattles on, already whipping out her phone to text who knows what. Her fingers are flying at the speed of light, and you try your best to snatch it out of her hands.
When you try to grab it, Gowon holds your arms behind your back, effectively imprisoning you. She points a shit-eating grin at you. “Nu-uh, Y/N. You’re going to relax, even if it fucking kills you. So let Sooyoung and I handle everything, okay? We’ll get Namjoon’s approval tomorrow, and you’ll be off to Busan by the weekend. Sound good?”
No, it did not sound good at all. You have been an idol for five years now, plus your three years working as a trainee. You hardly remember what it felt like to not work, and you can only imagine how bored you’ll be once you get there.
Before you know it, Sooyoung finishes speaking with her classmate, booking a room for three nights. Gowon claps excitedly, already planning to pack for you to lessen your burden. You smile wryly at the two of them because you can’t help but be endeared by their pure enthusiasm.
You go to your room that night, wanting to believe Gowon’s words. Maybe she’s right; all you need is a vacation. When your eyes finally close and your breathing has steadied, you go to sleep believing that everything might turn out okay.
––♡♡♡––
It does not turn out okay, unsurprisingly.
Like Sooyoung had mentioned, the spa is remote, far away from any semblance of city life. It sits halfway up the mountain, where it is said to have the nicest hot spring baths in the country. There is a small town at the bottom of the mountain, which is where the taxi had dropped you off. When you ask him why he can’t drive you all the way to the resort, he shakes his head apologetically.
“Sorry, miss. The roads up to Blue Springs Resort are pretty narrow and I can’t risk going up there at this time of night. You could probably ask one of the locals here to drive you up. Good luck!” He bids you goodbye cheerily, snatching your payment out of your hands and driving off without another word. You stand at the edge of the road, mouth agape at his brazen desertion.
“Fuck me, I guess,” you groan, taking your phone out to try and dial for help. Of course, the reception is horrendous, and you suppress your screams at this terrible turn of events.
“This is all Sooyoung’s fault,” you mutter darkly, dragging your suitcase into the dark town to look for help. It is only 7pm, but it seems like the townsfolk have decided to hit the hay for the night. The shop windows and houses that you pass are all dark, and your dying phone can barely light the way as you try to find any sign of human life that might help you find a place to stay.
After thirty minutes of searching, you are two seconds away from just breaking and entering into some poor bastard’s house when a young man exits his house. He stares at you, with your sweat matted hair and scuffed luggage, and you have half the mind to wonder if there were any traces of ketchup on your lips, leftover from the hotdog you had eaten on the way there.
“Hi,” you greet. You raise your hand hesitantly.
He raises his own, incredibly confused. “Uh. Hi?”
“Sorry, I know I look really weird and all, but I was wondering if you could help me find a way to Blue Springs Resort? The taxi I took pretty much left me on the side of the road, and I don’t have anywhere else to stay,” you finish, teeth chattering from the cold. The man’s eyes soften, and he approaches you.
“Oh, that happens sometimes. The resort usually has a shuttle come through here, but I guess it’s too late to call them now,” he explains, “I could drive you there, if you want? I was going to head to the city, so I could drop you off first before heading out.”
You can hardly believe your ears, unsure whether you could trust this man’s goodness or not. “Are you sure? I’m not bothering you, am I? Also, not to look a gift horse in the mouth, but I don’t really feel safe going inside a stranger’s car.”
The man laughs, shaking his head. “Nah, I get you. If it makes you feel any better, I actually work at this town’s local police station. I can show you my badge in my car, if you want,” he says, rubbing his neck shyly. “My name is Jungkook, by the way. Officer Jungkook, usually, but I’m off duty so feel free to drop the title.”
You grin, charmed by his little awkward mannerisms. “Nice to meet you, Jungkook. I’m Y/N.”
To your relief, his expression doesn’t change at the sound of your name, but you had already figured that he didn’t recognized you from the moment you met. It isn’t like you expected everyone in South Korea to know who you or your band was, but it never hurt to be cautious. You loved your fans, but you never knew what type of things they could do to you.
The two of you jump into his car after he kindly pops his trunk open and takes your luggage from you. He lets you take control of the radio, and the soft sound of some American ballad fills the car as the two of you ride into the night. The drive is silent, save for the music and your occasional humming. True to his word, a police radio and badge are sitting idly on his console, and you half expect it to come to life with news of some incident or whatnot.
Jungkook notices your curious gaze, and he grins at you. “Don’t worry, Y/N. I’m off duty, so I doubt I’ll be getting any calls. Besides, hardly anything happens in this sleepy town, so I’d be surprised if that radio would light up, even when I’m on patrol.”
“Not to be offensive, but doesn’t it get boring around these parts? With nothing happening?” you ask, lightly fingering the radio and badge in fascination.
Jungkook shrugs his shoulders. “Boring is safe, I suppose. That’s what my chief always says. Besides, it isn’t entirely quiet. There are always reports of crashes around the mountains because the roads are so difficult to maneuver. Speaking of…” he trails off, his driving growing increasingly slow as the path begins to grow narrow. “Gotta be careful. The mayor has been working to get railways around these roads, but funding it pretty tight. It’s particularly dangerous at night.”
You watch, tense as his grip grows tighter on the wheel. You are starting to get worried that Jungkook might accelerate off the cliff, but he manages to offer you a shaky smile in assurance. “Don’t worry, miss. I’m a good driver, and I’m used to these parts. Just gotta make it past this one particularly nasty turn and––”
He goes silent, brow furrowed in concentration as you arrive at the aforementioned turn. He slows the car to a crawl, inching his way around the sharp edge when the radio suddenly switches the song from a love ballad to an energetic pop song. The sudden noise startles Jungkook, and he jams his foot straight down on the pedal.
You scream, clutching your seatbelt as the car revs forward and for a brief moment––you are flying. Your stomach flies to your throat as you feel nothing but weightlessness, and you think you can hear Jungkook cursing obscenities as he tries to pull the break but––nothing.
The car drops, crashing like a tin can against a large tree. Pain blooms all across your body, and you want nothing more than to scream, but no sound would come out. In the edges of your consciousness, you can still hear the radio playing, the sound of your own sweet melodious voice being the last thing you remember before your world fades to black.
––♡♡♡––
Everything hurts. Scratch that––it feels like there were broken shards of glass that had a physical vendetta against your vital organs inside of you. You swear that there are weights attached to your eyelids, and it feels like hours until you can finally get them to open.
The first thing you notice is that it’s bright. The room (“A bedroom,” you murmur, noticing the bedside table and closet near the door. There is an electronic keyboard gathering dust in the corner too.) is filled with sunlight, the small window on your right devoid of any curtains. The sheets smell like lavender, and there are at least two pillows underneath your head. When you try to move, your body screams in protest as a sharp pain throbs somewhere on your torso.
Craning your neck, you gingerly peel the blanket off your body, and even then the effort is too much. When you successfully pull everything off, you are bombarded with the sight of bandages everywhere. You look like those discount mummy costumes, the ones that no one bought and are always sold for a third of its original price. You must have jostled one of your wounds while you were shifting, and you watch with morbid fascination as red starts to bloom across your stomach.
You think you are going to be sick.
Panic surges through your bones and you feel the desperate urge to get out of bed––for what reason, you do not know. It isn’t like you could go anywhere in your condition, but you just needed to do something. You don’t know where you are, or what happened, or even what day it is. You need to get out of here––
Suddenly, the door opens, and a man with blonde hair and droopy eyes enters with a cup of tea in hand. He yelps in surprise when he sees you, one leg already off the bed as you were still in the middle of your panic-induced escape. He rushes towards you, and gently pushes you back onto the bed.
“Hey, hey… Relax. You’re going to hurt yourself if you move too much,” he says, his tone soft and calming. Your heartbeat refuses to relax, and you must have looked crazed to the young man. He places the cup of tea by the table, and firmly tucks the blanket back over your body.
“Oh damn. I think your stitches might have opened… I’ll have to clean that up later,” he murmurs. He reaches behind you to fluff up your pillows, and you catch a whiff of his lavender body soap. He sits by your side, a worried look marring his soft features. He places a hand on your head and asks, “Y/N, does your head hurt? I’m not all that good with head injuries, so I’m not sure if I bandaged it correctly… I tried researching techniques, but I’m worried I didn’t do it right…”
His words feel like cotton in your ears, but you manage to catch the first part of his sentence. “Wait, how do you know my name?” You ask, voice sounding hoarse after hours (days?) of misuse. The man notices, and offers you his cup of tea. You try to wrap your hands around it, but even your fingers are wrapped in bandages. You notice there is a splint on your index finger, and you let out a sob at the sight. How would you be able to play the piano now?
Pitying you, Jimin brings the cup to your lips and lets you drink. The tea scalds your tongue, but your sandpaper throat accepts it with open arms. He places the empty cup by the table before answering your question. “My name is Jimin. I’m the owner of Blue Spring Resorts. I was a friend of Sooyoung back in high school.”
At the mention of Sooyoung and the resort, memories of the previous night floods your mind. You remember how the car had driven off the side of the road, the feeling of weightlessness and dread filling you like poison. You remember the sound of music playing as you slipped in and out of consciousness. You remember––
“Jungkook,” you say, gripping the man’s arm with frightening strength. He holds your hand, alarmed. “Jungkook,” you repeat, tears welling in your eyes. “Where?”
“Jungkook? Who’s Jungkook?” Jimin asks, patting your hand in an attempt to calm you. You push his hand away, and shake his arm more urgently.
“He––he was in the car, with me. He was the one driving me to this resort when he accidentally drove off the cliff. He––where is he?” You stutter, words flying out of your mouth quicker than you can process. Luckily, Jimin seems to understand the gist of your babbling.
“I’m sorry, Y/N. When I found you on the side of the cliff, I only saw your body under the mangled car. I didn’t bother checking further, because I was more concerned with getting you back to safety,” he explains, tears springing in his eyes from guilt. Your heart drops. “I’m so sorry. I just wanted to get you out of there.”
Tears flow freely down your cheeks as you sob, a loud wail escaping you as you think about the sweet police officer who was probably dead on the side of the road. Jimin wraps an arm around you, rubbing your shoulder as you choked on your sins.
“I––I can go check again later. I was meaning to head back to town to shuttle some more customers to the resort until I saw your car…” he says, lips pursing. “I can also go back to salvage whatever I can…” he offers, and you nod sadly, already weary despite having just woken up.
He gazes at you sadly, unfurling your fingers off of his arm and putting them back onto your lap. He does not berate you for the small nail marks you had left against his honey skin. “Go to sleep, Y/N. I'll be back by nightfall. Get some rest."
Soon after he had made sure your blankets and pillows are at their optimal position, you fall into a fitful sleep, your heart feeling heavier than it did before.
––♡♡♡––
Just as he had promised, he returns later that night. You had awakened when you heard the faint sound of a door slamming shut, the anxiety starting to build until Jimin's fluffy blonde head peaks out from behind the bedroom door.
He smiles apologetically, clicking the door shut as he enters the room quietly. "Sorry, did my arrival awaken you?" he says, sitting beside your form. He notices your breathing relax at his proximity, and the grin spreads like wildfire on his face.
"It's fine. I was going to wake up soon, anyway," you say, voice still warbled with grogginess. He smiles, patting your knee before standing up once more.
"I'm gonna get you some water and food," he says when he notices your curious gaze. "Also, I passed by the wreckage again, and..." he trails off, sounding worried for your reaction. You steel yourself, and you try your best to look like you weren't about to burst into tears at any moment.
"There wasn't anyone there," he says, finally. You freeze, confused by his admission.
"What?"
"It's true," he says, shrugging his shoulders. "I tried looking everywhere, even around the vicinity of the crash. All I found was the car and your things."
You deflate at the news, but you can't help the remaining dredges of hope beginning to resurrect in your heart. Maybe he had escaped and had run off to get help, or at least you wished.
"Did you try contacting the police? Jungkook mentioned that he was part of the police force."
An odd look flashes across his face, but it leaves before you can decipher it. He coughs awkwardly, rubbing his nose. "Uh, yes. I contacted the police about the crash a few days ago, and they said they would be focusing on looking for that Jungkook fella. For now, I'll take care of you until you can safely return to town."
If his reasoning sounds odd, you don't question it. You are too busy grieving Jungkook that you can barely think for yourself. Jimin rubs your shoulder, before turning to leave and fetch your belongings.
When he returns, he brings the remains of what was once your black suitcase. He places them by your side, riffling through the things he salvaged from the wreckage. "I tried taking some of your clothes and toiletries, but I'm afraid your laptop was crushed completely," he says, placing your folded clothes beside you. When he takes out the ruined laptop in question, and you gaze at it with empty acceptance.
It isn't the end of the world, you suppose. You saved most of your photos and music online and in your work computer, so all is not lost. To your surprise, however, Jimin pulls out another small black object from his bag and hands it to you.
"My hard drive survived?" You stare at it in wonder, turning it over in your hands delicately. You ignored the pain in your fingers as you clutch the small object to your chest, tear ducts starting to burn. You give Jimin a grateful look. "Thank you for everything," you whisper.
Jimin's cheeks turn a brilliant shade of pink, eyes downturned in sudden embarrassment. "I-it's no big deal," he stammers, twiddling his thumbs. You chuckle, pinching his cheeks endearingly.
"No, really. You did so much for me when I've done nothing to deserve it. You even bandaged me up, which I have no idea how you managed, by the way."
Somehow, Jimin's cheeks darken even further. The color spreads like wildfire, inking the delicate skin of his neck and ears. "I, um... About that..." He coughs awkwardly, looking anywhere but at you. You raise your eyebrows in question.
"Yeah? You didn't do anything weird right? I'm not gonna get out of here with an extra foot, am I?" You joke, and it seems to have made Jimin loosen up slightly.
He shakes his head, a small grin on his lips. "No, of course not. But I did have to undress you, and uh..." He trails off once more, unable to finish his sentence. You feel blood start to rush to your face as well, but you try your best to seem unfazed by his confession. Clearing your throat, you pat his shoulder as nonchalantly as you can.
"I would hope so. Bandages wouldn't exactly work if I had clothes underneath them, wouldn't you say?" You quip, and your ears are blessed with the pleasant sound of his tinkling laughter. You feel your breathing stop, and you wonder if it would be weird if you could ask him to do it again.
"Cute," you eventually say, which probably isn't any less embarrassing than your previous intrusive thought. The blood vessels around Jimin's face must be working on overtime right now, but you can't find it in yourself to feel bad when he looked so damn cute.
"Me? You must be mistaken... You're the cute one here," he squeaks. He must have only belatedly realize what he had said because he slaps a hand over his mouth in shock, screaming slightly muffled by his hands. "Oh my Gooood I did not just say that!"
You let out a loud laugh, the action agitating your dry throat but you can't help but do it anyway. He takes a peek at you from behind his hands, eyes wide in awe.
"Your laugh is even prettier in person," he says absentmindedly, before slapping his hand over his mouth again. "Fuck! I mean––"
"In person?" You question, peering at him inquisitively.
Jimin shrugs his shoulders, sheepish. "I'm, uh... a bit of a fan of yours, I guess? When I found out that Sooyoung had joined a girl group all those years ago, I couldn't help myself from researching you guys and I supposed you've caught me in your spell ever since," he confesses, the redness in his cheeks never fading. "You could say that you're my..."
"I'm your favorite?" You finish, smiling cheekily. He nods back, his mortification palpable. Taking pity on him, you choose not to tease him and instead ask, "Speaking of Sooyoung, do you mind lending me your phone? I want to call her to tell her I'm alright."
"Oh, there's no signal out here, unfortunately," Jimin explains, frowning. "However, I do have a landline you could use, but it's too far away... I could call her for you, if you'd like?"
"That would be great, thanks." You say, grabbing his hand gratefully. Jimin stills, allowing your bandaged fingers to caress the calluses on his palms. "I mean it when I say that, you know? I owe you my life."
Jimin swallows, hands shaking as he laces his fingers through yours. Poor kid must be nervous being with his idol, you think to yourself, impossibly endeared by this lovely boy.
His smile is as sweet as his voice. "Anything for you, Y/N."
––♡♡♡––
After that, Jimin brings you some dinner. He bashfully admits that he isn't the best cook around, and he'd normally ask one of the chefs at the resort to cook something up but they were all incredibly busy due to the influx of customers. When he spoon-feeds you some of the kimchi stew, your eyes light up from the explosion of flavor on your tongue.
"This is wonderful, Jimin!' You exclaim, mouth already opening for the next spoonful. Jimin chuckles at your enthusiasm, beaming proudly as his favorite idol sings praises over his cooking.
The two of you spend the remainder of the night getting to know each other. You ask him a myriad of questions, mostly about his job and the resort. You find out that he had inherited this place after his father had passed away, despite his initial dreams of becoming a singer. You apologize for prying, but he shakes your concern away.
"Nah, it happened years ago. It's fine," he says, his eyes crinkling from the intensity of his smile. You can't help your face from mirroring his own, despite noticing the slight sadness tinging his tone. "Besides, I love my job. I get to meet lots of interesting people like you."
"You're just saying that because you're my fan. I'm not interesting," you say, cheeks dusted with pink. Jimin shakes his head, and you're almost worried that he might dislodge his head from how violently he moves.
"No! You're amazing! All your fans and members know that you're amazingly talented. The songs you write are so incredibly deep and meaningful, and you've helped a lot of them go through some tough times––me included," he admits. You gaze sadly at him, knowing that he isn't the first one to share this with you.
"I know... But I haven't been all that good at writing these days. In fact, the only reason I came out to this resort was to get some inspiration..."
Jimin stares at you, a look of concern in his irises and something... else. When you look closer, all you see are his shiny brown eyes gazing back at you. "I'm sure you'll be fine. You're the amazing Y/N. I'm sure anything you write will be fantastic."
You doubt it, but you nod your head anyway to appease him.
"Since you said you wanted to be a singer, maybe I'll write a song for you in the future," you say, laughing lightly when he stares at you incredulously. He points at himself, as if uncertain that you were talking about the same person.
You roll your eyes. "Yes, I was talking about you, silly."
He shakes his head, disbelief coloring his face but you don't miss the way a slight blush has invaded his honey skin. "For me? But I'm a nobody. You don't even know if I can sing well."
"I think you'd be a great singer, Jimin. You've got a nice, soothing voice," you say, shameless.
"Stop teasing me," he says, pouting in such an adorable way that you can't help but continue teasing him.
"I'll write a song for you, Park Jimin," you say, unaware of the weight of your promise slowly finding its way around your neck. “I swear on my life.”
Even if you had no intention of fulfilling that promise or not, it is definitely worth seeing the way a soft smile blossoms across Jimin's cherubic features.
"By the way Y/N, I had been meaning to ask... You don't have to answer by the way, but..." he starts, hesitant to continue. Judging from his sudden shift in demeanor, you have a feeling you already know what he's going to ask, anyway.
"You're going to ask about the comeback, right?"
Jimin's face lights up immediately. "Yeah! So, it's happening soon, right? We've all been waiting since November of last year, so I was wondering..."
You shrug your shoulders noncommittally. "I guess... But like I said, I haven't been writing as well as I'd like, so I don't know how soon it'll happen but... Yeah, it's in the works."
Jimin sighs as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. "Thank God... I've been arguing with people on Twitter who had been making weird rumors that you guys were going to disband... I knew you guys would never do that, right?" he says, eyes sparkling with pure adoration.
You swallow down your guilt, unable to bear looking at his hopeful face. You croak, "Yeah. We would never."
Two nights pass quickly as you lay in Jimin's cabin to recover. You had learned that he had placed you in his room because it was comfier than the guest rooms, and when you had insisted to be moved, he quickly shut you down, assuring you that he was perfectly fine with letting you stay as long as you needed. You acquiesce, pouting as the young man practically babied you and attended to your every beck and call.
You know he means well, and it isn't like you were averse to the attention being showered upon you by this handsome boy. So you allow yourself to be pampered just this once; after all, you were supposed to be at a spa resort.
"Speaking of," Jimin says after he finishes feeding you your lunch. "I wanted to offer you something, if you don't mind." You hum, eyelids closing from the blissful feeling of being well-fed.
"What do you think about having a massage?"
That wakes you right back up.
"What?" You ask, gaping slightly at the young man. Jimin, who had been previously emboldened by your satiated state, is sweating bullets, astonished by his own brazenness.
He tries to backtrack. "Uh, you can say no, of course. I was just, well, since we're at a spa and such, and it just so happens that I happen to be a licensed masseur, and uh––"
"I'd love one, if you don't mind."
"And just, I mean––wait? You want one?" He splutters, plump cheeks turning pink. You tap them gently, giggling when they redden under your attention. God, you wanted so badly to kiss them and see if they were as soft under your lips as they were under your hands.
"Yeah. I mean, my company did pay for this trip, and I'm supposed to be here to relax, so I might as well take advantage of the situation," you say plainly.
Jimin nods dumbly, semi-disbelieving that you had agreed so easily. He assures you that he'll be careful, the both of you still worried about your injuries. He says that he'll pay more attention to your shoulders and upper legs, since those seem to be the only areas where you aren't severely wounded.
He turns you over gently, a continuous stream of apologies leaving his mouth every time you let out even the slightest hiss of pain. With your back fully exposed to him, he carefully peels your the night shirt off of you, and you can only imagine the way his cheeks must be reddening all the while. Thankfully, he leaves your shorts on as he goes about to preparing the materials for the massage.
"Tell me if I'm being too rough, okay?" he says, and you can hear him opening the cap of massage oil. After a few moments, you feel his steady hands start kneading soft circles into your shoulders, and a sigh escapes you before you can stop it.
Jimin chuckles lightly. "Good?"
"Wonderful," you sigh, feeling the tense knots from months of stress starting to unravel under his skilled fingers. A particularly hard press of his fingers elicits a loud moan from you, and you whimper when his fingers freeze abruptly.
"Why'd you stop?" You whined, nudging his thigh with your foot. You can't see Jimin's face, so you are unsure as to why he had stopped so suddenly.
"N-nothing," he stammers, and he continues on as if nothing had happened.
Under his care, you release a litany of moans and whimpers, unable to stop yourself from enjoying the smooth glide of his hands. In the edges of your pleasure-addled brain, you wonder what would have happened if your body hadn't been seriously injured. You can imagine how his hands would descend lower down your back and onto your hips, pressing dangerously close to your center but never quite reaching it. You squeeze your legs, hoping that Jimin doesn't notice that your moans might have started sounding a little bit more erotic than before.
As if reading your mind, Jimin pauses to clear his throat. "Uh, would you mind if I moved on to your thighs? If you don't want me to touch you there, then..."
You don't know what comes over you. His fingers have you locked under some sort of spell, so you can only whimper pathetically back in response. He takes that as a sign of approval, and the next thing you know, you feel him grabbing fistfuls of your thighs.
"Oh fuck," you moan out, your voice loud in the silence of the room. Jimin's ministrations quicken, almost as if he was trying to milk the sounds out of you. Somewhere along the way, you moan something that sounds suspiciously like "Jimin," a fact that the man greatly appreciates.
"Fuck, you're so hot," Jimin groans, his thumbs snagging onto the edges of your shorts. He tugs them down slightly, and you feel your lower regions light up like wildfire. You lift your hips imperceptibly, but it's enough for Jimin to wrench your flimsy shorts out of the way, leaving you bare for him and his hands.
Breathing heavier than before, Jimin takes a moment to calm himself. He rubs himself against the edge of the bed, biting his lip as he tries to keep his own moans at bay.
"Touch me," you whine, snaking your hand around your back and grabbing his wrist in impatience. You direct him directly to your center, the both of you gasping at the wetness already there. Jimin experimentally swipes a finger up your slit, gazing in awe as your slick mixes with the oil already on his digits.
Ever the gentleman, he asks, "Can I really...?"
You think you might be going insane from his indomitable patience. "Yes! Just fucking finger me already, Jimin," you gasp, feeling his fingers rubbing small circles around your clit. He teases you like this for a few moments, and you're about to sneak your hand down there to take care of it yourself when you hear the sound of a phone ringing from downstairs.
Jimin pauses, removing his hands from your core and leaving you feeling cold and wanting. You manage to turn your head to the side, and you see Jimin looking torn as he stares at you and the door.
"I have to..." His voices tapers off, a war waging in his warm brown eyes. "Customers, and..."
Even though you would love nothing more than for him to finish you off, you of all people understand the importance of work. "Go," you say, offering him what you hope is a comforting smile.
He gives you one last rueful look before he leaves, the sound of the door closing echoing in your skull.
"Fucking hell," you groan, your treacherous hands trailing down your body after his departure. When you reach your climax to the image of blonde hair and plump cheeks, you trick yourself into thinking your fingers were not your own.
––♡♡♡––
"I don't think I can keep staying here anymore, Jimin."
The weather has turned colder overnight, and Jimin has to reinstall the curtains back onto his bedroom window. You had been stuck in this room for a week already, with only Jimin as your only source of comfort.
You would always be grateful for the kind man's hospitality, but sitting in a room for days on end was starting to get to your head. You didn't really see yourself as the type to get cabin fever, since you were used to being cooped up in the studio for even longer periods of time. But you suppose there is a difference, since you couldn't even properly make music here with Jimin always staring down your neck at every opportunity. At the very least, your days spent here have done wonders on your stress, as it has given you the time to ponder and contemplate some of pressing your life choices.
"Oh? But you're not fully healed though," he comments dismissively, collecting the plates and utensils you had used for dinner that night. You thank him quietly, but he doesn't respond to it like he normally would. He places them by your bedside before tucking you under your blanket until only your head can be seen.
"Yeah, I know but I think I should be well enough to head back home, don't you think?"
"Maybe in a few more days," he says, refusing to look you in the eyes. When you grab his shoulder to force him to pay attention to you, his gaze is still averted to the ground.
"Jimin."
"Y/N."
"Why won't you look at me?"
Jimin finally does, and you are surprised by the amount of sadness that you find. "I'm sorry. I guess I'm just... worried? I don't want to risk taking you down this mountain and having you get injured again..."
"I won't though, right? You're used to driving down the mountain. I trust you," you say, honeying your words to try and get him to agree. It must have worked, judging from the way his shoulders droop in defeat.
"Yeah, I guess. But maybe after the weekend? It's a bit busy at the resort this week, so you'll have to wait until Monday."
Squealing at the prospect of going home, you envelop the man in a bone-crushing hug, ignoring the way your stomach protests at the sudden movement. "Thank you so much, Jimin. You don't understand how hard it's been being away from home, but I'm glad it was you who I got to spend this time with," you say.
Jimin smiles, patting your back. "Of course. Anything for you––"
"What's more, my time here has allowed me to really think about my life, you know?" You interject, prattling on as if he hadn't spoken. He furrows his brow, looking at you curiously.
"What do you mean about your life?"
"Oh, you know. I know that I said that I came here to write songs for Serendipity's comeback, but I actually came here to think about my own solo career," you say, shrugging your shoulders. You miss the way Jimin's entire body freezes as you continue on speaking. "I've been thinking about the pros and cons of what would happen if I actually did leave the band, and suffice to say I think it really would be for the best if I left the group. I was never the favorite member anyway, so I think it would be best if––"
"No."
"––I left the company and––excuse me?" You pause, finally noticing the rigid way Jimin was sitting. You stare at him, confused by his sudden change in demeanor. "What do you mean by 'no?'"
"I mean, you can't fucking just leave the band, Y/N," he snarls, standing up and beginning to pace around the room. You sit up on the bed, feeling on edge at this sudden appearance of a Jimin you had never met before.
"Of course I can. My contract is about to end in a year anyway, so it's not like the company can force me to stay––"
"What about your fucking promise then, huh? Was all of that bullshit?" Jimin roars, the volume of his voice startling you immensely.
"What promise?" You squeak when he slams a fist into the bed frame, rattling your entire mattress from the force.
He raises his hands in the air, unperturbed by the purple bruise already forming across his fist. "Of course you don't remember! It's because you were lying. You were lying to all of us."
"What the actual fuck are you talking about?"
"On your first win, don't you remember? You made a promise that Serendipity would never disband, not even when you turned 50," he says, breathing turning ragged with rage. He stalks his way towards you, and you try your best to burrow yourself under the covers.
"Well, things change okay? The Y/N from 5 years ago probably didn't know she would be neck deep in stress to the point where she thinks she's going to die, okay? I thought you, as my fan, would understand that my well-being should come first," you say, your voice growing louder as you realized the ridiculousness of this situation. Who the hell did Jimin think he was? Who gave him the right to be angry when you were only doing what was best for you? "Hell, you wanted to be singer, didn't you? You should understand better than anyone how difficult it is to always be under public scrutiny!"
The sneer on Jimin's face is feral-looking, almost murderous. "No, I don't. I don't understand."
Before you can react, he goes to slam the door shut, the sound of the lock clicking in place. The final nail on your coffin. No matter how hard you twist the knob or bang your hands against the door, no one would come. No one could hear you.
––♡♡♡––
Jimin doesn't visit your room once in over three days. That means he has stopped giving you food and water, purposefully starving you until you bend to his will. He had only slipped a small note under the door frame, detailing the conditions for nourishment.
"If you want to live, then you'll write me a song. Prove to me that you don't break your promises."
Easier said than done. Even during a life and death situation, that specific part of your brain refuses to cooperate, and you can hardly write a verse without breaking down and crying.
How pathetic. What type of producer were you, if you couldn't even safe your life by doing the only thing you were supposedly good at?
On the third day, your vision has started to grow hazy from dehydration. You have yet to resort to drinking your own urine, but you were hoping to attempt to satiate Jimin before that. With the lyrics and notes hastily scribbled on a piece of paper, you slide it under the door, waiting for your captor to judge your draft. Never has a song frightened you as much as this, and you laugh mirthlessly at how you had been worried about charting just a week prior.
You hear his footsteps approaching, and you wait with bated breath as the rustle of paper signals that he has begun to read your song. You hold your breath, the seconds feeling like decades as you wait for him to pass his judgment.
The lock clicks. The door opens.
Jimin, with his blonde hair and plump cheeks, crumples the paper in his hands without a word. He rips the paper in shreds, and you watch in horror as he grinds his foot into the sorry remains of your draft.
"Nice try, but I know this song. I listened to the songs on your hard drive all those nights ago, and I know this is a draft for a solo song," he says, grinning sadistically at the sight of your face crumpling in despair. While you are still in the midst of mourning your one chance of escape, he walks past your kneeling form, grabbing something from the bedside table.
When you look, you see the small black hard drive in his hands. He waves it at you, almost mockingly, before slamming it onto the ground––hard. He stomps on it, grinding his foot onto it just like he had done to your draft just minutes ago. You scream, jumping to save your precious hard drive from further harm––but alas. It is too late.
Bits of wire and shards of plastic are all that's left of your entire library of secret solo songs. These are the files you hadn't saved to your studio computer in fear of it being discovered by the wrong people. Years of blood, sweat, and tears––gone.
In an instant, your vision grows red, red, red.
"I'll fucking kill you!" You scream, hurtling your weak body at him with all the power you could muster. Despite his small frame, he is able to wrestle you down quickly, barely breaking a sweat as you squirmed and screamed murder at him. Tear blurred your visions as you tried your best to hurt Jimin in any way you can, but he takes it like it's nothing. Growing tired of your noise, he slams your head against the floor, knocking you unconscious.
––♡♡♡––
When you awaken a day later, you find cuts all over your legs and arms, as well as a strange ache between your legs. You don't even have the energy to let out a sob as you curl back into yourself.
A note by your bedside table:
"Since I took something away from you, I thought it was only fair that I gave you something back in return. Something you will always remember me by."
––♡♡♡––
You keep trying to write songs to please Jimin. As it turns out, anything you churn out will earn you his seal of approval, so long as it is none of the drafts from your old hard drive. Every song you write garners you a meal and cup of water. You don't know what he does with the songs you write, and you honestly don't care. None of the songs have any meaning to you; they are all just strings of words and notes hastily sewn together for the sake of having something to present to Jimin.
Five days since he had broken your hard drive, and you have written almost twenty songs in that time frame. "Enough songs for an album," you mutter darkly to yourself, staring forlornly out the window. Some time during your confinement, Jimin had installed metal bars across the window, leaving you no means of escape––or death.
You were his own personal music box.
In the distance, a police siren blares. Your ears perk up, straining your eyes to find any signs of an approaching car. To your incredible joy, you can see the telltale signs of a blue and red light growing closer to the cabin. You start hammering on the windows, hoping for them to notice you, but your cries are unfortunately unheard from the third floor. You watch, hopeless as two police officers jump out of the car and towards the front door. From your perch, you cannot see their faces, but you think you can see one of them dragging their foot with a light limp.
Pressing your ear against the floor, you try your hardest to listen to their conversation, but Jimin has always talked in very hushed tones. You catch the sound of a deeper voice, loud enough to hear but not enough to decipher his words. There is another voice, but this one is slightly familiar. You pound your fists against the floorboards, but neither of the police officers seem to have noticed.
You try your best to scream for help, but your voice is too hoarse from hours of crying yourself to sleep. You punch the floor in misery, despair wracking your body as another chance to escape slips through your fingers for the second time.
Your gaze catches on the keyboard in the corner of you room. You had forgotten about its presence, largely unable to use it due to some of your fingers still being broken. You plug the thing in, raising the volume to its highest setting and testing it out to find that it was much louder than you had anticipated.
Despite the insistent throbbing of your fingers, you begin to play.
––♡♡♡––
"What's that sound?" Officer Yoongi says, turning back just as Jimin was about to usher him out the door. Jimin huffs in annoyance, but his face melts back into its usual sunshine-y way when the officer stares at him expectantly.
"Oh, probably my guest. She likes playing the piano during this time of day," he replies smoothly. Officer Jungkook limps back into the house, peering at his chief curiously.
"Chief? What are you waiting for? We still have other houses to search," he says.
"I recognize this song," Officer Yoongi replies, humming slightly as the piano's haunting melody echoes throughout the house. "I used to play piano back in the day. I think this is Schubert."
"Shoe who?" Officer Jungkook laughs, the mirth dying in his eyes when he sees the concentrated look on his chief's face. "Yoongi-hyung?" He questions once more.
"Nothing," he finally says, his gaze still turned upward in thought. He waves absentmindedly at Jimin. "Sorry for intruding. Like Jungkook said, we still have other houses to search. Let us know if you hear news about Y/N."
"No problem," Jimin says sweetly, shutting the door firmly on their way out.
When the car reaches the bottom of the mountain, it is only then when Yoongi remembers. "Erlkönig. That's the song," he says.
Something stirs uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach.
––♡♡♡––
Days have passed and it takes longer for you to produce enough songs to feed yourself. Malnourished and severely weak, you pass out almost consistently, unable to keep awake long enough to even leave the bed to write. After the fourteenth day, you suppose Jimin must have taken pity on you, because suddenly you find yourself submerged in a warm bath with his gentle hands rubbing soap all over your body.
You might have tried resisting, or you might have not. It’s hard to remember the details, even while it is happening You are too weak to even speak, allowing this wretched man to wash you without struggle. He rubs at your breasts and thighs, his fingers grazing your core teasingly, but you feel nothing. You are a living corpse, waiting for your captor to let you rot in peace.
"This must feel good, huh? After weeks of leaving you in your own filth... See? I can be forgiving too," he murmurs, fingers rubbing circles over your slit.
Your tired eyes can barely keep themselves open, but as luck might have it, you manage to see the toilet's porcelain cover is slightly ajar. Perhaps Jimin had been busy repairing the toilet earlier that day––it did not matter. All that matters is that you had one final chance to escape right under your fingertips, and you'd be damned if you wouldn't try one last time before completely submitting yourself to your fate.
I will not die. I will not die. I will not die.
You chant these words incessantly into your head until it is all you can hear, see, feel. Jimin turns his head for a moment to get more soap, and in that moment, you are filled with enough energy to grab the porcelain slab and slam it against his head. Jimin crumbles against the impact, his body folding in agony as he cradles his head in pain.
You swing it again and again, aiming for his head every time until he moved no longer.
"And stay fucking dead," you finish, dropping the chipped slab onto his unmoving carcass.
Adrenaline continues to pump through your veins as you slump back into the tub, the gravity of what you had done still keeping your mind on overdrive. After a few more minutes of heavy breathing, you manage to pull yourself out of the tub. You shrug on your shirt and pants, limping haphazardly out of the door.
When you go to lock the bathroom door, you scream in surprise when Jimin jams his foot in the doorway. Awake and alive, he struggles to go into a sitting position, his eyes blazing with unrestrained fury. You slam the door repeatedly over his foot, but he manages to hold the door open enough to pull himself up.
"You bitch," he growls, blood dripping from his broken skull. You scream louder, desperately pushing his foot out of the way in order to close the door. Despite Jimin's unexpected reanimation, it appears that he is still weak from your brutal battering to his head, so you are able to push his foot out of the doorway and lock the door. To your horror, you can hear his nails scratch against the wood, his cries of anguish sounding warbled and inhuman. You step back, waiting for the door to burst open and for your inevitable death––and it never comes. The scratches stop, the wailing ends, and the house is still.
Finally free of your captor, you run out the front door and take your first breath of fresh air in weeks. With a smile on your face and blood on your hands, you promptly pass out in the middle of the lawn.
––♡♡♡––
You wake up in the back of Jungkook's police car.
"Wha––?" You jolt awake, fear starting to pump through you as you whipped around to survey your surroundings. A large hand pushes you back into your seat, and your eyes focus on the face of a dead man standing.
Well, sitting.
"Y/N, relax! You're safe with us," he whispers, urging you to take deep breaths. You inhale and exhale, eyes still wide in shock at the sight of the man you had thought to be dead.
"I––Jungkook, I thought you were de––"
"I'm so sorry Y/N," Jungkook says instead, enveloping you into a tight hug. You release a sob, partly in confusion but mostly in relief for having a friend around you. The two of you cry in tandem, apologies coming out of your both your mouths as you tried to make sense of what was going on.
"Wait, why are you sorry? I was the one who crashed the car and led you to being kidnapped," Jungkook says, tears staining his handsome face.
You shake your head. "No. This is all my fault. If I hadn't asked you to drive me all the way to this stupid resort at night, we wouldn't have crashed and just––"
"Hey," Jungkook whispers, shushing with a finger. "Let's stop blaming ourselves, okay? We're taking you to the hospital downtown so you can get your injuries checked. Yoongi-hyung sent the other officers to clean up Park's resort while we––"
"No!" You scream, shaking Jungkook off of you in a panic. You shake the driver, begging him to turn around. "Jimin is still alive! He's going to kill them––"
"Aish. Jungkook-ah, restrain Miss Y/N, will you? I don't want the three of us getting killed by an avoidable car crash, okay?" The driver growls. Jungkook carefully hugs you to his chest, effectively imprisoning you in his gentle but firm hold.
"Yes sir, Officer Yoongi," he says before turning his attention to you. "Don't worry, Y/N. Jimin's dead. We found his body outside his garden. He jumped out of the bathroom window, probably in an attempt to escape the authorities," he explains. You shiver at the news, knowing full well that Jimin had probably been on the way to murder you.
“How did you find me? I thought I was going to die in front of that house,” you ask, hands trembling despite the warmth of the car. Jungkook cups your bloodied fingers in his larger ones, being careful not to jostle your wounds too much. You want to tell him that it’s fine––most of it was Jimin’s blood, anyway.
“After the crash, I had woken up alone with my legs broken. I called dispatch to try and look for you, but it seems that we had been missing for two days already,” he explains, voice soft and smooth. It’s almost odd hearing him speak, after being so used to listening only to the sound of Jimin’s voice and your own sobs.
“We had visited Jimin’s cabin a few days ago, trying to find you. Yoongi-hyung already had a bad feeling about him, since his mannerisms seemed too practiced and controlled––trademark signs of someone who is very good at hiding his secrets. Then, we heard the sound of your piano,” he says, gazing at you in awe. “It was brilliant of you.”
“Erlkönig,” Yoongi comments from the front, nodding grimly. “I thought it was an odd choice to play. It’s a song laced with death. I’m glad I trusted my gut instinct and returned to the cabin after we received a search warrant.” He shifts his head slightly to look at you, his gaze piercing but kind. Different from the sickly saccharine gaze that Jimin always used to have. “Music really did save your life.”
You don’t want to think about music right now. You don’t want to think about anything at all. "I just want to go home," you whisper, body slumping from exhaustion. Jungkook cards his hands through your hair, murmuring words of comfort as you slowly dropped off into dreamland.
"It's going to be all right... You're safe now... Nothing can ever hurt you again..."
––♡♡♡––
5 years later.
You enter the concert venue's VIP booth without a sound. Most of the other attendees hardly bat their eyes as you slink your way to your seat. You hold a picket fan with Gowon's smiling face on it, a banner with Sooyoung's name, and a wristband with Hana's grumpy face emblazoned on the side. You make it just in time for them to open the concert with their opening song.
The deep bass of Zemblanity filters its way through the overhead speakers, and the sound of thousands of screaming fans almost drown out the song entirely. You grin at the sight of young men and women screaming the fanchants in tandem, even laughing loudly when you'd catch the faint sound of "Y/N" mixed in at the end. You join the chants for most of the songs––all except the first song.
A boy with pink and yellow hair notices your silence, and points a boxy-grin back at you.
"Not a fan of Zemblanity? Even though it topped the Billboard charts twice in a row?"
The boy looks nothing like him. His cheeks are too thin, and his eyes are too dark. And yet, there's something about him that brings a chill up your spine. You make a mental note to make an appointment with your therapist first thing in the morning.
"Nah. Not a big fan. Heard the producer is an asshat," you say, shrugging your shoulders. The boy laughs, loud and pretty.
#BangtanWriters-Net#networkbangtan#jiminnetwork#bts scenarios#bts fanfiction#bts#bts imagines#park jimin#jimin#jimin imagine#jimin scenarios#jimin au#bts horror#bangtan#BTS x you#bts fanfic#bro im... what the fuck was this LMAO#anyway... im going to bed
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Nine Songs: AURORA
Interview by Thomas Harvey for The Line of Best Fit (May 30th, 2019).
Ahead of the release of her third album, Norway’s greatest pop export talks Thomas Harvey through the songs that have shaped her life and sound.
From a bustling city to the stillness of the forest; one of the first things that AURORA says to me is that as much as she loves music, she rarely listens to it. Instead it’s the sounds, sights and smells of the world that truly influence the Norwegian singer/songwriter.
Aurora Aksnes grew up without a television or radio. It’s not been the study of listening that’s carried her craft as a songwriter, rather the experiences and feelings she’s discovered and observed. Consequently, when we meet in London to talk about the songs that have made an impact on her, she references the memories attached to each of them, rather than musical influences.
AURORA feels it’s important to take solace in the finer details of a piece of music, as well as the core of good song-writing. Many of her selections are from timeless, legendary artists, unsurprisingly for a writer whose productions can often be modernised on songs like ‘Queendom’, from 2018’s Infections Of A Different Kind - Step 1, the follow up to her debut All My Demons Greeting Me As A Friend.
With the next chapter of the songwriters musical story arriving with A Different Kind Of Human - Step 2, AURORA explains how these nine songs have helped to shape her during the different periods of her life, from the feeling of kinship she felt with the audience at a Mastodon show at the age of eleven, to her honour in playing in the name of Leonard Cohen, to whom she paid tribute in a museum exhibition to his memory in Montreal
“Perfection is impossible” AURORA explains, an idea that’s an important reminder to herself when creating her music. Nonetheless, her relationship with music always stays with her as a friend.
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“Rez” by Underworld
“I discovered this song and this band a year ago, quite randomly. I love going to rave parties alone and of course I don’t drink, because I don’t want to be vulnerable to an attack and get into any trouble. I don’t drink, but I stay safe and I just dance.
“I just really love to dance. It’s kind of like a workout for me, because I’m very energetic on stage. I was at a rave party in France on a boat and I heard this song and I had to ask someone ‘What song is this?’ and I found it later.
“Now I listen to it sometimes when I cook - everything techno is my cooking song. The last meal I was cooking and listening to it with was waffles I think. I have a new waffle maker and it can cook two waffles at a time.”
“Suzanne” by Leonard Cohen
“May he rest in peace, the lovely little angel. I love this song. Musically we only heard Bob Dylan, Leonard Cohen and Enya when I was a child, there was nothing else as we didn’t have a radio. I love Enya as well, especially the way she just stays the same and doesn’t change her sound. She knows what she’s here to do and she does it.
"This was one of the songs that I really loved when I was unable to understand what he was saying, because I didn’t know English then, or at least I didn’t know these lyrics yet, because they were so complicated. I ended up learning my English mainly from online gaming or computer games like World Of Warcraft.
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“A Seated Night” by Moby
“This song was on my computer, by a mistake I think, and on our family computer. We had a computer much later on - before computers were normal to have in every house - and we didn’t have a radio or MTV when I was growing up.
“I didn’t discover music when I was a kid and I still don’t really, because I don’t have many music platforms on my phone, but ‘A Seated Night’ was randomly downloaded through LimeWire onto our computer and it was the first song that I discovered through technology.
“I really love Moby, although I haven’t dived deep into him yet. I love the choir and I think that’s why I fell in love with this song, it’s just so nice. I love arranging myself into a choir and I’ve used a real choir for my music, a gay choir from Norway called Faggots. They’re really good, they just sing like real people and are really talented, more than I ever knew before I was working with them.
“They’re on “It Happened Quiet” and “Churchyard” and they’re also on my new record, where you can hear them quite promptly. They’re gorgeous. Ever since I heard this song, it had always been my dream to have a choir on my record.”
“Tomorrow Never Knows” by The Beatles
“This was the first song where I really enjoyed some of the production stuff in it. I really love different cultures and I’m really into this kind of vibe. I really liked it when I was a kid, I heard it when I was a sixteen-year-old kid, not like four, I was a bit older.
“I found all my music through CD’s, even though there were other platforms, I was just really slow. We didn’t have stuff at home like a TV or radio, so I discovered this through a CD because I really liked the cover and that’s why I bought it, an LP actually, so old-fashioned! It was the second LP I ever bought for myself.
“The cover was really nice, and I just really liked it. And of course I knew about The Beatles, I knew that they were a big name, and I should listen to them and see if I like them or not. I just really realised that you can play along with things, and that’s when I became a producer.”
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“Born Slippy” by Underworld
“I was driving through Iceland listening to this song and it’s just really gorgeous. I think this is how people feel when they take drugs - they begin on this floating cloud and then it becomes a bit chaotic at the end.
“It sounds like they were on drugs when they made it, but it doesn’t make me sad when I think about it, there’s something with it, it’s positive without making me vomit, which I really enjoy. Sometimes happier music is hard to listen to, because you can question as to why you aren’t as happy as the people in the song, but I like this song.
“I discovered this song much later, after ‘Rez’. When I hear one song I don’t automatically go and find the whole album, I kind of stop and just have fun with that song for months - I get really patient with songs and I can listen to them for months. I saw that ‘Born Slippy’ was on the same album as ‘Rez’ and now of course I have the whole album and I have rave parties for myself, just me.
“I also love to listen to this song whilst I paint, when I paint something without meaning. I’m full of opposites or coherent contrasts, one day I like to be at rave parties and then I like to be in forests. I like to see what the world has to offer me.”
“American Beauty: Original Motion Picture Score” by Thomas Newman
“This is my alarm clock; I wake up to it every morning. It’s so brilliant because it begins with this... and then I listen to it when I read books on a loop and it’s enough for me. It’s all I need. I have like one song for every mood.
“I heard this way before I watched the movie American Beauty. It was many, many years ago and it was one of the first songs I had. I had an orange iPod which I got for Christmas and I only had this song on it for years. I still think if I went into that iPod now, this is the only song I would have on it. I haven’t had it for years though, and they were such nice colours.
“It’s good for walks in the forest, it’s like everything is still. Another is the Finding Nemo soundtrack which is also good for timeouts or when you go for walks. It’s really lovely.”
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“The Hunter” by Mastodon
“I really love heavy metal. I’m very open, so I don’t really care about genres and often with heavy metal I just like it. I was a huge fan of many heavy metal bands when I was a kid, the first concert I went to was Gojira and then Mastodon and then Slayer. I was eleven and I really loved it.
“None of my friends liked the music and so I remember feeling at home at the shows, because I met people who understood it. It’s so angry without being hostile if you really listen to it, but it can sound hostile to people who don’t understand it.
“This is quite a calm song by Mastodon. It’s a childhood memory, but a song that allowed me to discover Mastodon with a more melodic song than most heavy metal bands I knew. I saw them play two times actually.
“I try and turn what I love about heavy metal into something that more people can understand, like in songs like “Under The Water” and “The Seed”, the single I just released, is more heavy. I like the weight.”
“The Partisan” by Leonard Cohen
“I did this song for an installation at a museum in Montreal, I covered it in one of the rooms in his memory and it was really an honour. It was all of his life and achievements as pieces of art in the museum, and they asked artists to showcase his art so that people could see those that he influenced.
“I really love this song. I know that he speaks of the Second World War and I think that’s not often spoken about, considering how much pain it brought the world. Also, in art and music we don’t really paint or sing much about it but it’s important that people talk about it, because it’s something we carry on our shoulders and we did it to each other as a species.
“I think about it a lot, but it’s good to distance ourselves from the memory too. I have a few songs about the matter, though some are more obvious than others.”
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“Hide and Seek” by Imogen Heap
“This is a really sad song for me. I listened to it in a sad stage of my life, I could have gotten through without it, but it encouraged self-pity and staying in the sorrow, and I think that’s not always a bad thing. Sometimes you can stay for a while on things and cry and move on a bit later. I never listen to this song anymore because it reminds me of a sad time, but it’s still an important song to me.
“I like Imogen Heap as a producer. I like the vocoder on this, even though I think she’s using a different machine than the standard vocoder; I don’t really like the way a vocoder makes double voices sound so thin. If it sounds like I’m using a vocoder then I have always made it myself, but it’s a good balance here with this song. It works. I think vocoders are an ugly thing, but the way it’s executing its mission in this song is good.
“A Different Kind Of Human” is out now via Decca.
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Last Call (Ethan Ramsey x MC)
A/N: I know what most could be thinking...what the hell it’s only been two chapters, but I can’t help it! I feel so much excitement and adoration for Dr. Ethan Ramsey. We don’t know much about him but ideas were popping in my head all weekend. Any details I reference about his past in this fic is original content I conceived and nothing confirmed in PB cannon. This would definitely not be apart of cannon so cannon divergence here. The song used briefly in this fic is “These Arms of Mine” by Otis Redding.
Italicized and bold:song lyrics
Italicized: internal thoughts
Summary: Dr. Ethan Ramsay takes time to reevaluate the newest intern that’s captured his attention in more ways than one, whether he wants to admit it or not.
All Rights to PB for their characters, settings, and stories. I don’t own them, I just borrow minus my MC Dr. Katrina Michaels.
All Rights to who own the song “These Arms of Mine”.
In the mischievous hours of the night Dr. Ethan Ramsey sits alone in the now barren Donahue’s nursing another drink. The place once buzzing with noise is now near sheer silence except the gentle music playing from the jukebox. The last crop of stragglers, only a few with slurring speeches make their exit. Hearing the soft thud of the door shutting he let out a mild grunt and raises his near empty glass towards the bartender.
“Last one, buddy. My knees are screaming and any minute longer I’ll be visiting you at your job versus you visiting mine.”
Reggie says as he refills the glass and then grabs a rag to clean.
“Now we can’t be having that now.” Ethan replies before taking a small gulp.
Suspicious at such warm words from the man Reggie stops wiping down the counter to look at Ethan.
“Hmm, that’s strangely kind of you-”
Before Reggie can finish his sentence Ethan cuts him off all the while looking into his diminishing drink
“Because then who will serve me drinks at my beck and call?”
His eyes shine with mirth as looks at Reggie while he takes another sip.
“You almost had me there. You’re a cheeky bastard, you know that? I should throw your ass out for that.” Reggie says while shaking his head amused.
“But you won’t because you’re too good. That’s exactly why the likes of myself don’t deserve you as friend Reg.”
“Heh, damn right. I only keep you around because you tip well.”
Ethan chuckles at the man in front of him.
“Never change, Reggie.”
“Wasn’t planning to buddy.”
The two men finish laughing when the shoosh of the door opens and a young African-American woman enters while calling over her shoulder before the door closes.
“I’m going to use the restroom and wait inside until the Lyft comes. Night everyone!”
Recognizing the voice speaking Ethan turns and sees Dr. Katrina Michaels. As she moves from the entrance and towards the back right of the bar to the restrooms his gaze follows and he retreats to his mind briefly.
“I haven’t quite figured out why but there’s something about the rookie that intrigues me.”
Reggie notices his friend is watching the woman from earlier and can already gather what could be the reason why. Being the good friend that he is Reggie decides to give his old pal a nudge in the right direction. So he taps Ethan on the shoulder to get his attention.
“Welp, I gotta clean up in the back. Keep an eye on the place for me. Especially the little lady, I’m leaving both in your capable hands.”
Ethan quirks an eyebrow at Reggie as he takes another swig and asks
“What are you getting at Reg?”
Reggie smirks to himself and shrugs his shoulders before he turns to leave Ethan alone and enters a side door near the shelves of alcohol. Ethan scoffs and continues to drink his glass of scotch enjoying the the burning sensations that slide down his throat. His thoughts lingers to earlier in the night when talking to Katrina.
“She definitely is different in the real world but on the hand not so much. I don't quite understand why this intern is different from the others. Other than proving herself capable so far but outside EdenBrook I notice that my thoughts have dawdle on her more trivial attributes. Such as her underlying fierceness or perhaps her vivaciousness. Well I suppose I can’t say I truly recognized these qualities more so I overlooked them, one such as her beauty. She truly is stunning. It makes me wonder why a woman like her spent time near me when the place was swarming with younger men. Especially asking if someone was waiting at home for me. It can’t be what I think… no I probably need to ease off the alcohol right now. Besides who would wait around for me anyway? Edie surely doesn’t anymore.”
As he sets his glass down back on the counter he hears a soft voice calling his name which removes him from his thoughts. Without turning around he says
“Hello again, rookie.”
“I’m surprised to see you still here Dr. Ramsey.” Katrina Michaels murmurs.
He turns to face the intern and replies
“I’m surprising in a lot of ways.”
She smiles and delicately places herself onto the stool that’s next to Ethan.
“You’ll have to prove that you know.”
Despite himself he smirks at her. His gunmetal blue eyes piercing into Katrina’s hazel ones. Their gazes seem to challenge yet captivate the other. There’s a comfortable yet tense air between the two until the smooth vocals of Otis Redding play from the jukebox.
“These arms of mine, they are lonely. Lonely and feeling blue. These arms of mine are yearning, yearning from wanting you...”
The song continues to play as Katrina speaks.
“You know he’s is one of my favorite artist. I used to...”
As she speaks Ethan watches the woman in front of him. He observes the way her eyes are lit up to how a rogue strand of her curly hair hangs, and even how in the dimly lit bar her smile radiates and contrasts with her beautiful coffee-hue complexion. He tries to listen to all she’s saying, now beginning to tell him about much of a fan she is. But he’s beginning to distract himself with his thoughts once more.
“Of course this song plays. Very convenient timing, I’d say. I bet Reggie had something to do with this. It’s been so long since I had someone. At this point other people would take anyone. But I could never at my stage in life. That’s why I’m here at almost one in the morning. I wonder why she’s here too, besides being young.”
Ethan breaks away from his mind to refocus back onto Katrina whose finishing up a compliment about his research.
“Katrina, may I ask you a question?”
“Of course, Dr. Ramsey.”
“First, outside of EdenBrook you may call me, Ethan.”
Katrina runs her hand through her hair before replying
“Are you sure, Dr. Ramsey?”
He rolls his eyes briefly before turning to look at his glass to take another sip of his scotch.
“Yes, rookie. You referring to me as doctor outside of the hospital makes me look a bit pretentious.”
“I think that’s your own doing, Dr. Ramsey.”
He pauses lifting his glass to meet his mouth in midair and turns to glare at her but it falters once he hears the bubbling of laughter escape her plump lips. He goes back to take a swig and places his glass back down gently.
“Sorry. I couldn’t pass that up...Ethan.”
“Now, was that really that difficult?”
“Not exactly, but it’s a bit strange. To be on first name basis with your idol.”
“I’m just a man, rookie. Not a celebrity or some god.”
Katrina turns her face away from Ethan and averts her eyes from his as she whispers
“Maybe, but you sure do have god-like looks.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t make out what you said?” curious of what she said.
“It’s not important. But you wanted to ask me something?”
“Yes I do. I happen to be thinking of what you asked me earlier in the night and wondered the same.”
“Is that so? Is there a reason why you liked to know?”
Her tone so playful with a hint of flirtation that he couldn’t decipher if he imagined it or not.
Instead of speaking he shrugs his shoulders in response.
Smiling to herself and looking down before meeting his eyes again.
“I’m just like you. No one awaiting my return.”
“Interesting.”
The fading music is more audible as the two stop speaking momentarily
“...I need somebody. Somebody to treat me right, oh. I need your arms. Loving arms to hold me tight. And I, I, I need your, I need your tender lips to hold me.”
A chime from Katrina’s cell phone breaks the silence before either one of them could.
“That’s my Lyft. It’s two minutes away so, I’m going to waiting outside.”
Ethan nods in understanding, she begins to remove herself from her seat, but still slightly tipsy she slips and falls into Ethan’s body who reacts immediately. He grasps firmly yet gently ahold of her, keeping her steady. Both freeze from the sudden contact and close parameters they are from the other.
Katrina can see Ethan’s adam’s apple bob up and down in his throat and he thinks to himself while staring at Katrina.
“I suddenly have the urge to gently brush the curls away from her beautiful eyes and...I need to stop this instant. It’s late and I am feeling a bit lonely but I’m beginning to enter a dangerous area. This would lead to an H.R. nightmare. I can’t let myself get tangled with the matters of the heart. Especially with my, ahem, the rookie. God, I need to lay off the sauce for a while.”
He’s pulled from his thoughts when Katrina removes herself from his arms.
“Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it, rookie.”
“Is that going to be a permanent thing? Even outside of work?”
“What?”
“Rookie. I mean you’ve called me by my first name earlier tonight even when I thought you didn’t even know it, much less remember it nor care to.”
“I’ve told you. I’m observant...rookie. Does that answer your question?” He says smirking at her.
Rolling her eyes she moves to make her way to the exit.
“Yes it does. And you deny that you’re favoring me.”
“I’ll let you believe what you want. Even if it’s a silly notion.”
“Whatever you say, Dr. Ramsey” she purrs.
Ethan feels his heart rate increase briefly. Before he can respond, she speaks up.
“My ride should be here now. I’ll see you around Dr. Rams- I mean Ethan.”
She rubs her hand obsessively through her hair before giving him a quick wave as she inches closer to the door.
“For whatever reason my name leaving her lips sounds right. As the same for hers. Katrina. Ka-tri-na. I’d like to say it more than just in my...Okay enough. I must stick with calling her rookie. That’s what's...what’s safe.
Katrina opens the door which pulls Ethan out and he speaks for the final time
“Have a good night...Katrina. Get home safe.”
She stops at hearing her name being used and turns back around and grins wide at Ethan.
“You too.” she steps outside and calls back to Ethan.
“Maybe once I’ve graduated from rookie or you tire of it, you can call me Kat. Whichever comes first.”
Without another word or glance she walks out the door.
Ethan is left staring at the spot she was occupying before turning his attention back to his glass. He drains the rest of his drink and retreats into his thoughts.
“So much for playing it safe. Then again, what’s life without a few risks.”
#Dr. Ethan Ramsey#ethan ramsey#ethan ramsey x mc#open heart choices#playchoices#choices fanfiction#choices stories you play#choices app#Open Heart
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Demented Suburbia.
Greener Grass writer-director-stars Jocelyn DeBoer and Dawn Luebbe share their favorite films while pontificating on extreme politeness, John Waters and The Swimmer.
New indie comedy Greener Grass is not the Netflix marijuana documentary Grass is Greener, but you could be forgiven for making that mistake after the directors of the former gave out free marijuana at a recent outdoor screening, according to their friend Jim Cummings (who makes a cameo in the film, and lurks on Letterboxd).
It’s been a case of watch-and-learn for other up-and-coming filmmakers, as Jocelyn DeBoer and Dawn Luebbe have stormed the 2019 festival scene with their utterly weird and wonderfully bonkers debut feature. Nobody is doing red carpet lewks like them, nobody else is handing out free weed (that we know of), and nobody else has made a film quite like theirs. Attracting comparisons to the films of David Lynch, Anna Biller and Tim Burton, but utterly at home in its own creepily perfect world, Greener Grass is the WTF-is-up-with-white-people film America deserves right now.
And it’s the culmination of years of creative growth for DeBoer and Luebbe, friends and Upright Citizens Brigade veterans, whose suburban moms Jill and Lisa first appeared in the Paul Briganti-directed short of the same name (for which they won the 2016 SXSW Special Jury Award for Recognition for Writing). DeBoer and Luebbe stepped into the directing chairs for The Arrival, another short exploring demented suburbia, while developing Greener Grass for television.
When a series failed to eventuate, they spun Jill and Lisa’s world into the feature film, landing on the unforgettable location of Peachtree City, Alabama, a real town built for the golf-cart lifestyle. Greener Grass hit the spot for many Letterboxd members at its Sundance premiere: “Just what I needed after seeing so many dark films!” was Alicia Malone’s reaction. “Unlike anything I've ever seen but … tackles ideas I have never been more familiar with,” wrote Karsten.
The story kicks off when Lisa compliments Jill on her newest baby and Jill, following suburban rules of politeness, hands the baby over to Lisa to raise. This is far from the strangest thing that will happen to a child in Greener Grass.
We needed to know where this wild duo get their filmmaking inspiration from. When we spoke with DeBoer and Luebbe they were in “high heaven”, having just held the LA premiere of Greener Grass.
Lisa, Dennis, their son Bob, their adopted daughter Madison (now Paige), and their newborn soccer ball, in a family portrait from ‘Greener Grass’.
What were some of the real-life ‘greener grass’ moments that inspired your film?
Dawn Luebbe: There’s one story which Jocelyn tells about her aunt who was at a dinner party one night. She was in the kitchen talking to the host and complimented them on her apron—“that’s a cute apron!”—and the host took it off and said it “you must have it, take my apron.” At once she was like, “oh no, I just like it, I don’t need it,” and the host insisted and wouldn’t drop it. So that night Jocelyn’s aunt left with that apron. Of course, that’s just a very small example of politeness taken to the extreme. We took that general vibe and added to it and really blew it out.
Jocelyn DeBoer: I feel like we experience this at restaurants too. Dawn and I are from the Midwest, so we have a problem where no-one ever really wants to eat the last bite of something that’s shared. I do remember one experience where I was on a double-date with some acquaintances I didn’t know so well and we were eating sushi. Someone had those crispy rice things that have some spicy tuna on top and when the waiter brought it out, one of them fell to the floor. Our friend just picked it up and said “10 second rule!”. The waiter felt bad and offered to bring new ones and we were saying, “Yes, get the new sushi. Don’t eat that one off the floor!” But the person didn’t want to make the waiter feel bad and ate it right in front of them. I thought, ‘this is a Greener Grass moment for sure!’.
You’ve said elsewhere that you tried to avoid referencing other films in the development of yours, but can you tell us some films that you love, that peddle in the same story area of ‘demented suburbia’?
JD: We always admit that we were watching Twin Peaks together at the time we were making our short, so there’s no denying that David Lynch is an inspiration to us. Mulholland Drive, of course. Blue Velvet, too. The two of us just love John Waters, he rocks.
DL: We love how John Waters satirizes suburbia but he also clearly has such love and adoration for it too. It’s our dream to strike the same balance.
JD: Yeah, we’re laughing with the people we grew up with, not just at them.
DL: I would say also Edward Scissorhands was another movie that was a point of reference in terms of the bright pastel color-block world, with this element of darkness filtering in.
JD: We love satires like Brazil, the visual comedy especially. We both loved that surreal world. Luis Buñuel, of course, with The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie, has the sketch-like aspects in a narrative film we wanted to do. We could just go on!
Jill (Jocelyn DeBoer) and Marriott (Janicza Bravoin) in a scene from ‘Greener Grass’.
Greener Grass technically has a lot in common with great horror films—one of our members, Sara, writes: “This reminded me so much of Halloween with the use of voyeurism and the John Carpenter-esque score… Suburban moms are ten times scarier than Michael Myers”. So since it’s Hallowe’en, tell us your favorite, go-to horror films.
JD: I don’t know if this counts as a Hallowe’en movie but I love Rosemary’s Baby. That and The Shining come to mind first.
DL: Those two very much for me too. You know, I have to admit that maybe until about five years ago, I thought I was not a fan of horror. I feel a little not in the best position to speak to that. I tried very much to cram in what I can and then I discovered I actually love horror movies.
JD: The funny thing is that no-one loves true crime more than Dawn!
DL: Yes, true crime is my greatest passion.
Which film turned you onto horror, Dawn?
DL: I actually think it was Rosemary’s Baby. I saw that and thought ‘this is very scary and I love it’. This is more recent, but Get Out, too. I found the marriage of comedy and horror to just be incredible and the visuals in that movie, to have such a sense of cinematic comedy-horror, just blew my mind.
You gave some of the best lines to the child actors in Greener Grass. What was your approach to working with them to capture the absurd spirit of the film?
DL: That’s so nice! We absolutely love Julian Hilliard, who plays Julian, and Asher Miles Fallica, who plays Bob. From the second we saw their audition tape, they so got the tone, the characters, and they just jumped off the screen for us. They’re so mature in a way. They understood the comedy and the tone in a way we did not anticipate.
JD: They took their roles so seriously. One story we love about Julian is how he had to fall in the pool and we shot that very early on. We told him we want him to fall just like a plank and we’re showing him YouTube videos of planking so he was practising it in the hotel pool. We went on the day to shoot that scene, and the take that’s in the movie is our first and only take. He just nailed it perfectly. A couple weeks later, we went to shoot the first scene of the movie, which is when he falls in the soccer field. We go to shoot it and Julian starts to fall in a hard plank, just like he did in the pool but on the grass. We were like, “wait, no no no, you don’t have to fall like that!” and he just looked at us and went, “but that’s how Julian falls!”
What streaming platform is Kids with Knives on? Seriously: we’re fans of films that build a complete world within, including the fake shows and commercials you see playing on television sets. Can you tell us some inside stories of developing those?
JD: Those were so much fun for us to work on.
DL: These kids were just so incredibly enthusiastic and Jocelyn had them circle round and asked them what kind of gymnastics can you do, let’s see what you got. And then one after the other they were doing the splits, back-handstands… We thought, ‘this is great—Gymnastics and Knives!’ We should have been filming that.
We’ve really enjoyed showing your trailer to people for that ‘what-the-fuck’ reaction. What’s a bizarre film that you love to recommend to people? (We asked this same question to Daniel Scheinert who directed Swiss Army Man and The Death of Dick Long and he said Greener Grass.)
JD: Wait, are you kidding?! That’s so nice, oh my gosh! The first film that came to mind is Dogtooth. I’m always curious to talk to people about that one. Dawn, what about The Swimmer? Have you seen The Swimmer? You have to. It’s the Burt Lancaster vehicle.
DL: It’s about a man who crosses his county by swimming across every swimming pool. I’ll just say: what you think the movie is in the beginning turns out to be very different to what the movie is. The protagonist changes quite a bit.
JD: One of the coolest things about how we’re travelling the world promoting Greener Grass is how we get to talk to people afterwards and they go, “Oh the movie reminds me of this, it reminds me of that.” It was the director of Fantastic Fest who told us we have to watch The Swimmer. We watched it on the plane and there is a scene where a man is kind of obsessed with the filtration system in his pool. Everyone is talking about how great their pools are the whole movie, so yes, this is like our movie, thank you.
DL: There’s also a passionate monologue about a hot-dog wagon that’s the best thing that ever happened in cinema.
JD: It’s fantastic!
What are your go-to comfort movies? How many times do you think you’ve seen them?
DL: Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory I’ve probably seen 500 times.
JD: I really love Dumb & Dumber. I’m also a big comfort watcher of the Sex and the City TV show but I don’t recommend the movies!
What’s a film you wish you had made?
JD: I want to say Roma, but that movie couldn’t be more different from Greener Grass. I loved it.
DL: For me, I’ll say Waiting for Guffman. It has such a special place in my heart. I just remember when I was probably fifteen or sixteen seeing that movie in Nebraska and laughing so hard my stomach hurt and thinking, ‘wow, movies can be like this?’
What’s a beloved movie you couldn’t get into?
JD: Now I just feel bad talking about other films in a bad way. I’m really glad this film exists—but personally I had trouble getting into the Wonder Woman movie. I think there’s a lot of cool things about it. Maybe I’m just over superhero movies.
Dennis and Jill share an extra-marital kiss in ‘Greener Grass’.
You told a journalist at Sundance that you “did have one storyline that you pulled late in the game in fear that it might be taking something too far. We still fight about that decision and Dawn is wrong”. Are you prepared to tell us that twist now?!
JD: I don’t know why I said that because we just set ourselves up to be asked that all the time. We are not going to tell you what it is, but we can tell you one storyline that Dawn and I actually loved that we ended up cutting before going into production. In a previous draft of ours, Buck, Kim Ann’s husband, who she divorces and he starts to become a cowboy, shows up at a kid’s birthday party with a new girlfriend and all the women are gossiping about, “Oh no, did you hear Buck has a new girlfriend, her name is Pamela,” and, well, she’s just hair. It turns out when we meet Pamela, she is just a very large, floating blowout. At this time Buck was also trying to sell a jet-ski because Pamela can’t do wind. It was a favorite bit of ours.
We did a few script readings with our comedy writer friends and paid attention to what people laughed at and what people talked about afterwards. No-one ever mentioned Pamela. They didn’t say she was confusing, they didn’t say they liked her nor that they didn’t like her. And we were, like, for just a character who’s all hair to not be spoken about at all, it’s not a good sign and we should lose her. Since then, we had people who read those scripts and [said]: “Why is Pamela not in the movie?!” and we’re now “Well, damn. We don’t know!”
DL: Maybe we’ll make a movie about Pamela one day.
You were working with such a great cast of improvisers. How did you strike a balance between what you had on the page, and what they could bring on set; in what ways did they surprise and delight you? Not only your actors, but for the artists on set such as your costume and production designers.
DL: We were just so blessed to work with these incredible improvisers; Mary Holland (Kim Ann), D’Arcy Carden (the school-teacher, Miss Human), Neil Casey (Lisa’s husband, Dennis) and Beck Bennett (Jill’s husband, Nick). It was such a gift. I would say the movie is probably 95% scripted, so it was pretty close to the script. There were a number of improv moments in the final cut that we absolutely loved. One of my favorite lines in the movie is when Kim Ann is sitting on her porch and Jill arrives and hands her a taco dip and Kim Ann asks “is it seven layers?” and Jill admits it’s only five and Kim Ann says “put it on the floor!” That line is totally improv’d by Mary in the moment. She’s just a dream.
JD: It’s true, our designers added so many things. It was something that we talked about from the very beginning, that we want there to be comedy in every frame of the movie. We love having Easter eggs. We found one after the SXSW screening. Dennis tells a joke at the soccer field and everyone laughs way too hard and he fancies himself a comedian. In the scene in Lisa’s living room when the kids are watching Kids with Knives and Dennis is sleeping, we found that the production designer Leigh Poindexter added a VHS tape that’s sitting on the coffee table that’s just labeled ‘Comedy’, as if Dennis has been studying comedy for his joke, which we thought was so funny.
Our costume designer Lauren Oppelt added so many little touches, but one we really loved: Nick is always wearing our family’s color, pink, and a very gender-normative blue. After Nick and Jill get divorced, he shows up in all beige to go get more pool water, but for the little logo on his polo Lauren embroidered a sad face. It was so funny. We loved that touch.
Finally, a question we’ve been asking filmmakers all year: which film made you want to become filmmakers?
JD: It’s so, so long ago but I think for me it was Memento. I saw that when it first came out in the theater, with my Dad. I was just a child then but it blew my mind.
DL: Welcome to the Dollhouse. That was the first true dark comedy I saw where I was deeply disturbed by how much I was laughing. I want to make something like that too.
Related Letterboxd Lists
Sinister Suburbia: what’s really going on in that neighborhood?
Creepy Teenage Suburbia: “settings not limited to but including: high school hallways, proms, corn fields, religious dictatorships, convenience stores, football pitches, family compounds, back gardens.”
Films Directed by Women: Vanessa’s comprehensive—and growing—list of films directed by women.
‘Greener Grass’ is an IFC Midnight release. The film is out now in selected US cinemas and on streaming platforms. All production stills courtesy IFC Films.
#greener grass#ucb#upright citizens brigade#dawn luebbe#jocelyn deboer#jim cummings#indie comedy#indie film#directed by women#female directors#improv#peachtree city#letterboxd
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July 2019 Reviews
Games
Walden, a game - A delightful experience for those who love games and literature and the idea of them together. The best parts of the game are the quotes from Thoreau's book that appear on the screen when you examine something closely, like a fox or a maple tree, complete with great voice acting. The ecological detail put into the game is impressive. The worst part is that the game mechanics for completing tasks are clunky and there is very little time each day before the game forces you to go to sleep and begin the next day, and your hunger, fuel, and shelter meter always seems to be low, causing you to spend the majority of your daylight hours picking berries and collecting firewood. I get that this is supposed to mirror the experience of "living simply," but 1) it is boringly repetitive and if anything calls to mind the irony of “being one with nature” in a computer game and 2) there are a lot of other interesting things to do in the game which you do not have enough time to do, such as helping escaped slaves on their way to the underground railroad. I learned playing this game that Henry David Thoreau was basically every guy I met in college who hated the government and whose solution to its atrocities was to fuck off into the woods and smoke pot instead of actually doing anything about it. This analogy is completed by the fact that you are able to go into town and get food and clean laundry from your parents' house if you get too low on those things.
Black Mirror (2017) - No, not the Netflix series. This is a re-imagining of the Black Mirror series of adventure games developed in the early 2000s. The original game is considered a classic of point and click adventures but suffers from an unoriginal plot (obligatory part where I once again complain about horror games and their obsession with "Surprise! You're crazy! Dead women!") and the unfortunateness of early 3D polygon graphics. The second and third game took the series in a completely new and original direction and were quite good, so while I had never heard of the remake before I came across it during the steam summer sale, I was cautiously hopeful. Even if it was trash, it's just the kind of gothic-mystery-exploring-a-haunted-castle trash that I like to throw my money at. The gameplay is pretty fun (minus some quick time events where you can get killed by ghosts mostly by failing to operate the somewhat clunky controls - the game was originally ported for PS4) and the story is original but also expands upon the series mythos. An enjoyable trashy gothic yarn, although the story also felt incomplete, even to someone who has played the original games, and was both wrapped up too quickly and left weirdly unresolved.
Books
Greenglass House, Kate Milford - I started this book a while ago and it’s been on my radar for a while, and I restarted it again when I heard it was going to be on this year’s BOB list. A fun young adult adventure story which utilizes one of my favorite mystery tropes, the closed circle. The story is that preteen Milo lives in the eponymous house, which his family runs as an inn. The house used to be a meeting place for smugglers back in the day, which means there’s buried treasure somewhere in the house, and when the story starts a slew of guests arrive at the house and are stranded by a snowstorm, when things start getting mysterious. Someone in the house is a thief! I really like this book and the way that the story’s original folklore is woven into the plot. There are also several dungeons and dragons elements that play a role in the plot - to solve the mystery, Milo and his friend Meddy pretend to be characters in a role-playing game, and I love the way the story makes connections between games, stories, and language, since that happens to align with my interests.
Serafina and the Black Cloak, Robert Beatty - Another BOB book, this one also has been on my radar for a while because the series is very popular among my students, and when I went to Beatty’s website recently I saw that Disney had already put their name on it, lol. What I didn’t know was that the series takes place in my state. The setting is the Biltmore Estate in the late 1800s, and the story is a historical fantasy that utilizes some of the local folklore in some really interesting ways, although it’s more fantasy than historical. An enjoyable read with an interesting female protagonist.
Movies
Ready Player One - I enjoyed this movie a lot more than I thought I would. I had heard going into it that it was not a great adaptation from friends who loved the book, which I haven’t read. That might be why I did enjoyed it so much. I don’t think it’s anything that memorable, but it is enjoyable. I can see why the book became so popular, although I’ve read books with similar storylines. I guess a book like this is more relevant nowadays with the popularity of VR in the modern gaming market, but the story relied on some tired cliches nonetheless. I also was a bit annoyed when the story acknowledged the issue with the main character falling for Artemis’ idealistically beautiful avatar without really knowing her...and then had her turn out to be stunningly gorgeous in real life. Okay, she had a wine-stain disfigurement on her face, but she was still traditionally beautiful, and the main character gets to be with her in the end while meanwhile, his actual best friend, who turns out to be an unfeminine black girl in real life and who obviously has a crush on him, is left behind.
Picnic At Hanging Rock - I come across this movie on gothic film recommendation lists every so often and have wanted to watch it for years, and I happened to find it on youtube, which surprised me. The original movie is from 1975 and is a cult classic for a reason. Stunning visuals and a story that leaves you confused in the just the right way. After watching it, I was itching to learn more and came across last year’s amazon prime series with Natalie Dormer and watched all six episodes, and although the series was enjoyable and a good extension for anyone who enjoys the original movie, it does not have the charm or brilliance of the original. The series expands on the story, but part of the beauty of the original movie is the way the story is told in what isn’t said, and in carefully choreographed scenes where nobody on screen says a word. I can see why the movie is called “gothic” as it has some of the trappings of the genre. It takes place in 1900 at a remote and mysterious boarding school in Australia. Three girls vanish during a school field trip, seemingly without a trace. What happened to them may have been supernatural. Or they may have been murdered, kidnapped, or run off on their own. Also, I’m pretty sure everyone is gay.
We Have Always Lived in the Castle - I’m a huge fan of the Shirley Jackson novel which this movie is an adaptation of, and unlike Netflix’s The Haunting of Hill House, this movie is actually a fairly straight adaptation of the novel. The movie captures the gothic feel of the book as well as the anxiety about gender and class from which it gets its themes, and there are solid performances all around, but the movie does seem a bit devoid of a life of its own. Despite, and possibly because of, the voice-over narration, Merricat never really comes alive as a character the way she does in the book. This is, I think, a problem with a lot of book to movie adaptations that rely on voice-overs to tell the story. I can see the appeal of this, especially with a book like this which is both heavily steeped in POV and characterized by an unreliable narrator, but I found myself really wishing the movie would just let itself tell the story rather than the narrator.
Shows
American Gods - I watched all of season two on the starz website except for the finale, which I was told that I needed to upgrade by account to watch, so if you are watching on the website or the app be aware of that. I enjoyed season two, although it lacked some of the urgency of the first season. I do enjoy some of the adaptational choices made that update the novel a bit, such as having Technology be outsourced by New Media. Also, season two saw the arrival of my daughter, Sam Black Crow. I’m also looking forward to the Lakeside subplot next season (I assume) as it’s my favorite part of the novel.
Stranger Things - I watched the first four episodes of season one when it came out, and then for some reason never finished it. I know, I know. It didn’t take me very long to watch all three seasons, which I sort of interpreted as one as a result, although I do think there’s a drop in quality somewhere in the second/third season, but overall it’s a fun show that definitely kept me interested and invested in the characters. Also, every scene relating to the upside down motivated me to clean my bathroom.
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Supernatural Psychology: Roads Less Traveled “Road Music” features
or, if you want to know why I can’t recommend this book (which I bought, used, using my Discover cashback bonus, so my actual out of pocket cost was $1.48), just start reading...
Zubernis, L. (2017). Road music: "A Single Man Tear" from Supernatural: The Musical. In T. Langley & L. Zubernis (Eds.), Supernatural Psychology: Roads Less Traveled. New York, NY: Sterling.
People crave belonging and acceptance. Written for Supernatural’s 200th episode, the song refers to the fandom’s love of Dean Winchester’s complex negotiation of repressed masculinity and overt emotionality, as evidenced by scenes in which one tear escapes and rolls down his cheek during an emotionally powerful moment. Within the fan community, that is referred to as the OPT, or One Perfect Tear. Such in-group references are markers of acceptance within the group.
Kus, E., Dickson, C., & Scarlet J. (2017). Road music: "Thunderstruck" by AC/DC. In T. Langley & L. Zubernis (Eds.), Supernatural Psychology: Roads Less Traveled. New York, NY: Sterling.
Healthy relationships -- including friendships, romantic couples, and families -- need trust and commitment. If trust is broken, individuals may become less satisfied with a relationship, feel less committed to it, or consider severing it altogether. When Dean returns from Purgatory, he learns that Sam did not try to find him. Dean is angry with his brother, feeling betrayed that Sam did not try to help him.
Taylor Kester, L. (2017). Road music: "Bad Moon Rising" by Credence Clearwater Revival. In T. Langley & L. Zubernis (Eds.), Supernatural Psychology: Roads Less Traveled. New York, NY: Sterling.
Those who lose a parent at an early age can grow up to feel like the worst, most horrible things will happen to them, at times due to their own behavior and self-fulfilling prophecies. One parent dies, the remaining parent checks out emotionally, and the child is left to navigate the world on his or her own. For some, this can be distressing, lonely, and daunting. Sam and Dean build a bond strong enough to withstand their own bickering and any other loses that might come their way.
Morales, D. (2017). Road music: "Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door" by Bob Dylan. In T. Langley & L. Zubernis (Eds.), Supernatural Psychology: Roads Less Traveled. New York, NY: Sterling.
Parentification is the act of placing a child in the role of a parent. That child is burdened with responsibilities that should be that of a parent, such as caring for younger children. As he always has taken care of his younger brother, it is no wonder that Dean’s version of heaven is being able to watch Sam enjoy his childhood, evidently by blowing up a field with Fourth of July fireworks.
[Road Music: chapters 5, 6, and “Final Word”]
Adams, T., & Scarlet J. (2017). Road music: "Sympathy for the Devil" by the Rolling Stones. In T. Langley & L. Zubernis (Eds.), Supernatural Psychology: Roads Less Traveled. New York, NY: Sterling.
Learning to name and understand one’s thoughts is key to many therapeutic interventions and can be especially important following a traumatic event, such as accidentally letting Lucifer out of Hell. Cognitive therapies examine a person’s errors in thinking, called cognitive distortions. Cognitive therapy allows individuals to examine their thoughts in order to change the cognitive distortions (for example, “All angels cannot be trusted”) into more adaptive thoughts (e.g., “Some angels cannot be trusted”). Through their experiences, Sam and Dean learn not to make such generalizations about angels, monsters, demons, and even God and Lucifer.
Parris, L. (2017). Road music: "Burnin’ for You" by Blue Oyster Cult. In T. Langley & L. Zubernis (Eds.), Supernatural Psychology: Roads Less Traveled. New York, NY: Sterling.
The Winchester brothers’ near-eagerness for self-sacrifice can be associated with their childhood trauma experiences, particularly incidents of emotional neglect. John Winchester’s inability to attend to his sons’ emotional needs is, in part, responsible for Sam and Dean’s continued success in saving the world through self-sacrifice because it leaves them with a lingering need to do things for others.
Boysen, M., & Goodfriend, W. (2017). Road music: "Simple Man" by Lynyrd Skynyrd. In T. Langley & L. Zubernis (Eds.), Supernatural Psychology: Roads Less Traveled. New York, NY: Sterling.
According to Erikson, we struggle to make healthy choices at major life crossroads, including our own career path. People who frequently change jobs may have a low level of career maturity, which can lead to a life of confusion and second guesses. After dealing with so much darkness, Sam decides to walk away from the hunter lifestyle. Leaving Dean to continue on by himself, he tries to forge a normal, more conventional life. Sometimes, stress in life -- something the Winchesters have in spaces -- leads to narrow limits, or a motivation to be content with a small and humble piece of the world.
San Juan, B., & VanPortfliet, P. (2017). Road music: "Eye of the Tiger" by Survivor. In T. Langley & L. Zubernis (Eds.), Supernatural Psychology: Roads Less Traveled. New York, NY: Sterling.
A common feature of traditional conceptions of masculinity is aggression. Cultural stereotypes normalize the solution of male-male arguments through the use of fisticuffs, rather than conversation. Sam and Dean have sometimes settled their arguments by physically fighting each other. However, as their bond grows throughout the series, we see that expressing their emotions becomes easier for them. It’s important to note that they also playfully slap or punch each other at times, which is a socially accepted way for men to show affection for each other.
Mastin, J., & Blake Erickson, W. (2017). Road music: "Heroin" by Velvet Underground. In T. Langley & L. Zubernis (Eds.), Supernatural Psychology: Roads Less Traveled. New York, NY: Sterling.
The song “Heroin” by Velvet Underground has been an ode to living with substance abuse since it was released in 1967. Heroin is a highly addictive, opioid drug. Opoid addiction -- including both legal and illegal opioid use -- is widespread. In 2015 alone, 33,000 US deaths were attributed to opioid overdose, the most of any year on record. Few scenes encapsulate both the rapture and desolation of substance abuse as well as the scene showing a desperate Crowley injecting himself with human blood, set to this song.
Schaffrath, S., & Blunt, C. J. (2017). Road music: "Rooster" by Alice in Chains. In T. Langley & L. Zubernis (Eds.), Supernatural Psychology: Roads Less Traveled. New York, NY: Sterling.
“Rooster” by Alice in Chains plays as the Winchesters salt and burn the body of Nurse Glockner, whose ghost they have been asked to stop by a Marine Corps buddy of their father’s. In the context of the scene, the song punctuates the brothers’ removal of a threat and refusal to give up. However, “Rooster” has a deeper meaning. Guitarist Jerry Cantrell wrote the song for his father, a two-tour Vietnam War veteran, whose nickname was the “Rooster.” Rather than the immediate effects of war, the song was meant to address the long-term consequences of combat, specifically the baggage that soldiers are unable to leave behind on the field of battle. Thus, “Rooster” foreshadows the cost of the Winchesters’ endless war against supernatural evil.
Scarlet, J., & Busch, J. (2017). Road music: "Lonely is the Night" by Billy Squier. In T. Langley & L. Zubernis (Eds.), Supernatural Psychology: Roads Less Traveled. New York, NY: Sterling.
Loneliness is associated with increased risk of depression, anxiety, and addiction. Loneliness can also make the individual less likely to seek, accept, or recognize the availability of social support, potentially creating a viscous cycle in which feeling alone makes it harder to connect to others. When the Winchesters capture Crowley and isolate him in the dungeon, he begins to feel lonely. Because Sam repeatedly injects captive Crowley with human blood to make the demon become more human, it causes Crowley to struggle to manage his emotions and to feel disconnected from both humans and now demons, too. Both the feeling of loneliness and low perceived social support are associated with increased risk of risky behaviors, such as substance use and suicidal behaviors. Loneliness and disconnectedness might inspire even someone as powerful as Crowley to end his own life.
Langley, T. (2017). Road music: "Peace of Mind" by Boston. In T. Langley & L. Zubernis (Eds.), Supernatural Psychology: Roads Less Traveled. New York, NY: Sterling.
Living with a burden of mental illness obviously makes it difficult for many people to feel at ease in life. The slow pace of progress can be frustrating, even disheartening. The longer the problem lasts, the harder it becomes for some people to listen to others’ recommendations and to make the choices necessary to help them reach a brighter place. The clear majority, however, do get better, and that fact itself can offer some reassurances.
Mastin, J., & Blunt, C. J. (2017). Road music: "Cheek to Cheek" by Irving Berlin. In T. Langley & L. Zubernis (Eds.), Supernatural Psychology: Roads Less Traveled. New York, NY: Sterling.
Humans find both pleasure and release in skin-to-skin contact. When we touch, the hormone oxytocin, colloquially referred to as the “cuddle hormone,” is released, encouraging both physical and emotional bonding. Irving Berlin’s “Cheek to Cheek” is evocative of the pleasure stimulated by physical touch, but when this song is sung by Alastair before his torture, the effect is eerie rather than erotic.
Garski, L. A., & Mastin, J. (2017). Road music: "Ramble On" by Led Zeppelin. In T. Langley & L. Zubernis (Eds.), Supernatural Psychology: Roads Less Traveled. New York, NY: Sterling.
The monomyth can be found in stories across time and space; humans are hardwired to understand the framework of story. Dean Winchester says that one of his favorite songs is “Ramble On,” which draws on imagery from another famous Hero’s Journey, The Lord of the Rings, as it describes a cyclical journey without end.
Currie, E. (2017). Road music: "Won’t Get Fooled Again" by the Who. In T. Langley & L. Zubernis (Eds.), Supernatural Psychology: Roads Less Traveled. New York, NY: Sterling.
The monsters use the cognitive biases of humans to hide and hunt among them. When confronted with unavoidable proof of the truth, some people will integrate that truth into their understanding of the world, assimilating new information to fit existing schemas (patterns of associated ideas) instead of altering schemas to accommodate discoveries. After experiencing loss at the hand of monsters, characters such as John Winchester, Bobby Singer, and Sheriff Jody Mills can’t go back to their prior innocence, and so they get involved in the battle against the supernatural.
Jordan, J. S. (2017). Road music: "Born to Be Wild” by Steppenwolf. In T. Langley & L. Zubernis (Eds.), Supernatural Psychology: Roads Less Traveled. New York, NY: Sterling.
As Sam and Dean drive their Chevy Impala through small-town USA, they are constantly surprised by the behavior of demons and angels -- and even themselves. As a result, they become increasingly metacognitive; that is, they begin to have thoughts about their own thoughts, including the unconscious assumptions they make about the worthiness of demons, angels, and themselves. Regardless of any resulting guilt or remorse, however, their compulsion to confront the world as it is and protect others from the things they don’t want it know pushes the brothers back into their car and out onto the open road.
Wesselmann, E. D., & Nairne, J. S. (2017). Road music: "(Don’t Fear) the Reaper" by Blue Oyster Cult. In T. Langley & L. Zubernis (Eds.), Supernatural Psychology: Roads Less Traveled. New York, NY: Sterling.
Contemplating our morality and what (if anything) lies beyond death can provoke intense existential anxiety. The Winchesters face reminders of morality such as lethal threats, corpses, murders, and otherworldly beings (e.g., ghosts, reapers, angels, and demons). Research indicates that religious or spiritual beliefs, especially belief in afterlife and therefore some kind of continued existence, can help reduce death-related anxiety. The Winchester brothers are not particularly religious, but at various points they visit Hell, Purgatory, and Heaven, thus confirming that an afterlife exists and probably emboldening them to face death willingly to achieve their goals.
#wank adjacent#acafandom#music in the narrative#psychology#in theory#in reality#what are they writing about#and how is it related to how the song was used#on the show#the one they are supposed to be writing about#i am a confusion#it hurts us#just this will tell you if you should bother reading it#i was reading it for the lulz#and i struggled#it was that bad#the pages are covered in my snark#long post
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Paradise P.D: Animated Series Review
I’ve reviewed a lot of animated - and live action - shows and movies on my blog. Nearly everything I’ve felt the need to comment on has been seen in a positive light. I don’t shy away from harsh criticism nor do I actively avoid notably poor content; it just so happens that the things I’m most interested in discussing are things I have mainly positive comments on. Paradise PD has come along to break the mold. The genuine disgust I have for this series is a first for me. I hate this show. This is quite possibly the worst show I’ve ever given a complete watch. The characters are either heinously cruel or insultingly generic. The premise is cookie cutter and derivative as hell. The humor is forced, predictable and just depressing more often than funny. The animation . . . . oh God, the animation. I’ve had non flavored rice cakes with more taste than this show. It’s like anti-creativity. Even as I’m typing this Ii’m getting riled up just thinking about it again. Alright, let me calm down. Let’s break this show down piece by piece, starting with the writing.
Writing
*ugh, the animation in these gifs is terrible. I’ll get to it when I get to it.*
Synopsis: Kevin Crawford is an aspiring young police officer who is determined to prove himself to his dad, Chief Randall Crawford of the Paradise PD. Chief Crawford has a hard time trusting his son because of a firearms accident that occurred when Kevin was very young (the less details you know about that the better) but his ex wife mayor Karen Crawford forces Randall to bring Kevin into the department anyway. Kevin thus joins a motley crew of . . .ahem . . . “”””hilarious””””” cops including Gina; the badass uber violent super cop who’s both the sex appeal of the show and has a fetish for morbidly obese men (yes, seriously), Gerald Fitzgerald; the Cleveland Brown of this show who’s basically just a well mannered token black guy, Dusty Marlow; the morbidly obese innocent cop whom Gina constantly harasses sexually (and yet when male characters harass her on the show she threatens to beaten them for pervy comments, so . . . hypocrite), Stanley Hopson; an elderly officer whose whole schtick is being senile and doing gross shit . . and finally Brian Griffin-I mean Bullet; the canine unit who’s also a drug addict . . . and being a drug addict is basically his whole shtick. They get into a bunch of wacky shenanigans, a lot of gross stuff ensues, yadda yadda yadda
So admittedly, this isn’t a bad premise for a show of this style. If Brooklyn 99 has proven anything it’s that a police department is a great and refreshing setting for a sitcom with tons of potential for jokes as well as diverse characters having great chemistry with each other. Plus it’s an archetype I don’t see very much of (I’d like to point out that I consider this different from the “buddy cop” archetype which is literally everywhere, because rather than focus on two cops it involves an entire precinct). This show is kind of like if Seth Macfarlane made a Family Guy spinoff centered around Joe Swanson (except that sounds a million times more amazing). But while Paradise PD sounds like a good concept for a show on paper, it’s execution is poorer than poor. Ironically for being such an off-the-beaten-path premise for a sitcom the show doesn’t take very much advantage of it. It’s not like the case in every episode is particularly interesting and it’s certainly not like Archer or Brooklyn 99 where the humor comes from the mundane nature of the job that nobody really talks about (filing a lot of paper work and performing basic job duties). Instead it’s premises about banging police cars that have AIs that behave like abusive girlfriends . . .which is a premise we’ve seen before. Or it’s about a father not understanding his child’s hobbies . . .which is a premise we’ve seen before. Or it’s about a fighter being overly confident in the ring only for his cohorts to discover he’s rigged to lose in the next fight . . . which is a premise we’ve seen before. Here lies the biggest problem of this show: it’s so rinse and repeat it’s insulting. For every episode this series has at the moment I guarantee the Simpson’s has done it and has done it better. Or Bob’s Burgers has done it. Or Archer has done it. Or Brooklyn 99 has done it. Hell, Family Guy and American Dad are the most comparable shows to this besides Brickleberry for obvious reasons and as much as I have distaste for those shows even they do these recycled premises more justice than Paradise PD does. Basically the only thing giving this show a real identity is it’s intense gross out visuals which, given this shows shockingly limited animation style, gets stale very quickly. But what is Paradise PD missing that all those shows have in common (besides maybe Family Guy/American Dad)? The answer of course is likable characters.
Characters
*it’s worth mentioning that the intro is the only bit of decent animation this show has. In fact it’s deceivingly good. Be patient . . . I’m getting there.*
If the synopsis I gave at the beginning is any indication it’s that every character suffers from one of two problems; they’re either intensely unlikable or are bland overly used archetypes . . . sometimes both. Gerald Fitzgerald, Dusty Harlow, Stanley Hopson and Bullet are all archetypes you can find in every animated sitcom ever made. It’s the token black guy, the morbidly obese dumbass, the senile old man and the drug addict/self centered misogynist. They all have one joke and one joke only dedicated to each of them. They are walking talking punchlines. So is every character in this show, though everyone else to a lesser extent. Gina is my favorite because her backstory episode is the only one where I felt even a little bit intrigued about how one of these assholes came to be. Our leading man Kevin is a bland standin. He’s just an overly naive, wide eyed kid with a dream. He’s an empty husk for literally any kind of viewer to step in (except for women when it comes to the love interest stuff). The chief is an angry, pompous asshole. In fact every character is just a horrible human being. Even characters that are either overly innocent or are meant to be good natured like Kevin or Dusty are constantly selfish or arrogant in some way. I get that that’s just the way the show is written comedically and in truth all comedy is rooted in the flawed. It’s why a lot of sitcom scenarios are written around characters acting selfishly or stupidly. But there’s being flawed and then there’s . . . being relentlessly cruel. It makes it hard to root for any of these characters in the end, especially since the show also occasionally tries to have a moral center and because . . .well . . . y’know . . . everyone is bland as shit.
Cast Performance
So this is by far the best aspect of the show and the number one thing it has going for it. Why? Because the show has a cast that’s . . . depressingly a bunch of all stars. Tom Kenny, Spongebob himself, voices the chief and he does a great angry authoritative father. Grey Griffin, the actress behind such favorites as Daphne from Scooby Doo, Frankie from Foster’s Home for Imaginary Friends, Vicki from Fairly Odd Parents and Azula from Avatar: The Last Airbender, is the mayor and also turns in a great performance for what she has to portray. Not to mention the occasional guest like John Dimaggio and Tara Strong. If you’re any fan of voice acting chances are you’ll find a favorite of yours in this cast if not a handful of them. I say this is depressing because all of these people could do so much better. I get it, a paycheck is a paycheck, but . . . . imagine the immensely creative and stunning projects they could have been a part of instead. If a contract with Netflix is what you want, hit up Alex Hirsch! He’s signed on with them now and I bet he’s got something worthwhile! There’s not a whole lot to say about the rest of the performances, mainly because again, it’s hard to care about any of these characters.
Visuals (Animation, Design, Composition, Visual Storytelling, ETC.)
sigh . . . .okay . . . let’s talk about the animation. Before I go into it I just want to be real and sentimental for a second. I’m an animator. I just recently broke into the industry by working with Copernicus Studios . . . and it’s been nothing but a sincere pleasure. I’ve learned more about animation and Toon Boom in 4 months than I ever learned in 4 years of freelancing. It put into perspective just how much thought and effort goes into even the most minimal of shows. It’s a popular trend to shit on professionally animated content for looking such a way or moving in such a way but if those people only knew the countless hours and passion that goes into even just a couple of seconds of footage they’d never talk shit about these shows ever again. Not only that, but I’m an admin for an animation study group on Facebook with thousands of members from all over the world. Animators from every country and every skill level share their work for constructive feedback. Through this I’ve met many people who work in the industry . . .including someone who worked on Paradise PD. And I know them to be among the most skilled and masterful animators on the page. For all of these reasons, I will NEVER call animators lazy or unskilled if they produced a show like this. It’s typically the result of a certain type of direction or method of moving the production pipeline along. I have no doubt on my mind that every animator who worked on this show is wonderfully skilled and will do well in their careers going forward.
But this show does not demonstrate that. Far from it. This show goes out of it’s way to be lazy. It cuts so many corners they’ve made a perfect circle of hell. Just take a look at most of the gifs I’ve posted in this review. Notice the popping of proportions and lines in moving pieces. Notice certain features like noses or eyes that move around for no damn reason at all. Look at features like eyebrows where there’s no easing or seamless transition or any basic understanding of the 12 principles of animation aside from perhaps arcs. Just watch a couple of seconds of this show and count how little frames are in every motion. If you told me this show was made in Go! Animate I would believe you. This makes Family Guy look like Studio Ghibli. Maybe this show could have been more pleasant to look at if it had vouched for motion keyframes instead of what appears to be the occasional stop motion keyframe (users of Toon Boom or Flash will know what I mean) but even then there’s nothing to look at really. Add to that the eyesore of a colour scheme, the uninspired character designs that if I put them in silhouette you would not be able to tell what show it’s from, the absolutely barebones backgrounds that look like early 2000s Newgrounds cartoon sets and the unimaginitive shot composition that consists almost entirely of wide shots and medium wide shots and you have what can hardly even be defined as animation by mainstream televisions standards. The last show I reviewed was Matt Groening’s Disenchantment and while I had my issues with that shows animation, at least they were only errors a trained eye could see in a show that was otherwise appealing. Paradise PD is just a tragedy. The only positive comment I can make about the animation is that the FX department did a great job animating the blood and the boogers and any type of nasty body liquid . . . .and I am depressed that that is my one positive comment.
Audio (Soundtrack, Sound Mixing, Sound FX, ETC.)
*In case you thought I was joking about one of the episode summaries I gave earlier*
Like most of the stuff I review, the audio isn’t particularly notable in this show. There’s no memorable soundtracks to speak of. The sound mixing is fine. That’s really all there is to say. I’ll be honest; I’ll talk about remarkable soundtracks in this section or clever/bad sound mixing when I can, but I mainly just include this section so I can score what i’m reviewing in a way that adds to a 10.
Conclusion
Paradise PD is the worst show I have ever given a review for and quite possible the worst show I’ve ever made an effort to sit down and watch. Almost nothing is redeemable about it. It’s the lowest common denominator for animation and it unsuccessfully trades any hint of originality for unfunny shock humor. It fails not because of missteps, but because of a refusal to make the necessary steps in the first place.
Writing - 0.5/2- Below Average
Characters - 0.5/2- Below Average
Cast Performance - 1.5/2 - Above Average
Visuals - 0.5/2 - Below Average
Audio - 1/2 - Average
4 out of 10 - My most hated show thus far.
#netlfix#netflix original#Paradise PD#Paradise P.D#Cartoons#Animation#2D Animation#Review#Film Review#TV review#brickleberry#Scrawnydutchman
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Strange Magic FanFic - “Between the Shadow and the Soul”: Chapter Ten
Chapter 9
Two years. It’s been two years since I updated this story. I can’t believe it.
Well, I can believe it, but good God, I wish it hadn’t been so long - you can blame it on starting then pulling out of Grad School, grandparents on both sides of my family falling seriously ill, losing not one but two jobs, dealing with/caring for the mental illnesses of both family and friends, and then as a grand finale, my own dealings with the ever delightful demon known as depression. It’s been a hell of a ride, with emphasis on “hell”. There were times where I was positive I would never be able to write again, let alone return to this story...
...but, slow as it has been, slow as it is doubtlessly going to be in the future, I wrote it. Word after word became sentence after sentence, then page after page...and now here we are.
I just want to say I would have never been able to do it without the support and love and care and wisdom that you have provided. And I mean ALL of you. I know that in the grand scheme of things, updating a fanfic doesn’t mean that much, but...this story is incredibly dear to me. The thought of finishing it is what keeps me going though some very dark times. So please know that I am so desperately thankful to those of you who bore the waiting with patience and offered me support and kindness and love during the hellish periods I’ve gone through these last two years. As I have always and will always say, the Strange Magic fandom is the BEST fandom. I love you deeply and dearly, darlings.
I want to dedicate this chapter to my dearest friend @dainesanddaffodils , whose birthday it is today (and which she shares with a certain Goblin King according to my own personal head canons for Strange Magic). Tangy, my darling, my bestie...you are one of the best things to ever happen to me, and I am so much the better having you in my world. You’ve been a never ending source of kindness and compassion, sweetness and support, and this Chapter couldn’t have happened without you. Happy Birthday, sweetheart - you make my heart sing <3
And now...on to Bog and Marianne’s reunion. As always, I hope you enjoy.
Chapter Ten
The sky curving above the Border was a blue so soft and sweet the desire to reach out for it was not a mere, fleeting fancy but a need.
The thought of fingers curling up through the air with cautious craving was one every heart harbored, the soft, sifting warmth of the soil churning up beneath feet banishing the memories of frost flashes and sudden snows. All the while, the sky stayed true and blue, only a few curls of clouds crossing it as the sun stayed steady in its warmth. The bud of Spring was starting to blossom, and the fingers that curled to the sky were brushed by a wind that had no bite of Winter but a teasing and tender warmth, twining around them, purring and perfumed. The scent was one of damp, dark soil freed from the iron freeze of Winter, grass growing victoriously verdant after suffocating under snow, and the sweet scent of blooms opening onto a new world, their perfume as delicate as the very petals they unfolded. With a patience and readiness each had carried since a seed, flowers turned their faces to the sun, welcoming the returning warmth of the sunlight as it spread over them.
And as always, none welcomed the dearly missed sun more so than the primroses.
They bloomed tall and proud and beautiful as ever, light and shadow playing over tender, newly opened petals delicately fanning out and fluttering in the warm wind. The sunlight fell upon the blooms with a gentle generosity, a radiance reserved for their best beloved. One little primrose seemed to nod its head in gratitude, the silken blush of its pink petals bobbing gently before tipping up once more to the bright beams and the soft sweet blue stretching high above it.
The heavy blade sliced through the stem with a satisfying thwack, and the silken petals fluttered once more as the flower fell to the earth like a star, splaying upon the dirt, softness spread over the soil with innocent beauty.
Bog took a particularly vicious satisfaction in spearing it with his scepter, ripping and rending the pliant lushness of the petals – and all magic they contained–beyond repair. Once done, he looked down upon it with triumphant contempt, his sneer of victory close to a snarl. Ensorcell the soil with your miserable magic, ye damn thing.
Done with the act – which felt cathartically close to retribution – he shook the mangled mess free from his scepter with a contemptuous growl and seized a handful of plush moss, wrenching it free with such violence that clods of earth tumbled between of his clenched claws. With rough strokes, he wiped any sticky residue that lingered, scowling all the while. Like hells he was going to have the symbol of his rule carry the scent of the damned things. Probably could rub it down with some mud as well…
Although what with how said mud had only come to be from the earth thawing, it would still make his mind move back to Spring…
Bog sighed and let the moss fall to the floor of the Forest, looking around him with fatigued vexation. Like he had to think of any damn thing to be troubled. Hells, he was bloody surrounded by every single sight of the season—
There was a sudden cry above him. “Sire, watch out!”
Bog looked up just in time to get a face full of primroses, a multitude of toppled stalks showering down from above, the petals pattering upon him like pink, perfumed rain.
With a snarl of incandescent irritation, Bog tore them off him with such savagery he felt the swipe and scrape of his own claws across his scales. This time he didn’t bother with his scepter, grinding the blasted things beneath his heel, mangling any magic before kicking them away so hard several pebbles and a spray of soil accompanied them. He then turned his face to the top of the Border, the blue of his eyes venomously bright as they slit in a glare.
The goblins perched atop of the primroses watched him with wide eyes and frozen features, their breath bated by the prospect of the brutal bout of ferocious fury that their King was no doubt only moments away. A few traitorous glances revealed the doomed perpetrator, and Bog turned his glower upon them.
Thang swallowed at the sight of his King, before licking his lips. When he spoke, his lisp even more pathetic than usual. “…Sorry?”
Bog could feel the roar of rage forming in his throat, a hard and bitter and ugly thing, the beginnings of his growl scraping up his gullet like a hard and harsh stone. Beneath his cloak, his wings began their tell-tale twitch of temper, gnarled knuckles taut as he gripped his scepter, his claws scrapping along it, several new nicks resulting. Staring up from beneath a murderously furrowed brow, Bog gave Thang the full force of his glare as he bared his fangs, ready to unleash all the hells he could summon—
—and then suddenly the fire of his fury was snuffed out in a strange swirl of smoke, and with a sudden and aching intensity, Bog felt enormously empty. What does it bloody matter?
He sighed, his wings falling limply down his back, and passed a scarred palm over his face and the scales of his scalp. When he spoke, his mutter was low and rough and tired. “Bloody be more careful, Thang.”
He turned his back on their stunned faces and strode off down the Border, trying to ignore both the whispers he had left in his wake and how the Forest was beginning to thrum with energy, the glow of growth and greenery gradually coming back overhead and underfoot. Instead, he focused upon the crunch of his feet over leaves long dead and the slide of his cloak over grass now gray. But even the garment was a reminder, simply bat wings now, no need for insulating moss what with the warmth slowly but certainly coming back to the air. And though leaves long dead and gray grass was on the ground, tender new growth far outnumbered them, buds hanging heavy on branches in soft clusters.
There was no use denying it – soft and slow as it was, the season was a seed now flourishing fast. Spring had come back.
But she hasn’t…
Bog scowled and swatted down another primrose bobbing boldly in the breeze, the twist of his heart robbing him of any satisfaction in watching it fall. To steal a phrase from his mother, that was the bloody bitter seed in the midst of all the flowering fruit, wasn’t it?
He had never welcomed Spring. Well, perhaps when he was younger, before the bloody Potion had come into his life. But Bog was a creature of hardness and habit, favoring control and certainty in a world of chaos. And foolishly – so foolishly – he had let himself slip away from the comfortable contempt of this season, all because it had carried the promise of seeing her again…
And now it was bloody Spring and everything was turning bloody green and bloody blooming, especially those bloody, blasted primroses, and she still wasn’t bloody here, and he was about bloody ready to bloody molt—
“Impetuous.”
The hiss of the word, a dagger drawn from the sheaf of memory, pierced him clean through, the echo of that infernal creature’s voice stopping him with a sudden and sickening halt, before Bog groaned in self-disgust. Bloody proving her right, aren’t you?
Hells, but he was pathetic. A few days – or weeks, not that he was so callow as to be counting – denied of the return of the fairies from their Migration, and he was back to the surly, stroppy youth of yore, green to governing and impatient to the point of irritation. You’re starting your bloody sixteenth year of ruling, git. Try and bloody act like it.
Never mind that in all those years he had never had to be separated from someone like Marianne. God, even after falling in love, he hadn’t had the pain of being parted from Fen—
Bog bit his lower lip till the rust of blood welled up under his fangs and passed his tongue over the wound. Logically, he knew he was being a fool. Logically, Bog knew that such a journey would take time, the path back home just as consuming and demanding the same caution and care.
But hearts and logic never kept company, and his was apparently fixed to sulk over any and all delays. Bog scowled, feeling the burn of shame. Fine thing for a King to do.
Especially when there was the all-too-likely fact that unlike her first journey, Marianne had to keep the company of the golden dolt for this one. Any pains he suffered paled in comparison to that, and Bog found himself not only gripped by impatience but by wretched worry for her. Let her be alright…
Had those been the sole factors in his frustration, Bog would have content to claim them, beat them back, and leave it at that. But—
Concern a King can claim, and impatience was always in your blood. But there’s another beastie in your breast that clawing at you, fool—
Bog twitched his head, cracked his neck so that the noise of it echoed off the trees, and began to walk once more, his scepter swinging by his side, his strides long. Yet try as he might, he couldn’t walk away from that poisonous voice of old, tunneling into his thoughts like rot through a tree.
Fear is something no Goblin should carry, least of all the King of them. And for all your pining and whining—
Bog bared his teeth, a snarl tucked behind them, but the voice kept on.
—you’re afraid to see her once again.
This time Bog did snarl, the sound of it so harsh it was a wonder the tender new leaves around him didn’t shred under the sound of it. Him, afraid? Load of rot. Fear was another instrument of chaos, and he had bloody well beat that back, hadn’t he?
Bog scoffed, his certainty making it stronger. Besides, even though it was bloody impossible and wasn’t the case, it wasn’t because he had a strange sort of…fear over seeing Marianne again.
Because he didn’t.
At all.
Bog scowled and gave his scepter another savage swipe, another stalk sent toppling and another primrose felled. He paid it no mind even as he ground it beneath his thorny heel. Gods be good, he was the thrice damned King of the Dark Forest, he could bloody well do what was expected of his position, that of reaffirming the connection and communication that existed between his Kingdom and the Fairy Kingdom included.
Bog stopped his stalking to mutter a curse and scrub a harsh hand over features that felt harsher still. It seemed so bloody simple when put like that: ruler meeting with ruler to reaffirm diplomatic goals and gains, the King of the Dark Forest meeting once again with the Queen of the Fairy Kingdom. Hells, it wasn’t like it wasn’t the bloody truth.
But…
Bog sighed, low and long, before planting his scepter into the ground. No one else in sight, he turned away from the Border to let himself lean against a tree, his claws scrapping over the knotted bark mindlessly. The few clouds in the sky curled around the sun, causing it to disappear and coldness to creep back a bit as Bog let his eyes stare out beyond the Border, the blue of them unseeing, the depth of them deep with thought.
It was…part of the truth. A seed split in two but giving the same bloom all the same. He was a King and she was a Queen, both throwing their lots in with the other, and he had no true dread contemplating the likelihood of continuing such a path once they had reunited.
Reunited…
Bog closed his eyes and passed a hand over the scales of his scalp, the gesture no longer harsh, but weary.
He was King, aye. But…
It was not it was not the thought of a Queen whose return sent his heart racing.
It was Marianne.
The fact was even after everything, after all he had devoted to the diplomacy, all he could give a damn about was having her back.
And gods, how that made him burn with shame. His guts twisted at the dismay and disgust he could so easily see on her face if she found out he felt so, what with how dear the diplomacy was to her…
Bog gave another curse, this one far more heart-sore. If they had kept it to only being King and Queen, to only being connected by diplomatic communication, perhaps he wouldn’t be acting so—
Awash with such—
Bog’s sigh was a shredded thing as it passed through his fangs, any curse befitting his state beyond his ken, and he sagged against the tree trunk, the bat wings of his cape barely protecting his back from the bite of the bark. Gods.
What was the worst, what was the absolute bloody worst, was that his damned heart, that was supposed to be too sore and scarred for fluttering, couldn’t seem to decide if it was avaricious in anticipation or aching with anxiety. Bog would have clawed it out from beneath his carapace if he hadn’t needed the stupid thing, so riddled by nerves was it.
But…gods help him, how could he not be? When there were so many things that could go wrong…
He had spent so much time thinking of her, dreaming of seeing her, his thoughts had become nothing so much more than a cyclone of concern, the whirl of them sharpened with cynicism, cutting his soul to the quick.
What if it isn’t everything you want? Do you even know what you bloody want, you fool? You could come off as too eager to see her—
But then if you come off as too cold—
Bog pinched the bridge of his nose, grimacing. Then there was Marianne to think about, good gods—
What will her reaction be? What if she has no reaction? The letter showed she missed m—our talks, but what if she misses the memory of them more?
…Gods, what if I disappoint her?
Bog closed his eyes as pain lanced through him at that. It was ridiculous, not to mention the worst kind of traitorous to even harbor such thoughts. But the thought that truly shamed him, made him yearn to rip his heart out over the sheer offense of what it betrayed was that…
Bog sighed as he dropped his head, the aching weight of shame making his heart so very heavy.
…was that the possibility of everything going right only served to make him far more terrified than the thought of everything going wrong.
He...he was not one for whom things turned out right. Dearly held dreams did not come to be for him.
They never do for hideous beasts. Why would you be the exception, ye old fool—?
Bog closed his eyes against the voice, but could not keep back his sigh. Old. Gods, but he felt it now. He couldn’t remember a Winter weighing on him more, making him feel every ache in his bones. And now with the passing of his thirty-fourth Spring so soon to come, he could only wearily resign himself to more.
He had felt so young with her…
And now such a feeling felt impossibly beyond his reach now, as far away as she was right now…
Even with the sky so blue, the wind so warm, Bog grew cold. Hells…even with the warmth of this wretched season keeping the cold at bay, who was to say that Winter could not come again? He had awoken many mornings to snow falling on the day of his birth, a shock to the tender shoots and roots. He had taken bitter satisfaction at Spring being staved off so savagely, but now…
Another fall of frost, another casting of coldness…it all just keeps her away.
Bog sighed once more, the sound of it gusty and deep as it rolled from him, like the wind that had so howled over the Fields this Winter, bitter-strong in its song as it cut to the very bone.
Then…
Ever so faintly from the Fields came a sound, one that was lilting, lifting with the light of the sun, the soft strumming of strings almost like sunlight in that it was felt before it was heard.
Bog lifted his head, bewildered. Music…?
With a wariness he knew to be ridiculous, Bog cautiously stepped away from his tree to come closer to the Border, the tangle of vines thickened with ones long dead and new growth. With the dexterity of his youthful adventures he hadn’t quite managed to lose, Bog climbed the thicket, relishing the burn such activity put in his chest, the roughness of the vines beneath his hands, thankful he hadn’t simply flown.
When he finally made it to the top, the Fields stretched before him, no longer barren of life but still nowhere near the state of bloom that came with the height of Spring and stretched into the sultry days of Summer. The green growth carpeting the land was tender and soft, some parts still hidden by stubborn snow. The looming gray shape of the Fairy Palace was no longer stark against a stretch of snow, patches of velvety green lichen spattering it as if some of the Forest had come over with all the diplomacy work…
Still, the sight of it sent a stinging sort of longing through him, and Bog averted his eyes, allowing them to wander, searching for the source of the song. They came to rest upon the Elf Village, and his heart gave a queer ache at the song drifting up from the huts and houses, the melody softly building in its strength, carrying all the closer to him.
“Here comes the sun
doo do doo do…
Here comes the sun…
And I say it’s all right…”
The tune was simple and sweet, the voices carried the slow certainty of a blossoming bulb. Though Bog could not see from such a distance, he could easily imagine the look of happiness upon each face of those who had been so beset by snows and sleet, their faces beaming as surely as the source of light they sang for.
And strangely enough, the sun did seem to be getting stronger, clouds fleeing from it, no longer able to keep back its the warmth…
“Little darling, it’s been a long, cold lonely winter…
Little darling, it feels like years since it’s been here…”
Bog found himself leaning against one of the trees of the Border quite without realizing it. He would have wondered at falling into such a state of entrancement, but those lyrics...
The longest, loneliest Winter in his memory, but now…
“Here comes the sun
doo do doo do…
Here comes the sun…
And I say it’s all right…”
Goblins had no such songs. Frankly, no goblins had ever welcomed the return of the sun. The return of warmth, yes. The return of freedom from freezing frost and stupor from snows, undoubtedly. But to welcome the light that pierced the foliage and fortress of their Forest? Darkness was theirs, and while sunlight did not blister or burn them as legends of the Light Fields said, it was not something they sought, let alone sing about. Sunlight was not a cause for disdain or distaste, but it was one for distrust.
Likewise, Bog could confess that he held no reason to begrudge sunlight, excepting for the fact that it revealed him in all his hideousness, hard features made harsher still under its strong rays. Darkness was kinder to him, always had been, but the sun was not his enemy – it only aided its blossoming.
But now…
“Little darling, the smiles returning to the faces…
Little darling, it seems like years since it’s been here…
Here comes the sun
doo do doo do…
Here comes the sun…
And I say it’s all right…”
Now…Bog was tempted to see it as a herald. Or, at the very least, the song it inspired was. One that served as a reminder, a beam of warmth that fell across the darkness of his mood, the coldness of his loneliness, bringing him out of both:
Cold as it had been, long as it had stretched…Winter would retreat. Had retreated.
And aye, the primroses rose tall and triumphant, yet so did the sun, beaming and bright and beckoning other blooms into blossom, other growth into gloriousness, covering them away.
And the higher it rose, the sooner she would be back.
“Sun, sun, sun, here it comes…”
While impatience was a weed in the soil of his soul, and anxiety and nerves would cause his claws to curl across any and all surfaces…no matter how long a day stretched, each one would end.
And with each falling of the night and rising of the sun…slowly but surely, his wait would lessen.
And her welcoming would come closer…
“Little darling, I feel that ice is slowly melting
Little darling, it seems like years since it's been clear…”
Bog felt an odd sort of tugging at his mouth, a strange sort of squeezing in his heart, and gave an exhale that felt curiously close to a laugh. Gods, but what wonders a single song could wrought. To be fair, he had been a long time without such music. Almost as long as he had been without such light…
“Here comes the sun
doo do doo do…
Here comes the sun…
It’s all right…”
The song faded to a soft and sweet close, and for the first time in gods knew when, Bog looked to the sun with welcome. After so long away, it had returned, bringing warmth and wonder in its wake, slowly burgeoning seeds and song.
And soon…she would be back as well.
Bog smiled, the sun falling on his face, and closed his eyes as he imagined how it would fall across wings, iridescently purple and indescribably welcome.
“It’s all right…”
The sun continued to shine, the greenery grow lush, the sky beam bright and blue, and Bog wreaked the primroses, all the while keeping his eyes on how other stalks in the Forest and the Fields grew stronger, stretching up to the skies with each passing day.
Any time he could claim as his own he spent it along the Border, eyes watchful and ears open for any more songs. After that first day with the primroses, he had had the idea of sending a group of goblins to the Elf Village to see if any further assistance was needed. Purely pragmatic, really – not only did it establish that his people wouldn’t cease in their attentions to those the fairies had left behind even with Spring returned, but it also might provide him with news on when to expect Ma–the Migration party to return.
If the reports were to be believed, the Village’s inhabitants had been truly touched by such dedication, obviously unused to a concern that continued even when a duty was done. Unfortunately, they had no news to give aside from assuring his company that the return of the fairies was not be off at all. “As soon as the flowers fully flourish, that’s when fairies fly back to the Fields, sire!”
Bog was dearly tempted to send a swat his lackey’s way when told such flowery tripe instead of an actual sodding day, but seeing as Thang was merely reporting, the blame didn’t truly lay at his webbed feet. But of bloody course this is the time he doesn’t bungle a message—
Still, a message was a message. Bog managed to temper his first instinct into a glower that had sent the smaller Goblin stumbling backwards in his hasty retreat, before concentrating on just what such words meant. When the flowers fully flourish…
Gods, it was as good as a riddle, and he hated riddles. His care towards the primroses that day had been particularly rewarding.
Now Bog fell back into his throne, closing his eyes and drawing his claws across the arms of it, the drag of them falling into the telltale grooves he had put there before. Day after day after day…
It was a new day, yes, and a new day meant a new nightfall and one day closer, but his temper was like an old root now – tough but twisting with each turn of time, bearing the burden of each passing slowly but surely. Gods, how much longer could he truly take—?
The throne room was full of his subjects, all of them bringing him reports from across the Kingdom, each one talking over the other in a tangle of tales, a meaningless mess of noise that Bog had no desire to sort out. No desire, aye, but damn well a duty.
With that in mind, Bog drew himself up, head already aching. His office didn’t carry a crown like that of the Fairy Kingdom, but heavy was the head indeed. Right.
His voice cut through the throng of voices like a blade through a tangle of roots, the slam of his scepter on the floor punctuating it. “Enough.”
The goblins immediately fell to silence, and Bog made his glower a mighty thing, sweeping it over the throng of their faces. “If ye want waste mah time with arguments, Ah’ll show ye an argument of mah own.” His claws scratched meaningfully along the length of his scepter, and he noted their collective gulp with a grim satisfaction before planting it back by his side with a heavy thunk. “If some o’ ye are inclined to make some sodding reports, step forward.” He marked each of his words with a thud of his scepter, eyes narrowed. “An’. Do. So. One. At. A. Bloody. Time.” He leaned back. “Boil, yer first.”
There was a grumble across the crowd, a few goblins groaning audibly as Boil stepped forward with an officious air, small eyes squinting in pleasure at holding power and positon, no matter how small. Bog tried not to sigh. Gods, but how he wished this windbag’s uncle didn’t hold such sway with the Elders.
Boil rolled back fat shoulders with complacent importance. “Ahem. My dark and dreaded Sire, I bring news—
“—FROM THE BORDER!”
Brutus thundered into the room, his weighty gallop sending down dust from the ceiling what with how the walls quaked, the throng of goblins likewise sent to the floor from the tremors. While Brutus tried to come to a halt, he only achieved it in form of running headlong into Boil, who flew across the room before a tree root caught him in the gut, the blow knocking him bug-eyed and windless.
Bog quickly covered his mouth with his claws, desperately trying to smother a snicker. Hells, that’s one way to deal with a windbag—
Hoping that his voice came off as rough with irritation instead of restrained laughter, he issued the necessary commands. “Moldia and Fleasley, take him to a healer. Bit of a lie down for ye, Boil.”
Boil groaned in response as he was led away, and Bog turned his attention to Brutus, his tone dropping into a scold. “Brutus, how many times have I had to tell ye not to run in the Castle?”
Brutus licked his lips and looked properly abashed. “Lost count, Sire.”
Bog sighed as he rubbed at the bridge of his nose, noting how the walls of the throne room now had several new cracks in them. Hells, now Hedgwort would be badgering him again. “Ah’d think it’d be enough to bloody stick.”
Brutus nodded, his great head bobbing up and down. “Stick this time, promise. But news! News from the Border! Flowers flourish fully!”
The crowd muttered and murmured in confusion, but Bog stilled. “…What?”
“Told to tell you! Flowers flourish fully, petals spread under sun! Elves gathering for ceremony!”
“Ceremony?” Muggon questioned, his eyes narrowed in confusion as he exchanged baffled looks with Stuff, even as Bog sat frozen on his throne, eyes wide and fixed on Brutus, his heart—
“For fairies!” The large Goblin looked around the room before shaking his great head, clearly disgusted at such slow understanding. “Flowers flourish—”
“Cheese and rye!” Thang finished wonderingly, understanding dawning in his eyes.
Stuff swatted at his head. “It’s fairies fly, mud-for-brains.”
Bog stood suddenly, his heart hammering and his voice a rasp. “They’ve come back.”
“Fairies approaching!” Brutus nodded, cheeks plump with his pleased grin. “Ceremony to happen! Elves told to tell you—!”
He was cut off by the babble of the crowd, the Throne Room becoming a cavern of chaos, voices tangling once more into a tempest of noise.
For once in his rule, Bog paid such chaos no mind. It was understandable, given how his whole head and heart had flooded with need, the force of it sending his heart into a beat that was making it very hard to inhale.
Now, she’s coming now, if you go now you can finally finally finally see her—
Lost in the thrill of such thoughts, Bog was only dimly aware that his scales had begun to flair, his wings thrum, limbs tensing for takeoff—
“Impetuous.”
The clarity of that achingly familiar and always dratted voice cleaved through his heedless excitement like a sword through mist, and Bog reluctantly forced himself to settle. It wouldn’t do to fly off without a company. Besides, Brutus was still speaking, his gravely tones at odds with the childlike beam he sported.
“—said that Forest folk can come, but not all. Just few. Just how Bog King usually does it.” Brutus looked at Bog pleadingly. “Know too big for dragonflies, but can come to party, right? Since I brought message, yes?”
“A party, huh?” Moldia, back from tending to Boil, leaned at the doorway and scratched at her fronds, looking both intrigued and wary. “I wonder if they expect us to bring something. Fairies like that kind of stuff, baubles and glittery things—”
Fletcher snickered. “They would be a fan of anything that showed them their reflection.”
Farrow snorted. “Nah, that’s just that King of theirs.”
A ripple of amusement ran through the crowd, but Muggon shook his head, annoyed. “Surely there’s not enough time for that, we only just got the news that they’re coming back—”
Vexspur groaned, her trunk wilting with the exhale. “If we had spent even the smallest bit of time gathering our reports into a more organized state instead of leaving it off, we could’ve presented them—”
“The primroses had to be taken care of!”
“So what, we should slack off on presenting a good image to the Fairy Kingdom?”
“Careful, Nettles, you might get mistaken for a Fairy if you’re that image obsessed—”
“Watch your mouth!”
“Watch your ego!”
“Stop using Fairy for an insult, we’re supposed to be beyond that—!”
Bog took to the air in a thrum of wings before landing on his thrown forcefully, causing the structure to rock back and forth with a bang, the bone clacking with each movement, slamming his scepter into the arm of it to steady himself.
The goblins immediately silenced themselves, looking up to their ruler with eyes wide with both wariness and wonder over the impressively fierce figure he cut, standing so upon his throne.
“Who,” Bog announced in an effectively low growl, “does nae want their head on a stick?”
Thang was the only one to raise his hand with cheerful obliviousness. The rest of the goblins side-eyed each other nervously before raising their own hands in a cautiously rippling wave.
Bog cut his scepter to Muggon, who immediately snapped to attention. “Muggon, get the dragonflies harnessed and saddled, then take a count of how many wish to go, ye can only take so many. Brutus, ye leave to meet us there, let them know we’re comin’—”
Brutus beamed before rushing from the room in a rumbling run, and there was an immediate turmoil of voices, fierce denials of wanting to go and frantic desires to, all rising to the roof in a clamoring clash.
Bog banged his scepter down, his voice a bark. “Silence, or Ah’ll scupper yer skulls.” The harshness of his glare was as fierce as it was false, so very false when he felt so – when his heart was so—
She’s come back—
Fighting for control over the burn in his breast, the ache of anticipation in every bit of his body, Bog snapped his fingers, claws clicking. “Stuff an’ Thang, ye’ll come with me.” If ye dawdle, Ah’ll kill ye was kept behind his teeth, but just barely. Each second that passed demanded another poisonous pinch of patience that he simply did not have, not when he knew she would be there and soon, so very soon, so would he—
Only if ye make it on time, ye dolt.
Bog forcefully brought himself back and took to the air, the thrum of his wings nothing to the excited beat his heart. “Moldia, to my mother. Let her know Ah could nae wait.”
Never mind that there would be all kind of hells to pay when his mother got ahold of him for leaving her, especially when a party was involved—
Then best be off now, hmm?
Bog dove over his company and seized Stuff and Thang by the scruff of their necks, Stuff giving an indignant howl and Thang plaintively wailing that he hadn’t done anything. The crowd beneath commenced once more in their clamoring, called for more instructions.
Bog merely shot over them, grinning with fierce anticipation and something suspiciously akin to joy. “WHO WANTS TO GO TO A PARTY?”
The day blazed forth beauty, the slowness of Spring’s bloom finally rewarded through a bounty of blossoms that spread over the land in riots of color, the green grass of the Fields lush and long, swaying in rippling waves in the warm wind. The sun and sky were so bright Bog would have cursed them any other time, but now he only spared a thought for the warmth of the wind on his wings as he sped over the Fields, Stuff and Thang keeping close behind on their dragonflies. It felt just like the trips he had made before, although the past rush of anticipation was nothing compared to what he was seized with now, his scales threatening to flare from the sheer excitement, almost distracting him from his flight. Gods, but he had to get a grip on himself—
If he could see him now, soaring over the Light Fields with such frank fervor, his father would have most likely been aghast, or the very least stupefied if he was inclined to be kinder. Bog nearly snorted at the image of his so easily imagined expression, the grave growl of his voice. “Yer one song short from bein’ a bludy Fairy, boy.”
Any other time, the memory of those words would have stung, but now Bog could only laugh, the brief exhale of it still sweet. Only fer today, Da.
Though gods knew how long he would stay in such a state, now that she had come back to him—
Bog rolled his eyes impatiently, dodging a particularly tall poppy. Hells, not to him. She had come back, aye, but to her Kingdom, that was all. He wasn’t about to be so trite as to think himself special—
Bog’s frantic fervor dimmed a bit at that. Gods, let her be pleased to see him—
Let her be as happy as I am—
Bog grimaced, biting back a worried glower, gripping his scepter determinedly as he flew past another poppy, his speed causing it to snap back after he passed. There was a faint thwack, and Thang cried out, but Bog easily ignored him. It would be enough to see her, he told himself sternly. Just to know she was there, that she was back, that was enough.
Aye, but it wouldn’t hurt if there was a bit more than just that—
Bog bit the inside of his cheek, the salty gush of iron and sting of pain a sharp reminder. Dearly held dreams did not come to be for him. He wasn’t about to forget that. He wasn’t about to be a bloody boy and build his hopes up only to be disappointed if they didn’t come to be. Hells, but that wasn’t any kind of fair to Marianne.
Yes, the Winter had been a long one and the wait, gods, the sheer bloody wait had been utterly intolerable, but he wasn’t about to place that at her feet, what with everything else she had to manage—
“Sire!”
Stuff’s cry brought Bog back to his flight, and he quickly looked around to see where they were. His heart gave a jolt when he saw the buildings of the Elf Village loom before him, a thick crowd already amassing below, a song rising up to them, wordless but strong. He had heard of this tradition, the songs that the Fields sang only at such pivotal moments, the original words lost to time but still weighty with meaning for ceremonies like this, a crowning or a—
A coming back…
Bog dove, barely paying any mind to the sounds of Stuff and Thang struggling to get their steeds to follow with the same speed. It looked like they were congregating around a stage, one of the many he had been told they used for their Spring and Summer gatherings and performances, the hubbub of the crowd loud and cheerful, frank excitement on the face of each of the elves, brownies and pixies he could see. Even with how the gradual gratitude over the Winter for their aid, Bog could only hope the presence of his people wouldn’t take away from the spectacle they were so obviously anticipating…
He needn’t have worried. Now nearing, Bog saw that Brutus was in the midst of them, and noted with amused amazement that several Elf and Brownie youths had taken to climbing him like some sort of living boulder, happily dangling from his arms and neck, perched upon his mighty shoulders and thick skull. For his part, Brutus seemed utterly content, beaming benevolently as the children chattered and giggled and played, happily sitting in the square as the parents in the crowd milled around him. Bog shook his head in wonder. To see those that had once whispered rancid rumors flavored with fear about his people now allowing their babes to sport with them, watching a Goblin keep their company with fond indulgence…!
Marianne will be so pleased.
Biting back a smile, Bog swooped around a tall wheel that rose into the air and flew over the crowd, his eyes searching back and forth. Would that he knew one of the elves more than just in passing, one of them could be comfortable telling him where she would be, if she was already there—
Cries of surprise filled the air at the sight of him, and though some spoke of sudden shock, it was swiftly followed by calls of welcome, warm and sincere. Bog spared himself a moment to wonder over such a profound change the Winter had wrought before he heard it. “Your majesty! I mean, ah, Bog King, sir!”
Bog spun around, his eyes narrowing and then widening at the sight of the small Elf who had spoken, his shock of hair black hair and red head gear fashioned from the wings of a ladybug immediately familiar to him. The brother-in-law.
Bog touched down on the stage at once, striding to where the Elf was. “Ye’re back. Where are the—?”
“Yeah, she told me you might be impatient,” the Elf – gods, what the hells was his name? – chuckled. The sound was a touch nervous as he took in the dark, scaly beast of a King before him, but his smile was sincere as he continued. “I’m the first of the party to get here, I’m always sent on ahead a few days earlier to check out the Village, make a list of the damages done.” There was profound gratitude in his brown eyes as he looked up at Bog, earnest. “And there’s none. I can’t thank you enough, sir! The Village always falls into disrepair, and now it looks even better than before, it’s incredible—”
Bog waved away the thanks impatiently, his wings rattling with his fierce feelings. “If yer here, they can’t be far behind. Where are they?”
The Elf made to reply before another voice rang out from the crowd. “Sunny! Pip says he sees them just starting to cross the eastern tree line!”
The Elf – Sunny, right, that was it – immediately brightened and turned to the throng of his people, who hadn’t paused in their song. “Right, folks! We can head on over now!” He looked back to Bog with eager excitement, ready to share the happiness. “You can follow us, we know the best way to get there.”
Bog was torn between gritting his teeth and keeping his wings from buzzing from eager elation. “Where?”
“To the main royal garden! That’s where they always have the reception area. The pixies ought to have finished setting up by now, that’s what they do, it’s the brownies job to get the Palace all ready—”
The crowd had already begun to move, still singing their song. What with that and how Bog’s wings thrummed as he took to the air again he had to raise his voice to make sure he was heard. “Stuff, Thang, you follow me and then double back to guide the rest of the party behind us.” He looked to Sunny, nodding his head to Brutus. “Can some of yours wait with him to guide any stragglers?”
The young Elf nodded and then quickly and guiltily bowed, obviously still unsure just how he was supposed to treat this strange new King. “Yes sir! I mean, yes sire, sir! I mean—”
Even in the midst of his impatience, Bog had to roll his eyes with a smirk. No doubt his brother-in-law demanded the upmost formality, the ass. “As long as ye dinnae call me dirty rotten Goblin, yer fine.”
The Elf started and then laughed, the action making his eyes crease into a happy squint. “I can do that, sir. I’ll get Pare to wait back by the Border to make sure y’all are accounted for. That good?”
Bog tried to nod but gods, this waiting wasn’t any kind of kindness to his heart, the anticipation of it all a nigh unbearable ache. He couldn’t take much more. He tried to keep any of this out of his voice as he looked to the trees, the thick foliage hiding anything from his eyes. “They’ll be here soon, aye?”
But there was a new slant to the Elf’s smile as he looked up at the King of the Dark Forest, commiserating and kind. “Yeah, they will. I hated waiting to see Dawn when she got back from Migration too, sir—”
Bog would have asked what the hells he meant by that, but there was a sudden surge in the song, a crescendo of cries. “Here! They’re here!”
Bog spun around, his heart in his throat, and sure enough, there were several small shapes above the line of his land, tiny specks swirling and twirling over the swaying treetops. They were too far away to see clearly, but Bog fancied there were flashes of color now and then from the sun falling across fluttering wings.
Suddenly it was very hard to swallow. I’m going to be see her, finally see her—
It was a good job that his wings didn’t stutter as his heart did then. Gods, but after all this time, the moment had finally come. Please don’t let me make a ruin of it—
“This way, your majesty!”
Snapping back to reality, Bog trained his eyes on the Elf as the little fellow made his way through the crowd, who parted before him to let him lead at the front. Bog swiftly followed, before realizing that the whole company was earth bound and therefore kept a much slower pace than his wings allowed him, meaning he would have even longer to wait. Bog grit his teeth, resisting the urge to claw a hand across his face in frustration. Gods be sodding damned.
By the time the Fairy Palace finally came into view, Bog was near about to have a headache what with how he had ground his teeth, and was severely tempted to ditch the party entirely and find the main royal garden himself, manners be damned. It was only when he saw the gardens the crowd was aiming its track towards did his heart jolt – the same garden he and Marianne had talked by on that rainy day so long ago. Those were the main royal gardens?
“Nice, aren’t they?” Sunny called up to Bog with a grin. “Perfect place to hold the reception too, what with it being right below the ballroom balcony!” He then turned back and raised his voice. “It looks great, girls!”
Bog turned as well and saw that he was addressing a veritable swarm of pixies, their movements a swirl of motion and color as they flew to and fro between the small courtyard and the pavilion of the sprawling gardens, both of which they had transformed into veritable bowers of blooms and blossoms, the arches of the high windows garnished with garlands woven with bluebells, poppies and buttercups, their colors popping against the stone of the boulder. Likewise, the walls in the courtyard were hung with the blooms as well, while thick clusters of lilacs and freesia stood about to perfume the air. Several butterflies had already come to drink freely from the sweet blooms, and dipped in drunken dances across the space, their wings so like the heralded fairies that Bog had to squint to make sure he wasn’t mistaking them for the other. A small stage had been erected near the front of the pavilion, and Bog saw a small clustering of brownies fuss about a table bearing a frankly enormous spread of food and drinks that was no doubt for the refreshment of their long overdue court.
Bog would have been impressed - or perhaps nauseated - by the sheer spread of wealth had he hadn’t been so busy scanning the sky then, his eyes tracking back and forth as he touched down to the ground. Surely they would have made it by now—?
“Sire!” Stuff and Thang were both clambering off their dragonflies, Thang gaping about at the embellishments and elegance about him. Stuff waved to Bog, her face just holding back a grimace at the unapologetically Fairy décor – even with being a professional, apparently there was only so much her Goblin sensibilities could bear. Her voice held a subtle edge of pleading. “Shall we double back now, BK?”
Bog was about to reply when there was a sudden crescendo of song from the elves and the sky. What the hells—?
The three goblins only had a moment to look up before the rush of song crashed over them, like a wave rushing over the shore or the sun breaking out from behind a bank of clouds. Suddenly the sky above them was filled with countless beings, their wings spangling sunlight and casting the ground beneath them into various rainbow tones as the brightness of the day shone through their wings. They dipped and danced in their descent, all singing sweet and strong, and the elves broke into wild cheers – the fairies had returned, and true to form, it was done with colorful aplomb and a multitude of the sweetest of splendors. The song from the elves rose again, and the fairies echoed it back, wordless and wonderful.
Bog swiftly grabbed Stuff and Thang by the scruffs of their necks and retreated to the nearest patch of plants that would shield them from the onslaught of such songs, his head already buzzing with it. His time with at the Fairy Palace had given him some immunity to the constant use of songs in Fairy culture, but he was made of sterner stuff than either of his lackeys. Even as he deposited them at the base of some towering stargazer lilies that could serve as their refuge, Thang and Stuff were both holding their ears, Thang actually whimpering.
Bog would have rolled his eyes, but even he wasn’t that callous – his people preferred the darkness and shadows for a reason, after all. Sunlight and songs weren’t poisonous to those of the Dark Forest as the prejudices of the Fairy Kingdom had thought them to be, but singing their own songs amongst their people was a matter of willing participation and therefor something else entirely. The elves singing had been similar enough to their own that it wouldn’t trouble them. But now with the fairies back, it was like being subjected to an onslaught of blinding sunshine without any warning.
Bog spared no time in issuing his orders. “Get back to the Forest. If you see fit, collect the beeswax and pine sap for ear plugs.” He didn’t know how long the singing would last, after all.
The two of them nodded and quickly ran back to their steeds, the look on their faces profoundly grateful. Bog watched them go, their dragonflies dodging the flight of the fairies, before turning to the stage, making sure to keep himself beneath the shelter of the lilies as he watched it intently, his heartbeat picking up once more. That would be the space she would appear, he was sure of it—
Already were fairies touching down, embracing each other, greeting the elves and the brownies with friendly but formal waves. The pixies were not so restrained, and many bunches immediately flew to their favored persons to shower them with clamoring affection, causing those fairies to halt their songs in order to laugh and return such nuzzling. Bog spotted the little yellow one, Daffodil, shower a young blonde Fairy with gleeful little kisses, and could only hope she wouldn’t spot him.
Then—
In the midst of the greens and yellows and pale blues shining upon the ground, there was sudden flash of purple, and Bog’s heart nearly seized—
And there she was.
Marianne gracefully touched down upon the stage with her sister, the sun striking across her brow and the golden-green band of her crown, making her dark locks gleam and her skin glow. She wasn’t singing the song of her people, instead wearing an expression of furrowed concentration, looking around her as her sister twirled across the stage in a delirious dance of happiness. No doubt she was taking stock of the situation, making sure all was well.
And why wouldn’t she, thought Bog, determinedly ignoring how his heart was now thumping with positively painful thuds in his chest. Hells, but to be back after so long, of course that would be her first concern, not some silly song or—
—or looking for him—
He couldn’t help himself, stop himself from watching her, each flick of her fingers as she tucked her hair behind her ear, the path of her hands as they smoothed at her top, each tilt of her chin as her head moved back and forth to take in the spectacle of their homecoming, her eyes – those eyes, gods, but to see them again – searching over the crowd. The Elf was up on the stage now, rushing to embrace his wife, and the young Queen smiled softly at the sight of them as they twirled around in their bliss at being back together, at being home, even after spending their Winter together.
A few feet away on the stage, the golden oaf had landed and was immediately greeted with a hail of cheers, causing him to laugh loudly, throwing his head back with the gesture, his armor and crown gleaming. He waved a hand over at Queen Marianne to come over to him, not even looking to see if she obeyed. Her soft smile fell for a resigned eye roll and a slight pull of lip that could have been a grimace as she turned to walk towards her King.
All this Bog saw, drinking her in like the most parched of beasts at a spring, aching to reach out for her, to her—
But then her footsteps to Roland abruptly halted as she looked to the lilies.
And the King they sheltered.
Bog’s mind blanked. She had seen him.
Oh gods…
In the midst of the moment, Bog was aware enough to know that the world did not stop, though for the briefest breath it felt as though his heart had as their eyes met.
It did not stop, but continued on with the inane formalities of the ceremonies of returning, the throng still very much present and still very much intent on singing their songs, elves and brownies and pixies raising their voices in warm welcome, whilst the fairies replied with a deep delight in an arrival long denied. None of this ceased when Marianne’s eyes met his.
Yet the need to move along with the rush of it, to participate in power plays and politics, was simply exposed as nothing in comparison to the need to drown in that long denied golden gaze, the depths of them damning any memory he had held over the Winter with their living luster.
Bog found that the former fervor that had so consumed him until now was now easily brushed away in their presence. In fact, his only concern was to take in how those amber eyes widened in that achingly familiar way, how the dark, lush line of her lashes fluttered in the Spring breeze, how her face reminded him of a flower, open and fresh and fixed on him, like he was the light so long denied…
She was there, just across the crowd from him, so far and yet so close, the closest she had been to him and him to her for so very, very long—
And then she smiled.
And if her face was a flower before, now it was a garden, blooming bright with a beauty hidden away for far too long, and Bog’s heart near about burst, his incredulous delight was so great.
For me, all for me, such happiness and all because of me—
Bog knew he must look an absolute fool, completely unable to keep his smile from burgeoning across his face, but Marianne’s own merely spread all the more as she watched him, apparently just as content to take him in as he was with her.
In that moment, Bog dared to step into the sunlight, and its warmth on his scales was nothing compared to the light of her smile, her amber-warm eyes. His wings shivered, and for the life of him, Bog didn’t know why.
All he knew was that the thought that had kept him going through the Winter had finally come to be, the price of dearly held dreams be damned.
She’s back. She’s back and right in front of me.
As Bog stood there, surrounded by sunlight and sweetness and song and all that was deemed intolerable by his people, he could think of no place he would rather be, standing only so far away from Marianne with her smile upon him.
Of course, the rest couldn’t be that easy.
Claws scrapped down the already deep grooves of his scepter as Bog bit back a harsh exhale, fighting the urge to swat at the lilacs hanging overhead, the sickly-sweet scent of them nigh overpowering even in a good mood. In his current state, it was too bloody much.
No sooner had Marianne taken a single step in his direction and he to her when they had both been swarmed with dignitaries and nobles on both sides, all pressing for their attention, their thoughts on how the Winter had passed, every bloody detail demanded. Bog had almost yelped in the sudden onslaught, and he was direly certain that the look he had passed over the heads of the crowd was one of panic and pleading, a fine thing for a King to show—
To be fair, Marianne had looked none too happy either as she looked over her own crowd, her brow hard and flat over her eyes, her mouth fixed in a tense line as her people clamored about her, unceasing and unrelenting in what they asked of the young Queen only just returned. Bog now bit back a hard and sympathetic sigh at the memory of her face, leaning against the stalk of the lilacs, one of his mother’s many sayings brought to mind. Anyone who fantasizes about ruling is one fungi short of a fairy ring.
After the river of unrelenting questions had tapered off into a gurgle of inquiries, what had followed was a formal presentation from the Fairy Kingdom to cement their return from the Winter, then an official tour and inspection of the Palace, before this final ceremony held once again in the gardens. All of which had of course demanded more songs and dances in both the figurative and literal sense. It was to be expected, of course, given the affection fairies held for both, but as Roland made himself the focus of each song and speech, it wore on already thin nerves. Honestly, it was probably a good thing that Griselda had been having one of her allergy onslaughts and had deemed herself too sick to attend the ceremony. Bog was sure that even her love of parties would have been tested and tried by the prattling pettiness of the golden idiot.
Hells, he wouldn’t have minded it all so much if he had simply had a moment to talk with Marianne—
Bog sighed once more as he sank further back against the stalk, causing one of the blooms to bounce closer to him, the ripe perfume of it cloying and close. With aimless ease, Bog reached and ripped down one of the blossoms, rending it with idle ferocity between his claws as he watched the happy crowd with a wilting will any introvert would appreciate. Wonders of wonders, despite being King of the Dark Forest and the one of the very reasons the Winter had been such a success, Bog had managed to keep himself to the sidelines of the crowds well enough throughout all of the ceremonies. It was a fact no doubt helped by Roland’s glory seeking ways, and Bog found he didn’t give a damn about not receiving recognition as long as he wasn’t bloody expected to participate in a number. There’s diplomacy, and then there’s lunacy.
Still, he had hoped…
Bog frowned, his claws pricking at his skin as he clenched a fist. No need to get bloody greedy. Seeing her had been bloody well enough, a talk would come later.
Maybe even later that day, if he was lucky…
If he could find her, that was.
He had tried to keep her in his sights throughout everything, but Marianne had managed to slip away from the proceedings with a stealth that would do any warrior proud. Indeed, Bog would have readily offered his congratulations on that fact if only he bloody knew where she had gone off too. No doubt she had seen the same proceedings in the past and knew when to make her escape. Clever girl.
Bog let the remains of the flower fall from his fingers as he turned his head away from the crowd. No one was bloody paying attention to him now, just like they hadn’t at that past party. Perhaps…
Hells, she had once flown into his Kingdom uninvited, once upon a time. Surely he could do so now to seek her out…?
“Impetuous.”
Bog scowled and ripped another bloom from the bower before him, rending with a fine bit more of ferocity then he had the last one. Sod off, Plum, you’re not but a memory and an annoying one at that.
He was already in her Kingdom, anyway—
“Sire? Is it fair of us to leave soon?”
Bog sighed as he turned to Muggon, who looked up at his King with an expression that was pleading it was almost pained. “Muggon, if you can stomach guttin’ and skinnin’ a squirrel in the dead of Winter, ye can stomach a party for a while yet. I need to stay here.” And see if I can find her again—
“That’s hardly a fair comparison,” Muggon groused, looking thoroughly put out. “One of those things is a pleasure, the other is a pain.”
Bog nearly groaned, he was so sodding done with it all. “Muggon, fer mud’s sake, get over yer—”
“Um, your highness? Bog King?”
The two goblins immediately stopped and looked at the young Fairy maiden before them with surprise, which only seemed to make the already nervous lass all the more uncomfortable, twisting a pale golden curl around her finger and biting her rosebud of a lower lip in consternation as she took in the two fierce beings before her.
The Pixie hovering over her shoulder was what caught Bog’s attention, and he surprised himself with his smile at the sight of them. “Lady Daffodil! How fares ye?”
The Pixie chittered and chirped in delight before zooming up to him and around him a fair few times, trilling her happiness at his greeting. Muggon gaped, and the Fairy maiden blinked frankly enormous brown eyes – not the amber-gold of Marianne’s, but the soft brown of soil – in amazement. “Daffy, you know each other?”
“We met during the Winter,” Bog clarified, mildly wishing he could shoo away the creature without hurting her physically nor her feelings. Aware that Muggon was still gaping, he cleared his throat and stood his scepter in the ground, drawing himself up as regally as he could. “What is it, Lady…?”
The lass blinked again then blushed, the pink of her cheeks far outstripping any of the roses beside them. “Oh! Um, Daisy. Lady Daisy. I mean, just Daisy is fine…” she trailed off and gave a clearly embarrassed wriggle. “Whichever you prefer, sir. I mean, Sire.”
She snuck another look at Daffodil as she still merrily made her way around the dark and dire King, and was obviously unable to hold back her amazement. “I can’t believe she likes you so much…!”
Muggon dropped his gaping in favor of a scowl, and Daisy’s cheeks flushed crimson once more, but Bog merely chuckled. “Nor can I, lass. What was it ye wanted?” Amusing as it was to him, he doubted a girl as naturally nervous as she seemed had willingly come to him to chat about her little friend.
Daisy, clearly quelling under Muggon’s fierce look, started and flushed even more. “Sorry, I meant to tell you straight away – I mean, she wanted me to tell you as soon as I found you…”
She stopped herself and took a breath, straightening her shoulders and spine even as her hands tucked themselves in her skirt, still clearly nervous. “Queen Marianne sent Daffy – I mean, Daffodil to come ask you to the Library. If you wanted to meet her there, that is? Apparently she wants to talk to you—”
She stopped with a little shriek as Bog went past her in a rush of wind and wings.
Remembering himself, he flipped around midair to address Muggon. “Muggon, find Stuff and Thang and let them know Ah’m meeting with the Queen. If they wish to leave before th’ end of th’ ceremonies, tell th’ fairies my mother is ill and she needs attending to.” It was true enough, wasn’t it?
Muggon had lost any trace of his scowl in favor of panic, his dark eyes darting back and forth between his King and Daisy. “Alright, but – ah – what do I do afterwards, your majesty?”
Bog favored him with a slightly evil smile. “Why, enjoy th’ conversation with this fine lass, mah good Goblin.”
Muggon scowled once more, gritting his teeth so hard Bog could easily imagine the dagger he was certain his lackey was yearning for in that moment. His smile growing, he inclined his head to Daisy, who also seemed less then enthused about keeping her current company. In fact, the girl looked rather faint. “A great gratitude to ye, my dear, but Ah best go now – it would nae do ta keep yer Queen waiting, would it?”
Hells, like he would be able to be kept waiting any longer—
“Hmph! Since when do you ever?”
With that dratted voice in his ears and that thought in mind, Bog rolled back into his original path and sped through the air, the sight of Muggon shooting him a discrete obscene gesture doing nothing to stop the chuckle he had to give.
A chat in the library, eh? He could do that. He most certainly could do that indeed.
The route to the Library was as well-known and familiar as ever, though sheets were now draped over the furniture, no doubt as protection from the dust and frosts of the Winter. They would’ve made a ghostly sight if not for the swarms of pixies taking them off and shaking them out, chirping and cheeping merrily, buzzing about in bright swirls of color.
That was until Bog passed by, and the small clouds of them were scattered, the wee things tumbling back with shrill little screams from the force of his speed. Looking back, Bog gave an apologetic grimace before continuing on, still intent. So close, he was so close—
And then he was there, almost all too soon, the doors of the Library looming before him.
His frantic flight at an end, Bog touched down, the buzzing of his wings slowing to a stop as a strange sort of trepidation coming over his heart. Just beyond the doors, that was where she was…
They could finally talk after all this time, just like before…
A Winter without her, and now she was here, just a few feet of wood and gilt separating them the only barrier between them now…
Bog lifted his fist, then lowered it, his heart giving a queer thud. What if he did something to ruin it?
Enough stalling, ye great coward.
Bog closed his eyes and took the deepest breath he could manage, the feel of it rattling through his scales before he let it out in a great gust and knocked on the door before his nerve could fail him, his heart echoing the hammer of it.
There was silence, and for a few heartsick seconds, Bog wondered if the Fairy maid had been mistaken—
Then a familiar alto called out curiously, even cautiously. “Who is it?”
Oh gods.
It took Bog several seconds to find the breath for his reply, meager as it was. “Me.”
There was a pause that seemed to last forever to Bog, and he began to panic anew. Oh hells, had he already done something wrong—?
Then the door opened with a great heave, and there was Marianne, standing there with a smile of such sincerity upon her face Bog felt his heart stutter.
She looked…
Bog wasn’t sure how he managed the few steps past the doorway, Marianne quickly stepping back to let him through, but somehow he did it with enough sense not to stumble as he drank her in.
She had changed out of her traveling outfit into a new gown, the purple iris petals hugging her slender waist like a lover’s embrace. Her hair seemed lighter, a bit more golden-red then when he had last seen her, and there was a glow of sun to her skin. Even her wings seemed to shimmer with a new iridescence as they flowed behind her. Undoubtedly it was all because of the sunlight she had seen in the South.
Or perhaps his memory had betrayed him and she had always looked so bright, so—
Thoughts and feelings crashed through him, words tumbling upon his tongue before he just managed to keep them back behind his fangs. The thing that remained clear in the tumult of it all was the desire to take her in, bask in her being there, right there, when for so long she hadn’t. This whole time he had felt it, had fought against the fast-burgeoning bud of it in him, impatient and ill-concealed no matter how hard he had tried to dismiss it.
Now it was all he could to steady his drinking in of the shine of those dark locks under the light of the Library, that warm flush in those cheeks and the amber flash of those eyes he had – so dearly – missed, all of her so tangible and so there—
He wanted…
Marianne let out a soft, breathless laugh under the continued silence, bashful but beaming, her eyes sweeping down and her wee white teeth catching at her lower lip in a vulnerable bite, slender fingers twisting at each other, hands clasping together for comfort. Bog’s fingers itched to curl along them, feel the press of her palm against his once more, hold her—
Hold her.
He wanted to hold her.
The tempest storming within him came to a crashing calm as Bog’s mind blanked with shock. He wanted to hold her?
—hold her hug her embrace her feel her heartbeat against his know that she was there, there there there, with him—
Bog tried very hard not to reel. He – that – that was completely inappropriate, especially between two rulers, rulers of neighboring kingdoms—!
—but between you and her—
Bog viciously pushed the thought away. They were a King and a Queen. His kind may have never set much store in fluttery, fanciful forms of formality, but some codes had to be observed, impetuous impulses or not.
More importantly, such an action would be undoubtedly shocking for Marianne, most definitely unwelcome—
Like anyone would welcome being in your arms—
The hot, discomforting prickle of angry acknowledgement and bitter acceptance in the wake of that venomous old voice brought Bog back to the fact that he was still stewing in silence whilst the poor girl was waiting for him to speak, amber eyes wide and getting worried—
You great git, bloody well do something.
His hand nearly shot forward in decisive determination before Bog caught himself in time and gentled the action, claws curling in careful consideration, his palm open and up and undemanding. No matter what her response would be, a returning clasp or a rejection, it was hers to make and his to readily accept.
Marianne looked up at him, eyes still wide, and something in them flickered, a faint flame of something – disappointment? – in those amber depths before she softly placed her hand in his.
For one brief moment, so brief that Bog could have easily dismissed it as mere imagination, her fingers seemed to curl at his, clasp him closer, a coil of power tensing through her arm like she was preparing to tug, pull him to her—
And then those glowing gold eyes ducked down, and Marianne gave another soft, bashful laugh, giving his hand a firm shake before letting go and clasping her hands together, tucking them into her skirt. Her voice carried the same warmth and edge of embarrassment that traced her smile. “It’s…good to see you again, Bog King.”
Bog had to fight once more for the breath that formed his reply, and even then, it was a trial to get the words out. “And…and you, Queen Marianne.”
Oh, brilliantly spoken, you great git. Yer winning awards for sheer prose.
Marianne gave another laugh that distracted that poisonous voice, breathless and bashful still. “I—I mean, it’s incredibly good to talk to you, face to face. I was so scared that we wouldn’t be able to, if you needed to get back to your Kingdom—” she stopped and looked at him with wide, worried eyes. “You don’t need to go now, do you?”
Bog gave a laugh of his own, even softer than hers, both amused and touched at her endless concern. “I—no, there’s no worry of that. They know that I wanted—I mean, that I needed to be here. I…”
He paused and hoped his words didn’t betray his heart. “…I can stay as long as you need me to.”
Marianne’s smile was so giddy with gladness that Bog almost had to grin himself, it was so infectious. “Good. I mean—!” she stopped and stumbled, her words and wants so clearly conflicting, her hands leaving her skirt to twist at each other. “I don’t want you to feel as though you have to stay as long as I want you to, because, well, I know that, ah, the ceremony and the tour must have been quite tiring and, um, tedious, I mean, hell, it’s tedious even for me and I’m the Queen here—”
She stopped again then sighed before letting her head drop into her hand, her crown gleaming with the gesture and her voice muffled. “I swore to myself I wouldn’t do this.”
“This?” Bog knew he shouldn’t be grinning, but gods, he couldn’t help it, he so loved hearing her voice again, after a Winter of its silence, and she was so…endearing when she let her words carry her away—
Marianne looked up to give him an apologetic, lop-sided smile. “Babble. Get clumsy. I always do that when I’m hap—” she stopped and cleared her throat, bringing a hand through her hair as a blush came back on her cheeks, “—when my emotions get the better of me. I…”
She stopped again and her blush deepened before she took a deep breath and straightened her spine, her skirt rustling. “Well…suffice to say, I didn’t and don’t want to waste your time. That’s not the point of the diplomacy, and I know that you’re probably sick of all the songs and dances we put on in this Kingdom when it comes to politics—”
“You’re not entirely wrong,” Bog replied, smiling wryly. “Particularly when your King is the one singing and dancing them.”
Marianne snorted before controlling herself. “Regardless, I wanted you to know how deeply we appreciated everything you’ve done this past season.” She laid her hand on his forearm, and Bog felt a prickling warmth flood from the spot, her the press of her palm sinking into him like something he had no words for—
Marianne continued on, oblivious of the effect such a simple touch was having on him, and Bog fought to regain what control he could and pay attention to her words. “—practically sang about how much the fireroot helped them this season. You know how much music means to this Kingdom, so that’s huge coming from them. And then to have invited you to one of their communal sings—!”
She stopped and exhaled, a great gust of pleasure. “I knew it was going to be a success. But to have such an outpouring, to have them make such a point of singing your praises to everyone, and to see them greet your people with such good cheer…”
Bog smiled with pleased wryness. “It almost makes this Winter worth it.”
Marianne looked at him concernedly. “What do you mean?”
Bog immediately wished he hadn’t said anything. “Nothing, it’s nothing, I promise you—”
She didn’t need to hear about how he had fared, after all—
Marianne put her hands on her hips and gave him a stern look, her manner so like his mother’s that Bog almost laughed.
Instead, he tried not to do her any disservice and fought to find the right words, ones that would pacify and yet inform, divulge and yet not be steeped in self-pity. “This Winter…”
Was hell? Hateful? A bane because you were gone?
Bog cleared his throat and raised a shoulder, setting his scales to crackle as he dropped his gaze away from her, feeling something close to almost…bashful? “Well…it seemed a long one.”
He couldn’t very well tell her it was made all the longer by her absence, after all, he wasn’t about to pile on meaningless guilt, not when she was here now—
“I know what you mean.” She turned and walked to the table, leaning against with a carelessness one wouldn’t think would come from a Queen. The gesture was so familiar and welcome that Bog only just restrained his pleasure at it in a half smile.
Marianne caught it and a smile of her own blossomed upon her face as she took him in, the look in her eyes fond. “I hope at the very least yours was better than mine.”
Doubtful, that. But there was something beneath that amber-gold gleam, something staining her tone that made Bog look at her in concern as he joined her at the table. “It was a trying Winter for you as well?”
For while he was sure any Fairy would be nothing but happy to be away from the snows and drenched in sunshine, Marianne was different. He had reread her letter enough times to recall her words, the cursive carefully constraining an unhappiness Bog was all too ready to remedy.
Marianne sighed, her smile dropping along with her eyes, and she studied her hands as they twined together in front of her. “Well, some parts were…lovely. Being with Dawn and Sunny, seeing Jasmine, that was great.” Her lips curved in a brief hint of a half-smile before it fell once more, and she fell into pensive, almost pained lines. “But, there…there was…other stuff.” Her brow furrowed, and her lip curled. “Council stuff.”
Bog drew his head up at that, a sage and sad understanding in his voice. “Ah.”
“Right.” Marianne rolled her eyes, an unhappy scowl twisting her fine features. “Shockingly, they weren’t pleased with my reports about all that you and I accomplished this Fall, nor by the fact that I was still so eager to continue working on our diplomatic aims even during our stay in the Southern Fairy Empire. Apparently, they were under the impression that a Winter away from y—”
She stopped and flushed before continuing, speaking with what seemed to be more care. “A Winter away from here would have caused the flame of my enthusiasm to cool.” She smirked unhappily. “So to speak.”
Bog looked at her, her small stature smaller in her unhappiness as her shoulders drew up and she crossed her arms in front of her, and a positive deluge of distress made his fingers twitch with the need to reach out to her as she stood by the table, take her hand, comfort her somehow.
He set his jaw and contented himself with moving closer, hoping that his voice held some of the pained sympathy so heavy in his heart. “Ah’m sorry…”
Disquietingly, Marianne seemed to withdraw further at that, ducking her head down as she spoke once more, her voice strangely dull. “I wouldn’t have minded so much, but then they…” she sighed gustily before raising her head to meet Bog’s worried gaze, her face almost brutally blank. “They apparently used the Fall to do some brainstorming sessions themselves, to think of ways to improve the moral of the Kingdom other than diplomacy.”
Bog blinked before sputtering in his shock. “But…it’s a success! We know it to be—”
Marianne laughed, soft and bitter. “Like they would let that stop them. Prejudice is a weed that never stops. It just finds new ways to grow back.” She ran a hand through her hair, rough enough that her crown was set slightly askew, sighing as she did so. “The Council had many…” her lip curled, “…suggestions for alternate ways in which to improve the moral of the Kingdom.” Her voice became dull once more. “One way garnered almost…unequivocal support.”
Bog raised a scaly brow at her, trying to ignore the foreboding unfurling in him like some awful bloom. “Which is…?”
She looked away. “An heir to the throne.”
Bog could only stare at her in the silence that followed, the slow rise of horror within him sticking in his throat, stopping him from speaking.
No…oh gods, no…
Marianne’s shoulders rose and fell with her silent, deep inhale, before she looked up with a briskness that bordered on brusque. She then turned to the table with a tenseness in her shoulders that traveled down her wings as she began to sort through the papers on the tabletop, gathering and shuffling them in a forceful manner that seemed to hold no true rhyme or reason. “Like that will happen. Still, good to know that they recognize my worth.” Her voice was as bitter as belladonna seeds, brittle as bones. “Roland’s the King. I’m the breeder.”
Bog stared at her, horrified at the resignation in her voice, and the words left his mouth before he could even think. “You’re the heir to the throne.”
She looked up at him sharply, her brow furrowing, the papers slacking out of her grip.
Bog continued, urgent and low, determined to make her see, make her understand that she was not – that she was so much more – “You were born to rule, a royal by blood and character. He had to marry you to get whatever power he has. He is nothing without you.”
He is nothing compared to you.
Marianne’s wide eyes were had grown wider still, and she was so silent as she stared at him Bog wondered if her very breath had stopped. The look in her eyes was one of an almost unnerving intensity, as if there was a chance that if she were to give even the merest blink, he would disappear.
And she desperately didn’t want that…
The thought came so suddenly that it was Bog who blinked, before furiously focusing on something else so he would not follow such an idea. Looking away, he cleared his throat, shrugging his shoulders with a crackle of scales. “B-besides, if the need for the heir was so very pressing…” he paused to look at Marianne, careful cautious concern at odds with honest confusion, “…is not adoption an equal path to parenthood?”
Marianne blinked and started, passing a hand through her hair once more and making a noise that was somehow a huff of laughter and a shaky exhale. “It…it absolutely is, but…the Council isn’t concerned about parenthood. They want an heir. Someone to continue the royal bloodline. I’m pretty sure there some horrible old archaic laws about it too.” She crossed her arms once more and slumped against the table, her face somewhere between rueful and wrathful. “I would love to destroy them, but fat chance of that happening.”
Bog shook his head, appalled. “But if you chose the child—!”
Marianne’s voice was horribly flat. “In their eyes, the symbolism of blood trumps the power of choice, even if it comes from a Queen.” She paused before continuing, her voice turning soft, a melancholy murmur. “Besides…no matter how badly I want—” she stopped to take a breath, so deeply it was almost a shudder, before continuing with a detached determination that was honestly dreadful. “I couldn’t live with myself, bringing in an innocent child into such a sham of a—”
She stopped again, took another breath, and closed her eyes. “Into a marriage like Roland’s and mine. I don’t…I can’t do that. I won’t do that.” She then sighed, uncrossing her arms to press a hand to the back of her neck. “Besides, I don’t think Roland has ever wanted to be a father.”
She then shrugged, turning her head away with a determinedly blasé air that made Bog’s heart ache anew. So careful to mask her unhappiness. “Anyway, I decided long ago to pass the throne onto Dawn and Sunny. Sunny might not be able to be recognized as King, but everyone will be happy to have Dawn on the throne.”
Bog silently ruminated over this news, considering the implications of it. To have an Elf on the throne would no doubt cause no small amount of chaos in the Fairy Kingdom. Marianne was wise to play to the power and popularity that her sister held over the court, and undoubtedly she had considered the support those in the Fields would give to her brother-in-law, even if it was only her sister who bore an actual title.
Yet there was one detail that was distracting him…
Bog his lower lip a slow pass of his tongue, wondering if he even dared pursue such a train of thought. Surely it would hurt her further still to discuss—
“You can ask it, whatever it is.”
He started and looked up, and Marianne gave him a smirk that didn’t negate the weary fondness in her eyes as she looked at him. “I know you well enough by now to tell when you’re trying to hold yourself back from doing something. And I always prefer answering questions then dealing with assumptions.”
Right. Bog swallowed and scratched at the back of his neck, nervous nonetheless. “You…said you believe your husband has never wanted to…to enter parenthood. Would…would you…?”
Marianne looked at him with those large, luminescent eyes, eyes that could give him so much but gave nothing to him now, and Bog wondered if he had made a fatal mistake.
Then she turned to the table, her easy casualness almost surreal, leaving Bog to look at her back, the gentle shifting of her wings.
Her voice was clear and calm when she spoke, her hands busying themselves with another bundle of paper. “I suppose that’s what makes it such a shame. I…”
She paused, then slowly and softly set the papers down to the table. Bog saw the slight tilt to her chin that kept her face even more away from him.
And gods help him, but he couldn’t stop himself from taking that one worried step to her, his tread almost timid.
Marianne must have sensed him all the same and turned back to face him. Though her face wore an inscrutable expression, her eyes were down and withdrawn, gone to some secret, silent pain. Yet when she spoke, her voice was still collected. “I always wanted to be a mother.”
Bog lowered his eyes, his heart giving an even fiercer ache, unable to look at her as the sight would bring even more pain, a reminder of all that she was and all that she was unable to be. Fiercely protective, forthright and fair, warm and compassionate and kind…she would be a wonderful mother, and now…
Gods, but it’s so wretchedly unfair.
Bog exhaled, slow and steady. Like his unhappiness at her own would make her feel any bloody better.
Then a thought went through his mind with such striking horror that he almost reeled, aghast at the very thought, the very chance—
Oh Gods, please no, please please please no…
Marianne turned to him, going tense as a hare sighting a hawk as she looked at him, her face full of fierce concern. “What it is? What’s wrong?”
Bog shook his head dumbly, numb with the still fresh horror of the thought. He had caused her enough pain with his prying, he wouldn’t add anymore, especially not if there was a chance that they…that he…
Marianne set her jaw, her ferocity fierce as thorns and her concern tender as petals. “Don’t you shake your head at me, you’re obviously freaking out about something, now what is it—?”
“Ah don’…” Bog stopped and cleared his throat, trying to rid himself of the telling rasp in his voice before speaking once more. “I’ve troubled you enough with questions, I don’t want to cause you any more pain—”
“And I don’t want you hurt either,” Marianne retorted, her stern words accompanied by the soft touch of her hand on where his hand held his scepter with clenched knuckles. Her eyes were so soft as they looked at him, so ready to put aside her pain when faced with his. “Please…let me help you like you’ve helped me.”
Well then…
Bog ran his tongue along the edge of his teeth, wishing he could test the mettle of his words on them, taking time to taste them on his tongue before finally speaking. Even then, they sounded trepidatious as he tried to keep his fierce turmoil at bay. “You say that the Council has put this pressure upon you. Given how…they’ve frequently have his support in the past, I know how often your husband sides with them.”
He stopped and breathed as deeply and evenly as he could, even as the sickening thought pushed up through him like welling bile. When he spoke, his words were halting, trying to lessen the horror of them. “Is there…is there a chance, a danger of him…of him…?”
Marianne stared up at him, her brow knit in perplexion and still fierce concern, obviously trying to make sense of the implication of his words, and Bog could only pray that he wouldn’t be forced to make himself plainer.
And that if the golden braggart had done something that irredeemably vile to her, that his claws were sharp enough to gut him from stomach to sternum to stupidly shining smile—
There was a sudden dawning in Marianne’s eyes, and the same horror in the pit of Bog’s stomach was on her face, her features twisted in fresh and fearful understanding.
Then she looked into his eyes, and all fear and revulsion fled, leaving only desperately distressed reassurance.
She reached a hand to his, seizing it with the obvious intent to comfort, the clutch of her fingers so fierce his hand ached. “No,” she said, low and obviously trying to dispel his own horror, even in the face of her own. “Oh god, no no no, it’s…no, I truly don’t believe there’s a danger of…” she swallowed, the slender line of her throat working, trying to get the words out, “…of that. Roland wouldn’t dare.”
Bog closed his eyes, his relief was that great. He had never had to deal with the abomination of rape in his kingdom, what with all goblins holding it as the horror it was, but to think of Marianne in such a position…it tore him to his core. To hells with the diplomacy if the bastard so much as laid a hand on her—
Marianne continued on, tripping over her words in her haste to reassure him. “I mean, I think…I would hope that there are…things beyond him. The most he does is try to convince me of the Council’s ‘wisdom’, but…” Marianne trailed off and sighed, lifting a shoulder. “Roland doesn’t really…care about the future of the Kingdom.” She then snorted. “Well, apart from the fact that he’s the King of it. But in his eyes, it begins and ends with his reign. Besides, we haven’t shared a bed for—”
Marianne stopped, her whole face aflame.
Bog felt a wave of awkwardness wash over him as well, hot and prickling, as the weight of such an admission sunk through. As close as he and she had become, there still remained some lines that were not to be overstepped. And he already knew far too much about her marriage to begin with.
Would you want it any other way, if you knowing is a comfort to her?
Surprised, Bog tilted his head at the thought. The echo of old words rang in his ears: “You needn’t worry about letting yourself truly be…be you. There’s no shame in that.”
He had meant them that night, hadn’t he? Marianne had never given any inclination of not wanting to confide in him, and whenever she had expressed reluctance or embarrassment, it had been over her concern of his discomfort.
And he had never turned her away. To be sure, he had never let her know he had soused out Roland’s unfaithfulness, nor had she ever mentioned it to him, but still…as far as he knew, he was the closest thing Marianne had to a confident, besides from her sister and her pixies.
And who was he to shirk such a role?
He was the Bog King of the Dark Forest, and he had never turned down a duty before.
Meanwhile, Marianne seemed to have recovered from her humiliation and had shrugged back her shoulders, her mouth in a moue of resolve. “So…yeah. Roland hasn’t a chance to try anything like that. Even if he wanted to…” a look of disgust flitted across her face before she pushed on determinedly, “…like you said, I’m the heir to the throne. If he harmed me in any way—” she stopped and gave a wry smile, “—well, physically harmed me in anyway, he would have the whole kingdom to answer to. They might take flirting with other women lightly, but not that.”
She then sighed, letting her shoulders slump in a shrug. “Besides…I’ve learned to take care of myself.”
Bog smiled sadly, wishing he could say something to put a smile back on her face. “I don’t doubt you there, Tough Girl.”
Marianne looked at him curiously, her eyebrows quirking. “Tough Girl?”
Now it was Bog’s face that was aflame. “Ah—Ah’m sorry, that was—”
“No, it’s fine.” Amazingly, Marianne was smiling. “I just…no one has ever called me that. Roland always calls me Buttercup—” her nose scrunched in disgust, “—or pretty little thing. He’s never…he never would call me strong or tough or anything like that.” She gave a wry smile once more. “Probably wouldn’t think it’s ladylike.”
“That you put any store by what that fool thinks is a kindness he doesn’t deserve,” Bog retorted gently, daring to give her a smile of his own.
Marianne laughed, and it sung through Bog like the sweetest song. Gods, to think he had missed her voice—
Marianne smiled at him, full and frank, beautiful and beaming, and her laughter still colored her words when she spoke, shaping them into something beyond any kind of sweetness Bog had ever known. “God, I’ve missed you.”
She took a step to him, her arms rising, and suddenly his heart was in his throat—
Marianne halted before blushing brilliantly, her hands falling to her sides, twisting into the fabric of her skirt. “I…I actually had an idea I did want to discuss with you, one that’s…that’s sort of related to that.” She pushed a hand through her hair, her cheeks still carrying a bit of pink. “Missing you, I mean.” She stopped and let out a soft, deprecating laugh. “I’m sorry, I sound so sappy each time I say it—”
“Ye truly don’t,” Bog managed to say, and for some reason his heart was pounding. Gods, he could listen to her say that all day. Him, she had missed him—
She smiled at him gratefully before clearing her throat and continuing. “Well, the thing is…I know that you don’t like to be away from your Forest, so you can absolutely veto this if you think it won’t be useful, but…” her fingers fiddled with the bodice of her dress, picking at petals, and the look she gave him was hesitant, almost shy. “I…I was thinking of building a wing for you.”
Bog could only blink at her in his shock. “A…a wing? Here? At the Fairy Palace?”
She gave him a smile both nervous and teasing. “Well, yeah, where else?” She blew out a breath, a strand of her hair fluttering out of the way. “I just…I just thought that it might be nice, you know? Having a place for you to stay so you wouldn’t have to keep traveling back and forth. Knowing that…” she blushed again, her eyes ducking down, shyness once more stealing over her, “…knowing that you’re here, even if it’s only for a night or two. After a Winter without you, I…I think it could be nice. Would be nice.”
She stole look up at him, biting her lip and then shrugging in a determinedly nonchalant way. “At the very least, it’s a definite show of hospitality between the two Kingdoms, and maybe we can get both of our people to work on it, architects and laborers and, and—”
Marianne stopped with a sharp inhale as Bog took her hand in his, and even he wondered at his daring as he raised it up between them to cover it with his other hand. But it was suddenly rendered a matter of little to no consequence when he looked into her eyes, their great golden-brown depths so deep, so guileless and gorgeous…
He had had no intention of sounding so tender when he spoke, but he simply couldn’t summon up a damn. “You would give me a home here?”
Marianne stared up into his eyes, so close that he could see the butterfly-flutter of her pulse on her throat. “Only if you wanted one,” she breathed.
Bog could only nod, his heart too strangely full for him to answer.
Marianne blinked then ducked her head down, her free hand going to her hair and a blush once more stealing over her features, her wee teeth biting into her lower lip, deprecating and delicate. “I mean…if you really think it’s a good idea…I don’t want you to only do it because I’m a huge sap who missed you so much that she can’t bear to be without you now—”
“I did too.”
Marianne stopped completely to look up into Bog’s eyes, her own eyes wide.
“Miss you.” Bog’s throat was tight, his heart so full of something inexplicable and unexplainable and all for her that it ached, but he could only continue. “I missed you too. So much.”
Marianne remained stock still, her eyes still taking him in, her lips parted.
Bog felt the prickle of humiliation begin to creep over him, and he cleared his throat, his scales rattling as he shrugged his shoulders, preparing to drop her hand which he really ought to have done ages ago. You great prat. “That is, I, uh—”
The rest of Bog’s words left him in a gasp as Marianne launched herself into his arms, her hug fierce and strong, her tiny body clutching at his in a clasp that the flytraps of his Kingdom couldn’t have competed with.
Bog could only gape as he stared down at her, his hands hovering over her form, his heartbeat thundering beneath her cheek. She was—
He was—
No had ever, no one besides his mother, no one had ever dared to—
And she had—
And she felt so—
Slowly, softly, his touch as tentative and timid as a twice-burned moth, his hands settled over her back, and Bog wondered at the feel of the petals beneath the wide weight of his palms, so soft under his skin, so warm from her body…
A strange and sudden flash of something went through him at that thought, and Bog could only spare it a passing glance as he quickly discovered just how huge he was in comparison to her. The top of her head only barely brushed where his chest began, but her arms, slender and yet so very strong, easily wrapped around the skinny, scaly trunk of his waist. His hands covered the width of her waist and then some, and Bog found that he could just as easily span the length of her spine with them too. Now more than ever did he take care with his claws, his heartbeat hammering at the thought of her dress rent by him, or gods forbid, her skin…
He could so easily hurt her without even meaning to. He knew that, she had to know that…
And yet here she was, hugging him like…like…
Like she’s been wanting to hold you as much as you had wanted to hold her?
Bog nearly reeled at the thought. For him to feel such a way for her, that was one thing, but to have anyone nurse such a feeling for him—!
It was then that it truly dawned on him, the feel of her in his arms and the press of his palms upon her back and her breath above his breast all combining into a powerful punch of understanding.
She had missed him.
She had truly, truly missed him.
Bog’s gaping shock slowly faded into a slow and wondering smile. He looked down once more at her, this young Fairy so ferociously fine in all her ambitions and dearly held dreams, and felt his heart throb in tender astonishment. She would never cease to amaze him, would she?
And it was suddenly so very easy to embrace her back, not just hold her but hug her, his sudden gush of feelings making any stiffness of shock leave his body. Bog bent easily, his arms circling her, and let himself sink into the embrace and all the emotions it gave forth. This…
This, more than any blue sky, more than any tender furl of new leaves, more than even those wretched primroses, proved that Winter was utterly banished, that all cold loneliness had fled. Spring had come, and Bog felt a warmth spread through his chest like new roots as he held Marianne in his arms.
She’s back.
#God Almighty I can't believe this is finally happening...#TWO YEARS#IT'S BEEN TWO WHOLE YEARS#suzie's strange magic fanfic: between the shadow and the soul#suzie's strange magic fanfic#suzie's strange magic fanfic: crowns & hearts & broken things#strange magic#strange magic fanfic#butterfly bog#butterfly bog fanfic#butterfly bog au
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Happy National Make a Difference Day — Go Hug a Sheep!
At Farm Sanctuary, every day is cause for celebration as we honor the difference we can make by putting compassion first.
Today, October 28, is National Make a Difference Day — a wonderful opportunity to make the world a better place in your own special way. On this day, we remind ourselves that every act of kindness, no matter how small, makes a difference — be it volunteering; sharing a compassionate meal with friends; or offering one of the simplest and best gifts we can give: a hug.
Coincidentally, today also happens to be National Hug a Sheep Day — as though we needed another reason to hug our ovine friends! (Of course, since each sheep is an individual, we only hug the ones who enjoy being hugged.)
Sadly, sheep sometimes get a bad rap — for example, calling someone a “sheep" can be seen as an insult, implying that a person is mindlessly following the crowd. In reality, sheep find safety in their flocks — which we think you’ll agree is is hardly mindless, but instead very smart! In learning to see and value these animals as they truly are, we can get to know each one as the unique individual that he or she truly is.
Sheep — and all farm animals — have much in common with the companion animals most of us know better. For example, did you know that sheep wag their tails when they’re happy, like dogs, and paw at their friends for attention, like cats? And as we see every day at Farm Sanctuary, each one of these amazing animals has his or her own unique personality and preferences — and we are lucky enough to get to know and love them all!
Here are just a few reasons why we celebrate National Hug a Sheep Day — and why we celebrate sheep every day!
Pals Amy Gaetz and Liam sheep.
Farm Sanctuary Caregiver Amy Gaetz has a special bond with Liam sheep — a survivor of neglect who found love and healing at Farm Sanctuary.
Liam loves to play (gentle) head-butting games with Amy.
“When he first came he was frightened of us and hid any time we came into his area,” Amy recalls. “But he very quickly learned that we were friends and had no ill intention toward him, and he became such a friendly sheep. He loves head-butting! One day, early on after he arrived, I stayed after work and played with him for half an hour. He just backed up, ran full speed at me, then stopped just in front of me, and head-butted the palm of my hand very gently — for half an hour. He never got tired of it. Now, any time I go into the sheep barn, he comes running over for head-butt games. He’s always gentle with me, and never seems to grow tired of our little routine.”
Dana Penman hugs her best girl, Connie sheep, while Jordan goat tries to get in on the Hug a Sheep Day action!
Caregiver Dana Penman has a special connection with Connie, whom we rescued from neglect last year. (Fun fact: Dana even got to name her beloved sheep friend!)
Connie (right) is mom to gregarious son Ash, who's growing up safe and sound at Farm Sanctuary following the pair’s rescue.
“Being there since the beginning of Connie’s life here at Farm Sanctuary, I got to watch as her walls came down and she learned to trust me,” Dana says. “Now, I get to see her grow into a wonderful mother and a one-of-a-kind personality. She is amazing and my heart is forever changed because of her.”
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Connie lovingly follows Kameke down the pasture — once you’ve bonded with a sheep, you are friends for life.
And Dana’s not the only one who’s been moved by Connie’s love and sweet nature: Volunteer Program Coordinator Kameke Brown shows us in the video above just how much Connie’s life has changed since coming to Farm Sanctuary. Once frightened, she now loves to show her affection for her new human friends.
“I have so much appreciation for the sheep friends I’ve made since coming to Farm Sanctuary,” Kameke says. “When it comes to our human relationships, there can sometimes be a lot of uncertainty and fear around the vulnerability of opening yourself up to love or being loving in those relationships. But with the sheep, they’re very clear about wanting love or attention or to be interacted with … they’ll chase you down or run up to you to be pet or snuggled! It’s taught me a lot about allowing myself to be open-hearted and vulnerable and it makes me feel really grateful, as an ally working in solidarity with farm animals, to actually be able to build relationships with them and to get to know them as the unique individuals they are.”
Kameke shares a hug with Adriano, the leader of the flock and a fan favorite.
Tour Guide Chelsea Jamieson also has a soft spot for our beloved flock leader. “Adriano is one of the first sheep I met at Farm Sanctuary,” Chelsea recalls. “I love his peaceful, steadfast, and kind personality. Being around him always brings me such joy!”
Chelsea embraces Adriano, who was rescued as a lamb.
Associate Editor Sam Goldstein is another fan of Adriano’s, but is perhaps even closer with his mom, Florence. Rescued from a backyard butcher more than five years ago, it took some time for Florence to warm up to humans — and these days, Sam considers herself lucky to be one of those people.
Sam and Florence spend some quality time together on pasture.
“Florence is very special to me,” Sam says. “She is one of the best friends a girl can ask for. She’s introverted like me, and tends to shy away from larger crowds — but there are times when I’ll enter the barn and she will come running across it just to say hello. She’ll find me before I even see her.
“Florence is the kind of friend whose friendship you don’t have to think about — you always know it’s there. I’ll sit beside her and rub her chest, and she will inch forward — gently stepping over my legs — until I reach a favorite spot on her belly. She’ll close her eyes and smile when I pet her. She’s the perfect friend to see when I’m feeling down and just need a hug — she is so gentle and welcoming and we can both feel safe just being in each other’s presence.”
Maddie snuggles with her best friend Ash.
Through our relationships with sheep, we may learn important things about ourselves. Just ask Tour Guide Maddie Krasno, whose incredible bond with Ash demonstrates how love is the strongest power of them all.
“Through his outright insistence to snuggle each time I enter his barn and through his eagerness to greet strangers with the same gentleness and determination to cuddle that he shows his old friends, Ash has demonstrated the magnitude of influence one individual can have on another,” Maddie says. “Sanctuary visitors who meet Ash are unlikely to forget him — his smiling eyes, his calming presence, and his love for hugs. That that is the difference I want to make in the world — one that is positive and ultimately evokes empathy in others for all sentient beings.”
Jessica hugs Mo, the boy who opened her heart to sheep forever.
Caregiver Jessica Due agrees. “There is something magical about sheep,” she says. “Maybe it's their sweet disposition, kind faces, and soft hair, or maybe it’s the fact that even though humans do unspeakable things to them, they are still willing and eager to love us. I am constantly in awe of the love they have for us and Mo has changed my heart forever.
Mo relaxing in the barn at our Southern California Shelter.
“Before Mo, I hadn't bonded with a sheep before — most of my heart belonged to the other farm animal species,” Jessica explains. “Then Mo came into my life with his kind smile, mischievous eyes, and graceful step, and my heart was never the same again. Sheep have now taken over a huge part of my heart for themselves.”
Erin Dansevicus enjoys quality time with her best friend Louise sheep.
Monthly Giving Coordinator Erin Dansevicus identifies with Louise sheep, who inspires her to celebrate the inherently special qualities we each possess. Rescued from extreme neglect while pregnant, Louise gave birth to twin boys Reuben and Summer at Farm Sanctuary — and despite her difficult past, she inspires us to savor the beauty in each day.
Louise (front) with family members Summer, Reuben, and Hazelton.
“Louise has a natural ability to be both beautiful and powerful, as if the two are synonymous, as if love is the power we are all born to emanate,” Erin says. “She is shameless in her desire for love, attention, and a good back scratch, and her natural presence teaches me to simply ‘be’ in each moment. She also reminds me to not take life so seriously – I am always amazed at her ability to make me laugh. I am so lucky to call her my friend and teacher.”
Kelsey Bomboy and Joel sheep share a tender moment.
Tour Guide Kelsey Bomboy has also observed that no matter what these beings have been through, they still have so much to teach us about the healing power of love. “Every day I am blown away by how loving, forgiving, and patient Joel is even after all he’s been through,” Kelsey says. He always has a calming presence which means he’s the best to cuddle with after stressful days!”
Ash, Connie, Brianna, and Bob sheep join in for a group hug with their good friend Brianna Symmonds.
Sheep have a special way of making us feel welcome — helping us feel at ease and reminding us that we all have a place. “Visiting with the ‘sheeple’ is such a privilege,” Tour Guide Brianna Symmonds explains. “It’s thrilling to know them and to always feel welcomed into their community.”
Breezy Rondilone enjoys a snuggle session with good pal Violet sheep.
“The sheep barn is the place I go when I need a little extra love,” adds Program Coordinator Breezy Rondilone. “Violet has a way of just knowing. She rests her head in my lap and my heart always feels full. Sheep really do make the best, most supportive friends.”
Bob and Ash welcome Liza back to New York during her most recent visit.
Even if a long time has passed, sheep remember their best friends. “After a three-month internship in New York, I became very close with the animals, especially the sheep,” says Volunteer Program Coordinator Liza Kahn. “I now work at the Orland shelter and only come back to New York for visits. When I walked into the sheep barn, they surrounded me with hugs and hellos. I truly missed them!”
Katherine sheep enjoying a fall day in the pasture.
There are plenty of ways to make a difference for sheep and all farm animals, on this day and every day — and it’s as easy as showing affection to a sheep in person or offering virtual hugs wherever you are. While visitor season is winding down for the winter at our New York Shelter, we host public tours through the winter months at our Southern California Shelter every Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. Not located in the Los Angeles area? No problem! You can take a virtual tour of our New York Shelter or check in with our wooly friends on the explore.org Sheep Barn Cam and Sheep Pasture Cam! Together, we can change hearts and minds about our relationships with farm animals by getting to know these incredible individuals and spreading the word that they’re each someone, not something. Making a difference is just a hug away — and we each have the power to choose compassion every day.
For more Farm Sanctuary updates, be sure to follow us on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and YouTube. Want to meet our rescued residents in person? Learn how to visit here. Want to help? Your support makes our rescue, education, and advocacy efforts possible. You can also help by sharing our residents’ stories to spread the word that farm animals are sentient beings deserving of kindness and care. A compassionate world begins with you!
#sheep#animal rescue#animal rights#animals#vegan#hug a sheep day#make a difference day#Liam#Connie#Adriano#Florence#Mo#Louise#Joel#Violet
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sara.ziegler ( Sara Ziegler, sports editor): It’s been an incredible couple of days in the sports world, with athletes using their voices in ways that are nearly unprecedented. The NBA is on pause again tonight, though games in the playoff bubble will resume tomorrow. Before games start up again, though, we wanted to stop and talk about what this strike has meant, what it might accomplish going forward and how the players are changing the conversation.
What did you all make of Wednesday’s strike?
chris.herring ( Chris Herring, senior sportswriter): I had already seen the reports about the Celtics and Raptors contemplating whether to call off their game Thursday. But then Milwaukee beat everyone to the punch by doing it themselves. And I probably should have seen that possibility there, given the Bucks’ proximity to the Jacob Blake shooting, and the vocal nature of their players concerning police brutality.
dubin ( Jared Dubin, FiveThirtyEight contributor): I think for me the biggest thing was the domino effect the Bucks’ decision not to take the court had not just in the NBA, but in other sports. WNBA players have been leading on social justice issues for a while now, and once the NBA players decided not to play, it made sense that WNBA players would follow suit. But seeing players from MLB, the NHL and even the NFL take similar stands was notable.
dre.waters ( Andres Waters, FiveThirtyEight contributor): The snowball of everything was what really caught me by surprise too.
I understood the NBA as a whole being active and speaking up, because that’s become normal. But, when I saw the MLB and NHL was when I realized just how big this could get.
chris.herring: Yeah. I was kind of stunned when the reports on Wednesday night were coming out about the player meetings. At one point, LeBron James walked out, and it briefly looked like the season might be over. I’m still thinking about what kind of statement that would have sent, if that had been the case.
I’ll wonder for a while what that would have done, or how things might have been different.
tchow ( Tony Chow, video producer): I remembered it took a moment to fully realize what was happening. Seeing the images on Twitter of the empty courts was pretty jarring at first, and you could almost feel a collective sense of “holy shit, this is big.”
dubin: Right. And at first, it just seemed to me like George Hill was going to sit out. He’d said earlier in the week that the players should never have come to Orlando in the first place, and then he was listed as inactive for the game.
Oh, and before we get into everything else: The coverage on NBATV was absolutely riveting. I thought Bob Fitzgerald and especially Jim Jackson did a remarkable job, and then Sam Mitchell, Chris Webber and more people kept rotating in and out and making it even better.
chris.herring: I found myself peeling away from all the coverage at times. Maybe that’s weird. But it feels weird that people have to put their pain on display for some folks to realize how serious the subject of police brutality — and the lack of justice when it happens — is in the Black community.
The pandemic has magnified it for whatever reason, and the players protesting did, too. But it shouldn’t take all this to draw attention to it. I’m glad the attention is there now, though.
dre.waters: The craziest part to me was when I saw Elle Duncan’s tweet about the only other boycott of a game in the NBA in 1961.
And seeing this boycott is about the same issue of racial injustice really hurt.
sara.ziegler: That’s a great point, Dre. Black athletes are still having to fight the same fights, 60 years later.
dre.waters: I guess I’m pretty young … so I had never heard much about the Celtics boycott. But as soon as I saw the tweet, my only thought was WTF…
dubin: It’s definitely uncomfortable to watch people process such raw pain on TV. It shouldn’t take something like that to raise awareness for an issue that’s been so glaringly obvious for so long, but if it did make even one person more aware and wake them up to how much it affects Black people (and specifically young Black men like the players are and the former-player commentators once were), I feel like that’s good.
What stuck out to me, too, was how proud it seemed like the former players were of the current players for taking this stand. That was a big part of what C-Webb said, and you’ve seen guys like Bill Russell say the same thing on Twitter and elsewhere since. Considering how often former-player commentators rag on today’s game and some of the players, it was pretty striking.
sara.ziegler: Kenny Smith walking off the TNT set was also very moving, to me.
I confess that I was a little surprised that they did decide to start playing again — I thought this was it for the season. Did that surprise you guys?
tchow: I definitely thought by Wednesday night, after hearing those reports about the meetings Chris mentioned, that the season was done. It was difficult to see how they would continue and get back on the court after that.
dubin: It didn’t help that the reports about the meetings were conflicting, depending on whose timeline you were following. I think that contributed to making it seem more like the season was over.
dre.waters: The reports about the Lakers and Clippers voting not to continue is when I really thought it was over, honestly.
sara.ziegler: And LeBron! Seems like it would be hard to keep going if your biggest star doesn’t want to play.
dubin: Right. When we heard LeBron walked out of the meeting, I thought it was done. But then within like a half-hour, we heard that the votes from the Lakers and Clippers were more of an informal poll. Or something. It was all a lot, obviously.
dre.waters: Who could imagine the playoffs without LeBron and two of the favorites to win the championship?
dubin: Plus, the Bucks were the first team to not take the court, and the day before, it was the Raptors’ Fred VanVleet talking about how the players need to “ put our nuts on the line ” to get something instead of just T-shirts and slogans. Those might be the four most likely teams to win the title. Their willingness to sacrifice so much for real change was powerful.
chris.herring: Yeah. The season would have been over — there would’ve been no coming back from that.
sara.ziegler: How strange will it be on Saturday to just go back to playing the games? I don’t really want to “go back to normal” right now.
chris.herring: It probably depends on who you’re asking. It might be a bit strange for some of the players. I truly wonder how someone like George Hill — who’s already said he doesn’t know why they went down to Florida in light of some of this stuff happening — feels at a time like this.
I think them coming back after a couple days will feel normal to a huge number of fans. And that, in some ways, is the problem. It’s certainly an enormous part of the challenge, with the media, too: Instead of focusing on issues, we inevitably shift our attention back to the games. It’s why stuff seemed to get through so much more at the beginning of the pandemic, IMO: There weren’t other things like sports to distract us from the reality of how shameful this stuff is.
dubin: I think that for the teams that make the second round, having their families be able to come down within a few days could be a source of relief. Not necessarily to distract from what they want to accomplish, but being away from their families when another shooting happened has to have played a role in so many guys just saying enough is enough and we don’t want to be a distraction right now.
chris.herring: Amen to that part. The family members who are quarantined are supposed to be able to join them on Monday.
tchow: I can’t imagine the story of what happened Wednesday night and why it happened will go away anytime soon? I’m sure there are fans or media personnel who can’t wait to go back to covering Luka Dončić triple-doubles and James Harden highlights and all that. But it’s hard to see a world in which the media at large goes back to business as usual and covering these playoffs without constantly reminding fans of what happened this week.
dre.waters: I’m really interested to see how they go about covering this going forward. Much like we’ve talked about all through the quarantine, what is the new “normal”?
tchow: Or maybe I’ll reword that. It will say a lot about the U.S. if, by this time next week, we’re only reading about the Lakers’ chances of making the Finals or if Russell Westbrook will return to play.
dre.waters: They mentioned in the statement that the league and networks will use advertising spots to promote civic engagement, etc. What does that actually look like?
dubin: Also, does that actually do anything? I saw Diana Moskovitz say that the NFL has been doing that for a few years, and I didn’t even know about it. Seems … not effective.
chris.herring: I keep saying how conflicted I feel about all of this in one sense: The decision to stop playing — not just for a day, but for the rest of the season — would have been monumental. It would have been the biggest statement you could possibly make. I think LeBron probably could have triggered something along those lines by himself.
I also think it would have been incredibly risky. Not every player could afford to do that. It could have triggered a lockout. But I also imagine it would have helped the players get a seat at certain tables and afforded them more power to ask for more action, or more money for certain things to tackle some of these highly systemic problems.
The feeling I had after hearing that, one day later, they’d agreed to go back to play was similar to how I felt when Colin Kaepernick settled his suit with the NFL.
No sense of disappointment on my part whatsoever. Because I know how much it must be to bear that weight on their shoulders. And it’s personal to their lives, as far as money and the ridicule they face by staying in that moment. But I will always be curious about whether more could have been achieved had they gone all the way with it and ended the season. We’ll never know.
sara.ziegler: I completely agree with you, Chris. I wish we could know what response would have had the best outcome.
tchow: What I would give to be in these meetings to learn how much it took for the players to agree to come back to play. Because this is such a drastic statement, I can’t imagine the players would agree without some reluctance. With the initiatives and commitments they announced, I want to know if the players think this is enough. Is it a good enough start? I have so many questions.
dubin: There has been some positive movement already:
Breaking: Senate Majority Leader @SenFitzgerald says the state Senate will convene Monday for the special legislation session called for by @GovEvers.
— Molly Beck (@MollyBeck) August 28, 2020
That’s explicitly what the Bucks asked for in their statement.
sara.ziegler: Oh, wow.
dubin: But it’s something a lot of people have said the past few days: For all this to be on the shoulders of NBA players is asking way too much of them. It’s so much responsibility and so many different competing and possibly conflicting motivations. Even handling it the way they did is pretty incredible.
chris.herring: Absolutely, Jared.
That part is so important: It’s not their responsibility.
dubin: Like, a) it should not have to fall to Black people to fix systemic racism; b) it should not have to fall to young people to fix systemic racism; and c) it should not have to fall to young, Black people who are separated from their families at such a fraught time to fix systemic racism or anything else, really.
chris.herring: It’s so bizarre to me that they’ve done so much to shine a light on all this stuff, yet people still expect more of them, as if it’s not people that look like them that are being shot and disproportionately killed while unarmed. That they’d play in the middle of a pandemic that’s disproportionately infecting and killing off their community, and play in a bubble away from their families. That a number of them have started organizations to support voting reform. That a number have spent time talking about solutions with police and people in their cities. And yet people will hit them with a “ What about China? ” as if the players don’t actually care about the stuff in their backyards and their own communities.
(I also think a ton of people disingenuously ask that question, much the same way people ask “ What about Chicago? ” whenever a community of folks is rightfully up in arms over a police shooting.)
sara.ziegler: ^^^ THIS
dubin: Definitely agree with that. But also, it’s possible for people within the NBA (or outside it) to have been wrong on things relating to China and 100 percent right about this.
chris.herring: Absolutely.
tchow: From the statements we’ve seen both written and those that players have read aloud or said to the media, it feels like this action comes more from just exasperation and frustration. They are TIRED. And I think that sentiment can be shared by a lot of Americans right now.
dubin: It’s exhausting and frustrating to me, and I’m a white man who doesn’t have to physically fear for my life in every interaction I have with police. I can’t imagine how it is for people who have to live that reality every day.
chris.herring: I’m quite tired of people being held to a standard of caring about something that the critics don’t hold themselves to — especially when the players appear to be taking actionable steps on so many other human rights issues that are happening in this country.
dubin: Also tired of people pretending that because (some) NBA players make hundreds of millions of dollars, these things don’t affect them.
tchow: YUP
dre.waters: AGREED!
dubin: Also, every player in the NBA has family and friends who are not in the NBA. They also were not in the NBA from birth. They had to grow up into the people they are now. So, they didn’t always have this fame or money or influence.
And then something that doesn’t get talked about a lot: most NBA players are, comparatively speaking, HUGE compared to the rest of the population. In a world in which police can exaggerate the size of Black men to justify being scared and then using force, already being really, really big could make things even more dangerous for them.
dre.waters: That’s a great point, Jared.
tchow: Yeah, one thing I’ve noticed recently is the number of NBA players who are sharing NEW stories about the times they’ve been profiled by the police and a lot of their interviews to the media have acknowledged that “when I leave the court, I’m still Black” sentiment.
dre.waters: Watching all the coverage of this should be a reminder of that. How many Black commentators and former players have we seen still mention that they have the same talks with their families and loved ones that every other Black family has to have?
sara.ziegler: I hope that white fans are listening to that — and really hearing it.
chris.herring: I’m cynical. But I hope at some point I’m wrong for being that way.
What Happened In The NBA This Week?
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Work, Play, Poetry
Work, Play, Poetry
By Anthony Domestico
March 4, 2020
The life of the late novelist Robert Stone was filled with improbabilities. As Madison Smartt Bell puts it in his new biography, Stone, whose globe-spanning novels took on American history and the American soul, had “a taste for marijuana and alcohol (and for quaaludes and opiates).” In the 1960s, Stone was friends with Ken Kesey; you can imagine how much imbibing that entailed. While in Vietnam on a reporting trip, he experimented with heroin. (He “snorted, smoked, [and] possibly drank it on one occasion,” Bell writes.) Yet Stone lived to the ripe age of seventy-seven, writing a strong novel, Death of the Black-Haired Girl, two years before he died in 2015. “A connoisseur of women of all varieties,” Bell writes, perhaps a little too forgivingly, “Bob was far from above the occasional fling.” He had an open marriage—so open that he had a child with a family friend in the 1960s and a tempestuous affair with a younger writer three decades later. Yet he stayed with his wife Janice for fifty-five years. By Bell’s reckoning, and it seems accurate, theirs was a happy marriage.
But the most pleasant surprise, for me at least, was the decades-long friendship Stone had with Marilynne Robinson. What a literary odd couple they make: Robinson the proud Calvinist and Stone the lapsed Catholic; Robinson known best for her quiet, lovely novels about mid-century Iowa and Stone known best for his wild, prophetic novels—A Hall of Mirrors (1967), A Flag for Sunrise (1981), and others—all probing the manic brain and corrupted heart of American empire. What must the two writers have talked about? The nature of God, I’m sure. (Stone in an interview: “As a result of having been a Catholic, I’m acutely aware of the difference between a world in which there’s a God and a world in which there isn’t.”) The nature of craft, I imagine. (Stone taught at Johns Hopkins and Yale, among other places.)
Bell was friends with Stone, and his affection for his subject comes through. Writing in the first person, Bell recreates trips the two took to Haiti and conversations they had about fiction’s moral purpose. Despite this love, though, Bell doesn’t hold back, especially when it comes to the suffering brought on by Stone’s addictions. The last hundred or so pages are difficult to read, an onslaught of car crashes—Stone was a terrible driver, even when sober—narcotic dependence, increasingly frequent falls, and an attempted suicide. Stone was charismatic, everyone agrees. He was also destructive, to others occasionally and to himself consistently.
Bell is an accomplished novelist in his own right, and Child of Light, like a good work of fiction, lives through its details. Stone “huffed as much oxygen as possible in a back room of Politics and Prose” before giving a reading. David Milch, the producer of Deadwood, put Stone on the payroll at his production company to give him something to do, and some money, after a stint in rehab. Annie Dillard and Joy Williams vacationed with Stone in the 1990s. (Dillard and Stone went white-water tubing in Missoula and saw a brown bear.)
Stone’s writing offers an imaginative record of America’s political and spiritual dimensions: “That is my subject,” Stone wrote, “America and Americans.” Bell reads this wild life and lasting achievement with grace and sympathy.
Child of Light: A Biography of Robert Stone
Madison Smartt Bell
Doubleday, $35, 608 pp.
Baseball here is a business, and Nemens gives it to us from all angles
Robert Coover’s The Universal Baseball Association, Inc., J. Henry Waugh, Prop. is the best baseball novel ever written, and I won’t hear otherwise. But The Cactus League, the first novel by Paris Review editor Emily Nemens, is also very good.
If Nemens’s debut is not quite in the same league as The Universal Baseball Association, that’s partly because it’s playing a different game. Coover’s is a postmodern novel about the postmodernism of America’s pastime. (We often care less about the game itself than about its statistical representations—batting averages and win shares.) Nemens’s is a work of straightforward realism. Baseball here is a business, and Nemens gives it to us from all angles: superstar outfielders losing fortunes at the gambling table; groupies hanging out by the bullpen; agents hushing up scandals; elderly stadium organists whose stiff hands can’t hit the keys they once could.
The Cactus League takes place in Arizona during spring training. Each chapter, nine in all, follows a different figure associated with the imaginary Los Angeles Lions franchise. Most of the particulars are right. Nemens knows that Notre Dame’s baseball team is in the ACC, and she nicely skewers the increasing encroachment of hot tubs and goofy sound effects in new ballparks. A lovely small detail: Jason Goodyear, the book’s self-sabotaging superstar, gets a signature sneaker—“the first time they’d named a shoe after a ballplayer since Griffey.”
Not everything works. No fan would call a pitcher a “fastballer,” as one character does. (At least it’s not “speedballer,” à la Bruce Springsteen.) No partial owner could demand that a prominent outfielder be traded because of sexual jealousy—and then have it happen within days. (Partial owners don’t have that much power; star players don’t get traded overnight, especially when their replacement has only played college ball.) Such details wouldn’t much matter in a postmodernist romp. They do here.
But the pacing is good and the prose generally strong. Nemens refuses to engage in the romanticizing many fall into when spring comes around. Bartlett Giamatti famously and poetically said that baseball “is designed to break your heart.” After all, Giamatti rhapsodizes, “the game begins in spring…blossoms in the summer…[and] leaves you to face the fall alone.” Fair enough. But Nemens shows how baseball also breaks your heart for more prosaic reasons: because rotator cuffs fray, because spring-training towns are depressing, and because billion-dollar franchises don’t give a fig about poetry.
The Cactus League
Emily Nemens
Farrar, Straus and Giroux, $27, 288 pp.
In baseball, there can come a point when you’ve so often been described as underrated that you cease to be underrated. Trot Nixon, for example: a decent right fielder in the early 2000s who Red Sox fans so often dubbed underrated that he became overrated. Charles Portis, the Arkansas-born novelist who was famous for being underrated and who died on February 17, never suffered this fate. There’s a certain kind of greatness that, no matter how many times we remark upon it, will always be underrecognized.
People who know Portis, whose out-of-print novels were reissued in the 1990s, probably know him as the author of True Grit. It’s a great novel, and it’s been made into two great movies. But every shaggy-dog story he wrote, every picaresque comedy of American naiveté and dreaminess, was great. His sentences display a funny, poetic, loose yet disciplined, absolutely American prose style. Since his death, fans have been passing around some of their favorite passages. Here are a few of my own. From The Dogs of the South: “I don’t believe we’ve ever had a President, unless it was tiny James Madison with his short arms, who couldn’t have handled Dupree in a fair fight.” From Masters of Atlantis: “It’s not healthy, locking yourself away in here so you can eat pies and read all these monstrous books with f’s for s’s.”
Rest in peace, Charles Portis.
The Dogs of the South and Masters of Atlantis
For decades, the poet and critic Paul Mariani has been a shining light for those interested in the Catholic imagination. We can hear Gerard Manley Hopkins, that great poet of the dark night, when Mariani laments no longer being able to see the “greengold grass, / glistening the bright skin of the copper beeches.” And we can hear Hopkins again, that great poet of the shining day, when Mariani describes “know[ing] that somewhere, now as then, the wind keeps whispering still”—the Holy Spirit moving and transfiguring always, even when we can’t sense it.
Mariani’s new work of criticism, The Mystery of It All, is a twilight book. Its epigraph, addressed to his wife of more than fifty years, begins, “Moon, old moon, dear moon, I beg you / answer when I call out to you.” Its final sentences read, “‘In His Will Is Our Peace.’ The very words I have etched into our gravestone.” In recent years, the eighty-year-old Mariani has been diagnosed and treated for brain cancer. This gives his epilogue, titled “On the Work Still to Be Done,” particular force.
Yet what is most striking about this book is how buoyant it is, how joyful is its account of a life of reading and writing. Hopkins, Stevens, Berryman, O’Connor: they’re all here, and Mariani attends both to their smallest formal decisions and their most expansive metaphysical concerns. “I have read and taught Stevens for over fifty years,” he remarks. “He is someone who never ceases to delight.” Great critics are able to turn the readerly delight they experience transitive: to explain it, yes, but also to pass it on to the reader. By this and many other standards, Mariani is a strong critic.
Here he is on Hopkins’s darkness: “All is unselved, untuned, and, just as violin or catgut strings go slack, all clear voweling lost, so do we, the words themselves as if swallowed, until ‘all is enormous dark / Drowned.’” And here he is on Hopkins’s sacramental, perceptual joy: “Look at the Welsh farmers with their horses in the countryside about him, breaking up the moist clods of earth: how the light shines upon them, catching the quartz glints, in an instant turning them into diamondlike shards of light—‘sheer plod’ itself doing this, allowing the plow and the sillion both to shine in God’s light.”
Even and especially in twilight, Mariani shows us the light.
The Mystery of It All
Paul Mariani
Paraclete Press, $25, 240 pp.
Even and especially in twilight, Mariani shows us the light.
Hopkins, who broke and remade form in almost everything he wrote, would have loved the poet Jericho Brown. The Tradition is Brown’s third collection of poetry. It’s also his best—the most interesting in form, the most wide-ranging in reference, the most daring in its wedding of the private and public, the spiritual and the sexual.
Brown has talked about reading T. S. Eliot’s “Tradition and the Individual Talent” obsessively while working on this book. Eliot’s influence can be felt in this collection’s sense of tradition speaking to, and being changed by, the present. Eliot’s ghost is here. So too are the ghosts of James Baldwin, Lucille Clifton, and Essex Hemphill.
Brown writes several poems in a new form he calls the duplex: a combination of the sonnet, the ghazal, and the blues. “Though I may not be, I do feel like a bit of a mutt in the world,” Brown has said. Queer, black, and Southern, he wanted to create a form that felt as unlikely as himself. These duplexes work by repetition and reconfiguration. Here’s a snippet:
My first love drove a burgundy car.
He was fast and awful, tall as my father.
Steadfast and awful, my tall father
Hit hard as a hailstorm. He’d leave marks.
Light rain hits easy but leaves its own mark
Like the sound of a mother weeping again.
As seen here, Brown often writes about trauma: the trauma of being a hurt child or a hurt lover; the trauma of being black in America (“I promise if you hear / Of me dead anywhere near / A cop, then that cop killed me”) and the trauma of being queer in America (“My man swears his HIV is better than mine”).
But The Tradition also gives witness to joy—in sex and language, in the traditions of black art and the black church. Brown was raised Baptist, and you can hear this legacy in his imagery and music:
Forgive me, I do not wish to sing
Like Tramaine Hawkins, but Lord if I could
Become the note she belts halfway into
The fifth minute of “The Potter’s House”
When black vocabulary heralds home-
Made belief: For any kind of havoc, there is
Deliverance!
That duplex I quoted from above begins and ends with the same line: “A poem is a gesture toward home.” Brown finds a temporary home, a form of deliverance, in and through tradition in its many forms.
The Tradition
Jericho Brown
Copper Canyon Press, $17, 110 pp.
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PAST VS PRESENT: YOUNG LOVE VS EVERLASTING LOVE
When talking about Cloud and Aerith, it’s unavoidable for fans to voice their support of Aerith’s past love, Zack Fair. In fact, a lot of fans still linger on this ship and claim it’s Aerith’s true love. However, Aerith had already gotten over Zack by the time the game started. Theirs was one of a young love – a “puppy love” if you will, that was never meant to last.
Zack falls to the Church of the Slum during his mission and ends up meeting the girl Aerith, who's trimming flowers. They both feel contented simply with each other's company; it's a platonic love. They think these kinds of happy days will last forever, but...
~Zack's profile; Crisis Core Ultimania
They attract to each other by mutual feelings similar to friendship, because they're both juvenile, if you call it love...
~Crisis Core Ultimania
They were never serious – Zack and Aerith. Aerith states as much in the game.
Aerith: Just the same as him.
Cloud: The same as who?
Aerith: My first boyfriend.
Cloud: You were… serious?
Aerith: No. But I liked him for a while.
Cloud: I probably knew him. What was his name?”
(Aerith shakes her head.)
Aerith: It doesn’t really matter.
~FFVII Script
I just have to point out how Cloud seems interested to know whether Aerith and her first boyfriend were serious. The game could have done without it, but the creators of FF7 deemed it was a nice touch to imply Cloud’s romantic interest in Aerith.
You have to admit this happens in fiction and in real life. Yeah, you can argue that even a remotely curious friend could have asked the same thing, but this exchange happened between two characters of the game who have been promoted as people involved in “a love that could never be.”
Another quote about how the relationship wasn’t that serious:
Although called my first love, that doesn’t mean that we became particularly intimate. I encountered him by chance as a flower vendor in Midgar. It was good for a little while, so I thought.
~Aerith’s monologue; Dismantled
So, how was the end of Zack and Aerith’s love affair made known to players? Aerith’s final letter for Zack in Crisis Core.
Aerith: Are you doing well? Where are you? It's been 4 years. This will be the 89th letter I've written but I will not send out any more. I hope that you receive this last letter. Zack! The flowers are selling very well. It makes everyone smile. It's all thanks to you. Aerith.
~Aerith's 89th and final letter to Zack; Crisis Core
Zack, the so-called ‘first boyfriend/love’, wasn’t even seriously invested in the relationship.
CLOUD & ZACK IN THE TRUCK:
On the way of escape to Midgar, which girlfriend did Zack plan to ask help from?
~Zack’s info; FFVII Ultimania, p.83
No offense meant for the ship, but this clearly proves how Zack wasn’t the least bit faithful to Aerith. The quote above implies that Zack had another girlfriend, or more. And we know Zack wasn’t planning on returning to Aerith.
Zack: What’re you gonna do when we get to Midgar?
(Cloud continues to bob his head.)
Cloud: ………
(Zack stands.)
Zack: I know what I’m gonna do.
(He crosses his arms)
Zack: I got a place I can crash for a while…
(He turns to Cloud)
Zack: No wait, the mother lives there, too…
(He scratches his head.)
Zack: Guess that’s out…
(He shakes his head. Cloud continues to bob his.)
Cloud: ………
Zack: Yep… gotta change my plans!
Source: z/erith isn’t canon anymore
You would think that Zack would surely be going back to where Aerith was because he was so in love with her – oh wait, he wasn’t. He’s not even gonna attempt to get back to stay with Aerith because she lived with Elmyra. Taking into consideration what the Ultimania asked about “which girlfriend was Zack planning to ask help from”, this implies that Zack has another girlfriend, definitely not Aerith, he would stay with. This just proves how Zack wasn’t the least bit devoted to Aerith, being the playboy that he was. It was something Aerith was aware of.
“Zack loves women, a real lady’s man” Like what Aerith recalled in FF7, Zack is very good at hitting on girls, and is skilled at flirting. In BC, he used to compliment a female member of Turks during a mission; in CC, he also invited Cissnei, a member from Turks, to dine together. Since “one who steals an egg will steal an ox”, Zack’s girlfriend, Aerith, maybe felt impatient about this….?
~Zack’s info; FFVII Ultimania, p.83
Source: Zack is a playboy and Aerith knew it
Considering all that, once Aerith and Zack saw each other again in the Lifestream, our flower girl gave the playboy a piece of her mind.
Zack: Man, you know Aerith. Out of all the girls I’ve gotten along with, you truly are the best. After that mission, we could’ve stayed the way we were and might have been able to continue to go out with each other after I returned home. I hate Sephiroth. And I hate Shinra who’s been hiding all the stuff they’ve
been doing.
Aerith: Someone who’s gotten along with so many girls can never become a lover.
Zack: How mean. I’m nice to everyone.
Aerith: And that’s your bad point. You’re not simplistic and awkward like Cloud.
~Maiden of the Planet
Aerith knew how much of a ladies’ man Zack was. This may have been the reason she didn’t really take their relationship seriously, although she did remain faithful to him. Enough to send out 89 letters to Zack over the years even after no communication came from him.
The end of the conversation also has Aerith pointing out how Zack’s friendliness with so many females disqualifies him as a lover. When Zack defends himself as a nice person to everyone, Aerith counters it by pointing out that it as his bad point. She also goes on to imply that Cloud’s qualities of being simplistic and awkward make Cloud the better choice.
Aerith further distances herself from Zack in the following conversation:
Zack: But whenever you feel lonely, call me Aerith.
Aerith: Only if I get really lonely. Goodnight, Zack.
~Maiden of the Planet
Why am I even mentioning Zack in an essay about Cloud and Aerith’s love? I’ll get to that shortly. First, take a look at the following comments.
Aerith's first love is Zack, the object of Cloud's basic personality of being an "ex-SOLDIER". We could say Cloud's speaking and acting like Zack is a big reason why Aerith started to have good feelings towards Cloud.
~FFVII Ultimania Omega, pg. 29
"I'm looking for you."..."So you won't have a beakdown." - what Aerith told Cloud had many deep meanings. Aerith detected that the present Cloud is not the real him during their encounters. She knows it because of her mysterious, inherent ability.
~ FFVII Ultimania Omega, pg. 29
When Aerith thinks of Cloud and Zack’s similarities, she sees that the present Cloud is not the real Cloud. Her meaningful lines like, “I’m searching for you” and “I want to meet you” all mean that she has discovered the existence of the real Cloud, although he’s not aware of it himself.
~FFVII Ultimania Omega, pg. 31
“So you won’t have a breakdown..”
Aerith appears in Cloud’s dream, and she seems to console him with such advice. This line can infer that Aerith has seen through to the essence of Cloud.
~ FFVII Ultimania Omega, pg. 156
I know fans that have held onto the belief that Aerith never got to know the real Cloud, but instead was just seeing Zack in Cloud. On the contrary, Aerith knew how Cloud wasn’t acting much like himself at all and wanted to find the “real” him. And although it was the similarities that initially drew Aerith in, she soon comes to see how different they were and develops genuine interest in Cloud himself, as evidenced by the following quote:
Although in the beginning, Aerith felt close to Cloud because he behaved like Zack, her interest in Cloud himself grows and she is attracted to him.
~FFVII Ultimania Omega, pg. 31
The initial attraction Aerith held towards Cloud grew even deeper, with Aerith falling in love with everything about him. Whatever she had felt for Zack, it doesn’t compare with what Aerith now feels for Cloud.
Aerith was in even greater pain when she thought about Cloud.
She also had good feelings towards him. At first, she thought he somehow had some similarities to her first love. Even so, his looks, voice and personality weren't similar and he also made her think of him as a mysterious person... But it soon didn't matter. She loved him much more than her first love. Cloud was her hero and he couldn’t get away from danger. She saw him as someone full of confidence, cool and had the impression that he would disappear in an instant if she took her eyes off him. She wanted to stay by his side forever if she could. She really wanted to.
~Maiden of the Planet
At first when I met Cloud, I believed he was similar to Zack. Little actions, the way he spoke… his kindness. But Cloud is Cloud. I, now undoubtedly, love Cloud much more than Zack.
~Aerith’s monologue in Gongaga; Dismantled
If that wasn’t clear enough, let me repeat it: Aerith’s current feelings of love for Cloud surpasses her past feelings for Zack.
JAPANESE: クラウドは女の友人であり、恋人であり
FRENCH: Cloud avait ete son ami, et son amant
GERMAN: Cloud war ihr Freund, ihr Geliebter
English translation: Cloud was the woman’s friend, and lover…
~Case of Lifestream: White; Translated from the Japanese, French and German versions
Whether in fiction or in real life, it is not uncommon for a person to be interested in another potential romance because of physical similarities to an old one. There is absolutely no reason for those involved not to recognize how a current attraction differs from the past as they get to know more about each other. So please don’t use Aerith’s observation of the similarities between Cloud and Zack as a case against the fact that Aerith truly fell in love with Cloud as who is really is as the game progressed, especially when Aerith, the very woman whose feelings are questioned, stated as much so many times.
Whatever Zack and Aerith had before, it’s all in the past and Aerith has put it behind her. And despite what the fans of the Z/erith ship would like you to believe, Aerith isn’t the least bit interested in getting back together with him.
Cloud is Aerith’s present and her future, even if that future is one wherein she stays in the Lifestream. Our flower girl is wholly and utterly devoted to her bodyguard. In fact, Aerith will be waiting for Cloud when he finally finds her in the Promised Land.
NOTE: Take this as me setting you up for the essay which will cover Aerith’s selfless love for and devotion to Cloud, which I will get to posting after I lay more of the groundwork.
Sources: [X] ; [X]
#clerith#pro-Clerith#anti-z/erith#final fantasy 7#final fantasy vii#ff7#ffvii#meta#text post#yeah i went there
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