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luluwquidprocrow · 3 years

Text

and i’ve written pages upon pages trying to rid you from my bones

originally posted: august 25th, 2019

word count: 13,060 words

rated: not rated

beatrice/bertrand/lemony

heavy angst, canon compliant, with enough canon divergence that makes the canon compliance worse, epistolary

summary:

and if you don’t love me, let me go.

[a much less than 200 pages break up letter.]

opening notes:

title from the engine driver by the decemberists

By the time you read this

I guess an at least interesting description of us could be like ships passing in the night

I think now is

I think now might be the time for us to

First of all, I have canceled my subscription to the Daily Punctilio, which was just a good move on my part to begin with, and second of all, I couldn’t believe all that anyway, but third of all, do you know, Lemony

You’ll think me such a damn hypocrite, won’t you.

Why now? Why would I

Why would you do this now?

My Heart and I

ENOUGH ! we're tired, my heart and I.

We sit beside the headstone thus,

And wish that name were carved for us.

The moss reprints more tenderly

The hard types of the mason's knife,

As heaven's sweet life renews earth's life

With which we're tired, my heart and I.

II.

You see we're tired, my heart and I.

We dealt with books, we trusted men,

And in our own blood drenched the pen,

As if such colours could not fly.

We walked too straight for fortune's end,

We loved too true to keep a friend ;

At last we're tired, my heart and I.

III.

How tired we feel, my heart and I !

We seem of no use in the world ;

Our fancies hang grey and uncurled

About men's eyes indifferently ;

Our voice which thrilled you so, will let

You sleep; our tears are only wet :

What do we here, my heart and I ?

IV.

So tired, so tired, my heart and I !

It was not thus in that old time

When Ralph sat with me 'neath the lime

To watch the sunset from the sky.

Dear love, you're looking tired,' he said;

I, smiling at him, shook my head :

'Tis now we're tired, my heart and I.

So tired, so tired, my heart and I !

Though now none takes me on his arm

To fold me close and kiss me warm

Till each quick breath end in a sigh

Of happy languor. Now, alone,

We lean upon this graveyard stone,

Uncheered, unkissed, my heart and I.

VI.

Tired out we are, my heart and I.

Suppose the world brought diadems

To tempt us, crusted with loose gems

Of powers and pleasures ? Let it try.

We scarcely care to look at even

A pretty child, or God's blue heaven,

We feel so tired, my heart and I.

VII.

Yet who complains ? My heart and I ?

In this abundant earth no doubt

Is little room for things worn out :

Disdain them, break them, throw them by

And if before the days grew rough

We once were loved, used, — well enough,

I think, we've fared, my heart and I.

-Elizabeth Barrett Browning, who knew what she was talking about

My Dearest Darling,

You call me a lot of things but, to be perfectly frank (not Ernest), Lemony, I think I’ve always liked that one the least. There was that summer where, among other things, Bertrand was trying to come up with nicknames for us in that charming way of his, and he came up with a real mess of awful nicknames and then I came up with the list we could Never Repeat In Public (capitals necessary) and then you said something very sweet to both of us, and anyway, we know what happened there, but the point of this is that you held us close and said, very seriously, that you would never ever ever ever ever (for the span of what I’d figure would be maybe two pages, short but evenly-spaced), no matter what happened, call Bertrand ‘Bert’ and that was damn good of you because Bertrand is not a Bert and never will be. We were right to veto Bertie, as well. He is a Bertrand, through and through. The other point was that you wound up calling us nicknames too but dearest darling was maybe the worst of all of them. Bea was my favorite. I liked the way you said it and I liked the way it sounded and I felt noble perfect unstoppable invincible worried fragile good when you said it. And that was good.

Speaking of, right now, Bertrand is with Kit, and don’t worry, they’re not talking about you (I know how you worry). They’re talking about boats and maps and cooking spices and Widdershins will probably come by later to give them both his version of A Stern Talking To (capitals debatable) about open water expeditions, which will probably be something like, ‘Fire this harpoon at anything suspicious! Aye! Shoot first and ask questions later! Aye!’ and it’s a real miracle that man doesn’t have a whole boatload of albatrosses hanging around somewhere. (Unless he does, and I just haven’t seen it.)

Bertrand and I—well, we’ve kept the house up. Even though he has that thing for natural light, you know what I mean. But we’ve managed to decorate it nicely. I got the Gothic Furniture (capitals required), he got his large windows, there is a last unopened root beer bottle in the fridge because every time we look at it both of us think about how you said it’s impolite to take the last one, and I thought, maybe I’d save it for when you came back but I don’t

The last thing I want is to

Bertrand and I, we’re going out to dinner tonight, because we’re still not all that comfortable with the kitchen yet. I mean, why did we get such a fancy kitchen? I’m sure one of these days I’ll come around to it and it’ll be fine but right now it’s, it seems a hassle, I guess. So we’re going out and I’ve already decided that I’m going to order this truly egregious amount of pasta and no one will stop me!

We don’t really have any plans for tomorrow. As it stands right now. We’ve both been sort of taking things as they come lately. Bertrand, Bertrand’s been very busy. Both of us have been busy, but I think he’s been trying to keep his mind occupied. A lot of us have. Even Hector looks more concerned than he usually does. I saw him the other day—not here, in town—and I didn’t think it was possible for Hector to look that harried. So much has been happening lately, I feel like even I haven’t had time to catch my breath, even in this part of the city. It’s like everything’s been going a mile a minute, taking me with it, and the moments where it stops, the moments where I have the time to think, are unbearably, agonizingly slow. But most of my life has been like that, you know.

And I know, I know you are too. Busy. And concerned.

I know.

When you

Did you

The last performance of our play was three days ago. Since the Daily Punctilio doesn’t have a theater section anymore, Bertrand and I haven’t been reading any rave reviews but we were rereading but, what can you do. Geraldine’s moved on to some other column now too, something about, I don’t even know, tax evasion? Shoes? I can never understand a single thing she writes. Even that ‘Secret Organizations You Should Know About’ thing didn’t even pan out, can you believe that? All she did was write about Esmé! All that trouble for

It looks like it’ll be the last play for a while. I know they wanted us to go on longer, but, well, that’s how it has to be. Don’t know what I’m going to do with myself without a script to lug around, but I’ll probably memorize something for kicks. Gilda Farrell’s lines, maybe, that’d be fun.

But it’d be better if you

This is really the first time I’ve had one of those unbearably slow moments in a while, and of course the first thing I think of is you. You and Bertrand have always filled those gaps for me, but now it’s different. It’s just

I saw Jacques the other day and he

Ramona’s the only one who hasn’t been so

I want to see you so much, Lemony. With everything I have, I want you with me, and I keep hoping that if I close my eyes, when I open them again, there you’ll be, alive and well and next to me and real. Or I’ll walk away from my desk and this letter and when I look back it’ll all have been a bad dream, the worst nightmare I keep stopping and hoping and when you’re not there and I’m still here I

I don’t know how to do this. I can’t

I didn’t want to do it like this.

I don’t want you to I’m, burying the lede, or doing any of this on purpose or anything, because by now you’ve definitely noticed how long this is (although, personally, I’m only at the beginning, but I have a feeling this is going to get long—I know I’ve said I could run laps around the city in the time it takes you to finish a single metaphor but between the two of us we both know I could go on for much longer and will), and you have a vague idea, or a concrete idea, or an idea you don’t want to think about, of where I’m going to go with this. If it was something simple it wouldn’t be like this. If I was just, telling you the news, I wouldn’t need so much time, and I need so much of it. I’m��setting the stage trying to making sure I wanted to I can’t just

I am a weak woman, Lemony Snicket. And that is a complete lie, you and I know, but I am a weak woman and I don’t want to be but my hands are shaking.

You and I. You and I know so many things.

So why should we

We both know how to make Ramona laugh, and the right amount of sugar for Olivia’s tea, and where Jacques will be on Tuesdays even though he pretends he doesn’t keep a regular schedule, and where Monty has his keys stashed in his garden, and everything possible about Bertrand, including what book he’s reading right now even though you haven’t been home in two months (it’s still that cat book because he says he wants to see the look on your face when he reads it out loud after dinner) (it’s still that cat book), and what kind of records Kit wants for her birthday even though she never has the time to play them, and even what Esmé is going to eat tomorrow because would you believe that herring is still in, to her continued consternation. She can talk all she wants about how good herring is but I still see that look on her face when she eats it! Every meal, Lemony! I’m giggling as we speak and I wish you could see her because it is one of the funniest things I’ve ever seen in my LIFE

Maybe those things are superficial, but they’re things we know about people, about ourselves, and that counts, doesn’t it? And—and I know what you look like when you wake up and I know what you look like when you’re fixing your typewriter and I have to help and I know what you look like when you think I’m not looking at you, and there was a time where that meant you didn’t look like everyone you knew had just died. You know what I look like at my worst, the worst I ever let you see. You knew it anyway. You It was enough.

And Bertrand. I know I’ve said it before but, you and I were so lucky. Lots of good things came from of this, right? The three of us, you and me and Bertrand. Our apartment and that wallpaper we took down in Bertrand’s when he moved out of his, with those horrendous yellow stripes. The cat we pretended to have and the elaborate medical history we made for it so we’d all have an excuse to go home early. (That poor cat, though. I don’t think it would’ve been possible for it to really survive like that. We should be better to our imaginary pets next time in the future.) Watching Bertrand dance to my records, which was terrible because we hadn’t taught him to dance yet. Trying out those new recipes. Keeping the windows open in the summer. The diner down the street, the ice cream shop on the corner, that night it rained and we all stayed outside and got soaking wet because why not? Bertrand making that excessive amount of soup the next day. You telling us we were the only things that mattered. Bertrand would push your hair out of your face when you were sleeping and I wanted to watch that for the rest of my life. I wanted it to be the last thing I ever saw.

Those moments, every moment. Reading in the dark, losing my glasses, you stopped dead the first time we were out with Bertrand and he was under a streetlamp and you both looked so beautiful and you kissed him for the first time and you didn’t even remember to be nervous.

And those million citations Jacques didn’t give us for public indecency during that spring he was disguised as a police officer. (He was definitely kidding when he brought it up. There was no way he could’ve seen us.)

It makes me so happy, to think about all that. I love you and Bertrand so much. I

Oh Lemony. I don’t think I can do any of this.

-------

In other better happier general news, Gustav let Bertrand and me see the pictures from the wedding, and then he archived them, because we agreed that was for the best, and Bertrand figured you’d probably say the same. I look absolutely stunning, and Bertrand looks incredibly handsome even though he finally admitted he agrees with you, that hat was not his style, and you, Lemony, in that white suit that matched Bertrand’s with those peach-colored flowers because peach is a better color than I ever gave it credit for and it looked so good in the spring because it was the color the wall in the living room turned when the afternoon sun hit, you look

It was such a beautiful day. Still spring, and right after Bertrand’s birthday. Us, Kit, Jacques, Ramona, Olivia, Dewey, Hector. Jerome was invited—or he was supposed to be, who knows what happened there. We barely saw Gustav the whole time too, since he kept climbing up into trees for better angles. The smallest place we could find that would hold all of us and be so out of the way. The cake Kit made, against everyone’s expectations. Ramona cried, because of course she did. All those flowers, no one could move the whole time for walking into at least six bees, but no one minded. So much love. It was palpable, and my whole body was alive with it, with such a soft warmth I could barely breathe. I don’t think I ever stopped smiling, not while dancing or singing or kicking my shoes off because such mortal trappings cannot contain me, or when you and Bertrand danced and you cried, or when a crow flew overhead and we all stopped, just for a single second, before every one of us decided not to care. For a few hours one glorious afternoon.

You look happier than I’ve ever seen you before and now I don’t know if I’ll ever see you like that again or forever and I’m sorry, I was right, I can’t do this, I can’t do this I can’t do this I can’t do this

-------

I’ve taken a few deep breaths and I’m ready to

Oh who am I KIDDING

Lemony I love you so much and I need you so much my heart is going to break with it

justice does not need eyes to see,

but truth built himself eyes

in the porcelain patterns of his world

and let them do the talking

in the skies he

so kindly

let them see,

with the eyes he gave them,

one after another

after another

i was something else

but i lived so close beside

that they could not accuse me

of being blind

but i could’ve seen everything

if i could see with every eye,

one after another

after another

after another,

every eye

a certainty,

every eye

the truth,

every eye

mine alone.

You told me when we were younger that I should give rhyming verse a try and, well, Lemony, not everything you said was good advice.

-------

I do, though. I love you a great deal. I think it confuses people. Besides the fact that some of them never understood our relationship with Bertrand (cowards), I get the impression some of our associates don’t know why I love you. Which is just stupid of them, and I don’t owe them anything, none of them are going to read this. It’s not their business why I love you, it’s ours. And I love you because

How can you explain why you love someone? Someone can say ‘they make me laugh’ as much as they want and sure it’s true but is that really why? Can you ever really say why? Isn’t it enough to love somebody, with everything you have? To say, that’s the one I want, for the rest of my life? Who could I possibly need to defend myself to?

I love you because I love you, because I look at you and think I love you, because I inhale and exhale that I love you, because every part of me only feels right with you.

I love you because you embarrassed me but I thought you were kind. I love you because I didn’t ever have to explain anything. I love you because you always came back to me. I love you because you made me happy. I love you because you didn’t let anything stop you from loving me. I love you because you loved me. I love you because when you took my hand I thought I could do anything with that love.

I love you because you were mine. I love you because you looked at me. And I love you because it was more than that, it always was.

I love you because of the records you played. I love you because of the time we taught Bertrand to make root beer floats. I love you because you’d rehearse our lines with us even though you can’t act. I love you because of the way you would stand in the kitchen and wonder what you should make for dinner. I love you because you said you’d plant strawberry bushes in the backyard. I love you because you could never stand Geraldine Julienne. I love you because we would all sit around the table in my apartment and critique the newspaper articles together. I love you because you’d never take the train. I love you because Bertrand and I found every shortcut in the city for you. I love you because you and Bertrand would knit me the ugliest sweaters on purpose. I love you because you would take care of the bats for me and you were terrible at it.

I love you because you were wonderful where it counted. I love you because we’d stay up late and watch movies. I love you because you would hold Bertrand like it was the most important thing in the world. I love you because you would furrow your brow when you read something you didn’t like. I love you because you’d take me to the beach when it was cold. I love you because we went on picnics in the summer. I love you because when I walked into our apartment and then when I walked into our house it always felt like home. I love you because we made up that cat. I love you because you’d sing with me. I love you because Bertrand would take us bird-watching and name the birds with us. I love you because you bought me flowers.

I love you because you told me what happened. I love you because we went back there with you. I love you because I went into the lighthouse. I love you because I wasn’t going to not go. I love you because no one else would’ve gone. I love you because we let you walk out the door there and I knew you would come back.

I love you because we used to make out in the back of the movie theater and we’d take turns with Bertrand and then try to piece together what even happened in the movie when we got home. I love you because you used to sit in dark rooms with me and pretend we were ghosts and scare the other volunteers. I love you because we could just read for hours and not say a word. I love you because you let me cry in the bathroom. I love you because you would make up songs on the accordion when I was upset. I love you because I would whistle along when you did songs I knew. I love you because you would go out of your way to buy crackers. I love you because you would say things like “when we first met, you were pretty, and I was lonely” and you let me laugh. I love you because you would write me notes during class. I love you because you looked the same way I did the first time we saw Bertrand—shocked, and then a little impressed, and then irritated, because who did he think he was? I love you because who did any of us think we were, really. I love you because we grew to not care. I love you because we became people I was proud of.

I love you because you would feed that cat in the back alley on your way home and I would watch you from the window. I love you because that cat followed us to our house and then we had a real live legitimate cat until someone across the street put out better cat food. I love you because of the way you would read out loud, because you couldn’t act but when you read it was like seeing the sunrise for the first time. I love you because the one thing you did that was better than Bertrand was make tea. I love you because you taught me all your cookie recipes. I love you because we got you to sleep in the middle so we could protect you. I love you because they couldn’t take that away from me.

I love you because I’m here in an otherwise empty house, some boxes still unpacked, letting the dust settle, pouring my heart out when I don’t want to, because I do love you with everything I have, every part of me, every bone and every sigh and every drop of blood, and that’s the end of that. That’s all there is, I love you. That’s what it comes down to, I love you. That’s the only thing I want to say, I love you.

I do, I do love you. Lemony, please believe me.

-------

I know Bertrand has his own thoughts, his own opinions. He doesn’t want to admit that he does, but he gets this, look, on his face. Like he doesn’t know what to do with himself, he doesn’t know what to do with his hands, like he’s lost something special but it was there a moment ago, wasn’t it. He thinks I haven’t noticed. After all this time, he thinks he’s not supposed to be here, and you it hurts, is all.

And as much as Bertrand is a part of us, indelibly, forever, just as you are, both of you so a part of me that I ache with it, this letter is between you and me. Not because it was the two of us first. But because you know, for as much as I don’t want to, I’ll say the things Bertrand won’t.

That’s how this has to be.

-------

So.

Olaf’s started talking to me again, which I didn’t think would happen in a million years. Although maybe I shouldn’t call it talking? More like, he sort of shows up if he knows I’m at headquarters (which is far and few between anyway so, really, what the hell?) and lounges in doorways with these big smiles and says these dramatic things at me instead of to me, which he can’t possibly expect me to believe. How stupid does he think I am? Because I’m not. He keeps going, hey Beatrice, have you read the Daily Punctilio? And I don’t say anything to him, even though yes, I’ve read the Daily Punctilio, dammit.

You and I both know what’s in the Daily Punctilio, and for a while I thought, maybe you were writing those articles yourself, part of another fragmentary plot, and that you’d tell me about it later, and you’d explain it to me, even though I wouldn’t need it to be explained, not really. But you didn’t. Not that you didn’t explain, you just, you just didn’t tell me anything. And you were gone and I couldn’t even see you anyway and that was what really made it hard? It wasn’t like I doubted you. I didn’t. I didn’t doubt you. I knew you wouldn’t do any of those things.

But everyone looked at me and they looked so damn pitying, like, oh it happens to the best of us, only he’s not the best of us. Maybe you should’ve seen it coming, well you know what he’s like, as if nothing had ever happened? As if we hadn’t grown up together? As if we wouldn’t have followed you to the ends of the earth because we believed in you? It’s not everyone, but it’s enough. Like some of them don’t owe you their lives.

Bertrand says that people deal with things in different ways, and saying those things about you is probably just another way they’re dealing with everything. Don’t you think it’s harder, it’s gotten harder, as we’ve gotten older? But they don’t have to throw you under the bus to do it. They don’t have to vilify you to make themselves feel better. They don’t have to look me in the eye like that, like I’m some, some poor miserable thing, or like I have to be protected, or like I don’t know what I’m doing, or like they can’t even trust me.

But what does that make me?

And Olaf would grin at me and I would hold my head high and look him back and spit in his face. I wasn’t going to let it get to me. It had only been a month. How long is a month, in the grand scheme of things? What does a month matter, against the beginning of a lifetime? And when a month became two, what did that matter?

-------

I wouldn’t say that Hector and I were ever particularly close, but I’ve actually seen a lot of him lately. We meet up for tea because he keeps saying there’s something he wants to talk to me about but mostly he sits there and looks at his tea and I pretend I’m not super uncomfortable. And then he insists on paying the check, in exact change.

When I see Hector, I think about Haruki. I know how close they were. And Haruki respected you so much, more than anyone else. As in, he respected you more than he respected any of our other friends, but also more than maybe anyone else respected you, because that was how Haruki was. Loyal, the best of the best, and so fierce about it. I wanted him there at our wedding.

Haruki was really the first person we lost, I guess. And I hate how we’re never going to know how it happened, because they say no one else was there, and the one person we do know was there, he’s never going to say a damn thing about it, and we all know that for sure. But I remember everyone gathering around to write Haruki’s obituary and how little we had to say. Not because we didn’t know him. But because, what were we going to say? What did we have left to say, who did Haruki have left, besides us? And what were we?

Hector looks at me and I don’t know what to say to him. He doesn’t know what to say to me. I’m terrified he’s going to tell me I should’ve known better too because then I won’t be able to stand it. But he just looks at me and I try not to cry and I’m trying not to cry now because he’s feeling it too, this awful business of feeling like things are starting to break. Sometimes I feel Hector is going to disappear, too.

--------

I guess the question I started to think was, how long was I going to wait. Bertrand and I had waited for longer, and then there were times where we never waited, and hadn’t we reached a point where we weren’t supposed to, anymore? But then, when you’re married, aren’t you supposed to do whatever you have to?

But doesn’t it go both ways? One half can do their part but doesn’t the other half have to do something too and how much is it before you’re asking too much but how long is it before you’re not doing enough and when you’re married aren’t you supposed to know the answers to all the questions, the right and the wrong ones, you’re not supposed to care and you’re supposed to be there and it’s all is supposed to be okay, and

We never did do anything traditionally, though, did we?

-------

I saved the article. I didn’t save all of them, but I saved this one.

-------

UNIDENTIFIED BODY IDENTIFIED

The unidentified body recently pulled from the downtown river has been identified as local ex-theater critic and renowned person of interest, Lemony Snicket, who was last seen surveying the river and saying, “How deep do you think it really is?”

“For the record,” said the local police, who preferred to remain nameless and sent in their response by postcard from three towns over, “it was three feet.”

Mr. Snicket was identified by a source who was also unidentified, but proved their credentials by singing a variety of showtunes for the newspaper staff, to great applause.

“Yes, I suppose that’s him,” said the source, when asked to identify the photo of the river, which was presented to them while they were drinking a glass of water, because they were parched after the showtunes. When the glass of water spilled on the photograph, the source went on to say, “Oh, that’s definitely him.”

The body in question disappeared as soon as it was found, but the police have no reason to suspect foul play, as no livestock was found at the scene, the morgue, or the local bakery, and neither does our source.

“Can I leave now?” asked the source. “I need to go pick up my glasses.”

Mr. Snicket has recently been the suspect in a number of crimes, including arson, lockpicking, theft, and jaywalking without a license. He has been described as “that’s not what I would call a grey suit, it leaned closer to charcoal.” There is no planned funeral service at this time.

-------

Bertrand and I laughed a lot, because it was the most outrageous article we’d ever read, and we kept talking about what sort of bakery would even allow livestock inside, and of course we knew it was about you, but of course it wasn’t you, because we didn’t know where you were but we knew you were alive. You were alive, so no matter what we read or what anyone told us, no matter who wanted to believe what, we knew the truth.

And, again, Lemony, it wasn’t that I needed you to explain. It was that I wanted you to tell me. I wanted you to let me in on it. I wanted you to call or come by and tell us, your husband and your wife, hey no big deal but I’m gonna fake my death for the foreseeable future, is that okay? And instead I have to find out from Olaf waving it in my face? I have to find out from some absurd article I shouldn’t have even looked twice at? I have to find out from people I thought were my friends telling me I should have known better?

I sure don’t need to tell you, but, we just got married, Lemony! And we had a house and a life and plans and no matter what happened, no matter what else we had to do, because there was no way we were ever going to give this up and we knew that, we were going to stay together, we were going to do this, what we promised, not to other people but to ourselves, and each other, and

Sometimes I want to think that you planned it like that, that you sat down and thought to yourself about the best worst way to do it and you thought, leaving us alone like this and faking your death and not saying a single word was the greatest way to break our hearts, especially after marrying us, that would hurt the most, you wanted to do it so you did it and you got away from us for good like you always wanted because you were never going to stay and you knew it, because then I can hate you like I’m supposed to and stop thinking of the way you smile at me

I hate that you aren’t a cruel person, I hate that you didn’t do it on purpose, I hate that the real true human tradition is that people are human and nothing else

How am I supposed to do this?

a bird up in her chamber

eats love for breakfast lunch and dinner

and steadily gets thinner

sings songs she won’t forget,

in the darkness by the lamps

says the shapes of lonely words

said by lonely people

in lonely rooms

to feel better about

being

what is a life with this alone

what is a life

like this?

“when we grab you by the ankle, where your life is ours to take

you’ll soon be doing wicked things, they’ll keep you long awake

when your whole life is a secret then you’ll be a volunteer

and you’ll scream a long time later, for

the world was never quiet here.”

-------

Bertrand has been making lists. You know his tendency to organize, but the funny thing is he just keeps leaving them places. I’m sitting on like, three of them.

To Do

-Check maps

-Apologize to D

-Extra key

-Secure boat

-Study family trees

To Buy

-Thick, sturdy rope

-Do they make portable record players?

-Paintbrushes (for then and now, so get extra)

-White curtains? Will they match? Check ‘To Think’

-Extra wires, no candles!

To Think

-Ask Kit about Bernadette

-Examine garden for hiding spots

-Turtles or foxes?

-What if it turns out to be true?

-Or birds??

Definitely not birds.

-------

You know, I haven’t seen Jerome in a while. Maybe it’s also been two months, I’m not sure. I feel like, even before the wedding, we weren’t seeing much of him—although it wasn’t like Jacques paraded him around or anything in the first place—but since then, I don’t think Jacques has even talked about him.

This means Jacques’s Tuesdays are open now, although you’d never know it. He still only shows up when he wants to. And if he doesn’t want to, then you have as much luck finding him as finding a grammar rule Jo doesn’t know. It must run in the family. I hate to

I had Kit get ahold of him for me. Sometimes I feel like I don’t know what to say to Kit anymore, which is unsettling, but Kit acts like she always does. She comes over and makes herself at home and talks to both of us like this is average everyday Kit business for her. I don’t know if I admire her tenacity or if it’s going to be something else I can’t stand down the line. I don’t know yet. She hugged me when she left, though. That’s just how Kit is. And I don’t really want to lose that.

I wasn’t sure if Kit would know, the thing I wanted to ask Jacques. I guess it wouldn’t surprise me if she did, but when I saw her I thought, maybe she didn’t know. She didn’t talk about you at all. And it wasn’t the ‘I’m Kit Snicket and I’m Being Purposefully Vague For Reasons, Now Deal With It’ sort of silence, it was the ‘I’m Kit Snicket and I Refuse to Admit I Don’t Know This Piece of Information, So I’m Going to Rearrange Your Bookshelves’ sort of silence. Still don’t know where she put T.S. Eliot. I think she took it with her.

Jacques didn’t want to talk to me. He’s too polite to say it, but I could tell. He kept making excuses, and by the time we finally got him to come here, he was uncomfortable and I was on edge. He came right out and said he couldn’t stay long. He knew why I wanted to talk to him and he told me straightforward that he couldn’t tell me.

I’m not proud of what I said to him.

-------

If it was the last day, but it probably was but Lemony, I don’t I sure didn’t know.

I will remember every second until the day I die.

We waited until after the wedding to move into the house, especially because the only honeymoon we wanted was for the three of us to be there together, alone, for a little while. It was on the outskirts of the city, away from everything else, and we barely told anyone. We didn’t even tell everyone from the wedding.

I watched the sunrise, the soft shadows sliding along the sheets on the bed, catching on the suitcases we still hadn’t unpacked all the way, you and Bertrand warm beside me, and I didn’t want to get up. We put the best bed in the whole world in our room, and rightly so. High bed posts but no canopy because Bertrand was worried about dust. Crisp white sheets and I was so excited to look when we finally got up and see the wrinkles mashed down in them from where we slept because that meant it was ours for real. That rich wine comforter that it was too hot to use the first night so we still had it folded up at the foot of the bed, but you had this look in your eyes when we spread it out like you couldn’t wait for winter and when we’d be squished up against each other underneath it for warmth.

That morning, I just wanted to lay there and savor it. It wasn’t like we’d never been in the same bed before, or that we even needed to be married, but! To know I could hold it in my hands, that’s what it was.

And then Bertrand rolled over and got an elbow into my side somehow and you mumbled something about Wedding Pancakes (capitals implied) and then we had to eat breakfast.

I checked. The wrinkles were all there.

-------

Bertrand and I.

We haven’t

We’ve been

We’ve been angry at each other.

And you know Bertrand, he doesn’t get angry, really, he gets, more disappointed than anything, but he’s. He’s been angry. At me. I know.

I get scared, because I don’t know what to do, so I, I can’t hold a conversation without yelling at somebody, and it’s usually Bertrand, and I hate yelling at him and sometimes he starts to yell back.

We’re not. Okay. Right now.

We weren’t supposed to do this without you and I don’t want to find out that we can’t, Lemony. And I know we can but I know it’s also not a matter of doing it with or without you, because that’s awful, I just keep wondering what if you were what held us all together and if you’re not here how are Bertrand and I supposed to go on like this. Saying the wrong things, avoiding each other, not coming home. I guess that’s how we’re ‘dealing’ with it but that’s sure some sick way to do it.

I don’t want to lose anybody and fighting for them means that I want to keep screaming until everything stops.

-------

Jacques said you’d be back soon enough.

I told him I needed to know how soon was soon.

He said soon enough.

I said that wasn’t enough.

I never though of Jacques as one to yell. And he didn’t really yell, he mostly raised his voice, like I couldn’t hear him. I mean I was definitely talking over him but it was because I could hear him and I didn’t want to.

No one can tell me anything I don’t know. I know they think I haven’t felt the same worries as everyone else but that’s because I never wanted them to think that I did. And I did too good a job, apparently. I know we live hard lives, Jacques. I know it requires sacrifices, Jacques. I know there’s no guarantee, Jacques. I know there’s things you have to give up. I know you can’t be childish or selfish in this business. I know we knew what would happen. I know sometimes no matter how hard you try, you’re just going to fail.

He told me to wait for you.

-------

After breakfast, we organized the library, because we still had so many things in boxes but we agreed we had to get that done. We put everything in, every repeat copy and every notebook because we actually had room for everything instead of trying to cram it all into smaller bookshelves. The library was the biggest room in the house and had that beautiful windowseat. (It still does. We’re still in this house, after all, but this moment, this day, just isn’t right now.) I’ll admit I spent more time lounging on it than I did organizing books, but, you sat on that windowseat with me, you knew how comfortable it was. I loved those windows and how bright the sun was (really.) and how good I knew it was going to look when it was raining. And you agreed, and Bertrand rolled his eyes at us, and I told him, he got his natural light, what more did he want?

For two people to stop lazing around and figure out if we were going in alphabetical order or by genre or by which ones most recently made us cry over lunch, Bertrand said.

It was alphabetical, of course.

We forgot about lunch, because we put the record player in the library until we could find another place for it and started playing our favorites. Bertrand could dance by then, obviously, we wouldn’t have married him if he couldn’t. We were very good at dancing together, after practicing for so long. No one was ever going to do a better three-way tango and we all knew it.

We picked through the fridge and some of the wedding gifts, once we got hungry and tired of dancing. We found out Jerome somehow still sent us at least thirty coasters, and learned that he apparently wildly overestimates our social life, because there was no way we were going to be inviting thirty people at a time over anymore, or at least, not for a while. You and Bertrand stacked them in the dining room in a cabinet, and those you organized by color. Then we stood at the window there and looked out into the garden (the best view of it was from the dining room) and talked about the flowers we were going to plant, and how Ramona was going to send us (express) a clipping from one of the rosebushes in her garden, the ones we’d look at during her family’s masked balls.

We went to the corner store down the street and you and Bertrand pretended to fuss over tomatoes while I was looking at loaves of bread and when I turned around you were buying flowers for me, red and bright and beautiful. We put them in the kitchen while we all made dinner (salmon, with cherry tomatoes). Somehow I found the time to make sorbet for dessert and it was only then we realized how late it was and we laughed a lot that day and laughed a lot then because we didn’t need to care about things like that. Our house was barely put together and we tried to find a way to use every single coaster from Jerome and we hadn’t had words with the city about the electricity yet because there was so much we’d had to do beforehand that we had to use candles. We all had matches, and we weren’t naive enough to think we wouldn’t have them.

I can’t tell you how powerful I felt, lighting those candles, because I know you and Bertrand felt it too. This was our doing and ours alone. This space was ours. We looked at each other over the candles, the shadows on our faces, and we’d never looked clearer.

We could’ve lived forever, in that moment.

-------

I called your brother a coward and I told him that whatever happened to Jerome now that he wouldn’t protect him was his fault and his alone and if he could live with himself that’s fine but I couldn’t if I didn’t try to do this and if he didn’t tell me where you were I was going to kill him where he stood and he shouldn’t even think for one second that I wasn’t capable of doing what had to be done and if that meant I had to kill for what I wanted then I would.

-------

You kissed us in the morning. You smiled. You walked out the door and then came back because you forgot your hat and Bertrand and I were still laughing even as the door shut behind you.

And then you were gone.

-------

Kit came by again, after.

We sat in that silence.

She told me that it was the one thing they hadn’t told her. She hadn’t known, until I asked Jacques. We don’t have anywhere else to go, she said, in a moment of unprecedented candidness. So we always come back.

“I underestimated him,” she said.

I told her she could keep The Wasteland, since it was practically hers because it had been yours. Kit smiled. She didn’t say much else.

-------

Bertrand and I aren’t the only ones losing someone here and I forgot that.

Jacques and I looked at each other for a long time. I tried to apologize and he kept shaking his head. He told me where you were. He told me he didn’t know when you’d be back—or if you would at all. He told me he was the one writing the articles in the Daily Punctilio. He turned away from me. Then he gave me his handkerchief, and put his hand on mine, and got up and left.

-------

What it feels like, Lemony, is like you

It feels like you picked

It feels like we didn’t matter and

And it’s not like we could ever choose or have one or the other I know I know I know but

We’re never going to be without it but I thought that

WE GOT MARRIED, FOR FUCK’S SAKE, LEMONY SNICKET

You picked an idea of nobility that you spent the past ten years struggling with and denouncing and promising you’d never

It wasn’t like we ever set out to save you anyway I

At the end of the day, that’s it. You picked the organization over us. And I didn’t think we were going to have to draw lines like that. At least not now. At least not right now. Because that means I have to make a decision. Because it means I can’t only think about me. Because it means I can’t keep waiting. And even if I could, I wouldn’t want to.

-------

I found out the other day.

I had a feeling, though. You just, you either have the feeling or you don’t, right? And I did. And I keep thinking about what your reaction would be. What you’d say. I keep thinking about your eyes, bluer than blue. I keep thinking about the world we said we were going to make when we were kids, the people we said we’d be. We were tiny and young and idealistic and you’re really only that way once in your whole life and when you’re not anymore, you can’t go back.

-------

We can’t go on like this.

stripped off my dress like a skin,

peeled

so you could see everything

not only then,

but always.

didn’t know i was doing it,

guess i never really ran out of clothes.

you took off you shirt

and I was jealous.

you only needed to do it once and there you were.

I thought.

but now I keep finding shirts

in the places where I found you

and I can’t

find anything

that was mine

to put back on

I really can’t do anything

-------

Enclosed you’ll find the ring. I know it’s not just the ring I married you with, but the ring I married Bertrand with, but whenever we look at it we think of you and I’m the one who has to wear it all the time and I can’t.

But I don’t want to give it back because what if it’s the only thing I get to keep of you? But it wasn’t ever mine anyway, or yours, and who knows, maybe Ramona will marry Olivia with it someday, and maybe you’ll be there, only you wouldn’t be if you got the ring back, you’d never show your face again.

And that’s not what I want, I don’t want you out of my life, Lemony, but if I give it back then maybe I do. Maybe that is what I want. Maybe I never want to see you again like this.

-------

Okay, I have to ask. I have to, because Jacques kept his mouth shut about this.

The last time you saw us. Not the day, but the morning, walking out the front door. Did you know you weren’t coming back? You just left like you always did, to go to the newspaper, before Bertrand and I went to the theater, and as far as leaving someone for good goes that’s so

Did you meet up with Jacques, or Hector, or Jo, or even Kit, and did they tell you? Did headquarters address you personally? Did you take an assignment from someone else? Did someone corner you and were you trying to protect us? Was that the only way you could do it, going into hiding and faking your death? Who else was involved, besides Jacques? How long was it going to go on for? Did they expect you to do it by yourself? Did you have a plan, did any of them have a plan? What fragmentary plot was it even a part of? Did you know you weren’t coming back? Could you even come back? Did it even happen right away? Did it start out as some mediocre assignment you were going to tell us about later and then what happened so that I was reading the paper and there you were being accused of things I knew you’d never do? Why didn’t they ask me? Why didn’t they ask Bertrand? Why didn’t they ask us? You knew we’d do it together, we swore we’d do it together, why didn’t you tell us? What made it so that you couldn’t?

Or did you really decide for yourself that that was it?

I don’t want to believe that. I don’t, Lemony. I want to believe that it was one thing and then another but do you know why I can’t, why I keep asking? Do you understand why I need to know the truth? Why I need to be able to put it together? Why waiting and trusting isn’t enough anymore?

--------

No one could ever extinguish my love, Lemony, no one, nothing, not a single solitary thing ever, nothing could do it, but my trust is a different matter. Loving someone and trusting someone are two different things and I know you know that as much as I do. You. Knew. All. Of. This.

-------

You know. If it had ended at the article. I might’ve been okay with it. I might have. Not making any promises, because we both know better than that. But I might’ve. I could’ve.

It didn’t end with the article.

Olivia had a short-lived assignment working the telegrams recently. She gave Ramona a very specific telegram. Olivia was honestly surprised it had come through at all. That something like that would be sent over such an insecure line. And of course she showed Ramona. They didn’t show it to anyone else. Which was lucky, because you know Olivia. She wanted to do whatever she could.

Ramona sent it to me. Right away. I got it yesterday. She said she’d never felt worse in her entire life. She said she was sorry. She’s the only one who didn’t sound patronizing about it.

J.S.,

AS WELL AS CAN BE EXPECTED STOP GOING ON FULL STOP

M.K.

I never liked Monty Kensicle all that much as a name either.

-------

Lemony I can’t help but think that you’re sick of me, sick with me

It wasn’t like I ever—like I did it to be similar, I would NEVER, because both of us had our reasons for why we did what we did, you on that train, me and Bertrand at the opera. We knew what we were doing. Did we regret it? Enough for it to hurt, on the wrong days. Not enough for it to matter, in the long run. But enough for it to stop me every once in a while, in the way I know it stopped you.

But, but did you think, you couldn’t love someone who

Which would be, extraordinarily hypocritical of you, not to mention

I know you still think about it and I know how much it

I paid my price for what I did, Lemony, and so did you, and I didn’t

Is that how it works? Is that what happens? Is this what else I have to give up, for some shred of nobility, is my life going to be one mistake after another because I followed an order and I though they were right enough? Not even right, right enough, how stupid—is everything that happens to me going to be because of that? Am I losing you because it’s what I deserve?

Don’t I deserve good things? Don’t I still deserve happiness, and stability, and love, and a family, and all those things I worked so hard for? Because nobility wasn’t the end of it for me, this was what we wanted, something better, something for us, something we deserved, and this can’t be it, this can’t be the only thing we get for all of that, there has to be something else! And if I lose everyone close to me because of this organization Lemony I swear I don’t know what I’m going to do I feel like I’m going to lose my mind like this

--------

I think of you out there, alone, and probably cold because you never bring a damn jacket with you anywhere. It’s summer but I’m imagining you as being cold, but I think that’s just because it’s sort of what you do when anyone thinks of someone as being anywhere alone.

Or, I’m just—I’m thinking of you out there, alone, for sure. I’m doing that. I’m thinking. About you. Alone.

I’m

thinking.

I think of you. Out there. Letting Jacques know, letting Olivia know, because you had to know who was working the telegram, otherwise you wouldn’t have sent it, I think of you going out of your way to tell your brother and not me and Bertrand and maybe you thought they’d tell me anyway but I had to pull teeth to get it from Jacques and if it had been anyone else! No one but Olivia would have said! You got lucky! But not enough! Because you still didn’t tell us! You went out of your way to not!! You! I think of you! Doing that instead of having the nerve! The decency! To tell us first! You!

How could you

-------

I think of you, out there—hiding in the middle of nowhere with only the occasional newspaper for company, which, let me tell you, Lemony, is a very frustrating existence. You know what? I keep wanting to hope that you are dead because somehow that would make this easier, I can be angry at a dead man. But I can be angry at anyone, can’t I. Dead or alive, it doesn’t matter. I can be angry.

I want to hope that you never sleep comfortably again. I want to hope that every sea is too uneven and every desert is too hot and every mountain is too cold and everywhere you go it’s too much. I want to hope that you try and come back and see how good and happy Bertrand and I are without you and you have to realize, you really did mess up. I want to hope that your boat goes down in the middle of the ocean and I know for sure! I want to think that you’ll be so miserable without us and it’ll never have been worth it!!

You’re out there, without us. Without me.

I hope it was worth it.

-------

What am I going to do?

I’m not picking. It’s not—I’m not capable of that, picking between you two, and I know you both had this ridiculous fear that I was going to, but I wasn’t, and I’m still not. I am selfish and clingy and I know what I want and I love what I have, and I love both of you and Bertrand loves both of us and I was ready to stake my life on the fact that you loved both of us too.

And I hate that I have to say it! Because I do! Apparently I do have to, Lemony! If it comes down to, who would I rather do this with, who would I raise a family with, who would I trust more than anything, and you made me make this choice, I’m sorry it can’t be the man who ran away from me! And part of me keeps thinking I’m not even me for saying that, I’m not, I’m not the Beatrice that was going to tear a room apart with her bare hands to get what she wanted, who would scale walls and climb buildings and shoot a gun and could ski and fence by fourteen, I’m not, taking risks, I’m not doing whatever I have to, and that everyone who told me Bertrand was boring (because there were people!!!) and safe and uncomplicated was right and that I’m betraying some fundamental aspect of myself by not even trying, and that I’m hurting Bertrand especially for making him a damn pawn in what I think my life is

But it’s not like I never did! It’s not like I didn’t spend years and years of my life trying to be a good person, trying to create the life I wanted, all of this is me, every ugly thought and every bad decision and every unfinished book and every theater script I keep leaving around places and every single page of this as I try to figure out where I want to go from here! And it just comes back to one thing, Lemony, just one thing! That we can’t do this! That I can’t have you in my life like this! That I didn’t believe it would happen but here it is, it’s happening!! I can’t avoid it! You walked away from me and expected me to be okay with it! You expected me to wait! You expected me to do it! You expected EVERYTHING from me and I only have so much to give, I’m only so much, I CAN’T DO EVERYTHING

And do you know what I am? Do you know what I am, really, when I get right down to it?? I am this, this awful woman with blood on my hands asking you for something that even I could never give anybody, not you or Bertrand or myself and I’m so sick of everything, I’m so sick of myself, I hate everyone and myself most of all, for being like this, for turning into this person, I hate hate hate hate hate all of this and how we were raised and what our future is going to be and what I’ve done and what is it going to take, for things to be better, for me to be better, for—what is it going to take, Lemony, for you to walk back through that door again and not do it over and over and over and I can’t keep letting you do this, I can’t, not to me or to Bertrand, I can’t keep hoping you’ll be there when I wake up and I can’t keep dreaming we’re going to die and I can’t keep pretending that anything about us has ever been okay or ever will be okay! Nothing about this is okay and how am I only realizing it now? How long have we been fooling ourselves into thinking that we could do this? How long do I have to be kind about this? How long do I have to play nice about you and this?

I’m UPSET and I’m ALLOWED TO BE and I

don’t

know

can

forgive

you

I don’t know if I want to. I don’t know if I can look at you anymore.

I don’t know.

Do you know how it was, Lemony? It was us first. You and me. From the second we saw each other in that green-walled room, it was you and me. Lemony and Beatrice. Root beer floats and being purposely mysterious to each other when we talked and being too clever. And I thought that meant we could do anything. We could die and I’d be happy because I was with you. As long as I had you.

And then there was Bertrand. And life felt different. Bertrand made it different, Bertrand made life different, he made it worth something else. And the bond that you and I had? Irreplaceable. And what we created with him only made it better. We had room in what we had for something so good. It really was Bertrand. I don’t know what would’ve become of us if it hadn’t been for him. And I saw that in you, too. You thought it too.

That was when I worried. When I started dreaming about terrible things happening to us. To you. I kept running from it because I didn’t know what else to do. I just didn’t want to lose you. I didn’t want to lose.

I’m scared to do anything. I’m scared to be wrong. I’m scared to know anything else.

I’m scared to die.

I don’t think you are.

I’m not sorry.

-------

Here are some questions. Here are some facts. Here are some things.

1 – I’m tired.

2 – I can’t even wonder if we should have done things differently anymore, right after that moment we met. In that room, I never imagined any of this.

3 – Sometimes I do think you lied all along. And that’s not a reflection on our associates or anything but just, see question/statement 1.

4 – You had to have thought about what would happen.

5 – How could we have a family like this?

6 – Did you think you could run all your life? Did you think that would work out? That Bertrand and I would be satisfied with that?

7 – Did you want me like that?

8 – What am I supposed to do?

9 – How long did you think we could keep this up?

10 – Was I wrong?

11 – What did you want?

12 – I know you’d thought about what a family with us would look like and I didn’t think you’d let anything stand in the way of that and maybe that was where I was naive.

13 – What would you say if I asked you this in person?

-------

After all this, I—

Bertrand has asked me if I have any spare pens.

-------

Lemony—

A long time ago, I sat in the diner near your apartment. We’d all known each other for a while, and you and Bea were very much together, and I didn’t quite feel like a third wheel anymore but I also didn’t feel like I was a part of everything yet. We were still dancing around each other, and I was doing it truly, incredibly badly.

I was in the habit of meeting Jo on weekends, when we would go over our reports together because we worked in similar places. We’d meet in the diner. I would arrive early and take a seat near the door. It had the best view of your window. You never turned the lights on, but I would look at it and think about you and—I’m completely serious—write the worst poetry ever to exist. You and Bea have always been much better at it. Jo would take it upon herself to help and suddenly they were these grammar-specific poems, which meant I definitely was not going to send them. Jo is many things; Jo is just not particularly a writer of romance.

I never told you or Bea, because it didn’t seem noteworthy, once we were together. But, things happen in your life and you wish you’d been able to say so much more than you did. I wanted to tell you about the face Bea makes when you aren’t there. She bites her lip and frowns around the kitchen when there’s a lull in the conversation in the spots you would usually say something clever. I wanted to tell you how the bed doesn’t feel the same when you aren’t in it. Bea says the wrinkles don’t set the same, and I feel like it’s emptier without you. I wanted to tell you that the hottest summer days—and I feel like there have been an endless amount of them so far this summer, humid and muggy and not the least bit sultry—even they feel cold when we can’t see you. I wanted to tell you that every time I do the laundry, I remember how you can’t fold socks. I wanted to tell you that I’ve stopped folding socks altogether, which has become quite the problem. Bea and I have stacks of socks in the bedroom now, which is just silly. I wanted to tell you that I love watching you put your hat by the door when you come home, resting it on the table as gently as possible, giving such a small gesture has such a big importance.

I took those things for granted. So much of my life, I’ve thought that loving things so fiercely and so determinedly could be enough, and I’ve relied on that love to get me through what we had to do. Even when the three of us weren’t together, I think I would’ve been happy to stay that way, because I could still love both of you regardless, and just that would’ve been enough. Just to be able to love you, and have your companionship. I would have cherished that always.

I’m the one who’s been so lucky, Lemony. When we all got together, I felt like my life began. I felt like you and Bea pulled me along into something beautiful and breathtaking and nothing would ever compare. I felt like it would always be there, for the rest of my life.

And I’m—

I don’t hate you. I could never. You need to know, that no matter what happens, I will never hate you. I can’t promise to not be upset with you, because I am, and a little angry, and a little disappointed, and a lot sad. But I don’t hate you.

You and Bea have such beautiful ways to say things, and I’ve always been so jealous of the way you two write. You told me that both of you were jealous of my tendency to be a little more forthright, at least when I got down to it, because let’s not forget, I did spend two months coming up with nicknames for all of us instead of just telling you how much you meant to me. But I don’t have lengthy or passionate ways to say certain things, is what it is. Actions, definitely. But when I have to say it, it comes out.

I love you.

And I wish you were here.

I never wanted to think about it, I guess. I’ve done a very good job of not thinking of things I didn’t want to think about. We do difficult things and live difficult lives. It takes its toll, and I’ve watched it happen. I thought if I held on tight enough—to you, to Bea, to myself—that we could escape some of it, no matter what we’ve done. And we’ve done a lot. We’ve been kept up in turn by sleepless nights and bad dreams and wondering too much. We’re not going to leave—not for good, and each of us know that—but it could be more manageable, together. We would figure it out, when we needed to. Perhaps I was a bit too optimistic about how well I could do it.

I hate to think it was something we did, or something we didn’t see. I hate to think that you gave up on yourself or on us. I hate to think I didn’t do enough. I know it’s not necessarily anyone’s fault. I know Bea keeps telling me I’m too kind for my own good, and I think it’s because I’m afraid to really feel anything. Feeling it makes it too real, something I have to actually contend with, and I don’t want to. I really don’t.

I want to say—I don’t want to tell you, I just want to say it—that I’m more hurt than I’ve ever been, and I don’t feel like I belong here without you, and that I think, you didn’t want to do it, but you knew what you were doing, and you did it because some things just sound easier, or hurt more but hurt less than others, and that I despise the people that we’ve become. I despise the things that we’ve been made into, and I don’t know how much of it we did to ourselves. I don’t know how much I can change.

I won’t lie, Lemony, because I’ve never been much of a liar. It’s been hard without you. Bea and I haven’t been talking very much, and we get into arguments when we do. We’ve been avoiding each other. It’s hard to avoid someone you live with, for a lot of reasons. But we’ve been managing to do it. I’ve been hiding at the Denouement. Absolutely, definitely hiding. Dewey’s not pleased but he doesn’t say no to the help organizing the archives. Bea’s been going to the theater, even though she’s technically off-duty for the next seven months (it was self-imposed off-duty, which I’ll admit was surprising). When we do talk to each other, Bea has a tendency to raise her voice, which I don’t mind, necessarily, because I understand why she keeps doing it. I have a tendency of late to do the same, which I’m not proud of. Taking it out on each other isn’t good or responsible of us, but it’s where we are right now. It is a miserable place to be.

Bea assumes I’m upset with her, but I’m not. I’m upset with myself, mostly. I keep thinking that none of this would have happened if I wasn’t here, that I made things worse. If you and Bea had just gone on by yourselves, maybe there would be so much less unhappiness. Maybe I was what made it hard for you to stay. Maybe I pressured you, maybe I pressured myself. Maybe this is my lot in life. They’re awful things to think, but I’m thinking them. That’s what people do, when upsetting things happen. We try to figure out where we went wrong. We don’t come up with any answers, but it’s better than sitting around feeling sorry for ourselves, which we do enough of too. I know eventually we’ll stop hurting each other, Bea and I. It just feels a long way away right now. A lot of things feel that way. You, myself, my friends, anything I thought I knew or had.

I’m being very unkind, to myself. That’s not your fault. It’s just something I’m realizing now. I’ve spent a lot of my life being unkind to myself. I don’t know how not to be. There are many things I don’t believe that I deserve, a sentiment I know you understand. It’s hard to feel like we deserve anything, even what we love. The more I think about it, the more I think, maybe that was why. And that breaks my heart and scares me so much, Lemony, that we—you—are capable of feeling such sadness.

Honestly, part of me wants to keep waiting. The part of me that is a fairly patient person is probably willing to do so. But the other part of me that is less patient and a husband to both of you is the part that hurts, and the part that reminds me that I am allowed to say that there is only so much I can take. I want you here more than anything, but I know for sure none of this is ever going to be that simple again.

But going forward from this, I want to feel like I deserve things. There’s only so much time I can spend regretting, or hating myself, or wishing that I had done something different. It’s easy to get caught up in all of that, and I think I still will be, for a while. I think I’m going to keep thinking miserable things for some time to come. But on the other side of that is something else. Not necessarily a happiness, or a satisfaction, but a certain kind of existence. Or, I guess, a kindness.

I love you very much, Lemony, and I can’t imagine doing this without you. I still don’t want to.

But if you have to—Bea and I aren’t going anywhere. We’ll still be here. I can’t promise in what way, but we’ll be here, if or when or anything at all. I hope you can meet us in that something else one day.

Until then, with all my love,

I wish you bluebirds in the spring,

to give your heart a song to sing,

and then a kiss, but more than this,

I wish you love.

And in July, a lemonade

to cool you in some leafy glade,

I wish you health,

and more than wealth,

I wish you love.

My breaking heart and I agree

that you and I could never be,

so with my best,

my very best,

I set you free.

I wish you shelter from the storm,

a cozy fire to keep you warm,

but most of all,

when snowflakes fall,

I wish you love.

Bertrand

face the sun

in the night,

find it in the night

in the pieces,

dig for it,

dig it out with my hands alone.

yes.

what I left –

fragments,

every last eye,

unwelcome.

piling it back in.

new sunlight.

-------

So—the sad truth is that the truth is sad. The real truth is that I never wanted to believe you were right about that. I thought I could get by on good looks and sheer force and well-hidden optimism and believing I was right. I was wrong. We were all wrong, some of us more wrong than others.

Where you went wrong is thinking that we—that I—would be okay with this. And that was where I went wrong too, I admit. The blame could be with all of us.

What I do know is that we can’t be together like this. Not like this. This is where it ends.

I don’t know what will happen tomorrow, or the next day, or the day after that. I don’t know what Bertrand and I will do. And the two of us—Bertrand and I—can figure that out. In whatever way that is. Whatever you’re doing, I leave you to it.

You will—always, always, always—be (somewhere) in my mind, and (deep) in my heart, and wherever (wherever.) (parenthetical required.) you are. Be it a boat, or a cave, or the city, or a grave, true or false. That’s the way you want it. That’s the way I will accept it. Good luck.

Beatrice

#asoue #a series of unfortunate events

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sweeethinny · 4 years

Text

You’re The Right One - Chapter 1

There are people we would walk through the fire for, people we never imagined we could meet, and for James S. Potter, that person is Mira Hazel. The temperamental madwoman who was in the compartment next to him in Hogwarts' first year, and who has been by his side ever since. In the fifth year, however, Mira begins to gain another angle through James' eyes, however much he doesn't want it. You shouldn't look at your best friend that way, let alone want to kiss her every time they're close. He definitely shouldn't be jealous of her. She is just your friend, best friend, and James should put his head in place and forget about all this crazy stuff to avoid problems ... But he never went after problems, anyway, they always find a way to find him.

AO3

first of all, I would like to thank @theroomofreq who is beta of this fic, thank you very much for helping me to put this story in the world <3 this is a story that is almost finished in the original version, so my days of creative block will not hinder her progress

that’s it, thank u if you’re read till here, i hope you like my characters and my vision of the next gen <3

Walking excitedly among all the people, carrying his owl and bags in the cart, and rushing his parents every moment they were less than two steps behind him. James grinned from ear to ear on a lively September morning, the one where he would mark his first school year at Hogwarts.

''Let's go!’’ He pulled his father by the hand, who had stopped to show Lily, the youngest of the family, the huge dog that was walking illustriously beside the owner.

Both Harry and Ginny walked slowly to enjoy what would be the last time they would see their eldest son until Christmas, when they would force him to return to spend the festivities at home. For the father, it was a joy to see that little kid who barely reached his chest, saying what a great Quidditch player he would be and that Gryffindor would be, certainly, his house.

'' What if it happens to be Hufflepuff? Albus asked, a little frightened by his brother's enthusiasm that morning

'' It won't happen '' He rolled his eyes when none of the parents looked at him '' I'm too brave '' And the two laughed among themselves, thinking that the son was a copy, much more genius should be said, of the mother and the uncles Fred and George. And Harry was not ashamed to admit, that he saw himself much more in Albus, frightened by that determination, than by the flames of excitement that prowled James eyes. At least not at that age.

'' Come on, you and me first '' James barely waited for his father to hold the stroller bar, safely crossed the 9 3/4 barrier, reaching the spot where his eyes twinkled, and his whole body shook from nervousness and anxiety. Soon the mother with Albus and Teddy appeared, as always, the calm face of the woman making the boy brake and answer the silent request of '' wait! ''

'' How do you feel? '' Wizards were everywhere now, there were owls hooting, cats purring on their owners' legs, and frogs in the clothes of some, showing only their big eyes.

'' Anxious '' He spoke the truth for the first time, still smiling, but now a little more slowly. '' Do you think I'll be able to fly? '' This time he addressed his mother, speaking quietly so that only she could hear, watching Albus and Lily listening to his father's story about his first day there, while Teddy made some joke about how old he was. Ginny smiled kindly, warming the boy's heart, arranged the hair that fell in his eyes and rubbed his young face

'' Of course James, but if you have difficulties, which I doubt, we can train at Christmas '' He nodded, more hopeful this time. If her mother, a famous Quidditch player, had told him he could do it, then it would become true. Right?

'' Let's go just before the train leaves '' This time it was Harry who stirred, pushing the way while James saw the faces that would soon become known to him. Whether they are friends, colleagues, or enemies. (Even though his father made him swear that he would not start unnecessary fights)

Smoke spread in the air, a lot of students - young and old - boarded the train and packed their bags in the cabins, then returned to hug their parents, be scolded, or just talk. Heads floated in the window, students laughing excitedly with the anxiety of finally leaving, and James couldn't help feeling different.

'' I'm going to miss you, brat '' Teddy ruffled his brother's at heart hair '' First year is an important year .. write me if you need anything '' James nodded, slightly nervous as he watched the man change his hair for go dark like his, smiling a little too watery for his opinion

'' Me too. And ok, I will '' James hugged him, and then turned to his parents, almost feeling like he was about to scream in excitement and fear.

'' Be careful '' The father looked at his son, a little laughing and a little serious, raising his eyebrows '' I'm watching you ''

'' Ok '' He nodded excitedly '' And I know you will ''

"Take care, okay?" It was Albus' embrace, two years younger, tight and full of anticipation that made James smile without grace, his cheeks warm with that affection. As annoying as he could be, he would miss having someone smaller than himself to win the blame.

'' Yes, I’ll miss you too '' And then everyone got together for the squeeze, almost breaking his ribs, and making him blush with embarrassment '' No ... I can’t ... breathe ''

The little sister gave his cheek a wet kiss - which James automatically wanted to wipe but did not do when he saw his father's gaze - his mother had passed on some instructions about the houses and how he should be calm regardless of the choice.

'' The house that Hat draws will be the right one for you, and we will be happy regardless of the result. Write to us as soon as you can, preferably today '' He nodded laughing, thinking of the red and gold lion.

'' Now, listen '' The father had crouched down, keeping close eye contact, his green eyes almost bursting into orbit '' I don't want you to be around getting in trouble, understood? '' For the fiftieth time he nodded '' Don't worry if you are alone, people always arrive in the compartment , you can meet great friends inside '' Once again he moved his head

'' Stop being so melodramatic, man. '' Teddy laughed, winking at James, who seemed to have read the mind of the boy who was thinking about the whole castle to explore.

'' I'm going to send you news '' he assured, entering in the train

'' Every day. '' James frowned, eliciting laughter from his parents '' Answer us always, and if you need to ... ''

'' I know, Dad, I know ... Professor Longbottom can help me. '' The train started to leave, they exchanged a few more words, he waved at them as they got smaller, and then that was it.

James was finally on his way to the Witch School.

Anxious, he ran to the single empty compartment he found and began to contemplate the path they were taking. It seemed that magic was already taking place there, it was like the sensation of climbing up a gigantic peak, analyzing the view from the top , the fall that he would soon make. It was scary, but impressively, it also seemed to cause a huge euphoria that would make him jump.

"Can I come in or is it full already?" The female voice woke him from his daydream. He had heard many love stories that began in train compartments , his godfather for example, swore he was one of those who unknowingly knew the love of his life. Grandpa, whose name he honored, met Grandma in one of those too. But if James knew anything, it was the girl, a few inches shorter than him, with long blond hair braided, wearing a funny black cap and school robes, would not be his love.

She wasn't ugly, but she looked ... clumsy. Her eyes were large pits of the darkest pitch, the pupil barely visible, her cheeks pink and large, eyebrows as clear as lashes (little more colored than the fair skin), and her teeth a little apart, in addition to a pink lip fatty. Her legs looked long compared to her body, even under her robes, and her arms were thin, as if she had started to stretch-but only on some limbs.

'' Uh ... no. '' But you couldn't deny friends, of course. "You can sit down."

'' So ... '' She packed her bags '' It was full up front '' Justified herself by picking up a 'Quidditch History' book and sitting in front of him '' And I thought .... Hey, I think I know you from somewhere '' James blushed, even though he straightened up and tried to look more secure than he really was. Being recognized was never fun. '' You are Ginny Potter's son, I saw you on the Prophet's cover! My God, your mother is awesome '' She spoke in a way that her eyes almost popped, such excitement, gesturing and bulging her eyes.

'' I know '' James bragged, even if uncomfortable '' She's the best '' He spoke as if it were the most normal thing in the world. His mother had retired as a chaser after Lily was born, however, he had gone to a few games and could remember it being amazing. In addition, every time they played in the vegetable garden, the father had to sweat so that they would not lose by more than 100 points - even if someone on his team caught the snitch.

'' I want to be like her , you know .. '' The girl straightened up on the bench, pulling her legs up, leaning her back against the cold window, the book resting on her knees '' I want to play like that. '' James thought she was funny, but he didn't comment, a little scared by how intimidating she looked. '' My parents hate flying, but I like it. I mean, I’ve only flown a few times, but it's soooo fun. '' He wanted to laugh, staring at her curiously. Her hair resembled Aunt Fleur's hair, long and light, but it was much less styled than the hair of the older woman '' I really like to imagine myself playing. ''

''To imagine? Have you never played? '' The nameless girl denied, making a face

'' My parents are not the biggest Quidditch fans, so to go to a game, it was like Mass '' "Mass?" He frowned.

The blonde looked at him, this time curious, '' Yes, it's a muggle thing, you know, about religion, some are too long ... so the saying... '' James nodded

"Are you Muggle-born?" She shook her head, fiddling with the worn book unpretentiously, and then shrugged.

'' My parents are wizards, but my grandparents are muggles and I spent a lot of time with my maternal grandmother, so '' she shrugged '' That's why I never played, I had no one, but I know how to play volleyball and maybe it will help me. And Tennis '' the girl shrugged again '' Anyway, your mom is a big inspiration to me, I wish I could have seen her play. ''

'' So ... you didn't say your name '' And again she moved, sitting forward and holding out her hand to him, which was full of different rings. James wondered if that girl could be weirder than Dominique. Or Aunt Luna.

'' Sorry, I was so excited ... I'm Mira Hazel. '' He smiled kindly

'' James '' Even though he didn't need to, he was happy to say '' What house do you think will be in? '' She straightened up again on the bench, without opening the book this time, looking at him with full attention.

'' I hope Ravenclaw. What about you? '' Mira Hazel said, as James grimaced.

'' Gryffindor, obviously. Why do you want that one? It's so full of ... idiots '' The girl raised her clear eyebrows, her body moving into an attack position as if she might pounce on him, much like a cat. James was concerned that she was carrying a cat beside her, but there was no sign.

'' My parents are from there .. You know. Gryffindor is not the only good house at school, if it were, it wouldn't make sense to have others, would it? '' James swallowed the words, arranging his back on the bench and thinking what he would say Next. Of course, his father had warned about this, but how could he not want to go to the house that housed his whole family?

Before he could give a bullshit answer that would make coal eyes explode, the cabin door was opened again, this time a boy with black hair and frightened eyes appeared, his cheeks flushed and what appeared to be a frog in his front pocket. "Sorry, wrong cabin."

When the door closed again, silence radiated over them, James too affected to admit that maybe, for a few seconds, she was right. Only the pages broke the silence,, as she leafed through the book almost aggressively,.Mira seemed to have read it many times judging by the yellowish color that marked the edges, in addition to the lower spine looking punished with use. He thought of asking what Quidditch position she wanted - for he had imagined that if they both wanted to be keppers, they would fall off their brooms before the snitch was even released - but he kept the words to himself.

The food cart was not long in arriving, much to his delight, and the two bought what looked like food for five more, still without speaking a word, which was driving him crazy.

"Aha! I finally found you. '' The female voice broke through the air. Mira smiled at the chocolate frog, taking the card in her hands

'' Who did you find? '' James smiled when he saw Merlin smiling on his own card.

'' Hermione Weasley '' And as if it were pure gold, she carefully tucked it inside the Quidditch book. '' My mother met her ... they made Runes together '' Mira nodded, seeming to talk to herself more than to him '' A very smart witch ... I should want to be like her too, don't you think? ''

'' Are you always this weird? '' He joked, happy that she had talked to him again. Her silence was claustrophobic, which was very strange, since Albus used to give him a cold shoulder whenever they fought, and it was never this bad.

'' Ah ... no, I’m just nervous. '' It seemed like a lie, but he didn't say anything

'' But tell me, what is it like? Having these people in your family '' Mira asked.

James grimaced when he swallowed a Bertie Botts every flavor bean, '' Ear wax, ew, I don't know how I was wrong. I thought it might be popcorn ''

''Normal '' He moved his shoulders, precisely choosing a bean, loving the taste of strawberry when he threw one in his mouth '' They are normal people most of the time ''

'' It can't be normal '' She rolled her eyes '' There must be something extraordinary about being the son of Harry and Ginny Potter ''

James tried to shake the thought from his mind, remembering all the years living in his family and all the stories that he had heard (even if in half).

Sometimes it was quite difficult, people used to be so intrusive at partie, s it was almost impossible for them not to be stopped by some journalist wanting to know the latest gossip that involved their name.

James thought it all sucked. It was very tiring.

He had thought that now as he was going to Hogwarts he could finally be James. Simply, James, and no longer,live in the shadow of his parents great deeds. Even if no one asked him to follow in their footsteps, stressing the irrecoverable losses they had made along the arduous path, he felt as if nothing he did was really interesting.

Going to Gryffindor, being a good keeper and a good student, was not just to ensure that his track record was brilliant, but to guarantee a place in the genius tree. He hadn't fought like his mother and father, but he had done something good while he was at school, proving his worth. Proving to be brave and fearless.

'' Except I can get a lot of cards from chocolate frogs more easily '' He smiled at the girl who laughed in denial, her cheeks turning pink again, and her eyes no longer seemed to carry the fury she had earlier presented.

She wasn't all bad, after all.

[...]

‘’James Potter .. what an honor!’’ Hagrid, a half-giant who always showed up at his house telling stories about strange and dangerous animals, smiled at him, hitting him on the back with a force that made him walk two steps forward.

‘’Hi Hagrid.’’ He returned the smile, looking excitedly behind him and seeing the boats positioned.

After the rookies were summoned and put on boats, crossed the river below the night sky with few stars, Mira was beside him, her eyes looking like a part of the sky, shining with the magnificent view of Hogwarts. The castle looked bigger and more splendid than any photograph, description, or drawing he had ever seen and heard. It was real, grand, and now it was his new home.

As they left the boats and were led into the castle, the children's voices seemed to triple- the excitement of standing in that hall, waiting to be called up for the sorting. A tall, strong, well-groomed professor, showing a scar that cut his eyebrow and a little bit of his left eyelid, appeared. ,He explained the houses, the hat and introduced himself, Frank Johaan, Defense Against the Dark Art teacher . When they entered the Great Hall, which his father had spoken so much of, James thought he might fall over right there, looking at the tables, the teachers, the decoration above him, the walls laden with flags of the houses, the ghosts walking around. .. It was almost like daydreaming. No photograph lived up to what James was seeing

And just as his father had informed him, when the time came, the Sorting Hat on a stool, looking old and worn, began to sing.

When Headmaster McGonagall gave a slight smile after welcoming the students - and James thought he saw her smile bigger when she saw him - Professor Johaan stood erect beside the stool, a scroll in his left hand and the right on top of the hat

‘’When I call your name, come here and sit down.’’

The names began, applause whenever the house was shouted at by the patched hat.With each person, the boy felt more apprehensive, looking around anxiously and seeing Mira from a short distance, looking confident, hardly even blinking during the wait.

‘’Potter, James Sirius’’ He could have sworn he saw the Headmistress getting ready in the chair to watch, making him feel even more nervous; And with weak legs, but without showing it, he started the long walk to the stool, everyone's eyes following him, and the teachers looking at him with curiosity. He took a deep breath before sitting on the stool and left his mind free, listening even to his heartbeat.

‘’Ah a Potter ... I know them so well. A brave heart ... ‘’ Said the hat, and he thought it was magnificent ‘’I can't help but notice, too big even for a giant's body’’. Without thinking, he looked sideways at Hagrid, who was smiling anxiously while sitting in one of the chairs set for the teachers. ‘’But would that only help you? .. A vast intelligence, certainly, but I cannot deny the truth ... Gryffindor!’’

The Gryffindor table rose to a fuss, eagerly applauding and welcoming him, with huge smiles and nods when he sat down, everyone congratulating him and talking about how amazing it was that they had a Potter there.

‘’Hazel, Mira’’ She walked confidently, not even blushing. Her braided hair trailing behind her and her black eyes looking like two black holes in her pale face. She sat on the stool, waiting for the call, the sorting hat was put on, and stayed there for some time.

James’ godmother had told him about this, about students sometimes sitting up to five minutes waiting, they were students who confused the hat, they had many attributes that stood out and could easily fit in more than one house, as had happened with her.

The blonde was waiting in the same way as when she sat down, calm and seeming to assess with the hat, after what seemed like three or more minutes - he hadn't been there so long, and if he had, he would have died of anxiety - the hat screamed;

-Gryffindor!

His house table began to clap again, the blonde descending cheerfully and full of smiles, greeting those at the end and sitting next to James, her eyebrows half-arched and in an almost balmy way, showing in her eyes

‘’It looks like we'll be colleagues, Potter.’’ Mira said as she raised her chin and exuding confidence , drawing a laugh from James.

‘’So it seems.’’ And for some reason, he was happy with that.

#hp next gen #hp fanfic #next gen harry potter #James Sirius Potter #Harry Potter #ginnyPOTTER #Albus Severus Potter #harry potter next generation #my fic

20 notes · View notes

hitchell-mope · 5 years

Text

Just put on the movie

And there we go. The dedication is there.

Oh god the rapping.

My palms will be bloody by the time this is over.

But I like the parallels to the first movie

To much auto tune

There goes my heart Disney.

Oh lord that’s high

Bbys. Smee twins

WHY WASNT DIZZY THERE FROM FILM TWO

There’s my child Celia

MY BOY!!!!

I mean Mal has a point.

He thinks it through

I love him so fucking much

Loving Doug’s hair

Rat bastard. Rat bitch. Rat fairy (Adam belle Verna)

Fuck off leah chad Audrey

😍😍😍😍. This version is better then d1

SUCK IT PASTEL COW

YAAAAAAAAAAAAAY

Oh Evie love. Just tell him you love him

FUCK OFF YOU GERIATRIC BITCH

YES WE WOULD PREFER MAL TO YOU YA BITCH

I hate you Adam and belle

Ben and the other three are adorable family

Still hating Audrey. So. Fucking. Much

Love the purple limo

WHY IS TREMAINE NICE. IT MAKES NO SENSE

Bal parent vibes are strong

They shoulda painted the limo roof purple

Dying of cuteness

Proud fiancé Mal. Love it

Fuck off leah

Here’s papa hades. And the ham.

DRAGON MAL. WHOO HOO

Ah well. Nice while it lasted

NOT HER JOB PASTEL COW

So. Much. Ham.

Poor girl. Ouch.

🤮🤮🤮🤮. I still hate her and her geriatric bitch of a grandmother

Oh bitch please. First words out of your mouth were creel. And it ain’t abated

I’m supposed to be sorry for this sad act? I don’t think so

So. Much. Rapping

Oh. SPARE ME WOMAN

Still theft. Throw her on the isle with her grandmother

Lonely and friendless. Because Mal is so much better then you ya limp noodle

Gotta be bad on the back

YOU DESERVE A SLAP AROUND THE FACE YOU SPOILED BRAT

Seriously though. The actual singing is better then the rapping. So gotta give satah her dues

Fuck off grown ups.

YOU PUT THEN THERE IN THE FIRST FUCKING PLACD

Blue bitch. Just like always belle

Ok. People. You can see it’s hurting bal to do this. KILL THE BEAST

DONT CRY BABY BOY. PLEASE. LAST TIME ALMOST KILLED ME

Murder. The fucking. Parents

Evie. Evie’s sensible. Listen to your sister Mal.

And here comes the guilt. Like always. The narrative blames Mal

That darn cake

Ah. Pain. Hug them now

And jump scare

Oh god. Shut up Audrey. You’re a sore loser

Eh. The prosthesis look ok

Audrey. Nutter. Ben was more then ready to start the honeymoon when Mal was a dragon. Do you really think a hag would stop him?

😂😂😂😂

Oh boy

That’s a lie and you know it bluey.

At least the bikes have an explanation

Why the red for Evie though

And the mutt speaks

Fuck off Chad. I hate you so much

This bitch again

So shrieky.

Kiss ass

Real original

Jump Jane jump!

So many neck cricks

No one tells him anything

Cella’s right Mal

Overly long gag. But cute

Awww 🥰🥰🥰🥰. At least he’s a good dad

Nice reference

And the fear mongering begins.

And here’s the cryptid. He shoulda died in it’s going down

Psycho bitch pirate whore

Cella’s a troll and I love it

The vehicle needs an oil change

At least he’s sleeping. Though that position can not be comfortable

At long last the reveal.

He’s funny. And hot. (I can see where @mochacake2016 is coming from)

We know! We know

And here’s the music

😂😂😂😂.

He’s got a point

Ok.

THERES NO PHONES ON THE ISLAND QUEEN MAL

She actually sounds like jade west here

So far. Besides the proposal. This is my favourite song. Mostly for Hades great looks. Great voice

And the tambourine

Would be better with purple and blue fire effects. But no. We can’t have nice things. They spent the budget on pirate whores make up

She’s got a point. They both do

LISTEN TO HIM

Proud papa

C’mon girl. Cry

Of course she told her sister

He’s a good king.

T-shirt should be ripped.

🤮🤮🤮🤮. Hate her so much

And. Here. We. Go.

Benny. I love you. But did you not hear what she said to Evie when you first met the vks. Of course not. You were lost in Mal’s eyes.

Oh god. PLEASE SOMEBODY GO AND MELT HER

Whore man is probably skunk drunk. Gil’s cute as ever though

Throw hook in the water. And keep it there.

🎶she’s back🎶

And there screwed

He makes feel physically sick

Uma. I love ya. But honestly. Mal owes no one anything. It’s not her job.

No it ain’t

Jay’s got a point

Oh honey

Hook. In the words of the irreverent Captain Jack Sparrow “if the bikes be crashed properly. You be crashed along with it”. Not you Gil. I like you

Mother hen strikes again. Uma ain’t buying what she’s selling

Pure child Celia. (I don’t use this very much but) Gil’s babey (it feels wrong to type£

Chicken arms. No brains. No wit. No dance skills. No rapping skills. Ya basically a walking corpse hook

The dogs giving me a nervous twitch.

I hate the pair of them so no. No sympathy for prince douche bag

Gil makes me cry so simply

Stab the pirate jay. Please. For all of us

Psycho bitch

I want. It. Dead. Brutally. Dead

And more music. If this weren’t Disney they coulda melted them yo pukes of goo and pour it down Harry’s throat.

Oh god

So she can’t count either. Just like her brother

Definitely cha cha slide.

Deep sigh

So much ham.

Here’s a funny idea. How about instead of a bloody pantomime. ACTUALLY FUCKING FIGHT YOU FECKERS

Synchronised armour dancing. That’s new

Oh for fuck sake

Ha ha. Save it for the sob story bitch

What’s next a kick line

Thank god I was wrong.

Hook should be suffocated under the armour right now. Put us out of our misery

Care bear alert

I had to have a flu jab today. And it weren’t as painful as every single nanosecond hooks on screen

Love the platonic affection (I hate the very concept of malvie. What did you expect?)

Mother alert

Don’t eat wild fruit honey

So cute. But so dumb

Oh. Phineas and Ferb reference

Awww babies.

Don’t you dare tell me Mal doesn’t care.

THEY FOUND DOUG

Uma’s so done with care bear bs

More singing. Yay(!)

Please. Remind me again exactly why this is a DCOM. Cause it honestly does not feel like it what with the backstory pirate whores entire existence and the choreography

How has evie not broken a leg in this number.

Believe me Mal and Uma. I feel your frustration they go together like peanut butter and chocolate spread. (Perfectly if you didn’t know)

Where is she going?

She knows how R&J ended right? Double suicide. Why the romanticism huh?

HE IS NOT A RAG DOLL! Though props to Zachary for not corpsing

How can you hate Doug. He’s adorable. Best straight couple ever

There’s ma boy. Rip Harry’s throyatvout plwae.

Ben’s always been hot. But this is definitely working for me.

Awww. Carlos helping his papa

Wet Ben. Yum

Awww. Janelos cuteness.

Love the beard. So good. 🤤🤤🤤🤤

Someone murder the man whore before I do.

He makes me wanna throw up. And I’m not physically capable of doing that

@rpsocsandcanonohmy. I get where you’re coming from. But I also get where Ben is coming from. Sunbeam did get him abducted. And man slut tried to feed him to sharks. So I do understand both points. Doesn’t mean you’re wrong though

JUST. EXPLAIN. HIS MIND IS BEAST ADDLED

Shoulda let Ben slash hooks throat jay. You’re slipping buddy

Mal’s eating crow

Hopefully he chad suffocates. Then she’s have done one thing that wasn’t completely worthlessly reprehensible

🎶feelings🎶

And it had to ruin it

Te-am work. As plankton says

Proud sister

Boys are back. (With dude and the mutt in tow)

YAAAAAAAAAY

I hate happy harry. But I do like happy Uma. Eh. Double edged sword

BAL THIRST. FINALLY

Shoulda gone with Janelos. Jarlos is from big time rush

Oh they’re so cute

Poor Doug.

DOUG AND GIL FRIENDSHIP.

So. Update. Might be like Mal. (Definitely loving Ben’s facial hair)

Yawning over chad. So pathetic

Her seat from him douchey mcuseless

Poor Janey

Cats outta the bag

Once again. I kinda understand all points. Yeah Mal shouldn’t have lied. But Uma didn’t really give her and choice. And Evie just kinda assumed. And no one really lets her explain anything.

Hooks still pathetic. Even hurt emotionally I still wanna punch his roger rabbit looking face (Sorry Roger)

Oh dear

Mal. Don’t apologise. You did what you felt you needed to do. And no gives you a chance to explain. Ever.

Yes. You needed to do what you could.

Excellent acting all around as usual

Evie. Look. I love you. Your favourite number seven. But WHY IS IT YOUR SISTERS JOB. WHY DOES EVERYONE MAKE IT MALS PROBLEM

Ha! Evie said it. She said family.

Oh fuck. Taken for granite

More singing.

Monster/story/invincible

I do want to stab Harry in the mouth with the hook

More flashback. Yay(.). Couldn’t they fill out the runtime

Flashbacks. TO THE START OF THE SO G THE FLASHBACK IS FROM. OH FOR FUCK SAKES

More dragon.

Audrey’s performance might make me a vegetarian

How is it not crushed by the claws?

Fire should be green

Yay. Auds dead. Please say yes?

The twins say literally one thing

From magical incantation to vaguely irritating verbal tick. Well alright then

Evie. Why do you sound so sad. It’s a good thing Audrey’s dying. The ultimate price and all that. You should be glad. It’s a good thing

Mal: he’s my father. Ben: shocked face. Me: makes a sound like a boiling kettle

Bye bye facial hair

Die slut

More eating crow

The in laws meet

Exactly hades. Exactly. Knee beast in the dick

God Ben’s so hot.

Bite Adam’s throat out please hades

Should’ve let Audrey waste away. And sent granny to Tartarus to meet her

OH SPARE ME YOUR BLEEDING HEART ROUTINE! I still hate you in a fundamental level

OH FINALLY YOU GERIATRIC BITCH

Nice little family moment

What the fuck is Evie’s dress?

Queen Mal has a very nice ring to it.

Sure you can. You owe them noting. You owe nobody anything

Jay has a pull back braid in his hair. Yay!

“Audrey would be gone”. You say it as though that’s a bad thing

“Insert woody woodpecker laugh”. Fuck you Adam

Compromise. Bring the vks over. And plop Adam Audrey chad anleah on the isle. Sink it into the ocean

Why didn’t Verna bring the barrier down. Oh yeah. Cause then she’d be useful

More singing

At least this takes place in daylight

I still hate harry

Push Harry in the drink please. IM LITERALLY BEGGING YOU

God I love Ben and Doug

Why the Charleston?

I still hate tremaine

Well. Jane. In ZM. You met Mal. She’s Carlos’s mother in this au

Giljay. It’s cute

So Harry makes me ill right upbto the end. Now he’s related to purple and blue

🎶a bitch is in the dog house🎶. And deservedly so

🤮🤮🤮🤮

Sweet little king

Oh boy

Whore has a turkey neck

This is the end. Good movie. With some unneeded bits. I’m gonna change a lot in ZM part three. And both dedications broke me.

#disney descendants #descendants 3 #anti harry x chad #anti harry x doug #anti harry x jane #harry x jay #anti harlos #anti malvie #anti haudrey #anti benrry #anti harry hook #anti audrey daughter of sleeping beauty #anti chad charming

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macgyvermedical · 5 years

Note

Bucky and hypoglycemia for the bad things happen bingo? (if he got some sort of messed up version of the super serum that causes him to burn through his reserves faster? back in the day hydra had to keep him on TPN or something because he burned calories so quickly?)

***Not affiliated with the official “Bad Things Happen Bingo” writing challenge***

Okay, here’s the thing- two people requested hypoglycemia at almost exactly the same time, for two different characters, so in order to stay with one-fic-per-square, we’re setting this Bucky (more accurately Winter Soldier… sorry)-gets-hypoglycemia fic in the middle of the second season of 1985 MacGyver. Enjoy!

Consider this a really weird pre-make of season 6′s “Humanity”

———————

January 1987, Somewhere in the Hungarian Countryside

Mac watched the man pace the small front room of the old farmhouse. He was tall and almost comically muscular even beneath the dark parka, with chin-length dark hair and grease pencil around his eyes. With the size of his torso Mac could only assume the parka was also concealing some form of body armor, though in the nearly 24 hours they’d been stranded together, he hadn’t seen the guy take it off or even loosen it. On the shoulder of the coat was a red star, promising an allegiance that left Mac wary.

Despite his best efforts the man hadn’t said a word to him. A few annoyed grunts to Mac’s intermittent stabs at conversation, sure, but for the time they’d been huddled, literally in the same room, Mac hadn’t even determined if they shared a language. The man had seemed content mostly with spending his time staring out the window at the bleak snowscape- the worst snowstorm to hit Hungary in decades.

Just their luck.

But lucky they’d been, in one sense. Their shared refuge looked like it had been abandoned in a hurry. Food and clothing was gone, but larger furniture items had been left, presumably too bulky to pack. What had undoubtedly been a bad situation for the family living there had been a stroke of fortune to Mac and his new companion. Among the remaining pieces was an old but still-working woodstove, which had happily accepted pieces of carefully cannibalized furniture. At least, as long as the furniture had held out.

“That’s it.” Mac said, pushing the last piece of chair into the stove. “No chance it’s stopped snowing out there, huh?” The man looked at Mac briefly, narrowed his eyes, and then turned back to the window. “That’s very helpful, thank you.” Mac looked around for a few minutes, feeling a sense of tense isolation he wasn’t sure how to describe. Outside the window, the snow had appeared to die down a little. A tree across the way was barely visible in a way it hadn’t been an hour ago.

“Uh, it’s gonna get kinda cold in here once this stops burning- what do you say you and I go see if they left us any fire wood?” Mac got up slowly. The woodstove had kept them alive, but it was still cold enough in the room that his muscles had stiffened sitting on the floor.

“They were supposed to come yesterday.” The man said suddenly. The words were flawless, with a distinctly American accent. Mac paused, a sense of unease coming over him. He had assumed the man was Soviet, but the accent seemed to indicate otherwise.

“Who’s ‘they’?” Mac asked. Undercover DXS? CIA? KGB? HIT? It would certainly help if “they” were someone Pete could call up for a diplomatic conversation. The man didn’t answer, but at long last Mac decided it was something they could talk about when they weren’t in danger of freezing. “Listen, I got a lot of questions and quite frankly that’s a cat you can’t put back in the bag. But I also don’t want to freeze to death, which is what’s gonna happen if we don’t find something else to burn. So… help me out?“

The man only nodded in reply.

In the end, if there was a woodshed, it was too buried in snow to find. They ended up trudging back and forth from a dilapidated barn carrying armfuls of feed hay instead. It wasn’t ideal, but again, lucky to have anything that wasn’t part of the shelter itself. The snow was deep, and after more than an hour of work, they might have bought two hours of warmth. Mac would have kept going- another hour might have set them up for the evening with careful planning- but his companion seemed to be struggling more than he expected.

“Let’s go inside for a minute and warm up, huh?” Mac suggested.

“I’m fine.” The man shook his head angrily, then continued unevenly towards the door. When he turned back to get more hay, Mac stood in front of the exit.

“Its cold out there, it’s wet, it’s not going to kill us to sit in front of the fire for five minutes to warm up.” The fire itself had almost died down.

“I said I’m fine!” The man shouted, suddenly punching the wall less than a foot from Mac’s head. The impact left a crater in the plaster-and-lathe wall. Mac ducked back, noting the flash of anger in the man’s eyes almost immediately becoming one of sudden terror. He changed tactics.

“Whoa, okay, how ‘bout we just stay long enough to kindle this fire back up, then we work until it gets dark.” Mac said. The man’s eyes still were wide with fear. “It’s fine, you’re okay, I’m okay, we’re just…” The man backed down and Mac let out a sigh of relief.

The fire had all but gone out, but the room was still delightfully warm after the blizzard outside. Mac settled uneasily back to sitting on the floor by the wood stove and picked up a handful of hay blades. “So, uh, you ever read The Long Winter as a kid?” The man stared at him with an intensely blank expression. “It’s fine if you haven’t- see, once they ran out of firewood they started twisting straw into straw logs, which decreased the surface area and the amount of oxygen that could get to the straw and basically made it so they would burn longer. I’m hoping we can make something similar happen with this hay. Here-” Mac demonstrated twisting the blades together. To his honest surprise, the man seemed to try to mirror him.

“You got it.” Mac encouraged, noting an odd sort of smile play on the man’s face.

But several bundles later, Mac started to get worried. He’d assumed the man’s unsteady gait and shaking had been a result of the cold, but it had been a while since they’d been inside, and Mac had more than recovered himself. His companion, however, seemed to be shaking even more than he had outside and was having increasing difficulty with the bundles of hay. Something else was going on.

“So you blew up my truck, you killed my asset and put people relying on his intel in jeopardy. I spent a lot of last night worrying you might up and decide to kill me too. Then I hear you speak American English with a New York accent. What do you say I’ll answer a question if you do?” The man grunted non-committaly.

“Fair- I’m happy going first- you mentioned ‘they.’ I assume that’s an exfil team. What made you mention them?” Mac asked. “Were they supposed to kill me when they got here yesterday or do something for you?” The man scowled. “Both?”

Mac sighed as he threw another bundle into the fire. Something was going on, and it was getting worse. “Listen, I know you’re trained not to talk, but that’s not what this is about anymore and I’m not going to hurt you- in fact if you’re working for anyone besides the DXS and you end up dead, this is probably going to be an international incident. And right now I don’t think you’re doing so hot. Help me out a little here.” In the light from the fire, Mac could see a sheen of sweat on the man’s face. He again didn’t respond.

“You’re irritable, you’re shaking, you’re pale, and even though its barely above freezing in here, you’re sweating… are you withdrawing from something?” Nothing. Then something dawned on Mac. It was a long shot, but if it was true at least they’d have a starting point. “It’s been over 24 hours since either of us ate- have you ever been told you have a problem with blood sugar?” The man looked like he was going to say something, but didn’t.

“You’re not lookin’ to make this easy for me, are you?” If it was blood sugar, though, that was something relatively solvable. Even if it was withdrawal or hypothermia, either of those would be easier to weather with some sugar on board. The question now was- where would he get sugar?

Mac looked out the window. Not only was it getting dark now, but the snow looked worse. There was objectively no food left in the house, and this late in winter, his options for wild sugar were pretty much inner pine bark and acorn starch if he could dig deep enough to find some- and acorns were… energy intensive to make edible. That wasn’t even acknowledging that if he left to forage for something, he was seriously risking getting lost or hypothermia. If it were just him, he’d much rather shelter in place until the sun came up.

But it wasn’t just him. He had to think of something, preferably while his companion could still safely eat…

Mac thought as he twisted the hay into yet another bundle. The man hadn’t so much as tried to pick up another handful of hay. “Okay, okay. I got something. When I was a kid my grandpa Harry won a bet. Ended up with this ancient, diabetic horse. You wouldn’t know it by the way he talked about it, but he loved that thing.” The man’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t worry, this story gets better- there’s usable sugar in hay, but humans, we can eat hay but we can’t really digest it. We’d never be able to get enough into you to matter. Fortunately, I used to go out and have to soak that old horse’s hay to pull the sugars out of it. I’m thinking we might be able to use that same process to extract some sucrose into water if you feel like doing nothing except drinking really terrible tea and peeing all night.” The man looked dubious, but Mac couldn’t really tell. “You think about it, I’m going to get things started.”

They’d been melting snow on the wood stove for drinking water in a worn old pot that had been left behind. It didn’t get it very warm with the size of the fire they’d been able to make, but it was good enough. Mac set about inspecting individual blades of hay for signs of mold, and then crumbling the best ones into the pot. With nothing else to do, Mac talked while he worked. “There’s a reason we can’t reasonably make ethanol from grass, right? Pulling the sugars out of grass into water is driven by a concentration gradient and even under the best of circumstances, we might get a solution that’s 1-2% sucrose. Honestly, since we don’t know how old this hay is, even heating up the water, I’m aiming for 0.5-1%. But it’s what we’ve got.”

At the 20 minute mark, Mac beckoned the man over to the pot. “Here- dip your hands in it so they strain out the hay pieces as much as possible.” Mac demonstrated. The man still looked shaky and unsteady, but not significantly worse since they’d started the process. Mac really, really hoped it was blood sugar. The man paused.

“I swear its not poison.” To prove it, Mac took a drink from his hands. It didn’t taste as terrible as he thought it would, a little earthy, and the vague hint of sweetness told him there was at least some sugar getting pulled out of the old hay. To his near surprise, the man copied him. “Okay, that’s good- keep drinking. Like I said, you’re gonna have to do this most of the night.” The man obediently finished the first pot of hay tea. Before Mac had completely finished dumping the dregs of the first batch and making the second, he could tell the man was already feeling a little better. He couldn’t believe that had worked.

By the fourth gallon in two hours, they were almost out of hay, but Mac was confident enough to leave the man in the house making hay logs while he went to get more.

Mac tried to make stabs of conversation, but after the danger was past and confident neither would kill the other in their sleep, Mac found himself dozing in between pots of tea and trips to the barn for more hay.

Mac woke suddenly to the man shaking his arm roughly. There was sun finally streaming through a window that was half-covered in snow. The fire had died down. “Get up. Leave now- before they get here.” The man ordered urgently. Once Mac got his wits about him, he could hear a faint commotion in the front of the house. He nodded, getting up stiffly and making for the back exit. The snow was more than 3 feet deep, but luckily, they’d kept up a path to the barn. Mac figured he could hide there until the man’s exfil team left. He made to leave, but the man caught his arm.

“Thank you.”

Mac made eye contact and nodded. “Any time.”

#fanfic #bucky barnes #winter soldier #macgyver #macgyver 1985 #hypoglycemia #medical whump bingo

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dailyskyferreira · 5 years

Text

Sky Ferreira Returns With an uncompromising vision and the studio hours to back it up, the enigmatic singer is back with a new single—and a promise that her first album in six years will be worth the wait.

So, what’s Sky Ferreira been doing all this time? Well, for the last 35 minutes or so, she’s been in the bathroom.

“I’m so sorry,” she says when she finally emerges, eyes wet, arms full of winter layers. It’s a late-February afternoon at New York City’s Russian Tea Room, the fabled blini-and-caviar haunt of candy-red banquettes and eternal Christmas ornaments where Madonna once worked the coat check. About a half hour ago, the 26-year-old singer turned up for our afternoon-tea reservation only to disappear in an immediate whorl, as if a czarist vortex sucked her into the basement. What she had thought was an asthmatic flare-up, she now explains, was actually a pretty severe anxiety attack. A panicked twinge remains in her expression, like the distant memory of tasting a lemon. In town from Los Angeles for three days, she tells me, “I’ve been anxious to the point that I haven’t slept at all.”

It’s a nerve-wracking moment for Sky, a pop artist, actor, and model who’s lately been keeping a low profile. This is partly because she seems to find the social contract of the PR exchange stressful, but also because she doesn’t want to suck up all the air before she gets a chance to breathe. “You really can get sick of someone’s face,” she says, as only someone who has loaned their own to Jimmy Choo and Calvin Klein could. “I don’t see the point of doing a bunch of photoshoots or press when I don’t have anything out.”

The fact that she hasn’t had anything out might be the biggest stress of all. Signed to Capitol Records at 15, Sky spent years in teen-pop A&R purgatory—groomed as a naughty-girl-next-door type with mall-Shakira hair and prefabricated singles with names like “Haters Anonymous” and “Sex Rules” (“We are animals/No matter what we deny/Our bodies strong, like magnets” are actual words she sang)—only to have her minders decide she wasn’t worth the trouble and shelve her long-promised full-length debut. Rather than give up, she used money she’d earned modeling and finished the album without their help.

Released in October 2013, Night Time, My Time was a rare major-label triumph of craft over product, a purposeful barrage of seething recriminations coated with ’90s-grunge textures and ’80-pop incandescence. It sounded like “My So-Called Life”’s Angela Chase mainlining John Hughes films and channeling her existential anguish into a record—except Night Time was the vision of a 2010s 21-year-old, and the truths were all hers.

The right people loved it. In the spring of 2015, Sky announced her second record’s name was Masochism and promised its first single that summer. The summer came and went, then the fall, and some winter too. On that New Year’s Eve, she addressed the delay obliquely on Instagram (“I refuse to put out something that isn’t honest”) and promised “in 2016 you will hear it.” In 2016, you did not, and now it’s 2019, and, still, no album. At this point, she can’t post online without some commenters popping up to heckle, “where’s the album sky” or “MASOCHISM!!?” or “still waiting,” like they’re hungry people rage-texting Seamless.

These impatient fans aren’t alone in their enthusiasm. “She’s one of those beautiful, rare people who can probably do anything,” says Debbie Harry, who’s had Sky open for Blondie. “If there’s anybody I would ever be jealous of, it would be her.”

Naturally, all of this—the anticipation, the unfulfilled promises, the time lapsed since her last release—is adding to the pressure she puts on herself. She feels like she has to explain. “It wasn’t by choice.” It wasn’t creative paralysis, nor was it a creative hiatus. “I wasn’t just taking time for myself the last five years.” During that time, she landed a half dozen movie roles, but she says she didn’t decide to focus on acting instead. “I never stepped away from music.” She alludes to vague external hindrances: “I’ve been at the mercy of people the last few years”; “gatekeepers”; “the rug pulled out under me”; a “someone at my label” who undid the generous arrangement she had to work with Kanye West musical director Mike Dean; and the very real issue of a young woman telling men what she wants and not settling for less. Then the labyrinthine nature of her production process is, as you’ll see, akin to playing charades blind-folded while riding a dog, and everyone else guesses with kazoos. Plus, she’s a perfectionist. Obsessive. She’ll do 800 takes. She’ll consider every option—and then she’ll consider it again.

But the primary reason it’s taken so long: Sky doesn’t just want her new songs done, she wants them to be good. By good, she means, executed the way she intended, no matter how long she waited to find the right violinist. Properly mixed so they don’t accidentally sound like pop-punk in the car, because “someone puts some shit on my voice” and she forgot to play them in an Uber. (Sky never learned to drive.) Songs that know their place in the broader pop continuum, not what’s hot on streaming. “I’m not looking for ‘a moment,’” she says. “I’m looking for a career—and real careers, you build them.”

She’s deemed two songs good enough to share with me. The first single, “Downhill Lullaby,” is a five-and-a-half-minute, goth-noir, chamber-pop piece—with strings!—that could have easily closed an episode of the revived “Twin Peaks.” (The association may be deliberate: Sky appeared in the show’s 2017 return, deeply admires its director, David Lynch, and the series’ music supervisor, Dean Hurley, produced the song alongside her.) Another forthcoming track, tentatively titled “Don’t Forget,” is a new wave time warp, a lovely bit of nostalgia therapy for people who were never there—even if it is, according to Sky, “about burning down houses.”

By now we’re settled into a booth, one Sky has selected in the empty part of the restaurant, far away from her manager and publicist, who’ve come along to chaperone. Her natural espresso roots have outrun her hair’s blonde highlights, and her dark T-shirt reads “CHICAGO METAL MANIA.” We’ve managed to order tea by asking the waiter to bring what he likes (a nice, orangey, spicy chai) and then momentarily horrify him when Sky asks if, instead of sending the teeny triangular sandwiches with mayonnaise back to the kitchen (she hasn’t touched them, and mayo makes her gag), we can give them to someone who’s homeless. “I’ll get you the ones without mayonnaise,” the waiter says, taking them away.

“I don’t have a back-up plan,” Sky says. “I never have. I don’t have an education. I don’t know how to, like, play music in the [traditional] sense. I’m socially awkward and stuff—I couldn’t really do a lot of other jobs either,” she says. “Literally, there’s no other option for me. So this has to work.”

There are many Sky Ferreiras. There’s Sky the model, a Hedi Slimane muse who’s walked the runway for Marc Jacobs and perfected a glare so haunted the Bates Motel must be jealous. There’s Sky the actor, who played a key supporting role in director Edgar Wright’s big-studio heist flick Baby Driver, but doesn’t have an agent. There’s Sky the live performer, who battles stage fright, but who also opened a 2014 Miley Cyrus arena tour, fell down an elevator shaft on night three, and still took the stage the next day.

There’s also the Sky here at the Russian Tea Room, whose left dimple comes as a surprise because, come to think of it, you’ve rarely seen photos of her smiling. The Sky who shouldn’t eat gluten because of an autoimmune condition, but doesn’t really tell people about it because it sounds like bullshit. The Sky who’s watched enough “Game of Thrones” to see her pets’ personalities reflected in the show’s characters. (For the record, her cat Egg would be a Lannister, while his brother Squirrel would be from the North.)

This Sky speaks in em dashes. It’s less that she loses her train of thought, and more that her thought train is screeching onto a new track. Sometimes you’re right there with her, but other times you’re watching the conversation from a distance like a detached caboose that just kept going straight. “I know I keep going in circles,” she says, “but my mind kind of always does that—spins.”

You don’t interview this Sky as much as steer her, but first you listen. “I’ve always been really shy,” she says, six minutes in. “I was actually mute for years when I was a kid.”

Little Sky Tonia Ferreira hummed along to the radio before she could talk. Raised around Los Angeles, mostly Venice Beach, her young parents split when she was a baby. Her dad tended bar, sometimes with her in tow, and when his roommates got cable, she devoured MTV. “I always hung out with a lot of adults,” she says. “I was, like, one of those kids.”

Being one of those kids meant she didn’t know how to talk to the kids who knew how to talk with each other. She was bullied constantly. She also had trouble with numbers and spelling—she suspects she’s dyslexic, but never got tested—and for a while, was so unhappy, she stopped talking altogether. “I had really long hair, didn’t speak, and had dark circles around my eyes,” she says, describing herself as a child. “I looked kinda feral.”

As the story goes, Sky’s first-grade classmates didn’t know she could talk until she sang “Over the Rainbow” in school. “As long as I can remember, I’ve felt the most like myself when I was singing,” she says. (Roughly 18 years later, she covered the Wizard of Oz ballad at David Lynch’s Festival of Disruption, and the director still raves about her version, telling me, “It was incredible. So beautiful.”)

She lived with her grandmother, who worked as a hairdresser. One time when Sky was around 7, she sang for one of her grandmother’s clients. Impressed, the man suggested she join a gospel choir. The man was Michael Jackson. So she did. Jackson also gave a 9-year-old Sky some grown-up advice that’s shaped her approach to art and music ever since: “He was like, ‘Don’t focus on things that are just around you—you need to look back to the history of music.’ And that’s what I did.”

Yes, Sky went to the Neverland Ranch—“a lot.” She also went to Jackson’s other houses. No, she didn’t witness anything untoward. “It wasn’t just because I was a girl,” she tells me, a few days before the controversial HBO documentary Leaving Neverland aired. “I was around a lot of kids.”

Yes, she’s grown hesitant to talk about her grandmother’s larger-than-life client—for all the reasons you’d expect, along with a few you might not. Like, that it’s difficult for people to wrap their minds around the fact that the King of Pop could be a formative elder acquaintance in the casually anodyne way of, say, a dancing-school teacher or a little-league coach—someone whose small encouragements could be so big. “I was really quiet, but when someone sees something in you...” she says of Jackson, before abandoning the thought. “I had a connection to him, but I’m not, like, his family.”

Sky has also routinely been asked to account for the bad behavior of men in her orbit. A dominant narrative surrounding Night Time, My Time’s 2013 release was her relationship with indie rock band DIIV’s frontman, Zachary Cole Smith—an ex-boyfriend with whom she was arrested that September. He was the driver of the vehicle in which heroin, ecstasy, and a stolen license plate were found (and someone who’s since publicly acknowledged his struggles with addiction). Throughout that album cycle, the arrest became a more delicious red herring than anything Sky had actually done.

“The thing that’s still so fucked up about that: I didn’t have a drug problem, I dated someone who had a drug problem, I was in a car with someone who had a drug problem,” she says. “No one wants to talk about how my charge got dropped.” And the whole Kurt and Courtney star-crossed mythos that dramatized the headlines around the arrest? Spare her. “I was really young; I wasn’t even 21 yet for most of it. That wasn’t my great love story of my life,” she says, adding, “The people that have treated me so much better—they’re the ones who deserve the attention, not that guy.” (Presumably, one of those people is her current partner, Elias Bender Rønnenfelt, frontman of the Danish punk band Iceage.)

Those who have followed Sky’s personal life could easily read “Downhill Lullaby” as an extended metaphor about a tumultuous relationship: “I can see that you want me/Going downhill too/Going downhill into a lullaby.” But she’s adamant about distancing her songwriting from the egos of her ex-boyfriends. “That’s the one rule I made,” she says. “The one thing that I’ve always had is my music. If someone treated me badly, they don’t get to have that. I don’t want to drag the weight of what they did around forever.”

For Sky Ferreira, time is not a flat circle, but rather a sticky mass of saltwater taffy. She tends to run late, but once she’s present and engaged, she can summon an Iron Man endurance. At the Russian Tea Room, two hours of conversation easily floats into six-and-a-half, and eventually we’re the last diners to leave. Somewhere in this elasticity, she talks about her refusal to give up on the work. “I’ve literally been using my life savings to do this record.” She is not motivated by money—to her, time isn’t money, but money is a thing to buy more time.

This springy relationship with time can make Sky seem almost anachronistic. In conversation, her offhanded pop-cultural mentions span director Todd Solondz’s 1995 cult indie Welcome to the Dollhouse, Courtney Love, the 1980 Loretta Lynn biopic Coal Miner’s Daughter, the 2018 iteration of A Star Is Born, and the cheerful ’60s sitcom “The Andy Griffith Show” (which she concedes, “No one my age knows”). Sky’s reference points, like Michael Jackson once advised, exist within a totality, not a blip.

One of her artistic lodestars glows brighter than the others: When Sky was 13, she discovered David Lynch. “He’s the first person who ever saw the world the way I saw it,” she says. “It was the first time anything made sense.” You can see Lynchian dream logic throughout her work. In fact, the staggering, airy title dirge from Night Time, My Time came to her in a dream. “I wrote it in the middle of the night, half-asleep,” she remembers about the album closer, which was built around a line spoken by the doomed girl at the center of the “Twin Peaks” saga. “Then I woke up the next day and I finished it in an hour. I still have the notes; the handwriting’s all fucked up. ” When she finished the song, she knew the album was finally done.

So Sky’s cameo in “Twin Peaks: The Return” had the meta-ness of astral projection. She played Ella, an enigmatic bar patron who talked about a penguin and flaunted a “wicked” armpit rash. “She played that scene so perfectly,” Lynch tells me. “She inhabited that character and made it real from a deep place. When she scratched that rash, you could really feel the itching!”

“Downhill Lullaby” summons the creeping orchestral gloom of “Night Time, My Time.” A sweeping arrangement in five parts, Masochism’s first single begins with a sashay of strings and an interpolation of the unmistakable squee of the Verve’s “Bitter Sweet Symphony,” followed by a murmuring, angered bass. Sky exhales a numb indictment—“You leave me open/When you hit me”—and amid the layers of kettle-drum thunder and keening violins, there’s seduction and revenge, confusion and queasiness, silkiness and elegance. It sounds like the last thing Daniel Day Lewis’ Reynolds Woodcock hears before the poison takes hold in Phantom Thread.

This habit of visualizing music—Sky does it too. Except for her, it’s the first step of many in the song creation process: “I see it like it’s projected in a movie theater.” “Downhill Lullaby,” in particular, began with a vision of water in darkness. “Lakes kind of terrify me,” she explains, recalling a childhood memory of feeling lost in a Maryland forest that packs a similar unease. “In a lake, by yourself, you look at the bottom and it’s murky and still and you can’t really see anything or feel anything—and if you do, it’s fucking terrifying. It always feels like something will grab you and pull you under.” The eeriness became the foundation for the song.

She likens the ordeal of making “Downhill Lullaby” to Mickey Mouse’s Fantasia turn as the sorcerer’s apprentice. “You know how all the brooms are making a gigantic mess and the water starts rising and rising and rising and rising?” she says. “It was sort of like that: Magical, but at the same time, ‘What is going on?’ And then cleaning it all up.”

Her technique is more like a collagist—one who both scavenges her raw materials and oversees the fabrication—than a traditional songwriter. Conceptually, she works backwards, starting a song with an imagined outline of the final arrangement, isolating each sound element, and then embarking on the oft-laborious task of identifying studio musicians with the time and patience and willingness to conjure each sound individually, so that once she’s gathered all the pieces, she can begin the meticulous process of putting them all back together.

This unorthodox approach to songwriting has led to recurring logistical difficulties for Masochism. Namely, figuring out how to articulate what she hears so that someone who’s not in her brain can actualize it. “Nobody really understood what I was trying to say or wanted to do on paper,” she says. “It was a really long process.”

Sky never learned how to read music and she’s too self-conscious to use instruments that aren’t her voice in front of others. So if there’s an obvious reference point—like a certain note in a ’90s-radio staple she wants imitated—she’ll play that for her collaborator. But when there’s not, she’s often like a conductor asking to summon a mood.

In the case of Danish violinist Nils Gröndahl, who recorded all the strings on “Downhill Lullaby,” she recalls telling him: “‘Play it as if you’re one of the birds in Snow White, singing underwater, while slowly being suffocated by plastic.’” And you know what? In the end result, it’s easy to hear all that.

Additionally, Sky is even more particular about her final mixes. She will only be satisfied after she’s evaluated her song in seven different listening contexts: a car stereo; a smartphone with “regular” headphones; a smartphone with Apple earbuds; a smartphone’s built-in speaker; on a laptop; through “really bad, bad computer speakers—like the ones that came with Dells back in the early 2000s”; and the lush splendor of the studio, which is a personal luxury because, as she notes, “most people aren’t gonna listen that way.”

And she goes through this convoluted course of action for every song. It’s no wonder Masochism has taken so long. Says Sky, “I’ve accepted this is how I work and stopped feeling bad about it.”

Two Fridays after her insomniac New York trip, Sky is on the line, self-confidence restored, completing a high percentage of her sentences. Earlier in the week, she received the “Downhill Lullaby” master, immediately dropped her phone and shattered its screen, so now she’s on speaker. “I was like, I hope this isn’t a metaphor?” At least she’s laughing.

As for Masochism. She tells me she produced most of it herself, wrote with Los Angeles-based dream-pop artist Tamaryn, and worked with Ariel Pink collaborator Jorge Elbrecht. The proper album is coming, Sky swears, almost positively in 2019. Granted, she said the same thing last year—and the year before that and the year before that and the year before that—but this time, she has finally loosened her grip on some songs.

“Downhill Lullaby” may sound like dying Disney birds and “Don’t Forget” may be electro-pop arson, but Sky promises “more poppy” songs on Masochism too, as well as more “abstract,” orchestral stuff. “It’s very big, but also very violent,” she says, half-chuckling. “But not all the songs are super-dark.” Beyond that—the number of songs, tracklist, other credited collaborators—who can say? Sky can’t yet. She has some songs in mind she’d still like to write.

#sky ferreira #2019

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fuzzballsheltiepants · 6 years

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Back to the Start, part 7

All For the Game/The Foxhole Court, post-canon. Andrew remembers things and it’s not pleasant. Read it on AO3 if you choose. Read Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4. Part 5. Part 6. Comments, reblogs, etc., all greatly appreciated!

Neil was a trouble magnet. Andrew didn’t remember too many specifics, but he knew it with a bone deep certainty. So he wasn’t all that surprised when Neil admitted he’d lit into some paparazzo and it had all been caught on video by a dozen different coffee shop patrons. He supposed he should at least be pleased the idiot hadn’t been arrested.

Said idiot was sitting in the chair next to him, doing equations on his phone and completely oblivious to how distracting he was with his wet hair falling in his face. Andrew really needed something else to occupy his mind but options were limited when he couldn’t handle more than a couple of minutes of looking at a screen. He doubted reading a book would be any easier on his head. At least he no longer had that stupid catheter in, now that he had proven he could walk to the bathroom on his own. Small favors.

A flicker of a memory came, not a full one, just a flash of sitting on the couch in Columbia watching a movie with his feet in Neil’s lap. He’d had several of those already that morning, brief snapshots of the surprisingly ordinary life he had built. The information didn’t seem to be downloading in a giant dump anymore, but instead coming in short bursts that were easier to manage. Most of the memories didn’t involve Neil. He now knew what his apartment looked like, and his landlord; he remembered first setting down his stuff in front of his locker in the Boston stadium, and driving around with Nicky and Aaron, and Kevin grabbing his face mask on the court, and making out with Roland in the back room at Eden’s Twilight. But only the few with Neil had that odd settled feeling. It was annoying, really; he didn’t recognize that version of himself and wasn’t totally sure he wanted to.

Neil’s phone vibrated and he looked up at Andrew with a grin. “Oh, Allison’s yelling at me. Video must be up. Yup. Wanna see?”

Andrew shifted so there was room for Neil to sit on the bed. Neil hesitated only for a second before settling carefully on the edge. He held up the phone and tapped the screen. Under a Twitter headline of “#10NeilJosten goes off on reporter” was the brief video.

It wasn’t nearly as bad as Andrew had expected. He was vaguely disappointed in the lack of violence, but otherwise he had to admit he was…impressed. Really, that level of redirection required some fast thinking, especially on the fly. Neil dropped the phone on the bed and looked at him anxiously. “I hope that was okay, we hadn’t really decided on whether or not we were going to come out, but I don’t want to deny this either.”

There is no this, Andrew wanted to say, and he didn’t know why that response came so automatically when there very clearly was a this. Instead he looked up at Neil and said, “Seventh.” The blankness of Neil’s expression was comical, so he went on. “You meant the seventh circle of hell. The sixth is heresy, the seventh is violence. Though I’d argue that society is really trapped in the fourth. Greed.”

Neil’s jaw literally dropped, and Andrew tapped him under the chin, trying to ignore the odd feeling in his gut at the contact. “What the hell, Drew?” Neil started to laugh. “When did you read…whatever that’s from?”

“You ignorant child, you referenced Dante’s Inferno without knowing what it is?”

“When did you read Dante’s Inferno, then?”

Andrew shrugged. “Juvie.”

“You read Dante’s Inferno in juvie. That seems like an odd choice, I’ve got to be honest.”

“Not a lot of book selection, and there’s only so many times you can read the fourth book of Harry Potter. I mean, no matter what, Cedric still dies.” Neil looked thrown and Andrew wondered if he should’ve given him a spoiler alert. Too late. “And I refused to read all the religious shit they kept shoving at me. Dante’s Inferno was a compromise.”

“I didn’t realize you knew the meaning of that word.” Neil’s phone buzzed again and he looked at it. “I know, I know,” he grumbled.

“What.”

“Allison. ‘When I said you’d have to say something this was not what I had in mind babycakes.’” Yeah, well, tough shit.” The phone buzzed again. “‘You do know the non-denial will be taken as confirmation.’ Yes, thank you oh wise one.” He tapped something into his phone then looked up at Andrew. “She has a point though.”

Andrew found he didn’t really care. People already knew he was gay, there were worse things than being linked to a smart-mouthed pretty boy. “Whatever. Let them think what they want. I just don’t want to make some official statement about it.”

Neil flashed him his sweet, soft smile and Andrew shoved his face away. The smile broadened and Neil settled back against the raised head of the bed and pulled up his math problems again. It struck Andrew that this was his life now. Sitting here inches away from this man who was doing homework like it was no big deal. It felt strange and impossible and normal all at the same time and all Andrew could think was how.

*****

Neil’s phone would not shut up. He debated letting it run out of battery but needed to be available for Aaron so when it blinked a warning at him he resigned himself and plugged it in. Working on his differential geometry had long become an impossibility thanks to the constant interruptions. He could think of far more pleasant ways to spend the time but Andrew still seemed a little shocked if they sat close to each other so that was a no go.

The phone buzzed yet again and kept buzzing. “Wymack,” he said to Andrew. “Do you want me to go out in the hall?” Andrew shook his head and Neil picked up. “Hey, Coach.”

“Why did I ever make the mistake of thinking if you were holed up in a hospital I didn’t need to worry about the press?”

“Excessive optimism?”

“They’re up my ass, I’m going to have to say something at the press conference this afternoon. You guys have a plan?”

“Not really,” Neil said, watching Andrew watching him. “I think we’re trying to avoid formal statements though.”

“Okay.” There was silence on the line.

“How’s my team, Coach?”

“They’re doing all right, we need you back soon though. Robin and Bryan can’t manage these lunatics all by themselves. Binghamton’s a week from today.”

“I know. I’ll be there.”

“How’s it going up there?”

“Getting better. He’s pissed I don’t know my Dante properly.” Andrew rolled his eyes.

Wymack huffed in his version of a laugh. “That sounds about right. Look, if he needs some ongoing help once he’s released, we can make something work down here. Abby’s having kittens about him and I suspect Betsy’s not much better.”

Neil had to blink hard for a moment before he could speak. “That’s…that’s good to know, Coach. Thanks. I’ll let you know what the doctor says.”

“What is it?” Andrew asked as soon as Neil hung up.

“He, uh, he said that if you want, while you finish recovering you can come back to PSU with me.”

Andrew studied him for an endless minute before turning away. He reached for the pack of Reese’s and tilted one out into his hand. Neil gave up on getting a reply and had clicked his phone back on to start answering his dozens of text messages when Andrew spoke up. “How did you get the rest of them?”

Neil scanned the conversation they’d been having and came up blank. “Of what?”

“Your scars. You said this morning that most of them were from your father’s people. Nicky told me about him, and I remember parts of Baltimore, but how’d you get the rest?”

“Oh.” His hand went involuntarily to his ribcage. “Riko. Riko gave me the rest of them.”

He watched as that bomb hit, the slow motion ripple effect it had as memories resurfaced and deductions were made. Watched as Andrew’s pupils dilated and his hands started to tremble before he shoved them between his clamped knees. Watched Andrew’s head drop and his jaw clench and the cords of tendons in his neck leap out. Heard his rasping breaths ratchet up and the grate of his teeth against each other. He didn’t know how far back Andrew’s mind went, didn’t know what to do.

“Andrew.” The only response was a hitch in the breathing. “Andrew, look at me. Look at me.” Those hazel eyes were nearly black when they darted to him and away again. “It’s over. He’s dead.” Neil didn’t even know whether he meant Riko or Drake, it applied to both. “It’s over, and you’re clean, and you came back from this. You came back.”

He debated pressing the call button for the nurse, not sure if more people would make the issue better or worse. In the end he settled for not, the potential overreaction on the parts of the staff outweighing any benefit of possible distraction. “I’m here, Drew. What are you remembering?” Andrew shook his head violently and curled up tighter. “I’m here,” Neil repeated helplessly, cursing himself internally in every language he knew. “I’m here.”

*****

He thought at first it was a flashback to when he was thirteen, but the room wasn’t right and his head hurt too much and he was laughing. He had never laughed before.

He thought at first it was a nightmare, but he could still see the hospital around him.

He thought at first that he could keep this tucked deep inside, still keep it safe as he had always done behind the armor he had always worn.

But Neil knew. Unscarred, dark-haired, dark-eyed Neil was there in the memory, Neil and Aaron both. They were there and they were spattered with blood and it was real, oh, god, it was real.

*****

Andrew was silent for the rest of the day. He had eventually slipped into a calm that would’ve seemed like a coma if he hadn’t continued to react to people in the room. He’d even gotten up and walked the halls with Nancy, ignoring her chatter about her rescue cats with blank-eyed indifference. Neil explained to the doctors that he’d recovered a bad memory and they hadn’t pushed him to talk, just made him go through his usual exercises. Out in the hallway afterwards Dr. Martin had suggested a therapist; she’d seemed a little surprised when Neil informed her Andrew had two.

If Neil had thought watching Andrew in physical pain was hard, this was a thousand times worse. At least there was medication that could be given for a headache. He couldn’t even call Matt to talk about it, it felt too much like an invasion of Andrew’s privacy.

He scrolled through his texts again; it felt like they were from a lifetime ago.

Literally crying tears of joy rn from Nicky.

Never been more proud of you than in this moment from Dan.

WTF spectrum you gay but your right your a shitty example from Jack. Asshole. He couldn’t even use the right you’re.

Clapping hands emoji from Matt, followed by hows Andrew taking it?

A rainbow of heart emojis from Renee.

When r u coming back i hate these people from Robin.

And a series of articles from Allison that he couldn’t bring himself to click through.

He typed out neutral replies to everyone but Jack. Finally he got the text from Aaron that they were in the lobby. He told Andrew, who didn’t react, and went down to get them. Katelyn hugged him gently and asked how he was doing in a serious tone.

“I’m fine,” Neil said automatically, and Aaron rolled his eyes.

“That’s going on your tombstone,” he said. Neil wanted to argue but couldn’t, so he led them to the elevators, listening to Katelyn chatter about the drive up and the mass of photographers in front of the building.

“So, um, he’s had a rough evening,” Neil said once the elevator emptied out on the third floor.

“Is that because of your idiot moment this morning?” Aaron asked.

“No, actually he was okay with that.” Aaron shook his head in disgust and the elevator dinged. Neil pulled them aside into the empty waiting area. “He remembered something. I think it was Drake but I’m not sure, he wouldn’t talk to me.”

“Then why do you think it was Drake?”

Neil shrugged. “I just do.”

Aaron and Katelyn had a silent conversation and Katelyn turned to Neil. “We didn’t stop to eat anywhere, is there a cafeteria or something?” Neil nodded and Katelyn put her hand on his arm. “How about Aaron goes and sees Andrew while you and I grab some food.” Neil gave Aaron a searching look that was met with calm determination. With a hesitant nod he gave Andrew’s room number and followed Katelyn back to the elevator. As the elevator doors slid shut he saw Aaron stalled in front of Andrew’s room, head bowed, before he reached for the handle and entered.

*****

It was strange, how you could scream and scream and nobody could hear you.

Andrew could have sworn he was screaming. He could hear it echoing in his ears, his throat was raw and his chest ached from the effort of it. But nobody around him seemed to hear it. Neil looked at him with sad understanding, the nurses were gentle, the doctor didn’t seem to expect him to answer her, but they all talked in normal voices to and about him. He could hear them; it didn’t make sense that they couldn’t hear him.

Except people never had.

Neil left and the room was empty and his scream was still rebounding around the room. Then there came a faint knock and Aaron entered. Aaron, who looked exactly like him. Aaron, who he he had cared about before he ever met him. Aaron, who had twisted that love like he’d twisted his hatred for his mother, until he couldn’t tell the difference between the two.

He stopped screaming. Perhaps he never had been. He could never tell.

“Hey, man,” Aaron said, dropping into Neil’s chair. “Hear it’s been a rough week.” Andrew didn’t know how to respond to that perfect banality. “Your asshole boyfriend and Katelyn are getting food, they should be up in a bit.” Andrew blinked and saw Aaron spattered with blood, then blinked again and he was fine.

“You killed him,” he said, and he could hear the difference between the words and the screaming. How much more solid the words sounded. Like they could be touched, cupped in a hand.

Aaron shifted in the chair but didn’t look away. Andrew heard him swallow. “Yes, I did.”

Andrew wondered how Aaron could put up with years of Tilda’s abuse but then kill Drake for hurting Andrew. He didn’t think he had spoken out loud but perhaps Aaron read the question in his face. “Do you remember doing counseling together? No? It was your asshole boyfriend’s fault, of course. Anyway, I think it was junior year, right before the trial. You told me that the reason why you had sent me that letter, the one telling me to fuck off when I asked to meet you, was because of Drake.”

Andrew did remember, then. A hyper-organized office and hot chocolate and a calm reasoned voice and anger and grief and so much unfamiliar longing. “You said that I’m not the only one who’s allowed to care.”

Aaron nodded. “Maybe nobody did for a long time. But you have me and Nicky and Coach and Dobson and Renee and your asshole boyfriend who care. Maybe even Kevin too, when he can get the exy racquet out of his ass. Now, you might not remember us -”

“I didn’t forget you.”

Aaron nodded and went quiet. Andrew closed his eyes, leaning back against the pillows. His head was pounding and he felt a nauseating fullness in his stomach.

“Do you need something?” Aaron asked. “Pain meds or something?”

“Yeah.”

There was a pause and then footsteps and he recognized the night nurse’s voice. “What do you want, Mr. Minyard, the new stuff or the old stuff?”

“New.” It didn’t fuck with his head so much.

There was the sound of a drawer opening and closing, then, “Is it all right if I touch your arm?”

He ground out a yes and there was a feather-light touch where his IV was. Aaron and the nurse were talking in low voices, then the nurse said, “Let’s give that a few minutes and I’m going to turn the lights down. You’ve done really well having them up this high all day.”

The room went quiet and he waited for the pressure to ease. Once he was pretty sure he wasn’t going to vomit he blinked and looked at the chair. Aaron was watching him with sharp eyes.

“I’m tired.”

“You can sleep. I’ll stay until your asshole boyfriend gets back.”

Exhaustion crashed over him in a wave. He surfaced enough to ask, “Why do you call him that?”

“Because ‘Neil’ takes too long to say.” Andrew snorted despite himself and looked back at Aaron, who was smiling faintly. “Go to sleep. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

Fatigue swept over him again, and this time he let the peaceful darkness drag him under.

#aftg #all for the game #tfc #the foxhole court #andrew minyard #neil josten #andriel #amnesia #healing #past trauma #memory recovery #hospital #aaron minyard #david wymack #my writing #fanfic

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briannamarguerite · 6 years

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everything is fucking great

The thing was, Harry Styles had wanked to Louis Tomlinson. He had, there was no denying it. Harry had pictured those lips sliding over his cock, he’d pictured those eyes, and those lashes, mid-blow job; he’d pictured that tight body bouncing on his dick as he ran his palms along Louis’ ribcage.

So when Harry’s agent told him he’d gotten the part for Louis’ latest music video Harry’s heart had skipped and then stopped and then raced and he thought maybe he would die from arrhythmia but maybe it would be worth it.

Niall had found him sprawled on their living room floor and had nudged him with a sock-clad foot. Uh, you alive, kid? Harry hadn’t known what to respond, because, no, no, no, no, he wasn’t.

On the morning of the shoot, Harry hovered, his armpits slick with sweat. He was supposed to be playing a lad, a member of Louis’ motley crew from the north. They were in LA, and Harry doubted anyone there even knew what “from the north” meant, but he respected it. He respected the way Louis cut his words, he respected the sharpness to his voice, the dropped consonants that reminded Harry of home, home, home.

They were at a bar that was dressed for the evening in its best wear. People chattered, gathered, shared gossip and coffee. But Harry stood removed, leaning against one of the small round tables that would perhaps later be sticky with beer and liquor and other substances.

It gave him the perfect chance to watch Louis. Louis, Louis, Louis. The man was even more gorgeous than Harry had ever pictured while hot and damp in his sheets, his fist curled around his cock. Harry had known to brace himself for the cheekbones, the cultivated stubble, the piercing eyes—god the eyes—which were three million shades of blue that Harry couldn’t begin to describe. But it was Louis himself that Harry hadn’t been prepared for.

The pop star was making the rounds, chatting with the caterers and the bartenders and the director. No ego on this one. It was the rumor Harry had always heard, but had worried he’d believed because he’d wanted to.

But there was no pretension in the way Louis shook hands with everyone in the room, in the way he listened with his whole body, in the way he included even the wallflowers while he was engaging in a conversation.

The fact that he looked like a wet dream come to life was only an added bonus.

Louis was in a white turtleneck that emphasized the bold contours of his face and the slim cut of his body. He topped it off with a blue tracksuit that was cut to hug his curves and give hints to a compact, vibrant frame underneath layers of fabric. Harry wanted to tug the jacket from Louis’ shoulders, wanted to slip his fingers beneath his shirt to feel the warm skin along his hips.

But for the most part, Harry thought he did a pretty good job of hiding the blatant desire that must be in his eyes, on his face, in the way his body bent toward Louis at every opportunity.

It was only when Louis started working his way toward Harry that he broke, just a little.

First, Louis was three tables down and then two and then one and Harry’s mouth was dry and his tongue was sandpaper against his palette. Was he supposed to be able to say words right now? In the face of all that beauty? How would any rational person think he would be able to accomplish that?

And then, then, Louis was there. In front of him.

“Hello, mate,” Louis said, drawing out the syllables while a smile crinkled the skin by his eyes. Harry gaped, then fish-mouthed, then thought maybe a sound crept past his lips but he also thought maybe the sound was similar to a cat dying because Louis Tomlinson was now eyeing him like it was the 1700s and Harry had just been diagnosed with the black plague.

Louis tossed him a pity smile—god Harry absolutely knew in his gut of guts that it was one hundred precent a pity smile—and then had moved on to the rest of the crew. Fuck. Harry’s cheeks were warm, and his chest was tight. How could he have fucked that up so badly? In such a short amount of time?

It didn’t matter. Because Louis had his real lad crew here. And as they began filming, Harry realized he was a prop and nothing more. An extra body to fill the scene and grab the pint glass and slam the shot down on the table.

They moved from place to place. When Louis had gotten up on a table to dance, Harry thought he might have died real quick. Just real quick. His heart started beating again when Louis caught his eyes across the crowded room and fucking winked. He’d winked. And then he’d dropped his ass in a dignified twerk that probably woudn’t even make it into the final version of the music video.

Harry downed his apple juice that was supposed to be beer and smiled and ran a hand through his curly hair in a way that he knew played well to the camera. But the whole time he just saw that wink. What the fuck.

It wasn’t until the third bar that Harry got a chance to get close to Louis. The boys’ crew had dispersed slightly as they made their way to the bar. Harry slipped into the space at Louis’ elbow.

“Are you having fun?” Harry asked because it was polite and also the only thing he could think of in that moment.

Louis trailed his finger around the rim of the drink the bartender had just slid him. “Course.”

“You sound very convincing,” Harry said, knowing he was stepping over some line and not caring anyway.

He got a sardonic smile for his trouble. “Everything is fucking great, right?”

It was a blade slipped between Harry’s ribs. He couldn’t even explain to himself why it hurt, why seeing Louis in pain tugged at his lungs and his belly and his heart.

“Yeah, maybe you’ll believe it this time,” Harry whispered, knowing he was crossing a line, one no stranger should even toe, but still doing it anyway. In that moment he wanted so desperately to know Louis Tomlinson that he didn’t even care if he was throwing away his only chance to do so.

STREAM MISS YOU!!!!!!!!

#soz i had some wine #and gave myself an hour #to write larry #drabble #ish #my video #miss you

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upontheshelfreviews · 4 years

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I expected this movie to have a few votes from those who remembered it as kids. I never expected it to win by a landslide. Lesson learned: never underestimate a nostalgic kids’ movie from the ’90s.

Once upon a time, David Kirschner, producer of An American Tail among other things, took his daughters to the New York Public Library. This visit inspired him to write a story about a fantastical adventure that would get kids excited about reading. The result was The Pagemaster, a 1994 box-office bomb that would go on to develop a cult following among children like me who grew up watching it. Animation historians tend to lump The Pagemaster in with the likes of Thumbelina or Quest For Camelot: 90s features that tried to coast off the success of Disney’s Renaissance films yet failed to match their caliber. But actually, trailers for The Pagemaster played in theaters and on home video a good four years before the movie was released…it was still in production for most of that time so the amount of influence Disney had on it is up for debate, but the point remains. I’m willing to bet what played a major part in its delay was the myriad of problems that cropped up during the filmmaking, from David Kirschner suing the Writers Guild of America for not receiving the sole story credit he felt was owed, to the plot being rewritten in the middle of the animation process, which is never a good thing. I’ve also heard stories about Macaulay Culkin being a diva on set, but knowing what we know now about his abusive father explains a lot so I’m not holding that against him.

And here’s another fun fact I dug up while doing my research: apparently Stephen King of all people wrote the treatment for The Pagemaster, which certainly explains the film’s more horrific elements. Does this means this movie is technically part of the King multiverse? I can see Richard hanging out with The Losers Club on weekends and trying to avoid killer clowns and langoliers in his spare time.

Though it was released under the 20th Century Fox banner, The Pagemaster was the first of only two animated films created by Turner Feature Animation, an off-shoot of Hanna-Barbera founded by media mogul Ted Turner. In hindsight, it’s not surprising that Turner had a hand in this children’s flick with an educational message. Let’s not forget the last animated project he invested himself in was all about teaching kids environmentalism in the cheesiest way possible.

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But unlike Captain Planet, does The Pagemaster hold up after all these years? Will it get kids sucked into the magic of reading? And how long can I go without forcing in a Home Alone reference? Read on and find out.

The opening credits fade in over clouds swirling into foreshadowing images while the stirring main theme by James Horner plays. Say what you want about this movie, Horner’s score emerges smelling like a rose, easily the best thing to come from this film. Disney’s even used it for some of their trailers. Also, when you take the bulk of the cast into consideration, it’s astonishingly appropriate that the man who scored The Wrath of Kahn provided the soundtrack for this feature.

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The ominous call-forward clouds are part of a nightmare that our protagonist, a typical 90s nerd named Richard Tyler (Macaulay Culkin) startles awake from. He crawls out of bed and overhears his parents (Ed Begley Jr. and Mel Harris) discussing their son’s neuroses. See, it’s not enough that Richard is a nerd; he’s also afraid of everything that casts a shadow. His room is plastered with safety precautions, he studies all manner of deathly statistics to the point where he can recite them at the drop of a hat and is considered a general buzzkill by all who know him, especially his father. This is where we come to our first bump in the road, and it’s not just that Richard acts in a way that no kid would, not even scaredy-cat kids like Chuckie Finster: it’s the moral they’re trying to set up.

The Pagemaster’s original screenplay was about a boy who didn’t like reading and learned to love it, but there were many rewrites during production that altered it so it’s about Richard learning to overcome his fears through the power of books. That makes the point rather redundant – why teach someone who’s already a bookworm to love books? I argue that it’s about snapping Richard out of his obsession over statistics and panic-inducing facts that are holding him back from living a fulfilling life, and finding courage and meaning from beloved stories instead. Not a terrible lesson, but one that could have been communicated better. In fact, such a moral would be much more suited for today; with the constant stream of news updates through the internet leading to anxiety over everything, turning away from devices for a while and finding solace through well-written fiction is a decent message. And I’m not saying that kids today shouldn’t be aware of big issues our planet faces – look at Greta Thunberg – but if you’re suffering from borderline pantophobia, then maybe seeking some escapism through print (and also finding a therapist) is a good place to start.

Mr. Tyler is building his son a treehouse in order to help him get over his fear of heights. Richard, of course, refuses to have anything to do with it and states some statistics about ladders and household accidents. He then unwittingly hits his dad in the head with a bucket which causes him to have an accident and fall out of the treehouse, thus proving his point. Honestly, I’d have more respect for Richard if he did it on purpose just to validate himself. What a grade-A troll he’d make.

Eager to get his son out of his hair, Mr. Tyler tasks him with picking up some nails from the hardware store. Richard takes his bike, both covered in so much superfluous safety gear that he looks like he’s ready to go policing in a sci-fi dystopia.

“I am THE LAW!”

And yes, you read that credit correctly. Joe Johnston, director of The Rocketeer and the first Captain America movie directed the live-action segments of The Pagemaster. From what I’ve gathered, he’s not too pleased to have his name attached to this project. I suppose he’s upset that he couldn’t have his credit changed to Alan Smithee.

On his way into town, Richard passes some kids riding their bikes off a construction ramp. They try to goad him into joining them and call him chicken when he doesn’t, just in case you didn’t catch what his character arc will be. Richard continues forward, and if you think Maurice’s trip to the fair went south in Beauty and the Beast, then you haven’t watched this movie. Lightning strikes the power lines, he’s forced through a tunnel where the lights explode in succession after him, and he gets lost in a dark, creepy park during a storm. I’m almost tempted to say the movie is trying to kill him.

Richard crashes his bike in front of the most ominous library outside of a Ghostbusters movie and seeks shelter there. The only person inside is eccentric old librarian Mr. Dewey, played by Christopher Lloyd. He constantly interrupts Richard to guess what kind of book he thinks he’s looking for all while getting very dramatic and dangerously close to the young boy. I laugh at it because of how over-the-top Lloyd’s acting is, but uncomfortably so. As a kid, I thought he was being very wise and passionate about the stories he looks after, but as an adult, it’s hard not to look at this scene and call stranger danger on it.

Mr. Dewey directs Richard to a phone where he can call his parents, gives him a library card if he feels like checking a book out, and casually points out the big green exit sign should he decide to leave. Richard wanders through the library until he comes across an awesome-looking mural in the rotunda depicting scenes from Moby Dick, Treasure Island, Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde…umm, Dragonslayer, I guess, and a wizard who bears more than a passing resemblance to Mr. Dewey.

This is why we need more funding in our public libraries, folks.

Richard slips on the wet floor and knocks himself out. When he comes to, paint from the mural gushes to the floor, turns into a dragon-like blob and chases him through the library, turning anything it touches turns into a painted background. The blending of computer and traditional animation for the dragon is surprisingly excellent. It’s plain to see that a lot of work went into this one creature. When I can’t tell where the hand-drawn animation begins or ends, that’s a good sign.

Ultimately the dragon catches Richard and transforms him into an animated character – no, not a character, an illustration, says someone from the shadows. That someone is the master of the animated literary realm Richard’s been transported to, keeper of the books and guardian of the written word, The Pagemaster (also voiced by Lloyd).

Do you think he trims his beard by cutting it or by stitching it up and binding it with leather and glue?

This animated version of the library is where all the stories ever written call home (though Horner’s score is what really sells the wonder of the moment). Here, books are, quite literally, transports to another world. Open a book and characters, creatures and objects from that story emerge from them. The Pagemaster demonstrates this by summoning a fairytale giant and the Argo from Jason and the Argonauts just for show. Richard’s more interested in finding his way home and the Pagemaster tells him that he must pass three tests in order to reach the Exit. He sends him off on his quest with a word of advice: when in doubt, look to the books.

Richard is swept up on a book cart and crashes into his first comic relief sidekick for the evening, Adventure, a cantankerous sentient book who acts like a pirate and is played by Sir Patrick Stewart. Stewart is one of the finest actors of the stage and screen and a damn good human being (seriously, look up his speeches about domestic violence) but I’ve noticed that when it comes to animated films, he tends to skew towards the…not so good ones. Not only did he turn down roles in Beauty and the Beast and Aladdin, but for every Prince of Egypt, there’s a Chicken Little, Gnomeo and Juliet, Legends of Oz: Dorothy’s Return and Emoji Movie that proudly boasts his name. It’s mind-boggling and frustrating to hear such talent reduced to voicing shit.

Not hyperbole.

The best thing I can say about Adventure is that at least Stewart sounds like he’s having fun playing him. I should know, getting paid to talk like a pirate is the best job ever.

Adventure changes his tune when he sees Richard’s library card and offers to help the boy if he checks him out from the library. He tells Richard to go up a ladder to get their bearings, but Richard refuses on account of his acrophobia and prattles off some of those annoying statistics. Adventure tries to change his mind about climbing by opening 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea and unleashing the giant squid, which is like helping someone overcome their fear of flying by shooting them out of a cannon.

The squid throws Richard in the air but he’s rescued by another living book, Fantasy (Whoopi Goldberg). Fantasy subverts the warm fairy godmother stereotype she’s modeled after with her frequent bouts of sarcasm and stubbornness; whereas Stewart is playing a role, Whoopi is pretty much playing herself. Under normal circumstances, Fantasy would use her magic to poof Richard to the Exit, but since she’s outside of her section her powers are considerably weakened. Regardless, she also promises to help Richard if he takes her home with him. Fantasy and Adventure butt heads over who’s going to be second banana to our protagonist. Adventure insists he’s the only one who knows where they’re headed and gets Richard to open up The Hound of Baskervilles, with predictable results.

The Hound chases the trio until they jump through a bookcase into the horror section, full of spooky graveyards and assorted Halloween detritus. The Exit Sign appears through the fog but leads them to a massive and obviously haunted mansion that they must pass through in order to proceed. Richard rings the bell, which knocks the final member of the team, Horror (Frank Welker), into his arms. Horror’s my favorite of the bunch, at least he would be if I had to pick one. For one thing, with all the fairly big names in the cast, it’s refreshing to hear a veteran voice actor playing one of the lead roles. Horror’s the least like the genre he represents, a sweet dimwit who just wants some friends. I don’t know, maybe I just have a soft spot for lonely ugly-cute marshmallow characters.

Speaking of, the designs for the books aren’t exactly appealing with large faces plastered right on their spines and little arms and legs sticking out of their lumbering square bodies. Horror’s look, however, comes the closest to working since he’s modeled after Quasimodo and isn’t supposed to be Mr. Universe if you catch my drift. He even gets some moments of good wild animation, especially when he’s “describing” what frightens him.

But one line, one solitary bit of dialogue has always stuck with me: “Horror always has sad endings”. It’s a shockingly deep statement that sums up the tragedy of his situation, and also why I’ve never been that big on the genre. The monster’s dead, everyone’s safe, you think it’s all ok, then BOOM. It pops up again, slaughters every character you’ve grown to care for and sets up a neverending chain of watered-down sequels and reboots.

Fantasy assures Horror her world is a place of happy endings, and Richard allows him to come along for the ride. The group ventures into the mansion, which looks perfect as far as haunted houses go. It’s caught somewhere between traditional Gothic and German Expressionism with its impossibly high ceilings, winding staircases, cobwebbed cracks in the walls and looming shadows. The team then meets the mansion’s owner, Dr. Henry Jekyll, played by…Leonard Nimoy?!

Fascinating.

It goes without saying that Nimoy is magnetic as both Jekyll and his wicked counterpart. He encapsulates the madness and depravity of the latter with a cackle and a single line, and he plays the former with a warm air of wisdom and sophistication (the fact that he serves his Hyde potion in a martini glass should clue you in on that trait). It makes me wish we got to see Nimoy play Jekyll and Hyde in a more straightforward adaptation before he passed away.

Though maybe he already did…

Adventure is ready to help himself to some of Jekyll’s cocktail but Horror knocks it out of his hands and the spill burns a hole through the floor.

So the Hyde formula’s secret ingredient is xenomorph blood. Who knew?

Richard and the gang are too late to stop Jekyll from drinking his concoction and he undergoes a harrowing transformation into his evil alter-ego, Edward Hyde. And hoo boy, did this scene reopen a can of worms. Imagine you’re a five-year-old enjoying this fun little animated escapade of talking books and magic and then this gets all up in your face.

“My name…is…”

“…Mister HYYYYYYYDE!!!!!”

All this to say even after all these years, Mr. Hyde still kind of puts me on edge. I remember my dad taught me how to use the fast-forward button on the VCR just so I could rush through this part. I even wished for and made up a kind of video player where you could skip entire scenes for the sole purpose of avoiding Hyde’s reveal.

I’m still waiting on my royalties.

Hyde attacks the group but Horror accidentally saves them by dropping a chandelier on him.

Hey, wrong story!

Horror gets tangled up in the chains and is about to be pulled through the floor along with Hyde. Fantasy begs Richard to save him but he’s too scared to. He doesn’t even try to weasel out of it by saying he has bone spurs or some other lame excuse, he just stands there and shrugs as one of his friends is about to die. Our hero, ladies and gentlemen. I know Richard’s supposed to learn courage over the course of the movie but not even attempting to try is pretty low. It’s not like there’s any danger in the situation or a possibility that Hyde will pop back up again; the freak’s too busy dragging Horror down, laughing maniacally in the dark as he anticipates pulling one helpless victim to their doom along with him.

Can’t sleep, Hyde will eat me…

Anyway, Fantasy has enough and rescues Horror herself. As for Hyde, he goes down the hole never to be seen again.

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Now that I’m more familiar with the stories featured in this movie more so than when it was released, seeing them come and go rather quickly without diving into their essence is disappointing…but perhaps that was intentional. Maybe by leaving these sequences fairly open-ended and giving us the most basic of recaps, the movie is encouraging kids to check out the books themselves and come to their own conclusions about how and why these are timeless, fascinating tales.

Or at the very least, they could pick up an illustrated abridged version. Try getting a six-year-old to sit through the complete Moby Dick.

You’re a prodigy, Matilda! You don’t count!

After fleeing Hyde, Richard and the gang run into some possessed books – in other words, they’re haunted by ghost stories.

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They evade the spirited tomes and had things worked out differently, they would have immediately had a perilous encounter with another famous literary horror character, Frankenstein’s monster. Poor Frankie M. made it to the poster and a few promotional picture books but not the final film. It’s not clear why he was cut; maybe the director felt the sequence was running long or he got worried the kids watching this would be too scared by this point. Frankly, anything that comes after Hyde pales in comparison. You could throw the worst of Lovecraft our way and it still wouldn’t be half as terrifying as he was.

The team makes it outside, but are trapped on a high vine-covered wall. Richard is too scared to climb down until the Pagemaster possesses a gargoyle to give some on-the-nose words of encouragement.

Careful, Richard. The last time I saw a gargoyle like that, it didn’t end well for the person grabbing it.

Richard Tarzans his ways to safety, and everyone celebrates their escape. The sun rises, clearing the way to the ever-elusive Exit Sign and Adventure’s home turf, a beach stretching into the open sea. Out on the ocean, they come across the crew of the Pequod. They’re searching for the white whale Moby Dick at the behest of Captain Ahab, voiced by George Hearn.

Hmm, George Hearn playing an overly dramatic psychopath hellbent on bloody vengeance? Can’t imagine where they got that casting idea from.

Ahab spies his quarry off the port bow and the color scheme dramatically shifts into a fiery red while the mad captain’s eyes glow and he turns into a Frank Miller drawing.

Lift your spearhead high, Ahab! Hear its singing edge!

I don’t know why they went with this abrupt change in hue, but frankly my dear I don’t give a damn. It’s a visual representation of Ahab’s unhinged thirst for violence teetering on demonic possession that just looks really cool. Also, like Nimoy before him, Hearn makes the most of his screen time, giving a stirring rendition of some of Ahab’s immortal lines.

…Then Moby Dick pounces on top of him and kills him and his crew instantly.

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But Moby’s not done dicking around yet and he smashes Richard’s boat too. Richard and Adventure latch on to some driftwood, but it looks like Fantasy and Horror didn’t make it and there are sharks closing in.

The good news: they’re quickly rescued.

The bad news: they’re taken prisoner aboard the Hispaniola which is under the command of Long John Silver (Jim Cummings) and his crew of cutthroat pirates.

Well, calling them cutthroat is generous. The Pirates Who Don’t Do Anything are more threatening than these guys.

With catlike tread, upon our foe we steal!

Also, one of the pirates is voiced by Robert Picardo and…do you think David Kirschner just wanted to make one big Star Trek crossover movie but the execs shot it down so he turned it into this cute family flick starring cast members from almost every iteration of the franchise? Like, Picard and Guinan are banished to another dimension inspired by various Holodeck fantasies thanks to a resurrected omniscient Commander Kurge (just another one of Q’s little tests for humanity) and are tasked with protecting a young boy, the son of Henry Starling, who’s the key to defeating him as they find their way back home. They wind up in a desolate corner of the universe where they meet Spock, who’s been working on a top-secret formula that will supposedly make human urges easier to differentiate in important decision-making. But plot twist! It’s really Evil Spock the whole time, and his formula will purge all good from those who consume it! They escape, desperate to warn this dimension’s Federation of Evil Spock’s plan but run into an insane Dr. Berel and are later captured by The Doctor, who has rebelled from his programming and taken up piracy along with a renegade band of Romulans. I’m no Star Trek aficionado, but this is something I’d like to see!

Silver takes away Richard’s library card and forces him and Adventure to join his treasure hunt on (where else?) Treasure Island. But like in the story this is based on, the pirates are enraged to learn that the treasure has already been looted and they mutiny against Silver. Before things get ugly, Fantasy and Horror arrive to save their friends. It turns out they didn’t drown after all due to Horror discovering his hump is hollow and they floated to shore on it.

Then there’s a fight scene where Horror and Fantasy take out the pirates using goofy slapstick. It isn’t too bad, but it doesn’t touch Muppet Treasure Island in comedy. Richard also stands up to Silver and gets him to back off, which earns the old sea dog’s respect. This makes this sequence the most faithful of all the quick adaptations we’ve seen thus far, essentially turning Richard into a stand-in for Jim Hawkins and having him go through an abridged version of his arc. It would have resonated more, however, if we spent more time with the plot and characters of this story, so we’d really feel something when Richard asserts himself. The Pagemaster is a scant seventy-five minutes, but with all the possibilities for expanding upon these different novels in this format with the kind of story they’re trying to tell, this could be a ninety-minute film at the very least. The movie even teases this with some cleverly woven-in shoutouts to other famous works, like Edgar Allen Poe’s Raven appearing in the haunted house, or Richard staggering under an oversized copy of Atlas Shrugged. I wish we could see those tales as part of the plot proper, but they make this literature-based world feel more all-encompassing and less like they’re merely covering the basics, for which I’m grateful for.

Adventure, who got sidelined at the start of the fight and is miffed about missing the action, storms off on his own. This is where the movie sidelines the main plot for a substandard “jerk with a heart of gold learns not to be a jerk to others” subplot. Horror tries to cheer up Adventure and admits he idolizes him, but Adventure bullies and scares him away. Shortly after, Adventure finds Richard’s library card washed up on the beach and returns it, but Fantasy forces him to look for Horror and apologize before they hit the road. He finds him being tied down by the Lilliputians from Gulliver’s Travels. Now Gulliver’s Travels could technically be classified as an adventure story, but really it’s a witty satire in the guise of an adventure. I wonder what we could have gotten if the movie explored other stories that mashed up the genres featured here with ones like mystery or sci-fi or drama. I want to see how Sherlock Holmes, Tom Sawyer, Captain Nemo, and Lizzie Bennett would react to this kid from the future and his three sentient books running around their stories! Or what about ones where the elements of fantasy, horror, and adventure overlap each other? Think about it, A Christmas Carol is both horror and fantasy, The Princess Bride is fantasy and adventure, The Call of Cthulu, A Wrinkle in Time and anything by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett combine all three. I’m sorry I keep going off on these tangents, but the concepts this film presents deserve more exploration than what we’re given.

Adventure rescues Horror and the two reconcile. Fantasy’s wand lights up, indicating that they’re getting closer to her territory and the Exit. Just to be sure she’s got her magic back, she tests it out by turning Adventure into –

Your very confusing nightmares for the next month, ladies and gentlemen.

Everyone traipses through the jungle into the fantasy section, which goes a bit beyond your average picture book in terms of design. Though the movie’s backgrounds and colors are a bit murky, each world has a distinct visual style. The fantasy realm is like if Arthur Rackham tangoed with Eyvind Earle. It’s not Sleeping Beauty levels of gorgeousness, though it’s close. But once again, the magic of this scene comes from the music. Instead of more instrumental backing, however, we get the movie’s main tune, “Whatever You Imagine”.

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I unironically love this song. I’ve said before I’m a sucker for 90s pop ballads and this one is no exception. It’s all about using the power of imagination to follow your dreams and shape the world into a better place, and is complemented by the visuals: some fairies that are rotoscoped in a way that they look like living embodiments of the electricity balls you find at Spencer’s appear and dance on Richard’s palm. There’s a second decent pop song in a similar vein over the end credits, “Dream Away” sung by Lisa Stanfield and Babyface, but “Whatever You Imagine” is my favorite of the two.

Yet, nice as this part is, it’s difficult to overlook the shortcomings. You thought the horror and adventure parts of the movie were rushed? What little we see of the fantasy section is limited to a minute and a half of the song before hurtling into the climax. On top of that, the only representations of fantasy here apart from the fairies are nursery rhymes (with Mother Goose and Humpty Dumpty making five-second cameos), generic familiar fairy tales (most of which, including Rapunzel and Cinderella, also joined Frankenstein’s Monster on the cutting room floor), a faun that looks like it was kidnapped from Fantasia, and a yellow brick road as a shout-out to The Wizard of Oz. I get this was a few years before Harry Potter revolutionized the genre, but no love for Lord of the Rings? No Peter Pan? No Narnia? No Earthsea? No Discworld? Not even Dr. Seuss? And if it’s because they’re sticking with public domain works then they really dropped the ball. I’ve got five words for you: King Arthur, Lord Dunsany, ETA Hoffman, George MacDonald, and any culture’s ancient mythology.

Then again, perhaps it’s for the best that the more recognizable fantasies stay out of this feature. Look at our heroes and tell me they’d survive a minute in A Song of Ice and Fire.

Richard spies the Exit on top of a mountain, but Adventure wanders into a “cave” and accidentally awakens the final boss: a monstrous fire-breathing dragon.

“Now you shall deal with me, O Prints, and all the powers of Hell!”

Fantasy summons a magic carpet ripped from her own pages to save Richard and fly them all to the Exit. But the carpet gets singed and crashes on the mountainside, scattering our heroes and causing Fantasy to lose her wand. Richard makes it to the summit but he realizes that in his haste he’s left his book club behind. Adventure decides to face the dragon alone to give Horror and Fantasy time to escape, and this is where we get the culmination of what’s supposed to be Adventure and Fantasy’s belligerent romantic tension throughout the movie and the one truly funny line of dialogue.

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Unsurprisingly, the dragon roasts Adventure but he just gets covered in ash and acts like he got bopped on the head instead of burning up like a real book would. This is the fantasy section and a kid’s cartoon on top of that, I’m not gonna argue about the logic. Richard finally finds the courage to go save his friends, but first, he takes a sword, shield, and helmet from the crumbling skeleton of a dead knight.

For his sake, he’d better wash his hands fifty times after this.

Wait, that red cross on the shield….oh my god, it’s the dragon and knight from The Faerie Queen!!

All right, let me explain what this means and why it’s a big deal. The Faerie Queen is one of the most revered examples of classic fantasy literature, a collection of six epic poems detailing the adventures of King Arthur expy Prince Arthur aiding knights representing the Twelve Private Virtues on his journey to rescue and marry the titular fairy queen Gloriana. The story of the Red Cross Knight is about Arthur helping said knight fight a dragon to save his lady love. More importantly, it’s about the knight learning to overcome his insecurities while being waylaid by outside forces symbolizing negative influences and slay the monster himself. It’s not hard to see the surface parallels in his adventure and Richard’s. So, point to the movie for subtly including a well-known tale and weaving it into the main plot. I take back what I said about it overlooking the obvious public domain fantasies.

Richard charges in ready to kick some reptilian butt. Unfortunately, he manages to do an even worse job confronting the dragon than Jon Snow and it eats him in one bite. But our hero merely gets the Jonas treatment and winds up trapped inside the dragon’s stomach, which conveniently holds a number of undigested fantasy books. I guess the dragon must be a voracious reader.

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Recalling The Pagemaster’s advice, Richard searches through the books to find something that can help him escape. In a bit of on-the-fly ingenuity, he unleashes the titular plant from Jack and the Beanstalk. He rides the plant up and out of the dragon’s throat, grabs his buddies and carries them to the mountaintop where the gates of the Exit are now open. Once inside, they find a very familiar face.

“I AM THE GREAT AND POWERFUL SOUNDTRACK! PAY NO ATTENTION THAT COMPOSER BEHIND THE CURTAIN!”

No, of course not. Instead, the Pagemaster appears to greet them. It turns out he’s been guiding Richard through his perils the whole time. Richard is not unreasonably pissed that the seemingly wise and benevolent sage took the Glinda approach of leading him into danger just to teach him a lesson. The small tirade he goes on is honestly refreshing. You don’t see many heroes call out the mentor figure on their trickery.

But all implications aside, the Pagemaster brings up an important point: what would have changed for Richard if he was whisked home just like that? Without the chance to grow, he would have stayed the same cowardly, friendless boy. To back this up, the villains Richard faced appear in the cyclone and proudly remind him of his triumphs. He made the right choices in the face of evil. He looked danger in the eye and kept moving forward. He stood up to others without hesitating. Even the dragon returns to salute Richard in its own way. There’s something rather awe-inspiring about these great literary characters returning to congratulate him for facing their challenges. It might not seem like much at face value: what practical use would there be in overcoming fears of things you’d never come across in the real world like pirates or dragons?

The thing is, most literary characters aren’t just there to move the plot from Point A to Point B, but are also a conduit for symbolizing qualities both evil and benign that enhance their stories. In The Pagemaster, as well as in their own tales, Jekyll and Hyde, Ahab, and Silver represent varying levels of obsession and fear. The dragon is especially notable for the latter in this regard since it is the culmination of Richard’s fears and how he views the world as a terrifying, dangerous place beyond his control. It’s the last thing that appears in the opening credits before he wakes up from his nightmare, and is also the form the paint blob takes when chasing him. The dragon was even supposed to appear continuously throughout the film, following Richard and his friends causing trouble for them. That aspect was cut from the final feature, though it left some conspicuous plot holes, namely how Adventure apparently lost his sword somewhere offscreen then finds it in the dragon’s mouth before he wakes it. The most important thing to take away from this, however, is that Richard doesn’t slay the dragon but instead finds a way to overcome it by moving past it, showing how he’s accepted there are things he can’t always control or avoid and chooses instead to move past his fears. If I may borrow some words Neil Gaiman often attributed to G.K. Chesterton, we don’t read fairytales to learn that dragons exist, but to learn that dragons can be beaten.

Richard, having realized how much he’s grown from his adventures, is finally ready to return to the real world. The Pagemaster sends him back along with the books, who turn into ordinary volumes. Richard wakes up on the library floor with Mr. Dewey standing over him in a totally-not-awkward-at-all manner. He remembers his promise to check out the books, but Mr. Dewey takes back Horror and tells him he can only take two home.

Wait, two books?! Only two?? The last time I went to my local library, they let me check out ten! I’m sure the rules are different depending on each district, but I’d say any self-respecting library that would want to maintain a child’s interest in reading would let them borrow a minimum of three books at a time. This seems like a strange last-minute obstacle that serves no real purpose other than making Mr. Dewey look inexplicably pedantic.

Anyway, Mr. Dewey can tell Richard’s upset that he can’t keep his promise to Horror and allows him to take all the books with him just this once. Richard passes by the ramp from the start of the film and makes the jump on his own, proving that he really has changed. It would have been more cathartic if the bullies from before were there to see it, but I suppose the writers felt this had to be something Richard would do more for himself than for anyone else. And I like how once he sticks that landing and does a positive spin on his dour catchphrase, the street lamps knocked out from the storm all light up again, showing all’s right with the world. Later, Richard’s parents come home after searching for their son all night and find him asleep in the treehouse, no longer afraid of anything.

Well, he’s still scared of Old Man Marley, but he’s taking it one step at a time.

Mr. and Mrs. Tyler let him stay up there, and once they’re gone, Horror, Adventure and Fantasy come to life once again as animated shadows on the wall and revel in their happy ending.

And that was The Pagemaster. As a young kid, I adored it. Nowadays it’s a bit of a guilty pleasure for me. It’s technically not a good movie, but it’s brimming with creative ideas, a few moments of cleverness, some nice visuals, has a good voice cast, an excellent score, and it evokes plenty of nostalgia. I just can’t bring myself to hate it. I also saw a lot of my younger self in Richard, a lit nerd prone to anxiety who found comfort and friendship in the books we traversed through and fantasized about having similar adventures. That, I think, is what really drew me into The Pagemaster back in the day. Plus, as far as an animated children’s film about a geeky kid going into classic tales with a talking book goes, it could have been much, much worse.

No. Just…no.

In case you’re still wondering if I thought this film succeeded in its message, well, it did make me want to read more, but I already loved reading when I was a child so that might render the point moot. I admire the idea of not laying out everything that happens in each story so as to get kids invested, but that being said the segments could use some beefing up to maintain interest and flesh out the characters more. Frankly, I think the whole concept of The Pagemaster would work much better as an animated series than as a movie. Maybe that was what Turner Animation was going for; if the film was more successful, they could create a spinoff show where the characters explore a new story each week that ties into some kind problem Richard is facing. Think Reading Rainbow meets Tales From the Book of Virtue. Now that Disney technically owns this movie, I’d love to see them develop something like this. Their track record with animated television has been stellar since Gravity Falls. Put this project in the right hands and they’d have another hit.

You know what? Call me out on it all you want, but The Pagemaster gets a three out of five. Watch it if you’re curious or just feeling nostalgic, and be sure to pick up a good book afterward.

Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed this review, please consider supporting me on Patreon. Patreon supporters receive great perks such as extra votes for movie reviews, requests, early sneak-peeks and more. Special thanks to Amelia Jones, Gordhan Rajani and Sam Minden for their contributions, especially at this time.

Considering the theme of this review and the timing of its release, I’d like to leave you with a bit of a positive endorsement: If you’re like me and you’re looking for something to do while in quarantine, especially since all the libraries are closed where I am, I recommend Project Gutenberg and LibriVox. Both offer ways to enjoy beloved pieces of great literature that are largely in the public domain and discover fascinating obscure ones too, and it is completely free. No accounts to sign up for, no monthly payments, just years of classic books online only a click away. I listen to many of them while working or if I need to relax. I hope it’ll help take your mind off of any fears or stress, and I’ll see you tomorrow when movie voting recommences.

Screengrabs courtesy of animationscreencaps.com

April Review: The Pagemaster (1994) I expected this movie to have a few votes from those who remembered it as kids. I never expected it to win by a landslide.

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kellykadesperate · 7 years

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Nicole would you ever think about doing a little continuation of your Big Bang it doesn’t have to be a long fic or anything but just little snapshots into their life once they got together as I loved the whole world war theme and their story so much x

Do you have any headcanons for aaron & robert’s life together after they properly reunite in We’ll Meet Again? I could honestly read a whole angsty sequel about their life together, i’m so invested in this au version of their relationship lmao xx

so … i couldn’t resist. here’s about half of them, i have more i need to look over so enjoy these for now:

‘we’ll meet again’ headcanons (part one) :

1) Robert became an avid gardener. He dedicated a section for the garden to memories, it became a place filled with poppies like the First World War was dedicated to. It was filled with a sense of loss and tragedy and Robert hated watching them die. But Aaron would kiss his head, and tell him to wait until the flowers grew again in the spring and it wouldn’t feel so sad. They always grew, and Robert would always thank Aaron for making them grow again.

2) When Jacob was four, Robert received a letter from Eden’s mother wishing her grandson a happy birthday. It made Robert uncontrollably miserable until he was watching Aaron build stones up high in the garden with Jacob on his lap. He’d made a headstone for Eden, labelled ‘Mummy’ and it managed to make Robert smile for the first time in days. He was proud.

3) The first time they had sex after reuniting was not what either of them expected. They were passionate at first, ripping each other’s clothes off and falling into bed. But then Robert saw Aaron’s scars, more than he remembered, and he saw the bruises over his arms where needles had been prodded into, and he cried into Aaron’s chest. They were like that for what felt like hours, naked, exploring each other without anything sexual happening. It was all down to Aaron though, he initiated it and Robert readily accepted the sex, the way of communicating. It was slow and soft and then filled with need until they were collapsing down on the bed and falling to sleep. Content. For the first time in years it didn’t feel wrong for Aaron, he didn’t feel dirty, he just felt loved.

4) Annie’s mother, Martha, was beautiful, too beautiful to be working the streets at night because she was too proud to accept the help Aaron and Robert wanted to give her. It’s why she ended up the way she did, she’d contracted something from someone and she was dying before she could better herself for her daughter.

5) But before that, she’d been Aaron’s beard. She’d walk with him, her on his arm in front of crowds. Usually in the park where all the other women would gossip about them. She’d managed to keep the whispers about the two men in the quaint country house to a bare minimum and they were always grateful for that.

6) Robert built the cot Annie slept in after three attempts.

7) Aaron freaked out after Annie was in their care, thoughts about not being good enough for her or for Jacob was suddenly forced to the front of his mind and he was telling Robert to marry a woman who could be a mother to them both. But then Annie held his hand and all the insecurities fell quiet around him.

8) Robert wrote love poems for Aaron, usually on his birthday. He’d wrap them up in neat bows and have Jacob deliver them to him with a soft smile on his face. Aaron would always read them in the garden, alone. Then he’d come back inside, just kiss at Robert’s head and the older man would always see the tears in Aaron’s eyes. Aaron would always blame the flowers and his ‘hayfever.’

9) Harry had three children with Molly, his childhood sweetheart, and they visited almost once a month. Molly always baked them biscuits and although she didn’t understand Aaron or Robert, or their love the way Harry did, she was always kind.

10) Chas visited with Liv when she could, before the drive because too long and her bones became too weak so she’d send cards.

11) Liv would always stay with them at Christmas, one time Robert was asked if she was his child by some local busy body and Aaron jumped at the chance to call her his own. It helped stopped the gossip even more.

12) Robert broke the bed twice during sex, his heavy movements were enough to make the whole thing fall apart and Jacob worry something bad had happened as they battled with the sheets to cover themselves up and not have full on laughing fits.

13) It was almost public knowledge around Emmerdale about the boys. Everyone seemed to know that they were together in some way or other and over the years it became known as almost a turn of phrase. ‘You wouldn’t run after me like Aaron ran after Robert would ya?’

14) Aaron made toast for him and Robert every single morning until the day Robert left for the care home. He made sure to tell Ellie that it’s the only way to get Robert up in the morning.

15) Little Jacob took to Aaron like a duck to water, it took only two weeks for him to call him daddy. Not dad, not father, nothing too formal, something soft. Daddy.

16) And Aaron nearly ran, would have if Robert hadn’t been standing behind him and nodding at his son, telling him that was right, “Aaron is your other daddy isn’t he?” And maybe it was too soon, but he knew Aaron wasn’t going anywhere ever so it was okay. It felt right.

17) Aaron did leave though, because he had to. It was nearly a year after Annie was born and a woman in the nearby village began gossiping about seeing Robert wear the same shirt she’d seen Aaron wear three days earlier. It made Aaron panic, made him leave Robert a note saying sorry. He came back two weeks later and found Robert in a heap on the floor, Jacob asleep, Annie in his arms. “You said you’d never leave again, you promised me.” And Aaron hated himself for days until Robert was letting him know he understood why, and that the whole world was mad. Aaron could agree to that.

18) ‘We’ll meet again’ became *their song naturally. They would dance, or Aaron would shuffle his feet, every year on their anniversary. An anniversary of when they first danced together in that village hall, when they first kissed.

19) Robert tried to grow a beard like Aaron’s for nearly three months. It didn’t work and little Annie clapped her hands together because only ‘daddy fluffy head’ could have one.

20) They had a dog called Benson who Aaron became besotted with. Once Annie and Jacob had left home, he’d spend hours out in the garden talking to him about what was going on in his head, especially when he didn’t want to upset Robert too much. They buried him in the back garden and Aaron wasn’t too proud to cry on Robert’s shoulder when it happened.

21) Aaron often woke up in the night petrified that Robert would leave him and marry a woman. His face would be wet, his chest rising and falling madly and he would cry into Robert’s chest and beg him not to do what he ‘ought to do’ before people began to wonder why he didn’t have a wife, or a new one considering Eden had died. Robert would always reassure him, always hold Aaron close and whisper how much he loved him. “You’re mine and I’m yours” he’d say and something would always settle in Aaron’s chest.

22) Robert spent his whole life trying to cope with his bisexuality, it took years before he heard someone describe it on the television in detail, with a light voice and no disgust in his tone, and it made something inside him break. Aaron squeezed his hand as they sat on the sofa together and heard a report about it all. It struck a cord and Robert tried to come to terms with the label.

23) Aaron bought Robert three books on bisexuality, smiled as he watched Robert read them before bed and relax a little more each time he put the book down as if it was helping him every night.

24) Robert became known for his war poetry after Jacob secretly entered his father’s poems into a competition. It was snapped up. It became published and he had three books to his name by his sixtieth birthday.

25) They fought like cats and dogs when they wanted to. It usually involved screaming and shouting and breaking plates and then falling in bed and telling each other that the other one was in the wrong in between moans and kisses as they tried to have make up sex.

26) Aaron and Robert told Jacob and Annie about the moon story one night when it was up so high and they were laying out on the grass. Jacob was in awe of the fact that the moon was the same wherever you were and Annie got all excited and attempted to touch it with her little hands. Robert couldn’t help but hum their old little song as he brushed his teeth that night and Aaron couldn’t help but almost cry.

27) Aaron was approached by the local newspaper about his time during the war and his treatment as a homosexual. They wanted him to write a few articles about it all and after months of battling with what to do about it, Aaron found the words.

28) Aaron became a spokesman for a charity which voiced the treatment of the lgbtq community during the war and was reunited with the two boys who had been with him during those seven days. All three of them were clearly damaged by what had happened but all three of them had a fella with them as they attended the charity ball and Aaron was so proud of that fact.

29) Robert was in the audience, holding back tears as he heard their children clap like mad at their father. He only managed to mouth an 'I love you’ as Aaron thanked him for all the years they’d spend together, all the patience.

30) Annie and Jacob grew up knowing exactly what they couldn’t say to other people about who lived at home. When Jacob started school they had to sit him down and tell him that he couldn’t tell anyone he had a daddy called Aaron too. And Jacob cried, like he knew why and hated the world for making it all so unfair. They had to tell Annie the same thing, and they watched it hurt their children, they also watched it make them love Aaron even more though and they’d run into his arms as soon as they were home.

#im out but i queued this #hope you like them so far lol #there's about twenty more i have to look through #let me know if you have a favourite one #i tried to keep them light but nonnies asked for their life and it wouldn't have been light and fluffy all the time #big bang fic #headcanons

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smokeybrandreviews · 4 years

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Force Ghosts

Rise of Skywalker has farted in the box office for it’s entire run. Disney is in panic mode. Other than Mando and Clone Wars, we got nothing for the next two years. The future is in question and no one knows where to go. So let’s take this opportunity to look back! I’m a massive fan of the Star War, ever since i was a little kid watching Empire on TV. This sh*t was my Harry Potter. When Disney bought these rights, i was apprehensive. Then the Force Awakens came out. I thought it rehashed a little too much from New Hope but it had been decades since the last Star War so I understood. A little refresher was in order to ease us into the new direction. JJ did an okay job with that first one. We started on such a high...

The Force Awakens

This movie is dope. It’s literally modern take on A New Hope narrative wise, but the strength of the new characters was outstanding. What JJ did with Rey, Finn, and Poe was amazing. Sure, Rey was a blank slate sort of but we had two, entire films, to flesh out her character. Poe being the debonair space pilot felt perfect. And Finn? Oh, Finn had SO much potential to his character that it was overwhelming. A black, deserting Stormtrooper, that was very obviously Force sensitive? Are you kidding? I loved where these characters were left and looked forward to whatever was next. I mean, from the second Kylo stopped that blaster fire with the goddamn force to the admittedly hardbody lightsaber duel at the end, I adored everything about this flick. Cats give it sh*t for the nostalgia wank and Episode IV shilling but, i mean, it had been, what? 30 years since we had a proper Star War? That sh*t is forgivable. What isn’t is what came numerically next...

Rogue One

Before that travesty of a numbered Episode occurred, we got Rogue One or, as i like to call it, Vader Wank. Look, making a movie out of two sentences in a text crawl from 40 years ago is ridiculous. There are some dope characters in it and, my goodness, the cinematography is the best in the series, but you can tell this was supposed to be a different movie. It’s very obvious. But all is forgiven for that last third. Sh*t, man, that mess was glorious! All that Vader wank! SO much Vader wank...

The Last Jedi

So, the thing about The Last Jedi is that it’s not bad film. It’s a terrible Star War but it’s not a bad film. There is a ton of awesome sh*t in this thing, man. Holdo’s sacrifice, the disillusioned Luke, Kylo’s ascensions, Super Leia; All of that stuff is mad dope but none of it works in Star War! And don’t get me started on what they do to Finn and Poe. And f*cking Rose Tico, man! Why? Why is she a thing?? Her whole thing, that entire casino planet nonsense, grinds the momentum of this movie to a goddamn halt. There is no consequence in this film. There is nothing even close to a resolution. No one grows in this movie! It’s f*cking so f*ck stagnant and, ultimately, inconsequential! Every f*cking character is either in the same goddamn spot or regressed into an incompetent man-child! In a vacuum, on it’s own, It would have been dope! Like, if we started here? If we didn't have Episode VII before it? I can see this being an okay outing. Not great, but there's room to grow and fix certain things. You can build off of the threads launched here. Hell, if it was side story, i wouldn’t be so mad. But to throw away everything that Awakens set up, just to explosive diarrhea all over the entire franchise strictly to “subvert muh expectations”? Really? F*ck off!

Solo

I’ve watched Solo twice since i saw it in the theater and, i must say, this thing is better than i remember. It’s a proper Star War. There is a plot. Characters grow. Sh*t is a thing. Considering the last two Skywalker/Palpatine titles, that’s saying a lot. It’s sad we won’t get to see where this Solo story goes because of The Last Jedi hate, because there was a story to be told, but, i mean, we did get a Gambino Lando and that’s a beautiful thing.

The Rise of Skywalker

Bro, I hated this movie more than The Last Jedi. Look, it's better than that film. Like, it's not a better movie in a technical or plot aspect, but from a narrative standpoint, this is the closest thing to a Star War tale since probably Revenge of the Sith. The choices made to shore up the mess left by Last Jedi are very apparent in this thing and it detracts from the overall story trying to be told. That's how bad Lat Jedi f*cked up; It made a movie not even out yet, terrible, just by existing. I'm not going to get into detail because I've written at length about why this movie is the worst, but the thing that really hurts is the original version of Episode IX leaked and it's f*cking amazing! Duel of Fates would have been a better send off to the franchise but nope! We got Rise instead and the Star Wars franchise dies, not with thunderous applause, but with a wet fart.

Disney has opted to take a break for a few years before releasing anymore Star Wars films. Indeed, it looks like they've learned a lesson as it's whispered Kathleen Kennedy is on her way out, George Lucas wants back in, and Kevin Feige is looking to sit in the big chair at Lucasart. Personally, I want Feige to stay where he is and would prefer if Jon Favreau took them reins, Mando is f*cking phenomenal, but we'll see. All I have to say is that Disney's Star Wars Phase One ended up being the definition of disappointment.

#Star Wars

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smokeybrand · 4 years

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Force Ghosts

The Force Awakens

Rogue One

The Last Jedi

Solo

The Rise of Skywalker

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hellzyeahthewebwieldingavenger · 7 years

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I’m struggling to remember an article by CBR which has been worse than this one.

Let’s go through this point by point.

“Peter Parker’s Spider-Man is one of the most famous and beloved superheroes of all time. He has had almost a billion movies (rough estimate) and more cartoons than Mickey Mouse. ”

So first of all even if we were obviously recognizing this as not being intended literally it’s entirely disingenuous. There have been FIVE Spider-Man movies, the sixth one being this year. Excluding crossovers, movie serials or animated films there have been six Superman movies and eight Batman movies.

I don’t see the allegations of ‘a billion movies’ directed at them though.

“However, while we all love Spider-Man (after all, he does whatever a spider can and that includes release pheromones that make you helplessly devoted), we’re not quite sure this particular Spider-Man should be in the Marvel Cinematic Universe.”

I agree with the latter point but I’m going to place money that it’s not for the same reasons the article is going to list.

As for the former point that’s literally not part of Spider-Man’s powerset and never has been.

“In fact, there’s an argument to be made that the movies would be a whole lot better if he just dropped dead and allowed a different Spider to take his place.”

Yes there is an argument like that. It just happens to be idiotic and ill considered.

“we firmly believe that Peter Parker’s Spider-Man should take a dirt nap right about now and let someone who hasn’t had three different franchise series into his big webbed tights. (Someone like Miles Morales, for instance.) Anyway, this one’s for YOU, true believers!”

‘We’? Who is this ‘we’?

All of CBR?

I doubt every staffer of CBR believes in this attitude.

Or perhaps this is the royal we?

Moving on...two.

Spider-Man has had TWO different movie franchises to his name. The MCU version will be the third. But like I said Batman has had technically a minimum of 4. No one is complaining at least not as forcefully about him. In fact I notice nobody asking for Robert Downey Junior to shove off and allow Rhodey or somebody else become the new Iron Man even though Tony Stark has starred in 6 movies now and will continue to do so for at least 2 more. The same applies to Captain America who actually had 2 other movies before the MCU as well.

So WHERE exactly is this rule of ‘Well look you’ve had X number of movie franchises that’s enough now’. Frankly given how Peter Parker is you know, Marvel’s mascot, the most profitable superhero ever, one of the three most famous comic book characters of all time, Stan Lee’s favourite character, and frankly THE BEST of all of Marvel’s iconic characters he is absolutely OWED more movies.

Especially when you consider the Raimi and Webb movies didn’t get him right and screwed up various aspects of his history. Never have we seen the Death of Gwen Stacy done right. Never have we seen Mary Jane or Venom done right. Nor Green Goblin. And how about all those iconic Spider-Man stories which were landmarks in the comic book industry?

The Master Planner Trilogy

The Death of Jean DeWolff

Nothing Can Stop the Juggernaut

We’ve only had 5 Spider-Man movies and 1.5 of those retold material from the first 3. None of them went beyond Spider-Man’s college adventures when that is nowhere near the entirety of the character’s journey.

But we want to throw him away for...a derivative version who whilst maybe good unto themselves is objectively not as original nor as actually layered as a character.

Yes, this surely is ‘for us true beleivers’.

And you know SOMEHOW I just knew I’d hear Miles’ name brought up. And brought up first. I do ever so wonder if literally ANY other Spider-Heroes will get a mention.

Oh and learn to spell check will you. I’m not perfect but I don’t write for a professional website that pays me.

Seriously

“who hasn’t had three different franchise series into his big webbed tights.”

This is laughably bad sentence construction. I don’t even know what I’m reading.

15)

“Let’s face it, there aren’t a ton of stories to tell about Spider-Man. His villains? Sure, but Spidey himself? He’s unlucky in love, his uncle dies, everyone he knows is actually a villain. That’s pretty much it. ”

Okay so in these few sentences you’ve proven that

a) You don’t know anything about Spider-Man

b) You are thereby unqualified to be writing this article about Spider-Man

c) You are an idiot.

And you see I know all this because nobody who does know anything about Spider-Man, who is thereby qualified to write an article like this about Spider-Man and isn’t an idiot would have ever written that.

Because there are 50+ years of fucking stories across two ongoing universes which prove that you are wrong.

Jesus Christ.

There are a ton of stories to tell about Spider-Man’s villains more than Spider-Man? Yeah, because we all remember those plethora of stories about Electro, Scorpion, Shocker and Mysterio right?

They’re soooooo interesting.

Jackass most of Spider-Man’s villains are gimmick characters with cool costumes. Oh he has deep villains like Norman Osborn and Doc Ock and a few others. But Shocker shoots vibrations, Electro electrocutes things, the Rhino literally up until the 2009 was a rampaging brick. They are not Batman’s villains. Some of them have layers but they are not the psychologist’s wet dream like Batman’s rogue’s gallery.

You’d know that if you’d actually read much Spider-Man, which I’m betting you have not.

Similarly you’d know there is much more to Spider-Man than you pathetically oversimplified things down to.

He’s unlucky in love? Yeah because dating the teen secretary to a millionaire media mogul when you are in high school, having the most popular girl in school wanting to date you, dating the daughter of a respected police captain, a thrill seeking reforming cat burglar and actually marrying someone who’s not only very attractive to you, not only an actress/model but also has your back in a crisis is sooooooooo unlucky right? As is dating all those other people he’s been with.

Everyone he knows is actually a villain? Yeah...no. Harry Osborn, Norman Osborn, Frederick Foswell, Felicia Hardy and arguably Jameson are more or less it. Nobody else he knows is actually a villain. Or do you know something about Aunt May and Mary Jane that we do not?

And franlly...not a lot of stories to tell?

Uh huh.

The death of Gwen Stacy, Spider-Man vs. Wolverine, When Commeth the Commuter, the Wedding arc, the Death of Jean DeWolff, the Clone Saga, the Totem saga, the Master Planner Trilogy, Spider-Man No More, the Owl/Octopus War, the Alien Costume Saga and literally too many others for me to list disagree with you...and also call you an idiot who doesn’t know what the fuck they are talking about.

“You can tell an origin story and a pretty good villain story, but after that you’re left treading water. What can you do next?”

I dunno maybe you could examine the realistic pressures of living with the burden of being a superhero and have him decide to give up that burden only to reaffirm the lesson he had previously learned and then choose to risk it all for the sake of emotional fulfilment by being with the woman he loves?

And then perhaps getting arrogant over his apparent successes and letting power go to his head corrupting him into something he isn’t until he reasserts who he truly should be and then has to deal with the ramifications of his actions in the manifested form of a dark reflection of himself?

OR maybe you could have him learn that sometimes using his power to try and save people isn’t enough because someone he cares about dies inspite of his actions and then he has to go through a realistic human grieving process?

I figure MAYBE those could be sound premises for movies other than his origin story.

Maybe?

“Well, you can kill him.”

This is the laziest and most unimaginative idea for a Spider-Man movie I’ve ever had the misfortune of hearing. And I’ve heard the idea that Spider-Man has sex with mary Jane on top of a bridge.

“See, Spider-Man’s best stories of the last few years have been when he died — most notably in Amazing Spider-Man #700 and in Ultimate Spider-Man #150”

Again...you don’t know anything about Spider-Man and/or are an incredibly pathetic literary analyst.

Because if you weren’t either of those things you’d have noted how godaweful and just plain asinine Superior was and how mean spirited ASM #700 were. You are talking about a storyline which literally only happened because Spider-Man was so stupid that he didn’t try telling the Avengers his mind had been switched with Doc Ock.

That is if you’ve actually bothered to read the stories. I’m not convinced you have though.

“They’re powerful stories that show Peter is true to his word, and that he knows with great power does come great responsibility… no matter what.”

Maybe the USM story is powerful (and poorly built up) but ASM #700 isn’t. Especially when you consider that Peter DIDN’T die in the story. He’s literally alive in his body in Superior Spider-Man #1.

14)

We really do not need Miles at all.

Miles Morales was created less than 10 years ago and has been the subject of decompressed 4+ part stories including multiple crossovers and events.

What does this mean?

It means long term there is entirely too little material about Miles to justify him being Spider-Man long term and what little material there is not movieworthy.

To begin with almost half his history is tied up in events which cannot by their nature function as solo Spider-Man movies due to the presence of other characters and elements that do not pertain to Spider-Man’s core concept.

Or do you think it’d make for a positively thrilling Spider-Man movie to see him run around trying to stop Galactus (who Marvel don’t own) before a giant Kitty pryde (who Marvel don’t own) knocks him out?

All of Miles’ OTHER stories are equally unsuitable for film as Spider-Man stories.

He works as an agent of SHIELD? Spider-Man is about being a normal guy who happens to be a hero so no spy shit shouldn’t be in a movie.

His mother dies because of Venom? Yay, let’s fridge another woman (and a woman of colour to boot) in a story decision that even the original writer regretted and reversed just three years later.

Oh! He could fight Captain America in another Civil War. Oh wait we just did that movie.

HEY how about having his origin story again?

Audiences will just eat up ANOTHER movie about a smart teenager who gets bitten by a science spider, gains super powers, doesn’t use them when he can resulting in someone dying, feeling guilty about it and then deciding to be a superhero.

I mean they just LOVED seeing that for the second time in 10 years so surely they’d love seeing it for the third time in 15.

On top of all that hey genius, MILES IS A TEENAGER!

There exists ZERO stories about his life beyond his teens which means you have NOTHING to base a movie upon when the actor soon enough ages beyond the point where he’s a teenager. With Peter Parker though you have stories of him as a high schooler, college student, grad student, young man leaving education and a married adult.

“Look, we love Peter, you love Peter, but we need Miles Morales. It’s a different world out there than when we were kids, a world which has six different Peter Parker movies with a seventh one on the way.”

Yes it is a different world. We have 8 Batman movies now as opposed to the 5 from 20 years ago.

And if you mean it’s a different world in regards to something to do with race, putting aside how you know...there are still a lot of white people around...just cast Peter Parker with a poc actor!

That’d be cool and keeps the awesome iconic character of Spider-Man rather than the less developed, less original, has less stories to tell version of Spider-Man.

“Peter Parker is cool and all, but we’re pretty sure most audience members would be fine if he had less movies than Harry Potter. ”

I see...you’ve compiled a comprehensive survey about this have you?

A survey which suggests that mass audiances who’ve been used to Peter Parker being Spider-Man for 50 years would be okay with this other character being Spider-Man whom they no little-nothing about.

Okay.

“Miles, honestly, is just a bit more interesting than Peter. His first reaction wasn’t, “Oh joy, Spider Powers!” it was, “Oh no…” He has a different background, different friends, and a different story — one we haven’t seen on-screen almost 10 times. Give Miles a shot, gang.”

Fuck. You.

No seriously.

A character who is scared by his new powers is more interesting than one who decides to use them for personal gain whilst neglecting the good he can do, learns his lesson the hard way and carries that guilt forward into his life driving him to be a hero?

Jackass your saying 1950s DC characters’ origins are more interesting than the 1960s Marvel characters’ origins which are MORE REALISTIC!

Peter Parker had flaws to his character more serious than Miles’ and took more time to get past. Miles is a good kid who does the right thing relatively quickly.

Peter wasn’t, even when he decided to do the right thing he tripped, stumbled had to get passed his personal issues and grow as a person. He wasn’t immediately great at being a superhero, he ran away crying in his very first issue after a super villain fight. He was hated and hounded by the press and police.

He had to provide for his famiy in the absence of his father figure who’s death he had a hand in. And on top of that had to deal with unpopularity at school and life generally taking a crap on him.

Oh...but he’s ‘just not as interesting’ as the kid who had little-none of that to deal with.

I’m not even saying Miles sucks or hasn’t got a lot of merit.

But fuck you no, he is absolutely not as interesting as Peter Parker was.

As for his different background and different friends guess what genius you haven’t seen that for Peter either. You’ve never seen Flash Thompson or Joe Robertson done properly. You’ve seen only the briefest of glimpses into Jameson. You’ve never seen MJ done right, Jean DeWolff or anything like that.

And again...you saw SOME of Spider-Man’s supporting cast in a mere 5 movies which repeated beats from one another which didn’t cover even a 10th of Spider-Man’s wider history.

13)

“Heck, the comics have already killed him and brought him back a bunch of times! Ultimate Spider-Man was the first series to make a thing of it and it’s the series that Spider-Man: Homecoming most resembles. ”

Again...you clearly no sweet fuck all about Spider-Man.

a) If you knew anything about Spider-Man including the Miles Morales version you would know that Holland’s Spider-Man most closely resembles him not Ultimate Peter Parker

b) Spider-Man died and came back multiple times in the 616 universe long before Ultimate ever did it

“But while he’s dead, we can explore a different and cooler Spider-Man; one we haven’t seen before.”

See above as to why Miles isn’t cooler and why you are unqualified to write this article.

“ But the point is that the comics have killed Peter Parker off before and it worked out wonderfully…”

Yeah like remember that wonderful outcome where a super villain was Spider-Man and tried to rape Mary jane for a whole issue. WONDERFUL!

12)

“We might be belaboring the point here (we can already hear you typing your Facebook comments now), but Peter Parker has been the star of two different trilogies in the span of 10 years (though one was mercifully cut short). ”

‘Two different trilogies’? Up top you said three. Whch is it.

But whilst we’re belabouring points see above about the hypocrisy of using this argument given the number of films OTHER characters have had.

Also learn some mathematics. If a films eries lasts for TWO movies it’s objectively not a TRILOGY!

“There’s no shortage of Peter Parker content out there. Plus, he’s not like Batman where there’s a bunch of interesting characters for him to play off of. ”

I’m sensing a Batfan who doesn’t know much about Spider-Man is writing this.

Regardless Mary Jane Watson, J. Jonah Jameson, Joe Robertson, Jean DeWolff, Flash Thompson, George Stacy, Betty Brant, Liz Allan, Ben Urich, Felicia Hardy, Harry Osborn, Randy Robertson, and Norman Osborn (i.e. the best supporting cast of all comic books ever) grossly disagree with you about there being no ‘interesting characters for him to play off of’.

“There’s basically just Spider-Man and his enemies…”

*facepalms so hard it shatters skull*

As if I needed more confirmation.

Hey asshole? Even people who don’t READ Spider-Man know his life involves his normal people supporting cast waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay more than his super villains who’re egregiously less important. THAT’S LITERALLY WHAT MADE HIM POPULAR IN THE FIRST PLACE!

“and all those girls he’s too poor and/or nerdy and/or too devoted to his aunt to date.”

Yeah like Betty Brant, Gwen Stacy, Felicia Hardy, Deb Whitman, Mary Jane, Carlie Cooper, Lian Tang and so on.

He NEVER dated any of them because he was too poor, too nerdy and too devoted to his aunt...who set him up to date one of them.

FFS

11)

“Hey, you know what makes audiences think twice? When you kill off a main character. Remember Phil Coulson’s death back during The Avengers? It was amazing, it was shocking, it was memorable, and it’s a big part of why that movie was better than a lot of other MCU movies — because it had actual stakes. We all genuinely cared about Phil Coulson, as we watched him in all of the different movies.

In the same way, we all genuinely love Peter Parker, and seeing him — especially such a young and hopeful him — dying on-screen would be super devastating and prove that the stakes are real in the MCU. None of the heroes have fallen yet — the closest has been Rhodey getting his back hurt — but at some point one of them is going to have to — why not the one you’d least expect, and the one you might love the most?”

Killing off for cheap shock value and not because it makes sense for the character is a lowly form of writing...also Coulson came back genius.

And if you want this to happen then surely killing off Steve Rogers who also has a black person as his legacy, has had legacies before, had a better death storyline, is a bigger deal to the universe at large and has lived a longer life thus making it less cruel for him to be struck down as a child, would make a million times more sense than Spider-Man dying.

10)

“Peter Parker is more or less regarded as the heart of the Marvel Universe. He’s the youngest, the one most down on his luck, and the one who sacrifices the most to be a hero.”

Yeah...Peter Parker is the youngest hero. As we all know Richard Ryder, Kamala Khan and every Young Avenger ever is older than Spider-Man.

And as we all know he’s the most down on his luck. Daredevil who’s girlfriends have a history of you know...dying looks at Spider-Man and saying “Well at least I’m not THAT guy. He has to worry about his mother’s health. I don’t have to do that because my mother left me to be raised by my Dad whilst she worked as a nun and never sees me.”

“He is the most heroic of all of the heroes in the Marvel Universe and nothing would prove that better than to show him sacrificing himself. Being the true hero.”

We already know how heroic he is and know that he’d give his life to save others. We don’t need him to die to prove that. See Iron man in Avengers Asemble. And you know fucking Quicksilver who already proved stakes are real!

“What would work better to establish him as the beating heart of the Marvel Cinematic Universe than to show that — above everyone else — he is the guy to make the sacrifice play. With all of those others standing so tall, he could stand as the true embodiment of what it means to be a hero. In fact, killing him would show just how much of a hero he always was.”

Again..see Iron Man in Avengers Assemble. And Bruce Banner in Incredible Hulk who wasn’t risking his mortality perhaps but he was willingly condemning himself to a fate worse than death by becoming the Hulk again. It’s established he’d rather be dead than be the Hulk, but he still chose to become a monster again and ruin his life in order to save lives.

Oh and Captain America in First Avenger and Winter Soldier. He was willing to sacrifice himself in the first movie for the greater good and in the second movie it was just to save his BFF.

In fact just see Captain America. In the MCU it’s debatable whether he or Iron Man are the heart of the universe, but Cap is objectively the most heroic.

And you want self sacrifice...dude...Cap was literally a soldier...in World War II.

Spider-Man in the MCU isn’t a hero to that degree yet. In-universe arguably he isn’t that degree of hero yet. Perhaps nobody could top Cap in that regard.

“When Phil Coulson died, it was a rallying call for the Avengers to get back together and take the fight to Loki and help save New York. It was pretty cool but if the Avengers are going to come back together after being so heavily divided, then it’s going to take something big. Maybe something like the youngest Avenger, the one all of them met for a short time, dying in battle.”

So we’re going to kill off Spider-Man not for the sake of his story but for the sake of the wider Marvel Universe thereby reducing him to a prop.

Charming.

Putting that aside this is so stupid because Thor and Hulk don’t even know he exists whilst all other Avengers except for Iron Man don’t know him personally at all. It’d just be some kid who died which is sad to them I guess. Half the team saw him as an enemy anyway.

When Coulson died he was at least on speaking terms with like half the team. He had some sort of relationship with them.

Spidey in the MCU currently does not...at all.

There is more justification for them to be affected by Quicksilver’s death!

“Maybe then the heroes will realize that something needs to be done and the Avengers will… well, you know… Avenge! Spider-Man’s death could be a call for the Avengers to become bigger and greater and cooler than they’ve ever been — and as we know, the Avengers got their name from avenging Phil… why not continue the tradition and avenge Spider-Man?”

How would Spider-Man’s death motivating the Avengers somehow make them ‘cooler’?

And they should probably not continue the tradition by Avenging Spider-Man because it’s cheap and makes Spider-Man’s death more about the Avengers rather than about him. Especially when you consider Spider-Man is about being a normal down to Earth guy. But the global threat fighting taskforce that is the Avengers are going to be motivated by some Goblin nutter offing him?

Or perhaps you mean it’d be appropriate for Spider-Man to die at the hands of a cosmic threat like Thanos even though that’s well outside the remit for his character’s core coneption and theme.

“Unfortunately there are a lot of issues that go against our entirely cool plan to kill the Spider”

Your plan isn’t entirely cool. Merely entirely foolish.

“such as Tom Holland saying he has plans that he’s put forth to keep playing Spider-Man until the character is in his thirties. To wrap your head around that, the Spider-Man in Captain America: Civil War is about 15 years old. Holland wants to play this character for 20 freaking years.”

So Tom Holland wants to respect the Spider-Man character and do his story justice by showing him grow and mature into his adulthood which is what Stan Lee his creator and architect of the entire Marvel universe intended and what eventually happened in the comics leading to some of the best Spider-Man stories ever such as the Death of Jean DeWolff.

What an asshole I guess.

“So, unfortunately, it seems like Spider-Man — as Peter Parker — isn’t going anywhere for a very long time indeed.”

Oh no what a shame. Peter Parker who IS Spider-Man, the original, the genuine article, the best one in fact, will remain Spider-Man.

Man...this is almost as bad as when I heard Clark Kent would be Superman.

“It would be like introducing Hank Pym only to have him immediately… oh wait, that actually happened.”

I don’t even know what your saying here. Hank Pym didn’t die in Ant Man.

“nyway, what we’re saying is that grabbing the rights to Peter Parker for the MCU is one of their biggest scoops of recent years — Guardians of the Galaxy big ”

BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!

‘Guardians of the Galaxy big?

What planet are you living on? Guardians of the Galaxy made a lot of money and was a smash hit. Guardians though wasn’t even as big in the movie business as the FIRST Avengers movie.

Peter being in the MCU is an almost UNPRECEDENTED working relationship between two competing film companies, especially when one of them is Disney.

It’s grossly a bigger deal than Guardians, hence news coverage went nuts when it happened moreso than when Guardians happened.

“Yes, okay, while Peter Parker is incredibly prolific across every single form of media, there’s a pretty fair reason for that. The dude is popular. He’s one of the best-selling comic characters (arguably the best selling) of all time. He’s basically a license to print money, and while Miles Morales is pretty awesome and super popular in his own right, he’s not Peter Parker popular. Yet.”

And he never will be.

Peter Parker as Spider-Man is a 50+ year institution.

You say he’s prolific because he’s popular.

But he’s popular because he’s a GREAT character.

Great in ways that Miles, whilst good unto himself, is mostly derivative of.

“While it might be a great creative move, when it comes to money, Peter Parker’s the safe bet. (Which would probably amuse the permanently poor character to no end.)”

Spider-Man isn’t permanently poor. Putting aside stupid stints like Parker Industries or when Mary Jane was raking in the cash as a supermodel, Peter has had periods of time where he is merely financially stable as opposed to poor.

He wasn’t even really ‘poor’ in Ultimate Spider-Man which I’m guessing is the only source of Spider-Man you have that much familiarity with.

And for many reasons stated above, Peter isn’t the best choice creatively. And it because of that that he’s not the best decision financially.

Creatively Peter has 50 years of history to draw on to make great movies out of. Creatively Miles has less than 10 and not even all of that would be conductive for a movie.

“While this is arguably the most controversial argument, it’s also incredibly true. Marvel has a bit of a white-dude-as-lead problem. As in, all of their movies thus far have had a white dude main character. Sure, Black Panther is coming later but, look, if there was another version of Black Panther that was a white dude… let’s just say Marvel most likely would have gone for that version.”

First of all I’m shocked to learn CBR has this massive insight into Kevin Feige’s mindset that they know for a fact they’d make amovie out of the Caucasian Black Panther if he existed.

But hey...here is a thought. Maybe...just maybe...the reason Marvel’s movies have had white leads thus far is because in the source material they base the movies on...the characters are ALSO white?????????????????????????????????????????!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Look...I’m not saying you should always keep a character white if they were in the cource material, but from a branding point of view and a fan point of view (of which Feige is known to be) it makes a shitton of sense that Marvel would want the characters to visually speaking look like they leapt off the page as much as possible.

So no...Marvel wouldn’t have used the Caucasian Black Panther if they could have, they would’ve used the African Black Panther because Black Panther is in fact someone from the African continent.

Same way they made kept Gamora green and Nebula blue because int eh comics they are effing green and effing blue!

Again, racebending is okay under the right circumstances and Spider-Man was one of those circumstances.

But saying Marvel are determined to have as many white leads as possible is despicably idiotic and judgemental.

“Heck, Ant Man and Wasp is going to be the first movie to have a woman even co-headline! While Marvel makes good movies, they’re also a bit regressive. Suddenly making a movie about a young mixed race kid whose uncle is a thief seems like a bit of an inauspicious start for the company. Give them time, and Miles will appear onscreen. Eventually.”

The same applies here.

Marvel makes movies based upon the source material they have and the most successful source material at that, or at least the one which serves their purposes the most.

And unfortunately most of their big characters in the source material are white males.

Does this mean they shouldn’t do female led movies? No of course not.

Should they have done them before now?

Maybe in the case of Black Widow but otherwise from a practical POV probably not.

MCU Phase 1 was designed to get us to the Avengers and do so as quickly as possible. To that end they did movies based upon the biggest Avengers characters, the real icons.

Cap, Iron Man and Thor are the trinity of the Avengers. Hulk is however the most famous classic Avenger in all pop culture so he had to be in there.

Hence Phase 1 was movies about those guys leading into Avengers.

Phase 2 consequently comprised ONLY sequels to those movies in order to as quickly as possible follow up to the smash hit that was the first Avengers film. The ONLY exceptions to those sequels were Ant Man and Guardians of the Galaxy, both of which were made primarily for PRACTICAL purposes more than anything else.

Ant Man had been in development since around the time of the first Iron Man movie so there was a huge financial incentive to just get it finished and out the goddam door.

Guardians meanwhile existed for the EXACT SAME reason Iron man 2 existed, that is to say set up things for the future. Iron Man 2 primarily existed to set up Avengers whereas Guardians existed to set up the cosmic side of the Marvel universe thereby giving the MCU more potential films whilst also setting up Infinity War by explaining who the Hell that guy from the post credits scene of Avengers was and what these Infinity Stones actually are.

Guardians was a movie they HAD to make more than anything.

So we have 2 necesarry movies and then sequels to the established stuff. Could they have done a Black Widow movie? Maybe but at that point in time there was no indication that there was enough interest in Black Widow to do that and they were already taking a humungous risk on Guardians and to a lesser extent Ant Man.

Black Widow got popular to the point where EVERYONE was demanding she get a movie after Winter Soldier, that film came out in 2014 with phase 2 scheduled to end the very next year meaning they literally had no time to give Black Widow her own movie before Phase 2 was done.

Could they do it now? Sure, but they are also doing a male/female co-lead movie as well as their own female led movie in Captain Marvel.

Could they have done Captain Marvel earlier. Not really no. Carol Danvers hadn’t yet reached her current point of popularity circa the Phase 1 movies and more poignantly she was nowhere near the same level of popular, iconic or a surething as a movie as the Phase 1 characters were, let alone being necessary.

Hulk was the most famous character followed by Cap. Cap along with Iron Man and Thor are THE iconic Avengers, you can’t do a movie without them.

Beyond Carol though all their big female solo heroes do not have the same degree of popularity as other male heroes. Spider Woman and She Hulk are nowhere near as popular as Spider-Man and Hulk so if you are making a billion dollar financial investment in a superhero movie you’re not going to go for the former in favour of the latter, not initially anyway. NOW though we’re in a better position to do that.

Phase 1 had to lay the ground work, Phase 2 had to solidify things and not rock the boat too much, now in Phase 3 the MCU’s place in pop culture isn’t a one hit wonder or five minutes of fame. It is now in a position to be bolder in making different types of movies.

My point. There are legitimate practical reasons as to why Marvel hasn’t yet made a female led movie but we are NOW in a position to make it happen.

“Kevin Feige — the dad of the Marvel Cinematic Universe — has said that Marvel Studios has a clear plan for where Spider-Man’s going to go: and it’s to college. He’s said that he wants to make the Spider-Man movies work similarly to the Harry Potter movies, where each one documents one year of Peter Parker at school. And Feige has said he wants to do at least seven of them, carrying Peter Parker all the way through high school and almost all of the way through college. While Tom Holland’s enthusiasm makes the prospect of Miles Morales appearing as the prime Spider-Man a bit dubious, Feige’s claims make the prospect pretty much dead. Maybe he’ll change his mind, but until then, get ready for years of Peter Parker. Years!”

How dare Kevin Feige wish for Spider-Man to go through the same iconic character arc from the comics which made him popular. And how dare he enter the status quo in which he gained pop culture stardom.

Dropping the sarcasm though this sounds utterly fucking awesome and the correct approach to Spider-Man.

“One problem with replacing Spider-Man is the fact that it hasn’t happened yet — ever. There haven’t been any legacy characters yet, so introducing the idea with Spider-Man would be a bit of an odd step. It would make more sense to have Bucky take over Captain America or War Machine take over as Iron Man. These characters are already set up and their legacies make a bunch of sense.”

Jackass ANT MAN IS A LEGACY!

“Once Steve Rogers or Tony Stark aren’t the men behind their respective masks, the idea of Miles becoming the Ultimate Spider-Man would be a lot more palatable for somewhat squeamish audiences.”

Yu realize Feige has stated he’d rather recast Tony Stark than reboot the MCu right?

I doubt we’re gonna get to the point where Tony and probably Steve get legacied.

“You know what comic books are great for? Advertising. Each comic basically works as an advertisement for all of the toys and movies and video games. That’s how Marvel actually makes all that sweet money from these characters. The money they get from the comics isn’t shabby, but it’s mostly a really well-written commercial.”

Holy crap you really don’t know anything do you?

First of all the comic money is pitiful. It’s chump change in the grand scheme of things.

But more importantly the comics AREN’T COMMERCIALS FOR THE MERCHANDISE!

An issue of Spider-Man is read by at best 100,000 people per month, most of whom are older people who’re less inclined towards buying merchandise. And they are mainly sold through speciality comic book shops which aren’t on the mass goddam market.

This means the comics DOESN’T PROMOTE THE MERCHANDISE THE MERCHANDISE PROMOTES THE COMICS!

How the Hell do you not know that seriously! Whenever a movie comes out the comics contort to be like the movies because they know they’ll get a sales bump from it, not because they think the few 100,000 tops people going to speciality stores and are older people who’ve been reading for decades might be swayed to watch the movie that’s been advertised in trailers and posters everywhere they go in their daily lives!

“Thinking of comics that way, you can see which products that Marvel values highest: and the winner is Peter Parker, who stars in (at last count) three books, with cameos in many more. As for Miles Morales? He has his own and an occasional crossover. ”

*facepalm*

FIRST of all Miles appears regularly in Champions and before that he was regularly appearing in All New All Different Avengers and before that he was regularly appearing in All-New Ultimates.

And what is this ‘occassional crossover’ crap?

Spider-Men

Divided We Fall

United We Stand

Cataclysm

Secret Wars

Civil War II

Miles had tie-ins to ALL of those crossovers and appeared in many of them. In fact he had VITAL roles in the last three I listed.

Wow. I’m shocked because I found nothing objectionable in this final entry on this list.

In summation.

This was laughable and the author should be ashamed of the pathetic levels of ignorance and lack of research evident in this article (for lack of a better word).

I am appalled that the author was paid actual money to make this garbage list.

#spider-man #spider-man: homecoming #Miles Morales #Ultimate Spider-Man #Peter Parker #marvel cinematic universe #mcu #Batman #Iron Man #Ant Man #Captain America #Kevin Feige

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an-army-of-dumbledores-blog · 5 years

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James Potter’s real career

It is a common theme that if James Potter had survived the night at Godric’s Hollow he would’ve become an Auror, or the Lord of an Ancient and Noble House, or decided to live off of his parents’ money. I think he would’ve done something different entirely, if he knew it could be done. Imagine an AU where the Dark Lord is still defeated by Harry, but nobody dies/is betrayed in Godric’s Hollow, and everything happens fifteen years later. Lily is introducing the Marauders to muggle television, and the Marauders laugh until they’re in tears at the brilliant banter between the hosts of a car show. Peter by happenstance remarks that these guys essentially make money by being themselves. James agrees wholeheartedly with Peter, but Sirius has a suspicious glint in his eye that Lily doesn’t like. Remus catches it too, and knowing his friend all too well, already sighs with exasperation, knowing they’re about to be pulled into a massive prank once again. Fast forward a few years, and magicals manage to catch up and invent their own version of muggle television (by magically linking numerous Pensieves, I don’t know how, but cut me some slack here). At first, because of the expensiveness of Pensieves, it’s all government-controlled and financed. But Lily notices the Marauders have been busy more and more recently, and gets suspicious when James purposefully pushes a note in her hand, stating that Peter is the Marauder Wormtail. She decides to ask James about it when he gets home, but for now lets it be, instead putting Harry down for the night and watching in their new Pensieve after putting out food for the cat. Only, instead of the boring ministry propaganda or bigoted news from the Pensieve branch of the Daily Prophet, the Pensieve is mysteriously dark. Then, in the back, Lily turns and sees a mysterious image of a Werewolf, a Rat, a Black Dog, and a Stag, with four very familiar names written on the bottom below it. Lily’s eyes widen in mild amusement, as their logo fades and rises, revealing James and Remus sitting on one couch made of a couple of broomsticks and a flying carpet, while Sirius sits lazily in a Game-of-Thrones-style throne made of brooms, all of them surrounded by a few background stand-ins, and they start talking about various brooms and magical flying contraptions, with Banter mixed in between. Lily begins to snort as she recognises it, and laughs as Sirius majestically announces: “Some say he has an unconquerable fear of heights. And that he is born half man, half Rat. All we know is, we call him Wormtail.” And in walks Peter, heavily disguised by massive amounts of Quidditch gear, including a helmet that disguises his identity, but Lily has put two and two together, and she’d recognise the short man everywhere. And surprisingly to all but Lily and the Marauders (who already know he’s actually quite good on a broom as a Seeker, but is genuinely terrified of heights, and it is the one thing James and Sirius can never get him to budge on), he lives up to his muggle counterparts’ reputation, putting in the fastest laps on any track with any broom. She wondered why Sirius needed a few bottles of Liquid Courage Potions, and vows to always have a supply ready. In other words, Ladies and Gentlemen, Top Gear with the Marauders. Just imagine it: -Sirius acting like Jezza, always boisterous and constantly insisting that power is simply better, only ever bested by the hammer. Remus acting like Captain Slow, the calm and reasonable one, seemingly patient yet always the first to yell ‘COCK!’ real loud, and being tedious to the point the others contemplate murdering him. And James acting like the Hamster, easily excited about everything, having grand ideas that are impractical to execute, in his case a leftover from all the attempts at getting Lily to go out with him. -McGonagall finding out, wondering why she’s surprised at all Sirius managed to convince them to go through with this, but simply happy this is all they get up to. Then facepalming when she sees the stunts they pull with brooms, and the constants remarks and jibes they still make at Slytherins and Snape (they’re the reason Snivellus is still Snape’s nickname in Hogwarts even decades after the Marauders have left, the name kept alice by the various Weasley siblings that adore the Quidditch-loving commentators. Even Arthur watches religiously, though tries to hide his enthusiasm when Molly’s around). She is unsurprised when she is asked to attend the show as a Star On A Reasonably Priced Broom, as the Marauders adored her, and as both a Transfiguration Master and a teacher at one of the most prestigious schools in the world she holds some acclaim. She returns to Hogwarts with an uncharacteristically smug smirk, not only holding the top of the board, but having an entire section named after her in her honour. But winning ten galleons from Dumbledore for doing it all first still feels very good. -Lily, and later Tonks and Sirius and Peter’s girlfriends watching the pensieve regularly, often laughing themselves wet at their antics. -at some point some criticises them for not spending enough attention to magical creatures, and as a result the next episode is done at a full-moon, with Moony in his Werewolf form and the wolfsbane potion on the couch and later on a broom as he tests a new one, using a quill to meep up sith the commentary (hindered by James and Sirius who have enchanted it to be extra slow, constantly asking ‘You wanted to say something, Moony?’, and Moony just glaring at them as he carefully tries not to snap the quill with his claws, they have the head of Gringotts as the SOARPB, and the broom is a special one crafted by a Centaur. -the Twins, finding the map, viewing it with additional adoration as they see the value of what they hold -Harry finally arriving at Hogwarts, and being worshipped not for being the Boy-Who-Lived, but for being the Son-of-Prongs, and the twins chanting ‘We Got Prongslet, We got Prongslet’ as Harry joins Gryffindor. You can fill in the blanks yourselves when it comes to the out-of country specials and the chaos they’d get up to. Marauders and Top Gear combined. I want it.

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caddyxjellyby · 5 years

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Alcott Readathon 2018: Jack and Jill (1880)

Chapter One: The Catastrophe

There are three sledding paths in Harmony Village. Joe says to Jill that she wouldn't dare take the biggest one, so she insists that her friend Jack Minot take her down it several times. The final time they crash; Jack breaks his leg and hits his head, and Jill hurts her back. Jack's sled is named Thunderbolt. Jill's real name is Janey Pecq.

Chapter Two: Two Penitents

Jack, an athletic boy, is horrified at the prospect of three weeks in bed. Jill's injury is more concerning. She blames herself for the accident and says she'll be the best girl ever if she ever gets out of her room. We learn that Mrs. Pecq is an Englishwoman and Jill's dead father was French Canadian.

Chapter Three: Ward No. 1

After four days they're getting cabin fever. Jack's older brother Frank, an academic sort, rigs up a clothesline to send things back and forth – oranges, letters, books, guava jelly, and a kitten. Gus, Ed, and Joe visit Jack and eat up the dishes the old ladies of the village sent him. They tease Jack for putting a kiss in his letter to Jill.

Chapter Four: Ward No. 2

Things were not so gay in Ward No. 2, for Mrs. Pecq was very busy, and Jill had nothing to amuse her but flying visits from the girls, and such little plays as she could invent for herself in bed. Fortunately, she had a lively fancy, and so got on pretty well, till keeping still grew unbearable, and the active child ached in every limb to be up and out.

Chapter Five: Secrets

The girls sit in a circle with their backs to each other in order to make their Christmas presents. They know a surprise is in progress at the Minot house, but they don't know what it is. These chapters are short.

Chapter Six: Surprises

Dr. Whiting and Frank move Jill to Jack's house.

The great room was entirely changed; for now it looked like a garden, or one of the fairy scenes children love, where in-doors and out-of-doors are pleasantly combined. The ceiling was pale blue, like the sky; the walls were covered with a paper like a rustic trellis, up which climbed morning-glories so naturally that the many-colored bells seemed dancing in the wind. Birds and butterflies flew among them, and here and there, through arches in the trellis, one seemed to look into a sunny summer world, contrasting curiously with the wintry landscape lying beyond the real windows, festooned with evergreen garlands, and curtained only by stands of living flowers. A green drugget covered the floor like grass, rustic chairs from the garden stood about, and in the middle of the room a handsome hemlock waited for its pretty burden. A Yule-log blazed on the wide hearth, and over the chimney-piece, framed in holly, shone the words that set all hearts to dancing, “Merry Christmas!”

The best part? Jill and Mrs. Pecq are going to stay there.

Jill gives him blue mittens she made. He gives her a turquoise ring. They all stand around the tree and sing.

Chapter Seven: Jill's Mission

The two glue Jack's stamp collection into his new album. Frank scolds him for not doing his Latin and Jack throws the album at Frank. Jill, left alone, sees a note on the floor and thinking it's Frank's to Annette, picks it up. She falls over but is able to get back up. It's from Mrs. Minot to her sister and she mentions the doctor fears Jill's injury is permanent. Mrs. Minot comes home and sees that Jill is guilty of something. She confesses and Mrs. Minot tells her about Lucinda, a bedridden woman she knew.

Chapter Eight: Merry and Molly

Merry is a farmer's daughter with three older brothers literally named Tom, Dick, and Harry, She's fifteen, which makes me wonder even more about Jill's exact age. I did grow up on a cul-de-sac where kids played together regardless of age, but I'm still curious.

Anyway, Merry enjoys dainty things and romantic dreams but seldom gets them. So she finds some old pictures in the garret and puts them on her wall.

She had worked all the afternoon, and only finished at supper time, so the candles had to be lighted that the toilette might look its best, and impress the beholders with an idea of true elegance. Unfortunately, the fire smoked a little, and a window was set ajar to clear the room; an evil-disposed gust blew in, wafting the thin drapery within reach of the light, and when Merry threw open the door proudly thinking to display her success, she was horrified to find the room in a blaze, and half her labor all in vain.

The brothers put it out quickly with only a little harm done to the carpet.

Molly's father's housekeeper, Miss Bathsheba, is old and getting “careless” so she decides to step up. Does the dishes, covers holes in the sofa, and patches some clothes. Miss Bat objects to Boo having a hot bath just after lunch. She gets her father's permission when he comes home, but going to bed with wet hair gives him croup.

Molly is Maria Louisa and he is Napoleon Bonaparte. No wonder they call him Boo.

Chapter Nine: The Debating Club

The boys' club debates whether girls should go to college with them. (I wrote for them at first.) A funny contrast to their last topic, whether summer or winter is more fun.

JOE: Girls belong at home darning stockings. Boys would do better without them.

GRIF: Girls don't have the strength for rowing races and other larks.

NARRATOR: Grif is unaware that college is for studying.

GUS: Why not? Jill is best in her class and Mabel is the best in hers.

ED: Which includes Joe.

Ralph, a 19 year old dude who occasionally indulges the boys with his presence, gives them impressions of several Dickens characters that leave them rolling with laughter.

Chapter Ten: The Dramatic Club

After falling in Chapter 7, Jill has to lie on a board for two hours each day. The club meets at the Minot house to prepare for Sleeping Beauty. They argue over the costumes and who should play the princess until Merry suggests they let Jill have the part.

Chapter Eleven: “Down Brakes”

Well-behaved Frank does an uncharacteristic thing. He and Gus hang out by the railroad station, admiring engine No. 11. “I’d give ten dollars if I could run her up to the bend and back,” he says. And then Joe appears and lifts the switch, so they take a little joyride, first forward and then in reverse.

Needless to say, the stationmaster is pissed and they get fined $25. Jack is pleased that Frank did something worse than him. Molly teases him by leaving Boo's toy train and two headless dolls on his porch.

Chapter Twelve: The Twenty-Second of February

What's the best way to celebrate Washington's birthday? In California we had a week off school to go skiing or visit our grandparents. In an Alcott novel it's tableaux. First Boo chopping down the tree and Gus as Dad Washington. That's a myth invented by Mason Locke Weems but I don't think LMA could have known it.

Ed found enough musicians to make up an orchestra. They play songs to go with the crossing of the Delaware, the Daughters of Liberty replacing tea with coffee, Cornwallis surrendering with Jack as Lafeyette, the miserable winter at Valley Forge, ball at Trenton with the girls singing, and the family portrait.

“Now I don’t see what more they can have except the death-bed, and that would be rather out of place in this gay company,” says an old man to Gus' dad, who replies that Gus wouldn't be seen in public in a nightshirt. It's Frank as the Minute Man statue and Ralph as Daniel Chester French – the book doesn't name him, just says the sculptor. Everyone loves the piece de resistance, except Grif shouts “All aboard!”

Then Sleeping Beauty with Jill, and Ralph as Mother Goose with a real goose and various kids as Miss Muffet etc.

Chapter Thirteen: Jack has a Mystery

Jack needs money but won't say why. Jill suggests he use his printing press to make cards and they get the $2.75 that way.

Mr. Acton – unlike Teacher in Under the Lilacs he gets a name – punishes Jack for going to a saloon at recess. Joe saw him there, Jack confesses he went to pay Jerry Shannon, one of the wild boys. He won't say why.

Chapter Fourteen: And Jill Finds It Out

Jack mutters in his sleep and Jill hears something about Bob, a boy who moved to the next town over. Aha, she thinks, that's who the money was for. She writes to Bob and he responds that yes, Jack paid his debt to Shannon, and Bob had him promise not to tell. Mrs. Minot is proud that her son stuck to his word, comparing him to Casabianca. Frank, like Sybil in Moods, thinks that boy was a fool.

Chapter Fifteen: Saint Lucy

Mrs. Minot tells Jack, Jill, and Frank a story with thinly-veiled versions of themselves. The good news is that in a few months Jill will be allowed to walk again.

Chapter Sixteen: Up at Merry's

Merry does her cleaning. She's been working on the dining-room, adding flowers and a “pretty shade of pressed autumn leaves.” As much as she wants to get back to Ivanhoe, she has socks to mend. Then her mother sends her to fetch a recipe from Miss Bat.

On her way back she passes Ralph looking very happy. “David German” wants to take him to Rome in fall. He'll write to her and she says she'll write back but her letters must be boring compared to his. “I didn’t know you had any worries,” he says, “for you always seemed like one of the happiest people in the world, with so many to pet and care for you, and plenty of money, and nothing very hard or hateful to do. You’d think you were well off if you knew as much about poverty and work and never getting what you want, as I do.”

She invites him in for supper and gives him a flower to put in plaster. Can you feel the love tonight?

Chapter Seventeen: Down at Molly's

Molly feeds her nine cats and tells them the shocking news that Miss Bat is cleaning! Yet what is the cause? Molly has no idea, but Miss Bat overheard two hard-of-hearing ladies talking about Molly and Boo

Her dad is home for once and sees her making shirts for Boo. He thought Miss Bat did the sewing. Molly has been learning from Mrs. Pecq. He tells her to spend as much as she likes on summer clothes.

“How nice it will seem to have a plenty of new, neat dresses all at once, and be like other girls! Miss Bat always talks about economy, and has no more taste than a— caterpillar.” Molly meant to say “cat,” but remembering her pets, spared them the insult.

LOL, I love her.

He gives her to key to her mother's things and she tears up with joy.

So the little missionaries succeeded better in their second attempt than in their first; for, though still very far from being perfect girls, each was slowly learning, in her own way, one of the three lessons all are the better for knowing— that cheerfulness can change misfortune into love and friends; that in ordering one’s self aright one helps others to do the same; and that the power of finding beauty in the humblest things makes home happy and life lovely.

There are 24 chapters and 4 of them have final sentences that begin with So. Okay, that's not very many, but it's enough that I noticed it.

Chapter Eighteen: May Baskets

The job now in hand was May baskets, for it was the custom of the children to hang them on the doors of their friends the night before May-day; and the girls had agreed to supply baskets if the boys would hunt for flowers, much the harder task of the two. Jill had more leisure as well as taste and skill than the other girls, so she amused herself with making a goodly store of pretty baskets of all shapes, sizes, and colors, quite confident that they would be filled, though not a flower had shown its head except a few hardy dandelions, and here and there a small cluster of saxifrage.

Due to the late spring there aren't enough flowers to be picked so they have to buy some. Jill sends her basket to Mrs. Minot. Molly to Grif with a thorn “to pay for the tack he put in my rubber boot.” Ed gives several to old people and a little Irish girl. Ralph leaves Merry one with a bas-relief of the lily she gave him in her chapter.

Chapter Nineteen: Good Templars

Gus' uncle is giving a haycart ride, but Jack and Frank have to be at their Temperance Club meeting to nominate Bob for membership. Reverend Mr. Chauncey, an old friend of their grandfather, visits the town. He also belongs to a club and gives a public speech on the subject.

Jeez, 90% of this book is boring as hell.

Chapter Twenty: A Sweet Memory

Ed dies of some illness. Jack and Frank both cry, aww.

It is often said that there should be no death or grief in children’s stories. It is not wise to dwell on the dark and sad side of these things; but they have also a bright and lovely side, and since even the youngest, dearest, and most guarded child cannot escape some knowledge of the great mystery, is it not well to teach them in simple, cheerful ways that affection sweetens sorrow, and a lovely life can make death beautiful? I think so, therefore try to tell the last scene in the history of a boy who really lived and really left behind him a memory so precious that it will not be soon forgotten by those who knew and loved him.

The whole town shows up for his funereal. Jill presses the flowers to keep.

Chapter Twenty-One: Pebbly Beach

Vacation at the bay. Frank learns to ride a bicycle. Jack and his new friends fish and play tennis and baseball.

Jill enjoys herself very much. One day the boys forget to moor her boat, she falls asleep, and it floats away. After saying a prayer, she gets rescued by a lobsterman.

Chapter Twenty-Two: A Happy Day

Molly and Boo join them for a week. Frank and “the bicycle boy” win the boat race. Jack runs in the footrace. Molly and Jill watch a girls' archery contest. Then a dance and a firework show. Boo catches a lobster that makes a few people ill. Luckily one of the women boarding at the house is a physician.

Chapter Twenty-Three: Cattle Show

Mrs. Minot announces that her boys won't return to school. But college! says Frank. You'll wait until you're 18. she says. They need to spend more time working on healthy bodies.

Ralph wins a prize at the fair for his bust of Jill, and a woman hires him to make one of her son. Merry gets one for butter and Jill for her quilt.

Chapter Twenty-Four: Down the River

The girls sew while Mrs. Minot reads to them from Mrs. Strickland's Queens of England. Merry used to dream about being a queen, but she's learned to enjoy ruling the home. Molly wants to travel and see the world. Jill wants to be famous, “ambitious in spite of the newly acquired meekness, which was all the more becoming because her natural liveliness often broke out like sunshine through a veil of light clouds.”

However, we're told that Merry marries Ralph and lives in Italy, Molly, a spinster, keeps house and raises Boo, and Jill is happy with her husband Jack.

The next day they have a picnic at the river. Ralph comes late with the news that he's going to Rome.

Here we will say good-by to these girls and boys of ours as they sit together in the sunshine talking over a year that was to be for ever memorable to them, not because of any very remarkable events, but because they were just beginning to look about them as they stepped out of childhood into youth, and some of the experiences of the past months had set them to thinking, taught them to see the use and beauty of the small duties, joys, and sorrows which make up our lives, and inspired them to resolve that the coming year should be braver and brighter than the last. There are many such boys and girls, full of high hopes, lovely possibilities, and earnest plans, pausing a moment before they push their little boats from the safe shore. Let those who launch them see to it that they have good health to man the oars, good education for ballast, and good principles as pilots to guide them as they voyage down an ever-widening river to the sea.

#jack and jill #alcott readathon 2018 #louisa may alcott

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