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crackinglamb · 3 years

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Hi! I hope it isn’t too much trouble, but I’d like to ask how or why you decided to write Twist? And then also how and why you decided to write Wicked Games a little bit after. Did you wanna explore different relationships with characters when having a different personality in your ‘Modern Girl’ or different goals, because Carly talked Solas down and guided him into a different path, while Imogen seems to want him to go through with his plans with her help and a large dose of “what the heck is the canon timeline?” I love both of the stories, I might reread them again to help with the Modern Girl in Thedas withdrawals.

I ask because I’ve been reading “Modern Girl/Person in Thedas” stories and really wanna try my hand at them, I just feel like I am only writing it for little one shot type interactions between characters, and don’t really know why I’d actually have a “Modern Girl” be sent to Thedas, how and why, and what they would do, If your willing to give insight I’d love to hear it. I just hope I’m not a bother.

Oh no, you're not a bother at all! Thank you so much for this ask!! I love to talk about how I fell down this rabbit hole! I hope you're ready for a dissertation, because this got really long. 💕💕💕

I came to Dragon Age backwards. I didn't know anything about the series other than a lot of people liked it and had very strong opinions about it. Then a fellow writer began to write a Varric/Hawke story and I read it because I wanted to support her return to posting.

And I fell in love with a world I'd never seen.

I realized that, due to its age, I actually did know more about the games than I thought I did. I knew the ending already, and who this bald dude was that had the fandom so divided. A classic villain, right? Wrong. Some people think he's just terrible and some people defend him to the death. Some people think he's terrible but don't let that stop them from defending him to the death. So what was the real deal?

I did some research (because at that point I was writing my own Varric/Hawke fic and I'll still die on that ship hill. Anyways...moving on). I discovered that everything I thought I knew about Solas was skewed by fandom interpretation. Which is valid. I mean, all our opinions end up that way when it comes to fandom, right? All interpretation is subjective. But the fact remains that Solas interprets the world around him through the eyes of the Inquisitor and how they treat him. And that is player based. Low approval proves his opinion that this is a world not fit to live it. High approval shows him that his decision is going to destroy something beautiful, but he still feels he needs to do it.

I got to thinking about what it would take to stop him. Through the course of watching his romance, reading a lot of meta and lore posts and listening to his companion banter, I had a headcannon emerge: Solas could only be stopped by someone who knew what he was doing from the start.

But that's not gonna happen in canon. He already allegedly killed the only person who knew. (Seriously, #saveFelassan) So who else would make him rethink it?

The answer that came to me was a person he needed, so he couldn't risk eliminating them. The Inquisitor who bears his mark. I then went a step further, and decided that someone who knew all his secrets and plans, and who could possibly help him shift them, would have to be from our world. Enter the Modern Girl in Thedas, because I love a good romance, and I wanted a happy ending to this otherwise tragic love story.

And Carly was born. A modern gamer girl, sucked through to a fictional world because the universe is vast and unknowable (and certain wisps of certain Evanuris like to nudge). I'd read a bunch of fic by the time I started writing Twist, including some self-insert types. None of them told him flat out from the beginning. So I determined that she would. She'd tell him what she knew and try to persuade him that his plans were awful and that if he wanted to claim he wasn't a monster, then he'd have to find another way.

I knew from the start that I wanted her to save the orb, because losing that is what tips the scales for Solas. Losing that means he has to find power from somewhere else and sets him on his path of death. Saving the orb meant his plans, while derailed, weren't ruined. Yes, I know in Trespasser he'll tell the Inquisitor that the world would have burned in raw chaos while he rewrote it, but considering the nature of magic and reality on Thedas, I think that's more due to human reaction than any actual destruction simply based on the lifting of the Veil. Demons are real and represent emotion. Humans look down on elves and do everything they possibly can to oppress them. Like the colonizers they are. Of course they'd react to an elven demigod rewriting the world to give his people back their strength poorly.

And then covid hit. Twist rapidly became a beacon of fluffy stability to my readers. It was an escape from the literal dumpster fire that my country was, so I was highly motivated to keep writing it. To keep it light and happy and epic in a way that felt satisfying to everyone. So that's what I did.

But...

I still hadn't played Inquisition when I started (and I still need to play the other two). I was missing so much of the nuance of the world. In the end, Twist wasn't the story I really wanted to tell. I mean, I'm proud of it, and I love it. I am deeply humbled and gratified to know how many people look at Carly with love and admiration. I love hearing how many times a reader has opened it up and binged it. That kind of feedback is the lifeblood of a writer, as I always say.

Wicked Game is the story I wanted to write. A little grittier, a little more plausible in keeping with the lore. Having Imogen be human gave her the power to call out other humans on their bigotry. And to show Solas that he's not the only one who can see how damaged the world is and want to fix it. Having her be a scientist gives me a chance to explore how magic works, and what the Veil really is after a year of immersing myself in this world. Yeeting canon so thoroughly came from thinking about the major plot points and what could be changed about them from the POV of a character who knows how this is all 'supposed' to happen...and the resultant fallout from her decisions.

Imogen can see the forest for the trees. Her outsider perspective gives her all sorts of insights on her companions and the world at large. The fact that she falls ass over teakettle for the Dread Wolf against her own better judgment is just a good trope. Having him do the same is my clapback against his racially locked romance. (Here's where I'm gonna throw out my own extra kudos to writers who also portray Solas as bisexual, because dammit, he should be. Immortal beings would not bend to any heteronormative conventions.)

Carly and Imogen have rather similar motivations behind them: they want to save the world and not lose him. They often go about it in similar ways too. I guess the biggest difference between them is that now I know what I'm doing and I have more confidence in my storytelling ability. Neither of them is a self-insert. Plenty of people do that and that's totally valid. I'm just not really a fan of it myself. These two characters are no different to me than any other OC starting out at the beginning of the game. They just have slightly more backstory than the average Inquisitor.

Now, in regards to you writing your own and feeling like all you have are oneshot ideas. Go for it. Doesn't matter if they're oneshots. A story doesn't have to be hundreds of thousands of words to be awesome or complete. Write what YOU want to read. The best reason to make a character be a certain way, like being MCIT, is because you want them to be. No other justification is necessary. The only rules in storytelling are grammar ones, and even those are iffy at best. The only courtesy if you decide to go ahead and share it is don't plagiarize and tag it properly. That's it. The sky's the limit and up for grabs. Go forth and be bold.

#ask #Lamb writes #Lamb rambles #Lamb...gives advice?#👀#solas #modern characters in thedas #on writing #long post

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thequibblah · 3 years

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directors cut for WTRF? 🥺👉👈 not biased at all obviously just objective third party asking for a directors cut hmmm hmmmmm

literally how could u do this every other word in that fic is an easter egg i can't shut up about..... bestie u are about to have regrets

one thing u should know is that 90% of things in this fic have real-world equivalents and its not even like....... hidden equivalents. serie primo = serie a, for instance. this trend is going to continue and i won't apologise <3

fun fact i named the bar the Bar and the drinks after shapes because i was too lazy to come up with something actually clever

this bit

I’m grinning to myself by the time she approaches my table.

was a very intentional fakeout and if you read this and thought "she" would be lily, feel free to sue me for emotional damages

the biggest conundrum of this AU was, how are jily not going to have met in school when magic exists? the solution was, of course, having multiple magic schools. but i couldn't let one of them have hogwarts, that didn't seem fair. i know i did sort of let lily have it..... but i felt more comfortable making hogwarts a university so there was a legit reason why james wasn't there and in gryffindor (if he'd gone he absolutely would have been)

once solved, i did the fun thing of naming them! ottaline gambol's was easy, i just scrolled through the list of ministers for magic and picked a progressive one. peverell hall was a whim, made all the funnier when lily's reaction is:

Much was made at Otty’s — one of the more progressive magical schools, named for one of the more progressive Ministers of Magic — of schools like Peverell Hall and St. George’s. The latter, I know, is chock-full of pureblooded elite. Peverell Hall is supposed to be slightly better, but still.

dang, it's gonna be funny if she ever finds out james is a descendant of the guy it's named after

fun fact, i included this because peter's question was a real thought i had when reading bond and free, your inspiring writing knows no limits:

The first thing you conjure in Walking Wombat is a yellow quill... “Why yellow?” Peter asked. Eddie gave him a strange look. “Why not?”

i realised i'd put jily in the same conundrum they had in tis the fucking season here:

It’s only then that I remember she’s just bought us drinks. I turn back to my triangle. “Oh, shit.” I suppose I can pawn it off on one of the others.

...but of course the resolution is rather different, and i do so enjoy a james with no filter (aka default james)

I briefly lose control of my brain and my tongue. “Is it too soon to say I’m in love with you?”

by the way, no-filter james will be a theme. wild things sure do run fast but not as fast as this boy runs his mouth!

also, another interesting challenge here was making sure james has a reason to be the way he is in AU. i love playing around with james's childhood/background and seeing how that affects his character while (hopefully!) staying true to who he is. i did that in ttfs by having him move around a lot and not meet the marauders until after the flashback timeline, which is why he's less of a git — he doesn't have the level of comfort in a social setting that canon james has with hogwarts, which is basically his playground from day 2 of first year lol

here, james was probably a fkn nightmare all through school, but of course he gets a big ego check when his quidditch career is derailed. i imagine his years in italy as a continuation of that humility lesson.

I will fully admit I used to be a cocky prick. This is what comes of being a kid who grew up with everything. But one useful thing that the whole fiasco four years ago taught me is humility. I’ve learned how to ask nicely for another chance.

and so much of writing him in wtrf is juggling that typical confidence with the insecurity/fear of losing something he's invested so much in (and has seen slip away before). it's really new to me, because typically i give lily uncertain life circumstances, but i suppose it's both of them in this AU.

the car thing was... i swear didn't start out as smutty, it was purely because i wanted a way to establish lily as muggleborn in a world where the connotations of not having magical parents is very different. more to come on that!

also, come to think of it, by this metric...

I’m now in dangerous territory, since that adds another impressive action to her running tally.

...i think james is already in love with her LOL

this bit:

The street is considered indecent and the downstairs hallway would have our landlady come running at once, so if it pleases Your Honour, we would recommend the sitting room sofa.

...was actually because in draft one lily was a lawyer, but then it was funny enough that i didn't want to take it out, but NOW i realise it makes it sound a little like she's addressing james as your honour, which.... hm. but anyway, we move on

Marc Bolan begs us to get it on through the stereo, vocalising my thoughts exactly.

the song here was initially "you shook me" (h/t @keepingupwithpotters) but i chickened out because zeppelin is SO horny dfjkhgkjs

also, it gave me so much joy to read everyone reacting to lily thinking about her ex (the general vibe was "who the fuck is this guy!!! ew!!!!") — rest assured (or, unassured??) that he has a part to play in all this. anyway, this is one of my fave lines:

He’s just a person, and there’s such a relief in sleeping with James and not the myth of a guy.

because as any come together reader knows....

Just James. Just James. It was never just James.

wtrf lily will learn!

literally the whole world knows i'm obsessed with needle drops that have no subtlety at all, but this one...

We just laugh, tangled together in a sweaty heap, as “Heaven Is in the Back Seat of My Cadillac” plays through the car’s speakers. “On the nose, isn’t it?” James says, sitting up.

...was pure luck, because i was looking up the top hits on the uk singles chart for the week(ish) this scene takes place in so that i could find a song that would realistically play on the radio, saw this, and was like omg the stars really do align

i feel like the thing i enjoy most about writing romance is the importance i get to place in noticing/looking/observing (and sometimes, not noticing!). it's just such a powerful but simple writerly tool, and god knows i am obsessed with pithy descriptions anyway, so this bit i am especially happy with:

James is already waiting, leaning against the car with his hands in his pockets. I feel as though I’m seeing him for the first time, the faint light of the flickering streetlamp catching him in profile: the strong slope of his nose, the hard line of his jaw, the curve of his smile. He studies the facade of our building with open curiosity, and I wonder what he’s looking for.

(one can only imagine james's train of thought in this moment. perhaps "ah. here lives the future love of my life"?)

“Thanks,” she tacks on at the end. I tip my head to one side in confusion. “For what?” “For, I don’t know. Being nice.” She laughs awkwardly. “I don’t do this very much.”

it wouldn't be a quibblah original tee em without some discourse to come about the nature of romantic/sexual relationships, would it? one thing i enjoy about this AU ("one thing" i say as if this isn't the billionth thing in a list) is that i get to write a romantic lily who's squaring that romanticism with what she perceives as the culture of the times. (this is a bit of a staple in all my characterisations of lily, but it is not often paired with casual sex, the complication of all complications!)

oh this bit literally wrote itself like i didn't even pause to think just vomited it out:

In the morning — and it must be early still — the sun streams through Lily’s sorry excuses for curtains with aggression that cannot be ignored. I crack open an eye to find myself sprawled out across her bed, quite literally spread-eagled. She’s attached to my side like a barnacle. Or a very pretty barnacle, anyway.

i'm especially proud of james's voice in this story. i don't often write first-person fic and i was worried how it'd turn out, but i think james as a character/narrator typically colours his own 3rd-person narration so strongly that it ended up a smoother transition than i'd feared!

also i just. i can't resist throwing in comic relief and i hope that this whole segment was a gentle enough preparation for the awkwardness that followed LOL

All of a sudden, the balcony door bursts open. I nearly drop the mug. “What the—” Mary pokes her head around the corner, sporting a righteous smile. “Morning, handsome.” Over her shoulder she shouts, “He’s on the balcony!” I blink. There’s a sound from inside the flat, as if something very large has just been dropped. Then a swear. “Oh, shit,” I say, realisation dawning, “you weren’t looking for me, were you? It’s so loud out here—” Mary cups a hand around her mouth and stage-whispers, “Lily was frantic.” She’s quite violently yanked back, and Lily herself appears in the doorway, slightly out of breath. “Should’ve checked the balcony first,” she says, and closes the door before Mary can insert herself into the space again. “Hi,” I say, which is agreed-upon best practice for greeting a woman you’ve just had fantastic sex with and ideally would like to have sex with again.

to this day i don't know what lily dropped. let's hope it wasn't expensive!

Captained the under-17 English squad at the World Cup some years back, Serie Primo’s lead goal-scorer of last year… Only an injury in what should’ve been his first season at Puddlemere mars his record. I wince reading about it and comparing it to a heap of press clippings. James Potter was hurt, and Puddlemere didn’t fancy paying for him not to play, so they shipped him off to Milan.

(you cannot imagine how much pointed interrogation of my brother it took to gather this intel.) i constantly worry that i've got dates or timelines wrong somehow — you might notice i tweaked under-17, which used to be under-19 until i realised that made no sense (even though in terms of its career importance i would much preferred it to have been u-19.... anyway). i also found out that u-17 football squads don't actually have captains but i said fuck it on that count.

but obviously i started writing this AU for the sports possibilities, only to discover i'm going to have to interfere a great deal with the Timeline (you shall see in future instalments).

god i really went through the whole fic. like i reread the whole thing to do this. here u go clare jfbghjfd

#this has no right to be this long #wtrf #clareee75 #ask me #director's cuts

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ymbly · 3 years

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Sanders Sides Fan Fic: Switched

Chapter 1/?

AN: This chapter follows quite close to the first episode of the show, but as the fic goes on it will go a bit more out on its own

Three.

There were three.

Apathy, Pride, Judgment.

Logan, Roman, Patton.

Dark, evil, ‘Dark Sides’.

Three.

There were three.

Caution, passion, self preservation.

Virgil, Remus, Janus.

Light, good, ‘Light Sides’.

One.

Thomas.

Thomas Sanders.

His role in this was more confusing than the world itself.

Sides.

Strange beings with much of them unknown.

All of which wore the same face.

Each with their own color the rainbow.

The one thing that made each unique.

Things had been unchanged for decades. Everybody had their roles. Their part to play. Their domain of Thomas’ psyche.

They each had something to do. A job that never changed. Perhaps that’s why several were growing bored of their current lives.

---

----

---

A web series wasn’t exactly Janus’ favorite idea of Thomas. In fact, he heavily disliked the idea of Thomas creating one. Not to mention the fact that the web series was supposed to include the sides in it. Now that, he despised even more. He’d much prefer Thomas to be out pursuing a more traditional path to fame, but what could he do? It’s not like he was the one driving Thomas’ passion.

Virgil wasn’t against the idea by any means, more just the fact that he had to be in it. Being the literal embodiment of caution didn’t exactly help with this by any means. The camera hadn’t even started yet and he already felt like his heart was going to burst out of his ribcage. However, nobody else seemed to notice this since over the years he’d gotten quite good at disguising his fear.

Remus was always excited to do something new, so this was no different. He felt as if there was electricity running through his veins. The kind of excitement mixed with slight anxiety that leaves you feeling drained later but pumped up in the moment.

Thomas had nearly finished the intro, and while there was little script for the sides, they all knew soon would be the time for them all to join in on the conversation.

“I need to have a sit down with myself, figure myself out, and maybe come to a better understanding that we all could learn from. Let’s do this!”

Virgil was the first pop up, oh god why did he have to be first?

“Hey,” Virgil greeted simply as he appeared on screen.

“This is my cautious side,” Thomas began, “My fears, fight or flight, all of that is in his domain. He’s also a constant reminder of my emo phase.”

“Hey-!”

“Hey did you know that one fourth of the bones in your whole body are in your feet?” Remus quickly interrupted as he rose up. Virgil let out a quiet sigh at Remus’ introduction. Could’ve been worse though, so there was that.

Thomas paused for a second before speaking, “This is my passionate side...somehow. Everything that keeps going, and random facts too apparently.”

“Gotta spice things up sometimes, Thomathy,” Remus replied.

“How is a random fact about bones ‘spicing things up’?”

“I’m surprised things aren’t more derailed,” Janus stated as he finally appeared in the room.

“We’re close,” Virgil answered as he eyed Remus. The chaoticness could be annoying, but he didn’t mind it too much usually.

“And finally this is my self preservation,” Thomas started as he went back to his cheerful attitude from before, “Well, not as much in the physical sense, but trying to make sure I get by okay in life…I think,” Thomas attempted to explain.

“He also looks like he stepped right out of Spirit Halloween,” Virgil quietly said under his breath while looking at Janus.

“Says the one who looks like he hasn’t seen a mirror in weeks,” Janus replied.

“Now enough of that, you two can fight when we’re not recording,” Thomas quickly added, breaking off the short argument.

“So what are we doing here anyways?” Virgil questioned.

“Well, people know me from all the Vines I make, but I don’t feel like people really know me know me.”

“Well perhaps they would if you posted YouTube videos more often,” Janus replied.

With a slightly annoyed look on his face, Thomas responded, “Okay, all right, that’s fair,” Thomas quickly started, “But I don’t know if I know me! There’s some things even I need to figure out about my own identity. Like, okay, relationships.”

“A one way ticket to-,” Remus began.

“Let’s not go through that door,” Janus cut in.

“Just gotta find somebody that will accept you for your flaws, I guess,” Virgil adds.

“Everybody does have their own flaws, and you could say that love is about accepting those,” Janus tried to explain.

“Yes, that is definitely important. Flaws and all. Speaking of which-.”

“Are we bringing up flaws now? ‘Cause you have more than -” Remus quickly began.

“Passion, sto-,” Virgil started before being interrupted.

“I believe this would be of interesting conversation,” Janus once again cut in.

“You’re so fucking boring!” Remus said to Thomas.

“You’re often too selfless,” Janus added in.

“You keep changing your path in life, like all the time, way too often,” Virgil finally gets out.

“Maybe this was a bad idea,” Thomas quickly said after.

“Well, remember everybody does have flaws,” Janus reassured.

“You’ve got good parts about you too, like uh, like you’re alive,” Virgil replied since he couldn’t think of a compliment.

“You aren’t a murderer,” Remus started, “Yet!”

“Excellent compliments, guys,” Janus remarked as he rolled his eyes, “You try your best to get your work done and it shows. There, not that hard.”

“Well, thanks I guess, guys,” Thomas responded.

“It’s hard to think of stuff on the spot, okay?” Virgil attempted to reassure him as he messed with the strings of his hoodie.

“Okay then, what else do I need to figure out?”

“Biggest fear?” Virgil quickly replied without thinking.

“Being boring!” Remus quickly answered.

“What happens after death,” Janus followed.

“What if you were stuck in a state of limbo for the rest of your life-,” Virgil began to reply to his own question as his eyeshadow slightly darkened.

“No, no, we are not talking about fears! I am well aware of those! I am talking about what I need to figure out about myself,” Thomas anxiously interjected.

“Would you eat a clone of yourself if you had no other source of food?” Remus spontaneously questioned.

“Not...not those kinds of questions, Remus,” Thomas replied with a sigh.

“What kind of an impact do you wish to leave on the world?” Janus added, replacing Remus’ question with his own.

With that began the end of the video and Thomas’ speech to the viewer. Virgil felt less anxious than he thought he’d be, Remus felt, well, like Remus, and Janus felt a bit drained but other than that quite good. One by one, they sank out. Virgil, however, couldn’t stop a thought from rattling around the back of his head. What if this series provoked the dark sides?

I don’t write much so it might not be the best but hey I tried

Ao3 link

Edit: Formatting is a little weird because tumblr doesn’t let me do it the way I like

#sanders sides #ts janus #Janus sanders #ts remus #Remus sanders #ts virgil #Virgil sanders #sanders sides au #c!thomas #character thomas #character thomas sanders #sanders sides fic #fanfic #sanders sides fanfic #I write stuff #switched au #tw swearing

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ashintheairlikesnow · 4 years

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I was thinking, what if Jake accidentally triggered Chris? Like maybe Jake casually says something that sir would say when he was about to punish Chris. He’d probably feel so guilty.

So this isn’t exactly what you asked for, but it hits on another ask I received and is very similar! (sorry, other asker, I ended up losing your ask because Tumblr sucks)

CW: References to past whump involving a minor. PTSD/trauma response to stressful stimuli. Includes description of stimming including head banging. VERY vague references to past implied noncon.

Chris’s mind runs fast. Not as fast as his mouth, but that’s okay, he can mostly catch up to himself if he works at it. His mind runs fast but it also derails and crashes on tiny details when he’s trying to finish his chores, and he never had chores before he came to live here but he doesn’t mind them - it’s just hard to get them done when there keep being so many other things to look at.

He’s supposed to be cleaning the living room, and it takes Jake maybe half an hour to do this but Chris has been at it for nearly forty-five minutes, he thinks, maybe longer… and he’s still just trying to finish dusting all the shelves.

The thing is - the TV is on, because he likes the background noise, but words keep catching his attention, little phrases and bits of information his brain wants to add to the constant loop of his thoughts. Plus - plus, on top of the TV and the swirly letters he can’t read on all the books, and the way the throw pillows have kind of a cool texture - on top of all of that, there’s a chipmunk outside.

He knows it’s a chipmunk because Jake told him about how they chirp, which he didn’t know before he came here. Chris mostly didn’t know anything before he came here, but he’s learning, piece by piece.

The chirping keeps catching his attention, drawing him away, slowing him down. He’s no good at cleaning, he can’t think about it long enough, cleaning is too slow and too methodical for his brain. But he likes doing chores, because chores mean he belongs here.

He fluffs a throw pillow, then runs his fingertips over the rough braided texture right down the center, a change from the silky-touch feel of the sides. Silk, rough, silk, rough, silk, rough.

His eyes start to unfocus, go slightly blank.

Silk, rough, just like-

“How’s it going, Chris?” Nat calls from upstairs. She’s turning over all the mattresses and changing the sheets today, Antoni is with her, while Leila works on cleaning the bathroom upstairs and Jake’s down here, in the kitchen, just a few feet away.

“It’s, it’s, it’s it’s it’s good!” Chris calls back, jerking himself into motion, but he can hear the chipmunk outside still, calling and calling and calling. Is it missing someone?

Do I miss someone?

The thought breaks in, strange and uncertain, hardly his own. It’s plaintive, sad. It’s a thought that belongs to Baldur in the dark nights, and to the numbered boy before that in the flat white room. It’s not a thought that belongs to Chris, who stands next to the window and looks out into sunny day. It’s not a thought he wants.

So he ignores it.

Thoughts like that come with headaches that leave him shaking in the dark, and he’s very good at ignoring anything that might bring on the pain again.

He moves to clean around the windowsills, which - who ever heard of doing that, but it’s on the list she reads out to him, and he tries to remember everything. He’s getting better.

The chipmunk chirps outside the window, a kind of throat-swallow sound, and Chris finds himself echoing the noise, making a high-pitched eep-eep-eep sound. It doesn’t sound like the chipmunk at all, but the little animal goes silent outside when he does it, and Chris feels a thrill.

It understood I was trying to talk to it. Maybe it’s listening to me.

That’s a silly thought, and he tries to tell himself it’s stupid, but when he thinks awful things about himself he can kind of hear how Jake would respond if he said them out loud. You’re smart, Chris, you’re smarter than you think you are - you’re brilliant in there, we’re just bringing it back out. Don’t talk down about yourself. The way you think about yourself is how you think about the world.

Chris mostly loves the world, now. So he tries to love himself.

The chipmunk starts back up again, and Chris moves closer, a smile on his face. Slow, and careful, step by step, cleaning forgotten, he tilts his head and-… there it is. Tiny body no bigger than a mouse in a movie, reddish-brown with the black and white stripes across its head and down its back.

Jake says they have stripes like that because the things that eat them don’t see color like people do, and the stripes help them hide.

I wish I had stripes to help me hide.

But the thought doesn’t matter, because Chris doesn’t have to hide anymore. He puts that thought away, too. Lets it sink into the revolving mix of things going on inside his mind at any given moment. Right now it’s mostly the chipmunk.

His hand keeps moving with the rag in it, wiping back and forth across the windowsill, spraying the glass cleaner and wiping at that, too, but it’s half-hearted and he knows he’s leaving streaks. He just… can’t quite stop thinking about the little chipmunk he can just see, hardly a breath of an animal, sitting in Nat’s grass under the white birch tree in her front yard.

If you go to the tree you can peel strips of white and black bark away, easy as cake, like peeling away all his skin to find the real him underneath.

There’s a voice, behind him, from the TV. Smooth, genial, warm and slightly arrogant, the voice of someone who has total and perfect confidence in themselves.

Chris drops the glass cleaner, the plastic bottle bouncing off the floor. The chipmunk catches some hint of the sudden movement and takes off, disappearing in the blink of an eye.

“Of course, Deborah. But I don’t think it’s fair to remove this right that’s been enshrined in our laws since 1952 just because a few protesters get their, well, I won’t say it in polite company. But just because a few protesters are bothered, that’s no reason to get rid of an entire system that’s working just fine. We need to crack down on abuse, of course, and these nasty rumors about illegal acquisition - which, I know the head of WRU personally, I can tell you that’s all a bunch of nonsense-”

Chris’s constant running barrage of thoughts comes to a stuttering halt.

He turns slowly around, cleaning rag still clutched in his other hand, his heart somewhere trapped around his knees, to stare at the TV.

There’s a woman on the screen right now, with blonde hair shellacked in a kind of circle around her head, wearing bright red lipstick and a dress to match. She tilts her head at a practiced angle, and Chris unconsciously echoes the motion. His free hand twists, fingers twitching in a kind of dance, before they tap against his own side. Tap-tap-tap-tap, the motion soothing him, calming him, a rush of something pleasant that fights the fear.

“Of course, Governor Branch-”

“Oh, how do I love to hear myself called that, still,” The man replies. He sits back, the slight shine of the light off his hair makes Chris dizzy. He can almost smell the hair product that’s in it, can almost feel the smooth fabric of the suit Sir is wearing slipping through his fingers.

That’s the one he wore the night Miss Megan saved me.

“Speaking of illegal acquisitions, there’ve been persistent rumors surrounding WRU and its competing corporations about pet abuse, abductions, even minors being put into the system. What would you say o the protesters and pet liberation groups asking for better, more thorough investigations? Would you support the call for a Congressional investigation?””

Sir laughs - it’s a lovely laugh, pulling a smile onto the woman’s face, it’s a laugh Chris has dreams and nightmares about - and Chris lets out a choked-off sound.

Baldur, darling, you do know how to make a man laugh, don’t you?

His fingers twist faster, tap harder into his side. He steps away, stumbling gracelessly, until he can find a hard surface, the wall. He taps on it as fast as he can, a constant barrage of tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap, holding back the worst of the fear, keeping it at bay.

The rush of the sensation isn’t enough to beat back the fog in his mind. He’s buying time but not enough. He can hear Jake singing to himself in the kitchen, and his mouth opens to call, to say, that’s him, that’s my Sir, that’s him on TV, but no sound comes out.

Outside, the chipmunk starts chirping again.

Chris slides down to the floor, curling himself up into a ball, staring fixedly at the screen.

“Deborah, I have spoken to my good friend Timothy Rahm - current CEO of WRU, sorry, not all your viewers are going to know that, are they? - and he has assured me again and again that WRU has absolutely no minors in the system. They have strict physical examinations and quality control checks that ensure every single pet is of legal consenting age.”

Sir smiles, flash of bright white teeth. Chris thinks of whitening strips laid out in a little stray next to Sir’s sink. He had to look good for cameras. He does look good, in his suit with his tan and his sparkly amused eyes.

Darlin’, don’t look upset. You’re going to stay right here in the basement for the party, can’t have anyone getting too good a look, can we?

But, but, but but I don’t like the, the basement, Sir I don’t-

Baldur. You’ll stay in the basement. No arguments.

Yes, Sir.

Chris leans his head over, until it thumps into the wall. Briefly, he feels a burst of better, a wash of something like adrenaline, but soothing, calming. So he does it again. And again. And again.

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.

The chipmunk is silent, listening outside to the sound of Chris as his thoughts revolve and focus around the man on the TV.

He can’t hear what they’re saying any longer, he doesn’t try to. He lets the sound of Sir’s voice, melodic and warm, wash over and around him, but if he keeps thumping his head on the wall - if he keeps tapping, too, if he can just do both - he won’t let him in.

Get him to stop doing that thing with his hand, it’s annoying as hell. I don’t care how, tie his fucking hands down. Teach him not to do that anymore.

The voice wants to trickle under his skin, but a good thump - it’s not painful, it doesn’t hurt, it’s only a shake out of his freezing, it’s holding back the sounds that would hurt if they made it too far in - knocks it back out.

Not yours. Not yours. Not yours. Not yours.

He chants along with the thumps of his head, the taps of his fingers. He whispers without sound.

Better now. Better now. Better now. Better now.

His eyes go unfocused, and Sir is gone, but Chris can’t remember quite how to find his own way back. He doesn’t know how long he floats there, waiting. He doesn’t even know what he’s waiting for.

Someone crouches down in front of him and Chris flinches - no, no, he’s not supposed to touch the walls any longer, he has to stop or he’ll be in trouble again - only to feel Jake’s warm hands on his shoulders, up his neck, on either side of his face.

Jake’s smell, simple clean shower-smell, nothing like Sir’s heavy cologne. Jake smells like soap from the shower and fresh-cut grass from mowing the lawn this morning and the sun that shone in his hair when he did it, while Chris watched from inside.

“Chris?”

“I, I, I, I… I I I saw, I saw, I saw-”

Jake’s eyebrows furrow in concern, a hint of worry lines across his forehead. “What did you see, man? Can you tell me what you saw? Can you tell me what’s in your head right now?”

Sir isn’t on TV anymore. They’ve moved on to talk about something else. Chris swallows, looking up at Jake, then shoves himself forward to push into Jake’s chest, tap-tap-tapping on his side. Jake doesn’t stop him, Jake never ever stops him, he understands the tapping helps. Jake only puts one arm around him and holds him tightly, leaving the other down so Chris can tap, twist-fingers-tap-shirt, again and again.

The simple, clean rush of calm, bit by bit, building a wall to fight back the waves of awful things that want to dig under his skin.

“Chris, I need you to talk to me. What did you see? What happened?”

Chris closes his eyes, thinks of Sir’s smile, just like it always was. His laugh.

Thinks of being good in the dark.

“I saw a chipmunk,” Chris whispers. “Saw, I saw, there was a, a, a-a-a chipmunk, saw a chipmunk, saw-… then the TV, I-… on the, the TV on the tv there was, um, on the TV-”

“Okay. Okay, I know that wasn’t it, but… do you need me to turn off the TV? Would that help?”

Chris nods into Jake’s shirt, clutching hard onto the fabric, tapping his fingers. Hold it back, hold it back, push back the fear and the noise. “Heard, on the TV, I-I-I heard, I heard-”

“It’s okay. Look, I’m going to-… there, if I stretch I can just grab it-” Jake reaches out with his free hand, shakes the side table next to the couch until the remote drops off of it onto the floor within his reach. He turns off the TV and the sudden lack of sound fills the room with a new kind of weight. “No rush, buddy.” Jake squeezes Chris’s shoulders with one arm. “No rush to tell me. Take your time. You’re okay, you’re right here with us, this is Nat’s house. Nobody’s here but us, and we’re safe. I’ve got you, man.”

“You’ve, you’ve got me,” Chris whispers. He feels an urge to thump his head on Jake’s shoulder like he did on the wall, but manages not to. Only just. He can still hear Sir’s voice, like music that won’t stop playing, like when you get a song stuck in your head.

Sir would hate him wearing Jake’s big T-shirt, would hate the silky-mesh basketball shorts he wears all the time. Would hate his knobby knees sticking out from them, his sharp elbows that dig when he doesn’t mean them to. Sir hated his cold feet under the covers.

Jake doesn’t mind any of those things. Jake gives him the shirts he likes, and holds him, and doesn’t stop him from doing the things he has to do to keep his mind from running away too far for him to catch it. Sir was on the screen, but Jake has him here, and only one of those things is real.

Outside, a bit of bark peels away from the white birch tree in the wind, slowly revealing soft, easily-damaged wood the color of pale human skin underneath.

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darklingichor · 3 years

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Odd Thomas, Forever Odd & Brother Odd by Dean Koontz *MAJOR SPOILERS* Long post

I've written a little bit about these before. My goal was to listen to all seven of the Odd books plus the two short stories... I couldn't make myself do that.

I use to really love those books. I use to really love Dean Koontz, just recently, the writing has started to annoy me. Since I haven't read any of his new stuff since Saint Odd came out, I can't say it's because the writing has changed. I think I have changed, I'm just not sure in what way. So, I'm going to look at the first three books in the series because 1. I like them the most (sort of). 2. Because I honestly feel like the series should have either ended there or jumped to Saint Odd. 3. Because I'm going to see if by writing about them, I can figure out why reading Koontz in my 20's was like a breath of fresh air, but in my 30's it feels like when the air conditioner is some how making everything too cold, yet not cooling things down at all: uncomfortable and bafflingly frustrating.

Odd Thomas is a 20 year old fry cook in the small california desert town of Pico Mundo. He's seen as sweet but strange to all but a few people in town. He grew up with a mostly absent father, a crazy mother and a loving but wild grandmother, the last has already gone to the great beyond, so what family he has, he has found.

He has a girlfriend named Stormy, they've been together since they were sixteen, his boss at the Grill where he works, Terry, who has an encyclopedic knowledge of Elvis Presley, a 300 lb mystery writer named P. Oswald Boone (Little Ozzie), his landlady who is afraid she'll turn invisible, and the cheif of police.

Odd also sees ghosts, or The Lingering Dead as he calls them. He trys to help them crossover. Sometimes it's as simple as talking to them (though they don't speak back, "the dead don't talk") oftentimes is complicated and dangerous. Hence why his close relationship with the cheif comes in handy and also why it formed. He has other gifts. The occasional prophetic dream that usually only gives him bits and pieces to work off of, he sees these spectors of calamity that tend to show up right before something bad happens (like an earthquake or a shooting) they are black shadow things that Odd calls Bodochs, and psychic magmatism, where he can find anyone he's looking for by wondering around with a clear picture in mind.

Everyone in his circle knows about his gift other than his landlady who is slightly and gently insane.

There is one other person in his circle, the ghost of Elvis who Odd had been trying to help crossover since he was in highschool.

The first book takes place over the course of three days.

To avoid a blow by blow, I'll summarize. After an eventful morning during which he helped a murdered twelve year old cross over by catching her killer, Odd goes to his shift a the Grill. There, he sees a creepy little man that reminds him if a mold and fungus, followed by a group of Bodochs. He finishes his shift, goes looking for the guy he's dubed Fungus Man.

He eventually finds his way to Fungus Man's house, breaks in and finds it unnaturally cold and silent. He discovers a room that is pitch black except for a small red light. He soon finds that what has made this room so black and the house so cold and quiet is the mob of Bodochs occupying it. After the Bodochs stream out, Odd is able to see that the room is an office and Fungus Man (aka Bob Roberts) is obsessed with serial and mass murderers, he has a file cabinet full of folders on them and posters of famous murders on his wall. Bob seems to be planning something, but Odd doesn't know what, as his only clue is a planner page in a folder from the killer cabinet. The folder is labeled with Bob's name and the date is two days away.

A series of happenings eventually leads to odd trying to stop a horrifying plan

*SPOILERS STOP READING RIGHT HERE IF YOU DON'T WANT TO KNOW THE END*

So, Bob is a satanist in cahoots with a couple of other satanists to shoot up and blow up the Pico Mundo mall, among other places. He is able to stop them from completing their goal, but some people do die, including Stormy who was working at an ice cream shop at the mall.

Forever Odd

It's months later and Odd has moved into Stormy's apartment. He wakes up to find the ghost of one of his best friends's stepdad at his bedside. Strangely, Danny, a guy with brittle bone disease, with whom Odd grew up, was not mentioned in the last book.

So, the ghost of Danny's stepdad convinces Odd to go to his and Danny's house. Once there, Odd finds stepdad's body and discovers that Danny has been kidnapped.

What follows is a slightly weird story.

Odd eventually finds Danny and his kidnappers. One is a bug-shit woman Danny was talking with on a phone sex line. To impress her he told her about Odd. She's into her own twisted form of the Vudun religion and decides that Odd can show her the lingering dead and wants him become one of her crew. She kidnapped Danny to lure him out.

Danny is rescued, bad guys defeated, and Odd decides he needs to get out of Pico Mundo for a while.

Brother Odd

Odd has spent the last several months at the St. Bartholomew's Abbey, in the California Mountains, as a lay visitor among the monks and nuns. The Abbey is also home to a a community of disabled children. Odd becomes close with four people in particular The Mother superior, The Priest at the head of the monks, Brother Knuckles, an ex mob guy turned monk, and Brother John, a wealthy guy turned monk. Only the first three know of his gift.

Waiting up to see a snow storm break, Odd finds Brother Timothy unconscious or dead on the grounds. He is then clubbed on the back of the head and knocked out. A search for Brother Tim leads to a strange mix of science and the spiritual that I for one found really cool.

** SECOND SPOILER**

Elvis crosses over in this one and Odd contemplates becoming a monk. Two reasons I think that this should have been the last one. Another reason is that he comes very very close to connecting with Stormy though a conduit to the otherside. Third, this is the last book where Odd is truly Odd.

See, Odd hates guns and will only use one as a last resort. In the first, Odd takes out most of the bad guys with a baseball bat, in the second, bug-shit lady was killed by a cougar, the bad guy in this one was killed by someone else.

Although his ability to see and help the lingering dead is not the main focus of the second or the third, it's still something he does. There is character progression from the first to the third. When we meet Odd he is trying to carve out a life dispite his traumatic childhood and while trying to do right with the gifts he has. After he loses Stormy, the second commitment becomes more intense, because of his conviction that the only way he will meet Stormy on the other side is to live his life in the best way he can, and that means using his gifts to help people. He's sadder, slightly less heedful of danger, but still fully committed to flighting the good flight, in his unconventional way.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again, in the fourth through the seventh, the train is derailed, possessed, and also on fire.

Not only does his primary gift take a back seat, but the fight he is flighting isn't between the forces of good and evil, or even between justice and injustice, it's a culture war.

And the side of the war that Odd is on is peopled with climate change deniers, dooms day prepers, anti-government people who supply other "good guys" with guns, other anti-personnal gear, tech that circumvents federal guidelines. All the "bad guys" are anyone with any sort of power judges, lawyers, cops, corporations, politicians. Their victims are the hard working Americans, the waitresses, the truck drivers... Strike that. The victims are the Christian hardworking Americans who evedently are being "persecuted in their own country" (this might be a different rant for a different blog but I maintain that there is a big difference between Persecution and Denial of Entitlement. Persecution is being in danger of being harassed, hurt, killed or imprisoned for your beliefs, ethnicity or culture. And when that happens justice is less likely to happen for the person or people targeted. Denial of Entitlement is when a person, or people, cry injustice because they either can't dress up their persecution of others in their beliefs, or can't force those beliefs on others, through law, or through being amazingly obnoxious).

Not only are anyone in power corupt, they are satanists, not are they satanists, they are the same sect of satanists who attacked Pico Mundo, not only are they the same satanists that attacked Pico Mundo, they have an actual connection to Satan. Like they can call up demons and monsters.... Yet for some reason they still use bombs, guns and weponized diseases to wreak havoc.

Now, if Koontz wanted to showcase some characterization of how to fight against a corupt system, that's cool, I mean I'm all for calling out people in power. But this vears into government lizard people territory, and if that was the type of book he wanted to write then that's cool too,but he essentially highjacked Odd's story to do it.

I have a hard time believing that when Odd picked up the ghost of Frank Sinatra at the end of Brother, and walked off into the sunset, that the original intent was to end up in the middle of a plot to plant nukes around the country and then, accompanied by pregnant girl who is some how The Virgin Mary's mother, to a house where time travel is possible and mutant pigs fade in from a post apocalyptic future and want to eat people, where they pick up a sort of dead, sort of immortal child, who is neither of those any more. Only to then to leave them to go on a road trip with an old lady, who some how has connections to the metaphysical, and a microchip planted in her ass that makes it to where she doesn't have to sleep, to rescue kids kidnapped by the powerful satanists to be used as human sacrifice. Along the way, they meet up with some fighters in this coming war, who while they do not wear tin foil hats, they have the cheerfully bloodthirsty air of cult members waiting for the end times. (Side note about the roadtrip book: Deeply Odd is the most boring, yet weird book I have read since Breaking Dawn. Say what you will about the crazy pigs and time travel in Odd Apocalypse, it's at least interesting).

And then to end up back in Pico Mundo to fight said satanists. The in increasingly nonsensical plots really just there to deliver commentary on how the world has gone to shit and everyone is to focused on the material.

Again, remember that Odd is pretty apolitical. He's never voted, owns only the clothes on his back, prefers Shakespeare and old movies to tv, which I figure also includes the news. How does this not equal out to a kid being a patsy for this group, which essentially takes over the narritive. I mean, yeah, he's still doing his thing, but he has many of his moves ditcatated by this group. This includes carrying a gun, all the time.

Again, Odd hates guns. Granted, by the last book, he has spent three books killing people with guns while talking about how much he hates killing people with guns, but up till the last two books, his hatered of guns is seen as a virtue, and then suddenly, he's an idiot if he doesn't arm himself to take a piss.

This makes very little sense to me. Odd is a simple guy, he wants to live his life as long as he has to, do right by the dead and make his way back to Stormy, all the while perfecting his pancake recipe. How the fuck did we get from this to "Everything is shit, there are three type of people, those in power who are working for the devil, those on the side of the angels and the idiots who don't see what's going on. And dispite all the supernatural stuff, we still need to busta cap in someone's ass.

I know that Koontz is Catholic, and I speculate that he had a renewal of his faith somewhere, but also somewhere along the line he took a turn into conservative libertarian territory if that is a thing that can exsist.

I feel like originally, the idea was to have Saint Odd follow Brother Odd, at least in some incarnation. It makes sense, the satanist sect want to come back and finish what was started, and take out the town and Odd, who cocked it up to begin with. In the first book Odd describes Roberts and his cohorts as playing satanists but just using it as a delivery system for their sick want to kill people and be famous for it. It follows that others who are also playing at being satanists would come back to town to get revenge for their fallen brethren. This also trucks with Forever Odd where the bug-shit lady was playing at being a Vudun, and with Brother Odd where people played at being faithful.

This is how ai think it should have gone:

Odd goes from the Abbey, where he is shown, yet again, that evil is a human driven force, that those who wallow in pride, in want of adoration and perfection can be the down fall of themselves and others, back to his home town to defeate these sad delusional people once and for all.

Odd goes home for Christmas at the end of Brother, decides he wants to take vows, and goes about the process of becoming a man of the cloth. Maybe he goes back to St. Bart's, and he figures out a way to help the lingering dead from there, or, after he is confirmed in whatever capacity, he goes back to Pico Mundo and works along side Stormy's priest uncle. He sort of Father Dowlings it until he passes.

Instead, suddenly the structured feel of all of the supernatural things, which (implied by the third book) are based in science and the laws and rules of the universe that God laid down, turns into... Magic?

Doesn't matter how or why, what matters is there is a war! And the little fry cook shall lead them!

Seriously. Five years of Christian School has me seeing the turn that Odd's story takes, a couple of ways.

First it is either an overworked Christ story, where Odd is swept up in a war between the oppressed and the opressers, even though his life and mission is mostly one of mercy. In the end being a sacrifice that saves millions (by preventing the spread out f a weponized strain of rabies) but his sacrifice will only be remembered by a handful of people at first. The difference is of course that Odd buys into the culture war even though it make no sense.

Or, it's a Saint's story. Struggle, strife and miracles. See, it use to be that to be canonized, you had to have three miracles. His miracles? Well, first, his helping of the dead to cross over could be one, the preventing of whatever demon the satanists summoned in Deeply Odd, could be another, and finally, somehow managing to send Little Ozzie the manuscript for Saint Odd after Odd himself had already died, could be the last.

Either way, books four, five, and six are completely unnecessary.

So why does knootz's writing annoy me? It's self righteous and condicending. Poking fun a people who watch tv, enjoy unsophisticated things, bemoaning those who don't see just how stupid it is to buy into media, and how people are just marching their own way to misery because they just don't Get It.

It's the same time of people who look down on adults who do kid stuff sometimes "Why would you read John Green when you can read Dickens? Why would you watch Inside Out when you can watch Citizen Cane?"

Why would you eat coco puffs? Adults don't do that!"

I'm sorry, have I outgrown fun? A book is a book, a movie is a movie, breakfast cereal is breakfast cereal and you should be able to watch anything you want on tv without being shamed by a book that has an exploding cow in it.

#book #books #odd thomas #dean koontz #spoilers #revisit 7 8 and 9 #Book blogging 2021 #revisit

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hookedontaronfics · 5 years

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Honky Dancer series - Chapter 4

Chapter title: Piano keys and heartstrings Read the previous installments here: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 Rating: M Pairing: Taron x OC Warnings: Slight cursing, alcohol use, sexual tension A/N: Plenty of fluffy fluff and feels in this chapter! More mature themes will develop, so be warned! Enjoy! X

My first inkling of the jealousy my friendship with Taron, and by association Richard, had caused came that very next day. I had just made it to the studios and ran to the bathrooms, my bladder about to burst as the tube had been running extraordinarily behind that day. I shut myself into a stall, wrestled my way out of my leotard and tried to stop the moan of relief as I finally was able to pee just as a group of girls pushed their way in, chattering among themselves. I recognized their voices almost immediately; there were four dancers, all of them from the same kickline team, who had had nothing to do with anyone but themselves. They were cliquey and snotty and incredibly lucky they were talented because they sure wouldn’t be picked based on their personalities.

“I don’t know why that twiggy bitch thinks she’s better than anyone else,” one of the girls said.

“Ugh, I know Riley. She’s got nothing on you but all they do is pay attention to her. Like she’s special or something.”

“She’s not even that pretty,” one of the other girls sniffed. I had to roll my eyes as I realized they were talking about me. The next thing they said was lost to me as I flushed the toilet and had the satisfaction of the girls all falling dead silent when I popped the door open and stepped out. I just gave my most winning smile to their expressions of surprise reflected in the mirror while I washed my hands, and left the bathroom with my head held high. I promised myself to take the high road with those girls although I didn’t understand their jealousy really.

I hadn’t expected or sought out Taron’s friendship at all. If anything it really had fallen into my lap, or rather, I had fallen into it, quite literally. I would have loved to have rubbed it in their faces that I had a date Saturday night with him, but people like that rarely learned and it would only add fuel to their jealous fire. Twiggy bitch, though, that was a new one.

I made my way to the studio and plopped down next to Leah, needing to avoid Markus for the moment if I could. I started warming myself up, and Markus was trying to make eye contact with me. I just couldn’t handle putting on a show for him for the moment, so instead I turned to Leah and told her what the other girls had said about me and she instantly sympathized.

“You shouldn’t listen to a bloody thing those girls say. Bad apples in every bunch, you know,” she shrugged. “Besides, I think it’s nice that Taron is chummy with you. You seem to put him at ease when he’s around you,” she grinned.

“Really?” I said a bit nervously. I hadn’t ever thought of it that way before.

“You make everyone around you feel more comfortable and confident. Look at Pietre, for example,” Leah said, waving her hand over at my tow-headed friend, who was casually chatting with a couple of other guys. “When he came in here he didn’t say a word to anyone and I didn’t even think he was going to be able to make it through auditions. But your encouragement and support really helped him come out of his shell. And I think Taron’s been a bit anxious until he sees you and then he just lights up. That’s a very special quality you have. You’re like the mother hen to all of us, but in the most supportive way possible.”

“That’s … incredibly kind of you,” I said softly, feeling incredibly humbled.

“So it’s any wonder that he gravitated to you. If I only had half the magnetism you possess...,” she laughed.

“I totally owe you a lunch or something now,” I said, overwhelmed by the sweet words.

“What, for saying something that’s true?” she asked, so nonchalantly I’m not sure she realized how much it had hit me in the heart.

We were busy through rehearsals and I could instantly tell that Taron was already feeling more confident, being playful with the routine and not having to concentrate so hard on the steps themselves. My heart especially soared when he effortlessly nailed that move we’d worked so hard on; to be a part of helping him exude that confidence made me feel a bit proud. No one else had to know that, of course. It would stay our little secret.

Once rehearsals were over, Markus immediately came up to me, telling me how much he’d missed seeing me yesterday when we didn’t have rehearsals; a part of me felt instantly bad for the things I had been thinking after our date night. Looking at those puppy dog eyes he was giving me now, I really wondered if I was just being a bitch to him, so I vowed to myself that I would give him a chance when I wasn’t being a drunken idiot.

“Yeah, I missed you too,” I smiled genuinely, appreciating the way his sweaty shirt clung to the muscles of his chest. He was an incredibly sculpted man, I can tell you that.

“We should hang out again soon, maybe Saturday?” he offered, and I had to shake my head.

“I already have plans, sorry,” I said, trying to play up being chagrined even though those plans were with Taron, and I was very much looking forward to it. “But maybe we could catch up on Monday after rehearsals?”

“That sounds lovely,” he said, giving me a toothy smile that lit up his whole face. Okay, it wasn’t Taron’s crinkly-eyed smile, but it was still cute.

“Can I ask you a kind of personal thing?” I said, looking around me just to make sure no one was over-hearing us, but everyone was caught up in their own conversations. He nodded and I had to gather up my courage to ask. “Did you wear a condom when we slept together? Because I don’t really remember that and I feel like I need to know.”

“Well no, I didn’t. You’re on the pill, right?” he replied with a bit of a shrug, and I felt my heart stutter a little bit in my chest. Shit.

“I’m not, Markus. It’s always messed my body up really badly, so I can’t take it,” I said, cringing slightly. How could he just assume that about every girl he slept with? What a massive oversight.

“Ahhhh,” he said, seeming surprised at least but not nearly as worried as I felt he should be. “We’ll talk about this later, when we have some one-on-one time,” he said, looking over my shoulder. I turned around and spotted Taron walking toward us, and he looked from my worried expression to Markus’ startled one, and at once seemed concerned.

“Everything alright?” He asked as he sidled up next to me, placing a hand gently at the small of my back. That wasn’t lost on Markus as he drew himself up to his full height in some weird kind of effort to intimidate Taron.

“We’re doing perfectly well over here, thanks,” Markus replied in a steely manner as they both stared each other down.

“Well, I was just heading out, so… I’ll see you two later,” I replied, not willing to be in the center of whatever this was turning out to be. Markus was threatened by Taron, and Taron was jealous of Markus; neither of them had any need to feel those things, but the tension was making me feel uncomfortable. Taron seemed to read that vibe from me though and backed down slightly, but I still hurriedly grabbed my bag and shuffled out of the room without giving either of them a glance backward.

I had other things to freak out about, like the fact that Markus could potentially have gotten me pregnant. It was mostly unlikely but not totally impossible, and I still had two weeks to go until my next period. It was going to be a very long, anxious two weeks. Another baby would probably completely derail everything I’d worked so hard to build, especially with a guy I wasn’t 100 percent into. The idea of it felt rather devastating, no matter how much I loved my daughter, and all of this fear made me feel even more confused.

I took the tube home and fell face first onto my couch, completely exhausted. Between maintaining classes, Rocketman rehearsals, being a mom and now this new weird balancing act between Markus and Taron, I could barely handle my emotions or keep myself awake. Still, my phone pinged with a text and I made myself dig my phone out of my purse and focus on the text.

<Is everything really alright? You looked so completely upset when I walked up.> Taron had texted me.

<I’m not really sure to be honest, Taron, but I’ll figure it out. I have to.>

<You will and I’m here to support you fully. If you need anything at all, let me know, okay?> he sent back, making my heart twinge slightly. I didn’t deserve his kindness, that was for sure.

<Of course. Are you going to be seeing Markus again?> he asked, and I closed my eyes and sighed slightly at that.

<Yes. I think it’s only fair to give him another chance.>

I’m someone he cares about?, I wondered, my brain a bit of a haze as I unintentionally slipped off to sleep, my phone still in my hand. When I woke up later it was fully into night. My neck had a painful crimp in it from sleeping in a funny position, and I just felt more exhausted than before. I was actually grateful for once that Clara was spending the night with her father. I needed to get some food ready, so I dragged myself off the couch and made a quick bite before taking care of Troy and making sure he was settled in before calling it an early night.

I didn’t exactly wake up the next morning feeling refreshed, but I was at least not half-dead. Which was good, because I had two morning classes to teach, including my much-loathed aerobics class, before heading to rehearsals. I was already sweaty and gross when I made it across town with barely any time to spare. I took my spot on the floor for warm-ups, noticing Taron and Richard weren’t there yet, and then disappointed to find out they wouldn’t be in rehearsal that day after all. I felt like I was going through the motions a little bit as we started working on some choreography, my mind focused on other things, and I was just grateful my body knew how to take over.

At some point in the middle of rehearsal a thin woman with a pinched face came in and spoke to the choreographer briefly. He looked at me and called me over, my stomach dropping to my toes instantly. “What’s wrong?” I asked, trying to wipe the sweat off my face.

“A man came here asking for you. He said he was your ex,” the woman with the pinched face said. I felt my heart racing as I worried that something bad had happened to Clara.

“Make it quick,” the choreographer said, but not unkindly, and went to assist someone else. I stepped outside and followed the woman down a couple hallways and into an office, where Zayn and my daughter were sitting. Clara was busy playing a game on Zayn’s phone and seemed overall okay, though she shouldn’t have been out of school yet.

“What’s going on?” I asked quietly.

“I punched a boy because he was teasing my friend and saying not nice things to her and then he pushed me down when I told him to stop,” Clara said before Zayn even had a chance to speak.

“The school suspended her for the rest of the day,” Zayn added. “Mostly so the parents of the boy wouldn’t try and sue. Clara gave him a bloody nose.”

“Oh, Clara-Bean,” I said, shaking my head but finding it hard to be mad at my daughter.

“Well he’s a big bully and everyone knows it and the teachers won’t make him stop. So I did,” Clara said defiantly.

“Yes, well, using your fists probably wasn’t the best way to handle that, sweetheart. I commend you for defending your friend, but there are other ways to handle bullies,” I said carefully, wanting to make it clear violence wasn’t the answer, but not wanting to discourage her spirit either. “Next time you come to me and we’ll figure out a solution together, okay?” I said.

“Yes, mummy,” Clara said with a nod.

“Anyway, I need to get back to work. I was hoping you could take her for a bit,” Zayne cut in. “I just started this new job and I don’t have any sick time I can take. They were being generous in letting me get Clara from school as it is after you weren’t picking up your phone.”

I ran a hand over my face and tried to figure out what to do. I wasn’t sure I could be excused from rehearsal for this, but it would take my mum at least half an hour to get across town. I sighed and called my mum, making sure she could come pick Clara up, and my daughter would just have to sit in the studio and hopefully behave for the next half-hour or so.

As we were leaving the office, though, of course we just happened to run into Taron, and I suddenly felt a wave of anxiety pass through me. While I knew Taron needed to be told about my daughter and my past if we were to continue our relationship, this was not exactly how I had planned it.

“Hey! Shouldn’t you be in rehearsal?” he grinned cutely at me, brightening at seeing me, as he always did.

“Should be, yeah. Had a bit of a family emergency though,” I said, nodding at my daughter. “Taron, this is Clara,” I said, not even realizing I was holding my breath but he took it completely in stride and if he was surprised, he kept it off his face.

“Nice to meet you, Miss Clara,” he said, offering his hand, which she took and shook rather enthusiastically.

“I’m 7 and mum says I’m too smart for my own good,” she announced, making Taron just chuckle.

“Is that so? Well being smart is never a bad thing,” he said with a wink.

“I guess so,” she said with a shrug. “All the other kids make fun of me though.”

“Well some day you will be the boss and all the other kids will have to work for you, and then it won’t matter,” he replied, and the smile that spread on Clara’s face was the sweetest thing to see.

“Did you hear that mummy? I’m going to be the boss!” she said excitedly, and I laughed with her excitement.

“I do believe it’s true,” I smiled, before introducing Zayn as well. Taron was polite with him and Zayn excused himself quickly after that to get back to work. “My mum’s on her way to pick up Clara, but I just don’t know what to do about her until mum gets here,” I sighed as Taron walked along with us back toward the rehearsal room.

“I could give her a tour of the place, show her all the interesting bits, if that’d help you out. I’m literally doing nothing at the moment,” Taron offered.

“Oh, I can’t ask that of you,” I said, shaking my head.

“You didn’t ask, but I’m offering. It’ll be fun for me too, you know? I’ve got two sisters around Clara’s age,” he smiled, turning to Clara. “Would you like to see the recording room?” he grinned a bit mischievously, and Clara instantly lit up.

“Can I mummy? Please?” she asked. Damn if Taron hadn’t gotten around my objections far too easily. I wasn’t about to disappoint my daughter now.

“You two have fun then,” I said, a bit helplessly as Taron just winked at me.

“Oh, we will. Now get back to dancing,” Taron grinned, and I had to think I was crazy for leaving my daughter just randomly in his care, but what could a half-hour really hurt, right?

I returned to rehearsals and tried to keep my mind focused, but I couldn’t help wondering what Taron and my daughter were up to, hoping she was behaving for him. She was a good kid, but could be precocious when she wanted to be. I was so grateful when rehearsal was finally over. It’d been another hour and my mum had left me a text that she had arrived at the studios but then I got nothing else. I quickly called her as I gathered up my bag, but she didn’t answer. I also texted Taron and got no answer from him either. I wanted to assume that my mum had found Taron and Clara and already left, but I wasn’t absolutely sure, so I hurried along the labyrinth of hallways, looking into rooms and trying to find Taron if nothing else.

I heard the giggles long before I found them, followed by some tinkling of piano keys. I quietly snuck up on the room, peeking around the corner. Seated on the piano bench side-by-side were Taron and Clara, my mum looking on from the side. I pulled my phone out and couldn’t help quietly taking a couple of snaps, especially when Clara looked adoringly up at Taron, and he was smiling sweetly down at her. It stole my heart for a moment until Clara finally noticed me haunting the doorway.

“Mummy!” she squealed excitedly. “Taron is teaching me to play like Elton!” she said. “Can we play it for her?” she asked Taron excitedly, and he grinned and nodded.

“You remember the notes, right?” he said so gently as Clara placed her fingers eagerly on the keys. They played the first few bars of music from “Your Song” together, Taron playing the chords while Clara did a fairly decent job with the melody. They hadn’t gotten very far into the song, but she was still so excited about it that all of us were left beaming.

“That was so good, Clara-Bean!” I grinned, giving her a hug and mouthing ‘Thank you’ to Taron as I did so. I was also trying hard not to swoon over Taron himself being so sweet with my daughter.

“She’s going to be a real talent, dear,” my mum said proudly. We chatted a little bit longer but I didn’t want to take up much more of Taron’s time, though he promised me he truly enjoyed spending time with Clara.

“See you tomorrow? I’ll pick you up at 6?” Taron said as we were taking our leave.

“I’ll be ready!” I said with a grin.

As my mum and I and Clara left the studios, my mum turned to me and placed a hand on my arm. “You need to hold onto that one if you can, dear. Handsome AND good with kids? He’s perfect for you!”

“Mum!” I said with a laugh. “We’re just friends right now. I don’t know that he’d want a ready-made family like that anyway,” I said, shrugging the idea of it out of my brain immediately. It wouldn’t do me any good to get my hopes up, though I was grateful Taron hadn’t seemed remotely bothered that I already had a daughter.

I made arrangements to take Clara over to my mum’s for an overnight Saturday before my date; I think my mum might have been more excited for it than I was at the moment. I’m sure she just wanted me to find someone to be happy with after seeing me go through so much in the past with Zayn and a handful of other awful experiences with men. I hadn’t really told her about Markus either, and didn’t intend to unless it became an actual thing.

My daughter and I spent a quiet Friday evening pigging out on pizza and ice cream in front of the telly, watching our favorite movies together and even painting our nails “every color of the rainbow” as Clara requested. We both crashed hard when we could no longer keep our eyes open, slept in late, had a lazy breakfast of cereal and orange juice, packed an overnight bag for Clara and then played with Troy until it was time to take her over to my mum’s.

Once Clara was good and settled in with her grandmum, I made a couple of quick errands before getting myself home again with enough time to get ready. I wasn’t sure exactly what to expect and Taron hadn’t given me any hints as to where he was taking me. I decided a cute comfortable dress (navy blue and white lace, and the best part, with pockets!) and a cardigan would be dressed up enough for something more formal but still casual enough to pass if he chose that too. I piled my hair up in a bun, figuring there was no point in straying too far from the person he already knew I was, dashed on some makeup and otherwise tried to not get too nervous as I waited for Taron to arrive. Was it even possible to not be nervous? I thought to myself.

When the doorbell rang, right on time I might add, Troy immediately ran over to it, barking to announce we had a visitor. I quickly pulled the door open and found Taron standing there, looking dashing as ever in a striped shirt, black jacket and a black hat pulled over his hair. I couldn’t help but stare a little bit as I greeted him. “Hi. Hey. Um… Troy, sit!” I said, my face probably turning red as my dog tried to jump excitedly on Taron.

“Hey there buddy!” he said, patting Troy for a second before grinning at me. “You look beautiful as ever,” he said, leaning in and giving me a quick kiss on the cheek. He offered his arm and I took it after grabbing my clutch and locking the door behind me, telling Troy to be a good boy; the dog seemed only a little put out to be left behind. Taron opened the car door for me, which was super sweet, before getting in the driver’s seat.

“Hope you’re hungry,” he said with an amused grin on his face as he put the car in gear.

“I’ve saved up my appetite,” I giggled lightly. “So where are you taking me?” I joked.

“That’s a surprise,” he just chuckled, taking my hand gently as he drove. “I like these colors by the way,” he said, lifting my hand to his mouth and placing a sweet kiss on my fingers, making my heart want to skip a few beats.

“Oh! That! Yeah, I let Clara choose the colors and forgot to take the polish off,” I laughed, almost feeling shy in front of him.

“I think it’s amazing how sweet you are with your daughter,” he grinned over at me. “She’s an adorable kid and by the looks of it, has an amazing mum too.” There had been very few times I’d been rendered speechless in my life; that statement was one of them.

“I… Taron,” I said softly, staring down at my lap.

“You needn’t be shy about that around me,” he said gently. “I do feel how kids turn out is often a direct reflection of their parents. You should be proud that you have a bright, happy, spirited child.”

“She’s something else,” I laughed. “Let’s just say she was having a really good day yesterday. You haven’t seen the tantrums and fits,” I grinned.

“Oh I’m sure it goes with the territory,” he chuckled. “I really would love to experience all that parenthood offers some day,” he smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling the way that I so loved.

When someone talks about having feels, well, I was having all of them at the moment. I was sure he could hear my heart beating right out of my chest. Hearing Taron talk about wanting kids some day was just nearly too much to bear, and I truly did believe he’d make an amazing dad. The conversation naturally moved on to other topics, but the feels definitely lingered.

We arrived at The Ledbury and I had to take a double-take over the restaurant he had chosen. “Taron, this is fancy as shit! I’m way under-dressed!” I said, and he had a laugh over that.

“Nonsense. People eat here in jeans and hipster jackets, you’re just fine. In fact, I imagine you’ll be the loveliest woman in the place, if I have anything to say about that,” he said. I felt my heart ache yet again over what he said and I was not going to survive this night if he kept looking at me the way he was at that moment. “Come on then,” he said after clearing his throat and having to tear his eyes away.

We made our way into the gorgeous building, with black curtains adorning the spacious windows that let plenty of light in. I took in the space, the round tables covered in white cloths and plush upholstered chairs. Taron gave his name for our reservation and we were seated and immediately offered wine, to which we both agreed.

I looked over the menu, trying not to gasp out loud at the price of the four-course dinner, but Taron seemed completely nonplussed about it. Right, he was living in a different world than me, where he could pay for a 300-euro meal without blinking but I had to use coupons for basics like noodles and bread, I reminded myself.

I was determined to enjoy every last bite of this meal, though, so I made my selections and just tried to tune into the conversation, enjoying the wine maybe a little more than I should. We laughed a lot though, and I found that I was truly enjoying his company, more than I could have thought possible. He was engaging, kind in every way, funny as hell and charming to bits, and I found myself really opening up to him. I told him about my upbringing, with my mum raising me by herself after my dad left when I was just a tiny tot, and why I was determined that Clara at least know who her father was even if he had disappointed me so much over the years. Taron listened in his patient way and never judged any of my past pain, and for that I was eternally grateful.

I got him talking about Rocketman while we ate, and seeing him so passionate about the project and so endlessly excited about his burgeoning friendship with Elton made me really happy.

And that food, my god, I probably could have just gone straight to heaven after that meal. I couldn’t even identify half of what I was putting in my mouth, but it was exquisite nonetheless. And of course every meal course was paired with an amazing wine, and of course I had to drink every last drop of that wine, so I was feeling really good - okay, maybe quite buzzed - by the time we ended our meal with the brown sugar tart and buffalo milk meringue. Taron, for his part, had been more careful about imbibing, probably because he would have to drive later.

It’d gotten quite late by the time Taron helped my giggling self back out to the car. The service had been superb, but not exactly fast, and we’d definitely whiled away the hours together. We made the drive back to my house, giggling over stupid shit and singing way too loudly to the radio with the windows down. It was the most alive I had felt in a long time, to be honest, as I let the wind from the open windows whip loose strands of my hair around my face.

Once we arrived back at my house, Taron insisted on walking me to my door, and in a small bit of courage I decided to invite him in. He looked hesitant for a moment, but then caved and followed me in. I showed him about the space, glad it didn’t look like too much of a hot mess, though I had to sweep several of Clara’s toys off the couch so we could sit. Troy demanded some attention but after we doted on him a bit he finally wandered off to his bed and laid down.

“It’s been an amazing evening, so thank you,” I grinned at him, and realized I truly meant it. I couldn’t really believe how fun it had been, really getting to just spend time outside of work and dance together. We had some things in common, certainly, and he didn’t feel so far away from me, sitting on my couch and looking at me like I was the only girl in the world at the moment.

It made my breath catch in my chest slightly as he reached over and brushed the wild strands of hair back sweetly. “I have enjoyed myself thoroughly in your company. I feel that I should thank you also,” he smiled, his eyes tracing the lines of my lips. We stared at each other for that small space of time and then we were leaning into each other, our lips crashing against each other’s in our sweet but hungry kisses. I could still taste the wine on his lips, and I felt my body light on fire as he naturally pulled me into him.

I slid my leg over his lap so I was straddling him, aware of how close I now was, my chest pressed tightly to his as all the wine I’d drank allowed my instincts and hormones to take over my brain. I deepened the kisses, wanting more despite my better judgments, and Taron didn’t hold back either as he pulled my cardigan off, his fingers traveling over my bare arms, and then running over my waist and my stomach, then down to my thighs, where the hem of my dress had ridden up. I’m pretty sure I moaned into his mouth at that point, and I could feel him growing hard between us.

Something wicked must have taken over me, because I ground my hips against him and was rewarded with the most delicious groan as his eyes fluttered slightly. We kissed a few more times but then he pulled away, leaving me panting, and leaned his forehead against mine.

“I can’t do this,” he whispered.

“What?” I asked, crashing back down to earth with a hard mental thud. “Why not? You clearly want this.”

“But you’re clearly drunk and I can’t take that decision away from you. I’d hate myself forever for that. I need to know it’s you that wants me and not just the wine,” he said, his eyes pleading with me to understand.

I groaned slightly and slid off his lap then, needing to remove myself from the temptation. I knew he had a point, I knew it in the little bit of logical brain I still had left, but that didn’t mean the rejection still didn’t sting. “Of course,” I said, frowning slightly, my lips still tingling and my body still throbbing uncomfortably.

“Please don’t hate me,” he said, his brow wrinkling in concern and sadness.

“God, I don’t hate you Taron,” I rolled my eyes. “No one could hate you. You’re like a bucket of puppies or whatever,” I said, my head beginning to join the throbbing party. I grabbed a pillow and laid my head down on it and sighed.

“You should get some sleep. You might feel better in the morning about things,” he said softly, pulling a blanket off the back of the couch where it was draped and laying it over me gently. I didn’t have the energy to protest this, really, so I closed my eyes and nodded.

“Yes dear,” I yawned, still clearly not in full control of myself and not even realizing that word had slipped out of my mouth. Taron smiled softly and leaned over, kissing me on the forehead.

“I’ll call you in the morning, maybe bring over breakfast, yeah?” he said as I nodded my head, half-asleep already. “This is most certainly to be continued, love” he whispered in my ear, his voice a deep timbre, before leaving me to fall headfirst into my slumber. To be continued? I wondered at that as Taron saw himself out the door. What could he possibly mean?

How will Taron and Juliette’s relationship unfold? And will the drama between Juliette and Markus continue? Keep reading to find out in Chapter 5 HERE!

#taron imagine #taron egerton #taron x reader #rocketman fanfic #rocketman imagine #taron fluff #taron egerton fanfiction

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gretagerwigcollection · 5 years

Text

One Scene, 42 Takes and 2 Hours in a Bathroom Stall

By Greta Gerwig

May 9, 2013

Scene 63. INT. BATHROOM. NIGHT.

Frances and Sophie inside a stall together.

FRANCES: I was lying. I don’t love Patch.

SOPHIE: I do love him.

FRANCES: Since when? When did this happen?

SOPHIE: It’s been happening.

FRANCES: That’s [expletive] [expletive]. Sophie, COME ON!

SOPHIE: No, you’re [expletive]. And you’re making me feel really bad right now.

FRANCES: I want to love him if you love him, but you don’t love him.

SOPHIE: I DO.

FRANCES: (tearing up) Sophie! I [expletive] held your head when you cried. I bought special milk for you. I know where you hide your pills. Do not treat me like a three-hour-brunch friend.

SOPHIE: I’m not talking to you while you’re like this.

She turns away. Frances hits the wall close to Sophie’s head. It’s violent and kind of scary.

In the film “Frances Ha,” Scene 63 is 28 seconds long. We did 42 takes in total, two hours of shooting in a bathroom with no breaks or pauses other than for direction and blocking. In 50 days of shooting, we averaged around 35 takes per scene. Most independent films shoot in 25 days with, at most, 10 takes per scene.

A take, in this case, refers to the entirety of the above printed text, acted from beginning to end. Meaning that Mickey Sumner, playing Sophie, and I, playing Frances, said those words and performed those actions 42 times in a row. The scene had to play “in one,” a take in its entirety, with no edits. The take is the scene. Noah Baumbach, the director and my co-writer, was going to have to pick only one of those 42 takes for the final film.

To write this essay, I went back to the editing room and watched all 42 takes. I also read the script supervisor’s notes, which include Noah’s opinions of each performance. Using the footage, the notes and my memory of the day of shooting, I created the following take journal.

Take 1 (2:04 p.m.): The first one. Not great, but not bad. The first go-round always has an adrenaline to it that is thrilling and unwieldy. There is a pride in simply getting through it, saying everything pretty well correctly and not melting into the ground with embarrassment for all the acting that we are doing.

Take 2 (2:08 p.m.): Because the first take went fairly well, I immediately become cocky and start overplaying it. I’m acting toodrunk. It’s whiny and high-pitched, and for some reason I’m leaning over the sink in a way that makes me look like a hunchback.

Take 3 (2:13 p.m.): Now I swing too far in the other direction and pitch my voice a lot lower. It sounds fake, as if I’m trying to sound important. Frances’ rhythms are more fleet and funny. I touch Mickey too much, it’s too aggressive. She flinches, and she’s right to, because what I’m doing is weird.

Take 4 (2:16 p.m.): I know I’m doing the scene badly, but I can’t figure out how to do it well. Usually by Take 4 something has settled, but not this time. I do a weird line reading just to change it up. That surprises me midperformance, and then I mess up my next line — I say “three-hour-lunch friend” instead of “three-hour-brunch friend.” I apologize immediately after Noah calls, “Cut!” Little words count.

Take 5 (2:20 p.m.): Still hunched over. Less angry, more sad. I’m probably just sad for myself, which is a terrible trap for an actor to fall into. I can tell that Noah is not thrilled with what we’re getting. He hasn’t said anything yet — no “Good take” or “Mark that one” to let me know that I’m on the right track.

Take 6 (2:22 p.m.): Slow. REALLY slow. I try to straighten up! Well done! The crazy-anger is all gone, which is good, but it doesn’t have any energy. By the end of the scene, I’m back to hunching.

Take 7 (2:24 p.m.): For some reason I totally lose my lines. I trip over my tongue. I get very angry with myself and slam the wall next to Mickey’s head too hard at the end of the scene. She lets out a gasp — I’m frightening her.

Take 8 (2:27 p.m.): Because I am playing the scene angrier, Mickey is fighting back harder. A very strong “I DO” from her. I hit the wall quite violently. Mickey starts crying.

Take 9 (2:30 p.m.): I am upsetting Mickey too much — it’s hard for her (or for anyone in that position) to come down from so much emotion and reset and do the scene again. Now she looks upset throughout the entire scene, not just at the end. Sophie is stronger than this, more justifiably angry with Frances than frightened by her. I’m not doing my job as a scene partner.

Take 10 (2:32 p.m.): We start, but then I immediately stop the scene. “Sorry, sorry for this,” I say. I hate breaking a take. But I have a question. Writing a script does not necessarily mean you understand it as an actor. Noah and I talk about Frances’ sincerity. Me: “When I say, ‘Since when,’ am I serious about that?” Noah: “Yes, but it’s not like you really want to know.” Me: “Right, right, let’s go again.”

Take 11 (2:36 p.m.): Calmer energy. Too calm. It’s death for the scene. It’s clearer though, less drunk. At the end, I get a “Want to run it again right away?” from Noah. Nothing else, just “Run it again.” This angers me. I want praise. We do another one right away while the camera is rolling. It’s better, less forced. He was right.

Take 12 (2:38 p.m.): Now I’m underacting deliberately. But it feels more specific. I’m building it from the inside out, trying to wait for it instead of flinging myself in one direction or another.

Take 13 (2:41 p.m.): I start and stop. It’s a dud.

Take 14 (2:44 p.m.): It’s beginning to take shape. The rhythm is kicking in. Mickey is a rock, hitting it perfectly every single time. Acting against someone who has the showier moment is always difficult, but she’s nailing it.

Take 15 (2:47 p.m.): I’m still leaning over — why am I doing that? I laugh through the scene, which seems like an interesting choice, but as soon as the take is over, Noah says, “I think that you’re fed up with her already, so don’t laugh.” I nod and say, “O.K., right, it’s not funny.” I am taking in his direction now. Acting is not simply performing but being in a state of pliable awareness, like hot metal — all possibility and softness in something that is inherently strong.

Take 16 (2:50 p.m.): This is the first take for which there are any script notes. It reads simply, “Good.” This means that after the take, Noah leaned over to the script supervisor and said, “That was a good one.” First genuinely good take, and we’re almost an hour into it.

Take 17 (2:52 p.m.): Another “Good” in the script notes. We’re on a roll! When a scene starts working, it feels as if every choice you make is the right one. It’s getting into a zone where each take can be wildly different, but it all feels true. Frances is the right mix of drunk, angry and self-righteous, while Sophie is simultaneously over Frances’ antics and infuriated by them.

Take 18 (2:55 p.m.): The notes read, “Blocking changed.” Thank God! After 18 takes, I finally stop leaning over in a death hunch. We’ve changed my action so that I’m turning off the water and drying off my hands as we start. The scene is instantly better.

Take 19 (2:58 p.m.): The acting is good, but there are weird sounds of doors opening somewhere in the club outside, which messes up the audio.

Take 20 (3:02 p.m.): I’m making a meal out of drying my hands with the paper towel. I am drying them too vigorously, enjoying having a prop far too much. It has become a crutch.

Take 21 (3:05 p.m.): I’m not paying enough attention to Mickey, which is a bad choice. The only way to make a scene work is with the other actor, and the minute I start thinking about myself more than them, I am sunk.

Take 22 (3:09 p.m.): Another “Good” in the script notes. My performance is finally clean and focused, and Mickey is great as always.

Take 23 (3:12 p.m.): Because I’m washing my hands every single time at the top of the scene, my fingers have started to pucker. But it’s a good action, so I keep washing.

Take 24 (3:15 p.m.): I overarticulate some of the words. I emphasize the “me” too much in the way I say “Don’t treat me like a three-hour-brunch friend.” It makes it sound as if there is someone we’ve just been interacting with who is the three-hour-brunch friend.

Take 25 (3:17 p.m.): The take is pretty good, but as soon as Noah calls, “Cut,” Mickey says, “I was waiting for it, sorry.” Meaning she braced for my wall hit before I did it. It is difficult to keep the surprise of the moment alive.

Take 26 (3:20 p.m.): It’s a good one, but when it ends, I don’t hear anything positive. I react and say with a slightly hard voice, “Was that a good one?” Noah says, “Let’s try another.” I close my eyes and try to focus on the next one.

Take 27 (3:21 p.m.): Script notes read, “Good.” Victory! I didn’t get derailed by my wanting and not getting praise.

Take 28 (3:24 p.m.): Another good one for Mickey and me, but the hit at the end is kind of strange. It doesn’t quite land right, making the moment seem awkward and airless.

Take 29 (3:26 p.m.): It all works. The characters are there, not the actors struggling. After we finish it, Mickey cries, which is not quite the scripted reaction, but it she resets easily.

Take 30 (3:29 p.m.): I start the scene and then stop myself. Noah says, “That was good, though, a good beginning.” I am angry at myself. I start over. I totally flub the lines but stumble through it. Sometimes when I do a great take or have a great moment, I scare myself back into mediocrity. As if it’s too frightening to actually find something that works, because I lose myself inside the moment and my conscious mind wants to pull me back into something more familiar but more banal. I see this happen to other actors all the time, too. Fully swimming in a character and a scene can be terrifying.

Take 31 (3:31 p.m.): Script notes read, “Good.” I’ve calmed down, I’m not as freaked out. Back into being in control but also out of control enough to make it interesting.

Take 32. (3:34 p.m.): We start, and it’s going fairly well, but the camera “rolls out,” and they have to change the memory card.

Take 33 (3:37 p.m.): Another “Good.” It is good: I’m there for Mickey, and she’s there for me.

Take 34 (3:40 p.m.): Inverted a word here. I say, “I bought you special milk,” instead of “I bought special milk for you.” It is a small thing, but it messed with the pace of the line.

Take 35 (3:42 p.m.): This take is pretty good, but I’m getting tired, I can tell.

Take 36 (3:45 p.m.): Mickey says, “I do,” really strong and angrily. She is a workhorse, indefatigable. It feels as if we might have gotten the scene already. We unconsciously start to wind down.

Take 37 (3:47 p.m.): Noah stops us in the middle of the take; I don’t know why exactly. We do it again. Because this happens a lot, a stop and a start over, the take count doesn’t reflect how many times we actually do it. Often we do it more times than recorded.

Take 38 (3:49 p.m.): There is a way-too-long pause in the middle. I apologize right away at the end of the take. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry everyone.” I am suddenly reminded of our crew. The cinematographer, the focus puller and the sound woman who have all been cramped in this bathroom with us. Actors are allowed to screw up much more than anyone else on a set.

Take 39 (3:53 p.m.): Script notes read, “Good.” The trajectory of filming a scene: at the beginning, it’s all emotion; in the middle, it’s all ideas; then for a brief moment between the middle and the end, it’s quite good; but at the very end, the actors get annoyed, because we believe that we’ve already delivered, and why are we still doing this?

Take 40 (3:55 p.m.): Script notes: “Very good.” Despite ourselves it has become better. I look to Noah like, Are we done? He says, “Let’s try another.” I sigh. I want it to be over.

Take 41 (3:57 p.m.): After the end of this take, Noah says, “Good, I think we’ve got it.” Me: “Really?” Noah: “Yes.” Me: “I mean, are you sure?” Noah: “Yes.” Me: “Mickey, do you want to . . . maybe let’s just do one more?” Mickey nods. Noah: “O.K., one more time.” Even though a second earlier, all I wanted was to be free of this scene, now I cannot let it go. I have to try one more time.

Take 42 (4:01 p.m.): Script notes read, “Best take.” Always good to end on a high note. Noah: “That was great.” I look nervous still. Me: “Do you really think we have it?”

In the final cut of the film, Noah used Take 29.

A version of this article appears in print on May 12, 2013, on Page 54 of the Sunday Magazine with the headline: ‘I Know I’m Doing the Scene Badly, But I Can’t Figure Out How to Do It Well’.

#new york times #greta gerwig #noah baumbach #frances ha

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jimothysomebody · 5 years

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Successful Derailment

From roughly 9:13pm to 9:50pm, I dealt with what I suppose I would call a mild off and on panic and ptsd episode. Courtesy of the availability of good friends to talk to, as well as my experience in attempting to derail these episodes before they are in full gear, I was able to to disrupt the persistent intrusive thoughts. I've subconsciously been able to use these tactics before knowing more about “thought stopping” which I'd learned from my last therapist. We actually made a fair bit of progress, to the extent I no longer felt like I needed to continue seeing her, but lately I've been second guessing that, though after what I was able to do tonight is perhaps some reassurance that I'm not always gonna be powerless and out of control when trying to cope with anxiety or ptsd.

Part of me feels compelled to elaborate on what had happened that initially triggered the event, but rather than risk triggering another episode over again, or feeling as though I'm giving it power by speaking about it, I suppose I perhaps would rather journal, instead, about my day today, which aside from a slightly worrying start was actually very nice and productive.

I rather enjoyed making breakfast for my boyfriend in his new home. I'm here likely until Saturday, with my cats as well. They seem to be enjoying it as well. I'm such a sucker for typical breakfast food, bacon, eggs, toast, etc. I swear it helps me start my day. For years I've heard the timeless “most important meal” spiel over and over, but there may yet be some science to that. I played a bit more of Resident Evil Revelations on the Switch. I'd first got it for my 3DS back in like...2013? I'd enjoyed the title so much I've previously purchased the remaster of it on PS4. Sometimes kicking ass in Smash Ultimate just isn't enough to satiate me, sometimes I just wanna shoot up some zombies, lol. After doing that for awhile, I walked to the shopping centre where I've been familiarizing myself with everything. It's so nice to have everything I could want within walking distance, especially as someone who doesn't drive. Today, I made a pleasant discovery that was, admittedly, an impulse buy...but...whatever. I've rather been enjoying my lavender sparkling soda waters. It's hard to place the taste. Aromatically, it's similar to other lavender scented things but it's not...soapy, or at all unpleasant. My only qualm is it's not artificially sweetened, but it's also not insanely sugary either. I believe one bottle is only 80 calories or something small like that. I really like them.

I can really get accustomed to living here, making a life here, building a life for and with my boyfriend. I haven't felt for anyone, anyone, what it is that I feel for him. I mean...nobody gets into a relationship with anyone thinking “Eh, let's see what happens, whatever”. Everyone wants to make it work, but this... this is very different, I really don't know how to word it. I suppose I'll summarize it just by saying... I love him so.

Tomorrow is a new day, I'm curious to see what it brings. I think, perhaps, I'll walk to the shopping centre again. It's already so close, and additionally it includes 3 inns for Harry Potter Wizards Unite (which is one of my favorite things at the moment) and try to resist temptation to go shopping anymore (money's becoming tight). As much as I love it, I'll have to abstain from the lavender soda, haha.

7-15-19

#an entry #I love him so #jimothy does an entry

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jiang-xinfei · 3 years

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Ok! Great news! Cause I finally have a backstory of jiang-xinfei which is gonna turn into wei-xinfei!

At first I thought being the daughter of wangxian or being the soul inside Stygian seal/yin iron that instead of a normal immortal that doesn't include in politics a-fei was different she turned into an immortal at the age of 18-22 and made the yin iron to sleep in/live in and that because the Yin iron was a powerful spiritual tool that xue chonghai fed resentful energy and xinfei couldn't resist it cause after all she was sealed there and put into sleep and when Stygian seal was created and destroyed although she has still his memories and all her original body turned into 10 yr old child and once the Stygian seal was purified she was able to get out and welp adopted by wangxian in the process.

But I got a better and well angstier ver! And I'm making it! 😃

So me like irl me died by accidentally falling into a pit as to why I'm there? Well I was lost on camping and that wasn't supposed to happen and "god" (heavenly officials) gave me a choice to be reincarnated as wwx older sister! And ofc I said yes cause I'm Overly obsessed by wwx story especially him and I love him(non-romantic) sooo I said yes(yes it is tgcf x mdzs au maybe even svsss idk) and since it a mistake death they gave me a chance to choose one of my belongings to become my spiritual tool and well obviously I chose the phone(in another world with my smartphone ref:)

And this is where it starts

And the process of reincarnation happens the rebirth of "insert name" and the birth of the first born child of the Weis wei-yue courtesy name xinfei and since I'm planning to at least lessen wwx burdens or entirely changing the past the moment wwx was born I spoiled and coddled him like no tmr all I did was for him and well he needed it cause in this world wwx was vulnerable towards resentment because resentment gathers towards him more than spiritual and since were a sanren blood also known as the disciples of balance it literally means everything needs to be balanced we can filter resentment to spiritual, or if were in a place theres no resentment we can filter spiritual to resentment, once the energy is slightly tilted off your life is in danger but not to much to death but slowly and wwx was overflowing of resentment and attracted resentment rather than both so he was always in bed or whenever we travelled he has to stay back or always near cangse, not allowed to walk, play around, and etc. Or he'll pass out

And when wwx was 3 and bedridden and we needed to meet the jiangs(I was 6) wwx stayed behind with only weichangze greeting and leaving right after

Before he left He was about to say that he needed to take care of wwx but I intervene and told jfm that wei-xinfei my younger sister needed father to take care of her since she was very week and was sick,I sent weichangze a wink letting him know I was kidding around(which I was in fact not) and he wanted to reprimand me but I shooed him away and cangse saw the wink and went along

So I introduced myself playfully as wei-ying courtesy wuxian 3 yrs old and a boy and since me and wwx was a splitting image with eachother like twins although I'm 3 yrs older and the same height as wwx and no i am not short wwx is just incredibly tall for his age(I'm sure in the future although I'm shorter than him I'm taller than an average girl) and not to mention I act like him only a bit calm and reserve sometimes but nonetheless I'm a splitting image of him (not that I was acting ofc it's just the fact that I'm reincarnated in the world I love and the mere fact I can lift wwx my favorite character/person his burdens up excited me to the point my hidden personality of causing mischief, pranks,curiosity, cheerful, funny, kind, caring, and self-awareness hidden by that bored lazy doesn't give 2 shits about the world persona that I built up washed away) so yes I'm a splitting image of wwx and also I kinda dressed like a boy especially like wwx does in the future like wearing black and red or anything that is black

(So jfm didn't notice anything when he came to pick wwx up later)

Anyways after all of that it was well known in the world that the youngest child of the Wei family I, Wei-xinfei is a fragile, easily sick, weak at cultivation, in near death kid. Not the genius, powerful core that is even as strong as changze(who although is weak compared to everyone but was still not strong compared to normal cultivators)who accidentally made a spiritual tool like yu ziyuans famous first class spiritual tool zidian by accident 😀in the cultivation world

Wei changze thought it was a bad idea that xinfei was known as weak and etc. But I said I like working in the shadows rather than up front and besides they'll know eventually anyways. So they left it at that and by the age of 8 weichangze and cangse sanren died

But we never went into the streets my plan was to bring us to our grandmasters mountain to train there but me and wwx always ends up late everytime we went there since the entrance of baoshan sanren was at random times it was almost impossible to know where it will open up if not for my phone so since we were always late and since I made/saved upmoney before our parents died with the help of my beautifully crafted toys and accessories we were able to meet ends meet for a year but that it our savings was dried so I made accessories that gives a lot of money and toys to sell to the shops loads of them at the same time thought wwx about balance and selfishness derailed him with it including some selfesness but always reminded him to put himself first before everyone else.

At the 3rd yr (wwx 8 Wei xinfei 11)And the entrance to the spirit mountain was opened at burial Mounds since we we were technically not harmed by resentment we can and also pay respects to our family we can go in with this no problem.

Unfortunately we were too late...

So we came back at the foot of the mountain sold a bunch of the accessories , charms, and toys and stayed for 3 days we sent off our journey we were at the outskirts of yiling when wwx was hit with a concerning fever

And we stopped by a near river to rest and attend to wwx . I left him behind a tree because he can't play in the water when his sick when a dog came and wwx was scared with dogs so he ran away from there with a fever and stopped and he was lost in yilling his head panging he stopped at an alleyway with no dogs and laid down.

While in xinfeis pov she searched for him frantically using whatever she could find with the family navigator it was a fire that glows in ur sub conscious mind to navigate ur blooded family or ur adopted ones although it has its downside if ur balanced just right yin and yang energys u can pinpoint exactly where they are or are they alive while if ur not and ur not balanced and filled with resentment yes u can be assured that the other person is alive the problem is ur sense of direction is clouded because after all resentment is everywhere it can pinpoint a general direction but it was troublesome if ur in a place filled with nothing but resentment while having more spiritual in ur body and not balanced with resentment u can only know there alive nothing is else nothing more there personification is gone in the world to put it simply there spirits and cannot be found though you'll know there very very much alive but that it.

And well yilling is so full of resentment especially with burial Mounds the direction was clouded and the more time went bye I could feel the lost of direction slowly out of earth. Meaning wwx was unconsciously filtering resentment to spiritual energy and his presence was slowly fading in xinfeis mind only seeing the flame brighten more and more. And looked and looked for him but he was never found. Something was getting in between them so they could never meet someone who-no it doesn't want them to meet and it's working it was always there even before like a reminder of what will happen and I just ignored it thinking it was nothing until our parents died it slowly shifted into a warning saying he couldn't stop what will happen and that it was hopeless but he still ignored it now... Now that small warning turned into a threat a threat saying that everything that had happened before will happen again but 100+ worse to both of them. She couldn't ignore it anymore but she couldn't stop it from growing too because she was too weak she can't handle this, this is a new dangerous being that once it's ready it will hunt both of them down growing and waiting in the shadows wanting to use there life, and suffering for amusement. And she hates it. She hates feeling useless but she can't help it.

And since then 3 yrs had passed since xinfei was now 14 and he still couldn't find her little brother she gave up everything about going to their grandmaster learned cultivation herself both resentment and spiritual and kept looking for him she already went to yunmeng but he wasn't there gusu, nie, lan, Jin anywhere he wasn't there or more specifically the thing his wwx his yingying from her... The only thing that she's still grabbing the hope too is the flame that was stronger than ever but thats it.

At the fourth year she came back to yilling just one chance and goes to the alleyway wwx was going to be picked up by yunmeng but... He wasn't there... Nothing was there... No life that indicated someone was living there... She... She changed the past... Again... And she didn't have any control of it... And it scared her... That somehow her existence here made everything worse... That somehow she was at fault... And that broke her she cried and cried in that alleyway didn't acre what the people looks sent to her. She just cried and cried.. .

And then a hand reached out to her.

It was the one and only legendary baoshan sanren the mother of her mom, her other family that is alive and well aside a-ying, her grand master, there grandmother...

Lol I might make another one but I'm really sleepy and shit I'll just finish this later as a head canon style or prompt style idc anyways bye!

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gretagerwigarchive · 6 years

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One Scene, 42 Takes and 2 Hours in a Bathroom Stall

By GRETA GERWIG, MAY 9, 2013.

source: http://www.nytimes.com/2013/05/12/magazine/one-scene-42-takes-and-2-hours-in-a-bathroom-stall.html

Scene 63. INT. BATHROOM. NIGHT.

Frances and Sophie inside a stall together.

FRANCES: I was lying. I don’t love Patch.

SOPHIE: I do love him.

FRANCES: Since when? When did this happen?

SOPHIE: It’s been happening.

FRANCES: That’s [expletive] [expletive]. Sophie, COME ON!

SOPHIE: No, you’re [expletive]. And you’re making me feel really bad right now.

FRANCES: I want to love him if you love him, but you don’t love him.

SOPHIE: I DO.

FRANCES: (tearing up) Sophie! I [expletive] held your head when you cried. I bought special milk for you. I know where you hide your pills. Do not treat me like a three-hour-brunch friend.

SOPHIE: I’m not talking to you while you’re like this.

She turns away. Frances hits the wall close to Sophie’s head. It’s violent and kind of scary.

Take 2 (2:08 p.m.): Because the first take went fairly well, I immediately become cocky and start overplaying it. I’m acting too drunk. It’s whiny and high-pitched, and for some reason I’m leaning over the sink in a way that makes me look like a hunchback.