#i should make a chart or something I could explain this infinitely better | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

canary0 · 10 months

Text

July 11th - Dracula 2023

The Personal Blog of Mina Murray

(A/N: Spoilers-ish for DD in August, sorta; there are deviations and similarities, but better safe than sorry if you want to avoid spoilers below the break.)

I’ve gotten some rest, spent some time with Jonathan, and had a chance to speak with the doctor. I’ll address each in turn, as they mostly flow into one another.

After visiting for a short while after I arrived last night, I had to rest elsewhere. It was difficult to sleep, knowing he was only a couple of blocks away. I went straight back in the early morning, and much to my gladness, he was awake. He still looked tired – infinitely tired, as if despite being safe, there was some weight he was still carrying around – and very thing and pale, but he smiled when he saw me and got up, carefully embracing me despite the IVs. He sat back down a few moments later and looked me over.

I noted that I had seen him wake up briefly last night, and that he had seemed unfocused. He told me, “I had a fever when I first arrived. I was somewhat aware you were there last night, but I thought I might have imagined you in how badly I wanted to see you.”

Despite the direness of the situation, that made me happy to hear, and I am glad he is doing well enough to stand, and his embrace has strength behind. As thin and exhausted as he looked, I worried. I assured him that I came as soon as I could after I got the call and packed. He said something odd, then – he mentioned that he was glad. It meant I was not in England. A very odd thing, as I would think after all this time, getting home would be a top priority. I asked him about it, and he said that, although Romania has, in most respects, been a kind and welcoming place to him, he wishes to be home. He is more concerned for me and our friends. He went silent when I asked why.

After a long while, he said that he wanted me to see for myself… to confirm what he’d seen from new eyes, in the light of day. He said there was a usb drive and a book of rail timetables in the lower cabinet of the side table, and that I should look through both. I promised him I would, and he gave the most wan smile I had ever seen on his face that was before full of determination.

I took the items in question out, but the doctor arrived before I could start perusing them. I rose to shake her hand, and I say with no exaggeration that I only came up to her shoulder, and I am not too short myself. She looked at Jonathan and I with the kindest eyes I had ever seen, though, and I couldn’t help but be put at ease. She first asked Jonathan how he was feeling that day while a nurse came in and drew some blood, and he responded that while he was tired, he was feeling a little better now. She gave a little laugh, and said, “No wonder, Mr. Harker. Good company brings comfort and healing, I think.” She flipped through his chart – printed, I noticed, rather than having a computer to access it near the bed.

She explained as kindly as she could that it’s impressive that he’s in as good a state as he is. Apparently his blood cell count in general is low, but recovering. The universal reduction in cells with normal plasma volume suggests to her that he was certainly in hypovolemic shock, or close to it, at some point in the recent past, some kind of serious blood loss. They couldn’t find any major wounds that would normally cause that, though. Jonathan’s expression was grim, and he simply nodded, letting her go on. She added that he came in with severe dehydration, exhaustion, and exposure, including cuts, scrapes, and bruises that would suggest someone who had traversed the wilderness unprepared. He nodded to that, too, but didn’t comment. She thinks he’ll be stable enough to head home in the next few days, though she emphasized how important making sure he gets plenty of iron, B vitamins, and vitamin C even after that, though, to support recovery from the lingering anemia. He should also be careful to protect himself from disease with the low white blood cell count – basically, pretend it’s still the pandemic for him. I was glad I had come in with a mask just in case.

She also mentioned that the hospital was approached for a DNA test. Apparently there were some disappearances near the town of Prundu Bârgăului, and they had recovered a few hairs from the scene, and there were reports matching Jonathan’s description. No fingerprints, though. I was shocked at the very idea, but Jonathan just grimly gave his permission to do any tests they needed. He didn’t seem surprised.

Eventually, she left, and I pulled Jonathan’s items out of them little cabinet. They were nearly the only things in there – I recognized the set of clothes that were in there, but there were no shoes and just the book and thumb drive. No phone, no computer, no charger or solar cells or his bag. Some old gold, though, which is an odd addition. I’m sure exploring what he wrote will shine light on everything today.

As I opened my laptop and plugged the thumb drive in, he took my hand and said, “Wilhelmina.” Ominous – he’s never called me by my full name almost since we met. “I wrote… a lot in there. My head’s turned around… I don’t know how much of it is real and how much is some wild fantasy I concocted to explain my experiences. Maybe the blood loss affected my mind. I’m tempted to ask you not to open it, to remain ignorant and allow me to remain so. But… I also value your insight. I think you might be able to determine the truth of it in a way I can’t. And I don’t want to conceal anything from you. So… please…”

I closed the laptop and kissed him. I told him, “Let’s wait out that test and get you home first. Give you some time to recover. I don’t like making you wait, but I think it might be easier if we do this together. It sounds like you’ve had a serious shock.”

He looked me in the eyes, and I couldn’t help but notice the dark circles under his. “Yes, that’s… yes.”

–

Thank god. The DNA results are back, and Jon wasn’t a match. Oddly, the local police seem to have left it at that. No one has mentioned coming in and taking statements. It’s like the DNA test was just confirming what they already thought – I wonder if Jon was never a real suspect?

Apparently the disappearances are just one of a long string, the three recent ones – two children, and the mother of one of them – are just the latest.

What’s going on out here?

(A/N: Oh man. With a modern combination of technology and attitude, this just couldn't be the same as August's stuff. Stuff's fresh in Jon's mind, and like I mentioned in another post, we're REALLY in the habit of sharing info these days. So much that it often doesn't occur to people not to.

It's also hard to imagine him keeping her in the dark for the reasons presented in the original book these days. It's not a 'woman heart so delicate' thing, but more of an 'I'm afraid to know and I know you'd have to tell me because it is important to share everything with each other' thing. That's part of why I love JonMina, but it just doesn't make sense these days.

Nor does the police totally doing nothing with multiple disappearances, but they're mostly just confirming that this is a Dracula thing. Dude's been feeding the ladies for a long-ass time, and this is undoubtedly just the latest thing. Most of the old-timers know he's out doing his thing, as I tried to establish early on.

These days I also didn't seem them getting married right as soon as they saw each other again. That also means cute wedding stuff at the Westenra place before The Horrors return.)

#dracula daily #dracula 2023 #fanfic #jonathan harker #mina murray #just for fun #modern retelling

11 notes · View notes

isoscele · 3 years

Text

Lumberjanes Week Day 2 - Magical Creatures

It can be boring, learning to tie a knot. Seafarin’ Karen has sympathy for the kids who just can’t sit still, can’t twist their fingers right, lose track of the turns of the rope. She’s got a steady store of work songs saved for those moments when the twitchier ones start to shift around. That part everyone likes; you don’t become a Lumberjane without harboring some secret need to be a part of something bigger than yourself.

Sometimes, though, they’ll ask for a story. She’s got plenty of those, too. It used to be that she wasn’t so good at telling them. Couldn’t get the feeling across--the way the ocean opens out in front of you like an empty hand, and you can’t decide which of your lonelinesses is in the driver’s seat today. Like most things, though, she’s had a lot of practice, and she can now proudly say that she can captivate any audience of preteens.

Sometimes, there’s a kid who has a few more questions. It’s always the ones with the bitten nails, whose skin is a little tighter under the eyes like they haven’t been sleeping. The ones who scan the horizon, heartbeat-quick, when nobody’s looking. They want to know if she’s ever run into anything she really can’t explain, anything that the pre-dawn shadows still sometimes take the shape of.

And--well, okay.

One more story can’t hurt.

What you may not realize about going to sea to seek your fortune is that, in the single act of pushing out from shore, you’re giving up control completely. Maybe you’re used to that--maybe you live with three generations of women who talk about the family blemishes through clenched, smiling teeth and shave with religious devotion. Maybe it’s better this way.

Still, the day will come when you wake up just before the first fingers of dawn pry open the horizon, and your brain will feel like a shipwreck and you will realize that you have misplaced several months of your life.

You won’t know where they went. They can’t have drowned, or marooned, or beached themselves on the rocks. You can’t have just set them down and forgotten where you put them. Only yesterday, you were falling asleep to a sickening heat and a whale song that blanked out your thoughts, and now you are very far away and somewhere in the future and your arms are covered in tentacle-shaped scars that you cannot recall getting. Your galley is stacked with messages in bottles. Your deck is littered with broken glass.

The moon is waxing. You check every time you look up, more out of habit than necessity because yours is a misaligned curse. The air is frigid, and as you watch it starts to snow. You had forgotten that it could snow in the ocean. For a moment, you wonder if you have accidentally left the planet, if you have sailed all the way to some other world where everything is twice as beautiful and there is no land and nothing except for you and the water and the snow.

You should be freezing, but your body is used to these temperatures. It has, it seems, acclimated without you. Still, you rub your arms, note the patchiness of your skin. Your teeth are longer, and sharp enough to saw through rope, but you don’t pay that part any mind. You came here to become something else, after all.

And so you let the snow, golden in your lantern-light, fill your vision until you can’t see anything but the white fog of your breath and the black of the sea. And then you go into your cabin and make yourself some hot cocoa.

You almost fall asleep like that, hands curled around your mug, listening to the gentle shh-shh of water slapping the sides of your boat. You almost dream--jellyfish the size of islands, driftwood blackened by the scrawl of a different language. Carving shaky maps into the sycamore-sized shark tooth lodged in the side of the hull, your pocketknife slipping against its plaque. Singing sea chanties under your breath, all too aware of the attention they might draw.

You’re startled from your spot when the boat starts to rock, faster and with more strength than you’ve ever felt. You stumble out to the deck, hand still curled protectively around your cold cocoa, but the moment you burst through the doors your entire world flashes white.

Your foot catches on a patch of melted snow, and you go down hard.

For a moment, writhing in the unearthly light, you’re certain that you’re dead. Maybe you died in the months you forgot, woke up without knowing you were supposed to be a ghost. Maybe this is the ocean’s way of reminding you.

The light is so bright that it makes every bone in your body warp with pain. It bends the world around you. Even the horizon and the ocean and the moon, the three fixtures by which you’ve lived your life, crumble into nothing under its gaze.

You don’t realize you’re shouting until another voice cuts into yours, one as deep and loud as a whale song.

WHAT DID YOU SAY, she says.

You squeeze your eyes shut. Angel, alien, something in between. The deep, finally getting its jaws around you. “What are you?”

She doesn’t respond, so you look up again. It’s stupid to, but you can’t help it.

The light hasn’t dimmed at all, but your eyes are adjusting a little. You can just make out her outline.

She’s huge, and wrapped entirely around your ship. Most of her body is black and slick and leathery, and her hands are webbed, cupping the sides of the boat like a child holding a toy.

The light, with all its infinite and terrible brightness, dangles from a stalk on her forehead. Behind it, you can just make out her teeth.

You understand two things at once, flat on your back with snow scavenging your skin and the light burning into your eyes. One, anglerfish are only ever found in the deep, built to hypnotize fish who have never seen light.

Two, you must therefore now be in the deep. It doesn’t matter that your head’s above water, that the moon must still be pulsing weakly somewhere above you. In some way, in some world, you have found yourself in the deep.

Here is another thing you may not realize about going to sea to seek your fortune: there will always be a hole in your maps. You will sketch coastlines into a thousand pieces of paper, the underside of the table, the loose skin of your hands, and there will always be a spot where the ink never dries. Where your finger skates across the surface, landing on the other side.

A patch of sea, no bigger than the pad of your finger, that balks all attempts to be charted.

In this no-man’s-land, the anglerfish woman will pick you up with one clammy hand, hold you up to her enormous, pearly eye. The flesh of her fingers will press against you in damp sacks. She will smell so much like salt that even you, who have smelled nothing else for years, will find yourself unconsciously leaning closer.

Bioluminescent strands of hair extend from her chin and stomach and the baulds of her knuckles, tracking slow lines through the snow. Her eyes will follow you, huge and pale and glistening. Her teeth--God, you can’t even think about her teeth. Her teeth must look the way the ocean does to a person who has never seen the ocean. The way the stars do to a newborn animal just opening its eyes.

Her light sways, flurried by an endless smudge of snow. She’s absolutely, unfathomably beautiful.

YOU ARE VERY STRANGE, she says. AND VERY WARM.

You can’t speak. You can’t remember if you ever could.

YOU ARE TOO SMALL TO HAVE SURVIVED THIS FAR. BUT HERE YOU ARE.

“Here I am,” you manage. “I’m--I’m very glad to be here. With you.”

Silence. She circles your boat, holding you aloft. YOU MUST BE STRONG.

You don’t know if this is an observation or a piece of advice. Regardless, you nod. You can feel your bones stretch, wanting to shift. You don’t know what that means, the way the oldest thing inhabiting your body aches to be with her.

You lean against her massive ridge of wrist. The ocean laps at your sides, seeping in through the gaps of her fingers. The snow, lit both by the moon and by her, blisters across your skin. Here, you feel both all-consumed and all-consuming. You feel wild, invincible, incalculably small.

But you are a guest here, and it’s time for you to remember that.

“Would you like some hot cocoa?”

One last thing you may not realize about the sea is that it changes when you aren’t looking.

Years later, when your skin is rougher and your muscles are harder and your brain chemistry has begun to lean towards the wilderness, you will again seek out the holes in your maps. Driven only by the salt under your nails and a mad memory of light, you will station yourself at the mast and wait to lose some time.

But instead of ocean, instead of massive hands and beautiful teeth, you will find yourself in the middle of a lake surrounded by forest.

Again, your body will know this landscape like its own. You won’t be afraid, even as you stare into the shallows.

And then, maybe, a woman will emerge from the treeline, her hair perfectly coiffed, her shirt starched, badges stretched across her chest like so many scales.

And maybe she will look at you like she has never been less surprised in her life. And she will open her mouth, and she will say--

but this story’s run long. Seafarin’ Karen can read an audience with the best of them. The kids are shifting around again, and the knots look great, and it’s almost time for their hike, anyway. She should probably let them go.

With any luck, they’ll have a good summer. It’s the only hope she holds onto, these days.

#i normally wouldn't ever say this about a lumberjanes fic but i want to make it clear here that seafarin' karen 100% would bang #in case that wasn't obvious #lumberjanes #lumberjanes week #my writing

10 notes · View notes

allsassnoclass · 3 years

Note

hi hazel!! how about “i got you for secret santa so i got you this really expensive but sentimental gift that you’ve always wanted, hoping you’ll never find out it’s from me - and that i’ve been in love with you 1234567 years” with hmmmm mashton? maybe? feels mashton-y to me but whatever u think works best is good with me <3 love you <3

anything for you Iba <3

Ficmas day 10

Rating: T for language

Read on AO3

Getting Ashton for Secret Santa is both a blessing and a curse: a blessing because Michael already knows what he wants to give him, a curse because he wants to give him the world. Well, more accurately he wants to give him the entire universe.

Ashton Irwin is arguably the universe’s finest creation, founded on stardust and made up of infinite galaxies. Michael has been in love with him since around the time they met. Ashton deserves something as wonderful and celestial as himself, but that would require Michael to suddenly develop the ability to trap the universe in the palm of his hands, cradled close until he could hand it off to someone worthy enough to hold it. Even if he could, the universe seems like a fragile thing. He’d probably drop it, knowing him.

Maybe getting Ashton was more of a curse than a blessing. If he can’t give him some sort of celestial body, he’s out of ideas. It’s probably for the best, because he’s not exactly keen on letting Ashton know that he’s been in love with him for so long, and you can’t give someone the entire universe without prompting a few questions.

He seeks out Calum for advice, because Calum is great at gifts, but he doesn’t want him to know who he got so he asks what he would give Luke instead.

It turns out Calum is so great at gifts because he knows exactly what each person needs. Knowing what Luke needs does nothing to help Michael figure out what to get Ashton.

Michael spends a lot of time googling stuff like good gifts for friends and good gifts for crushes and then backtracks, because most of those imply that he would be revealing his crush. The search for good gifts for someone you’re in love with who is also one of your best friends WITHOUT letting them know you love them but still the best present yields no useful results. Michael doesn’t want to regurgitate generic “sentimental” gifts suggested in lists on various websites, he wants something that Ashton will truly appreciate. He wants to get him something that only someone who knows him would give him.

He’s pretty sure buying presents isn’t supposed to make you want to pull out all of your hair, but Michael wants to pull out all of his hair. The one solace is that they selected their people early, so he still has a lot of time to figure out a suitable present.

-/-

Michael mostly forgets about the stresses of Secret Santa for a while. He has to get presents for other people, too, so he focuses on that, and decorating the house, and baking some Christmas cookies, and everything except Ashton’s present. Unfortunately, this means that by the time Ashton hosts his yearly It’s a Wonderful Life watch party, it’s late enough that Michael should start panicking a little.

Each year, Ashton invites as many friends as can fit in his basement over to watch his favorite Christmas movie. He used to watch it with his mom every year, and even though they live physically far apart he once told Michael that it makes him feel closer to her. Over the years, the night has turned into an entire event. Ashton sets up a projector and prepares more snacks than can be eaten. Michael attends every year, even though the movie seems to get longer every time he watches it. Last year he kept dozing off, enough so that Ashton had let him curl on the couch with his head in his lap and sleep for most of the second half. The weight of Ashton’s hand resting on his shoulder and the occasional gentle fingers brushing over his hair are something Michael thinks about often.

This year he ends up in an armchair, Luke between his legs on the floor and Ashton all the way on the other side of the room. It makes him focus on the movie a bit more, and during the scene where George asks what Mary wants and says he’ll lasso the moon Michael thinks yeah dude, you get it.

Unfortunately he is not George and Ashton is not Mary, and by the time he leaves his house that night, lingering late enough that Ashton offers to let him stay, he is no closer to figuring out his gift.

-/-

Michael can’t lasso the moon, but maybe he was onto something there.

He can’t stop thinking about space. Ashton has always had an appreciation for it, but since his trip to the desert where he was finally able to see the Milky Way unobstructed he’s developed a new fascination with it. He’s not going to be an astronomer, but he knows more about constellations than Michael does, and he knows a lot about astrology even if he doesn’t fully believe in it.

Michael has wanted to give him the universe this entire time. Maybe instead of finding a different present, he should focus on figuring out a way to do that.

Maybe he should just get Ashton one of those model solar system kits that kids assemble for science projects. That would be giving him the universe in a punny way that he might appreciate, but then he’ll have to explain that give you the universe was his original goal, which will still prompt questions. Without that sentiment, it’s kind of a crummy gift.

He needs something that isn’t punny but that manages to accomplish his goal without revealing that he’s in love. He’ll find a way to accomplish that out of sheer stubbornness if he has to.

-/-

Schedules don’t properly align for a full group Secret Santa exchange, so everyone is tasked with contacting their present recipient and setting up a time to give them their gift. Michael sends Ashton a text that reads hey when do you want your secret santa present and gets a string of emojis in response. Eventually he manages to wrangle a time from him and loads the present into his car.

It’s a decent gift, in his opinion. He’s both relieved and nervous about having to give it to Ashton without the full group, because there’s significantly less people who can judge him but there’s significantly more opportunity for Ashton to ask uncomfortable questions.

The drive feels longer than it should. That doesn’t bode well.

Michael lets himself in once he gets to the house, because there’s no telling where inside Ashton might be. He calls his name and gets an answer in the direction of the bedroom, toeing off his shoes and getting rid of his coat before setting off towards his destination. Ashton is sitting on the bed, scribbling something furiously in a journal. Michael waits until he’s done and tosses the small leather book aside to fully enter the space.

“Hi,” Ashton says, beaming.

“Hi,” Michael says. “Special delivery.”

The package in his hands is rectangular and flat, covered with shiny red and green paper. Ashton eyes it curiously, taking it when offered and frowning at the weight.

“There’s a few parts, so be careful,” Michael says.

“I will.”

Ashton tears through the paper inelegantly, strips of it floating down to the floor, and Michael watches him read the framed certificate on top.

“I got you a star,” Michael says. “That’s the certificate for it, and it’s under your name in a database. There’s a star map, so you can try to find it the next time you have a clear sky.”

“Michael, this is amazing,” Ashton says, aglow with enthusiasm. “This is so fucking cool!”

He looks at the star map, eyes tracking over the many tiny dots on it and the one circled that’s his.

“Wow. My very own star.”

It wasn't quite the whole universe or lassoing the moon, but Michael thinks he did alright given the circumstances.

The next frame is a bit bigger, a blue background with a white star chart and lettering at the bottom that reads July 7, 1994 - a star is born.

“Tell me something, boy,” Ashton croons. “Which one of us is Lady Gaga and which one of us is Bradley Cooper?”

“Neither of us,” Michael sighs. He wants to facepalm. He knew this was a risk when he put that inscription. “Did you even watch that movie? You want us to end up like them?”

“No,” Ashton says.

“You’re the star,” Michael says. “It’s a map of the sky when you were born. I thought it was a fitting caption.”

“Aw,” Ashton says. “That’s the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

“You don’t have to make fun,” Michael says, embarrassment flaring inside him. This was a last-minute decision off one of those generic lists, and he’s regretting it. Getting teased for his crush was not something he anticipated nor wanted today, especially since Ashton should know better.

“I’m not making fun,” Ashton says, tearing his eyes away from the chart to look up at Michael and frown. “You just compared me to an actual celestial body. That’s really fucking sweet. The only thing sweeter would be if someone wrote me a proper love song.”

Michael could try his hand at that.

He shrugs.

“It’s almost romantic,” Ashton says. Michael’s breath freezes in his chest. Ashton puts the gifts down on his bed and shifts so he can face Michael fully, eyes assessing.

“Do you have feelings for me?” he asks.

Brush it off, Michael tells himself. Laugh and call him bro and say you don’t.

There seems to be a communication delay between his mind and his body, because Michael doesn’t do any of those things. He stands there like a deer in headlights, paralyzed the longer Ashton looks at him.

“It’s okay if you do,” Ashton says. “I just want to know.”

Well what the fuck is he supposed to say to that?

No!

What comes out sounds more like a choking cat.

“Okay,” Ashton says. “You want to sit down?”

Again the answer is no, but that word seems to have left his vocabulary, so he sinks onto the bed next to Ashton. He reaches out a gentle hand and places it on his forearm.

“You know, you not saying anything is making me nervous, but I’m just going to keep going. You can tell me to stop at any time,” Ashton says. “I like you, and I’ve been getting the impression that you like me, too. If that’s wrong, then correct me, but if that’s right then you don’t have to be embarrassed or upset, because it’s mutual.”

Michael turns the words over in his head, giving them a second perusal to ensure he had heard correctly.

“What?”

“Oh, he speaks,” Ashton says dryly.

“I was not picking up any vibes from you,” Michael says. “Now you expect me to believe you like me?”

“Well it’s not like I wanted you to know,” Ashton says. “Seriously, do you think I let anyone sleep through It’s a Wonderful Life? You got lucky last year because I like you.”

Now that he thinks about it, Ashton might have a point. Other people who doze off get food thrown at them with the excuse that they should have stayed home if they were planning on sleeping.

“Huh,” Michael says.

“So,” Ashton says, “do you like me? You never actually confirmed it.”

“Oh. Yeah, I guess.”

“You guess?”

“Look, I’m processing a lot right now. I bought you a fucking star, Ashton. Use your context clues.”

“Use my context clues? What are you, my literature teacher?”

“What about your boyfriend?”

Nice. That was smooth.

Ashton smiles. Just like that, the bridge Michael was standing on made of their banter melts into a gooey mess, dropping him into a bunch of sappy feelings below. He could bask in that smile forever, shining brighter than all of the stars in the sky.

“That sounds good to me,” Ashton says. Michael smiles shyly back, something that makes Ashton’s eyes crinkle at the edges. He reaches out and squeezes his hand, something he’s going to be able to do freely now, and Ashton tangles their fingers together.

All things considered, Michael thinks he one-upped George Bailey here. George said he was going to lasso the moon and then didn’t even do that. Michael bought Ashton a whole fucking star and got his own star in return. He’s probably the luckiest man in the universe.

#my writing #mashton #5sos fanfiction #ficmas 2020 #tonally this is quite different than what I anticipated #I'm going to blame it on the fact that this Ashton very much has the quarantine Ashton personality #which comes with a bit of chaos #and I wrote it for Iba who also comes with a bit of chaos #man aren't y'all going to be happy once I'm done with ficmas and you don't have to see me throwing writing at you every day?#I kid I know people are enjoying it and I am to #I'm just also burning out

33 notes · View notes

thebibliomancer · 3 years

Text

Tides of the Dark Crystal liveblog pt 23

Tides of the Dark Crystal by J.M. Lee because I want to know Amri’s plan!

Last times on book: Amri and co are on a quest to unite all the Gelfling against the Skeksis. They’ve succeeded with the Sifa of Cera-Na and the Dousan of the Wellspring but learn that All-Maudra Mayrin was killed by the Skeksis while they were avoiding ever going to Ha’rar. Mayrin’s eldest daughter and Skeksis loyalist Seladon has been named new All-Maudra. Fearing that the Vapra won’t rise up in resistance, the group is lost for solutions until Amri dreams he falls into the ocean and has a cryptic conversation with the urRu Swimmer.

Chapter 23

Team Naia climb a mountain but find a mysterious tower

They planned to leave that evening, when they could move under the cover of the night. Until then, Amri found a corner of the cabin and crawled under a pile of pillows, blocking out the daylight. He dreamed of the stone tree in the belly of Grot. He stood before it as it died, limbs like roots, or roots like limbs. Knowing that if he could be breathed in by the ancient thing, flow into its veins and up its trunk, when he emerged on the other side, he would be a pink blossom on the slender boughs of the Sanctuary Tree.

He heard whispers. A thousand voices, all as one. The shadows moved with infinite limbs. When he woke, it took everything he had not to slap away the spider tapping the back of his hand.

The protags are probably used to it at this point but oh no I would freak out. I do not like crawlies crawling on me.

Anyway, aside from waking up Amri for The Plan, Tavra also has a favor to ask Amri.

“In case anything should happen to me tonight. Someday, when the fires are lit. When it’s safe. Would you find my sister Brea and tell her what happened? I want her to know that I didn’t abandon her.”

“No,” he said. “I’ll make sure you get to tell her yourself.”

Has anyone in fiction ever answered otherwise?

It feels like that kind of thing only comes up so the other person can go ‘no you’re totally going to survive so you can tell her yourself’ or ‘we’ll tell her together’ or something.

Protagonists try to be optimistic about their chances, I guess.

I think I’ve seen maybe one example where a more world-weary character just instantly agreed to a request like that, recognizing the asker wanted reassurance that things would be taken care of if the worst happened.

Anyway.

Naia brings a cloak for Amri to wear when they go out and climb up a snowy mountain. Its in Silverling white and silver which Amri feels weird about since the Gelfling tribes like to color code just like people from Avatar. But he recognizes its better for the mountains so puts it on.

“Do I look like a Silverling?” he asked, pulling his hair out from inside the cloak collar.

Naia’s ears turned pink. She looked away and mumbled, “Not a bit.”

Shiiiiiiiiiiip teeeeeeeeeease.

If they hold hands at this rate, they’re going to explode.

Tae comes in and tells them its time to go, the Vapra are gathering at the citadel but neither the Skeksis nor Seladon have shown yet. And even with the Waystar trees, its going to be getting very dark on the mountain.

While the team is climbing the mountain to do the Plan with the Waystar trees, Onica is basically going to be the getaway driver. She’s staying on the boat ready to go. If anything goes wrong, they can fly off the mountain to the boat and sail away to fight another day.

This vague the Plan has multiple angles figured out. Its a good the Plan.

Onica also tells them that she believes in them. Aww. Onica encouragement is truly precious.

I’m so glad that we’ve gotten so much Onica material in this book. She’s great.

Team Naia leave the boat and the wharf (Amri looking back to see if the Swimmer shows but she does not) and hurry through the city.

As Tae had said, the Vapra of Ha’rar were already gathering near the steps that led up to the citadel. Huddled in their silver cloaks, whispering quietly among themselves. Amri heard the consistent sound of fear, and apprehension. He heard Seladon’s name, and Tavra’s. The sibilant sounds of the Skeksis Lords’ names. skekUng, skekZok. skekSil, the Chamberlain. skekSo, the Emperor.

I wonder if all of them are showing up. That’s a big gathering of Skeksises.

But the team keeps going to where Ha’rar meets the mountain and then up a narrow winding stairway.

There’s more buildings of Ha’rar even built into the mountain but the stairway becomes a steep footpath and then nothing. Just trudging through deep snow in a mountain side forest. In the dark. It’s evening. For everyone that’s not Amri or Tavra, the footing becomes really uncertain.

“I can’t see a thing. Is this what it’s been like for you, traveling in the day?” Naia asked as they reached a rocky ledge too high to step over. He made short work of it and crouched on the top, grabbing Naia’s hand and pulling her up and over. She didn’t wait for him to say yes before she added, “I didn’t realize.”

“It’s all right,” he said. “Not everywhere in Thra is caves and rocks.” Though night and ice is close enough, he thought. Or at least he hoped it would be.

They stop to look at Ha’rar, which is described as looking like a painting at this distance. Maybe a matte painting. I miss matte paintings. They were so cool.

The team has reached a point where Tavra can’t guide them anymore because the wind changes the landscape too often so she tells them to follow the Waystars’ light but be careful of hidden crags.

Tae says

“Our path is up to you now, Amri.”

Something he’d longed to hear, but now that he had, it felt heavy on his shoulders. It was up to him to guide them -- and protect them from danger. He knelt and touched the freezing stones. Under the deep snow, the mountain path still existed. He could feel its sturdiness.

That rock sense thing sure is helpful.

Super helpful.

Amri even senses a building up ahead.

Not any building Tavra is familiar with but as she says not many people travel up here so if someone were to build something, not many people would know or care.

“It would be a nice way to live if you wanted to be alone,” Naia remarked.

“And if you didn’t mind freezing,” Kylan added, teeth chattering.

Hah! Good ol’ best boy Kylan.

He’s so quiet that he doesn’t feel as present as some of the other characters but he remains relevant to the plot and delightful.

Amri leads the group towards the mysterious building, which is a simple stone and ice tower. It looks abandoned from the outside and the place doesn’t seem too occupied or furnished on the inside but Kylan can tell that the hearth has been lit within the past couple days.

So its not abandoned, just austere.

They can’t stay long without losing their opportunity to reach the Gelfling of Ha’rar before the Skeksis do but they can stay long enough to warm up with a fire and hey, there’s a hearth right there.

While Kylan started the fire, Amri touched the parchments that were strewn across the stone worktable. The soft, cold paper was thick and fibrous, covered in ink-drawn maps and charts. He recognized the coastline of the Silver Sea, from Kylan’s book, meticulous and fine-detailed, every landform and eddy and bay lovingly titled and detailed. Cera-Na and her fingerlike headlands, even the sand river they’d taken into the desert. The Caves of Grot, the Claw Mountains. The long tail of the Black River, the lifeline of the Skarith Basin.

There were other charts, too, but they were not of the land. Amri recognized stars and the Sisters, the patterns of the wind drawn across the sky where it intersected with the path of the Brothers. The pictures of the seasons and the ninets, how the phases of the moons changed course as Thra moved through time and space.

Hmmm. And the maps are drawn in ink, too, and not dream-etched.

So I have my theory about whose house this might be. I’m a bit surprised that it is where it is but I have my theory.

I mean, its got to be an urRu, right? Not a Gelfling because its ink and not BURNING WITH YOUR MIND POWERS. Probably not a Skeksis because there’s one Skeksis who could live in such simple digs without succumbing to the unfathomable urge to bedazzle everything in sight.

And would we be so lucky to get a second urRu when there’s only a few chapters left? No, no. This is clearly the oddly mountain located house of urSan the Swimmer. All the way up on a mountain, the further place from the sea.

I like that the map including the desert implies that she just swam the sand rivers too. That’s commitment to your monomania.

Amri arranges the maps on the table to they form a jumbo map of the Skarith Land and is in awe at seeing his whole world (or at least the only important continent of it apparently) all at once like this and at how much of it he has personally seen since starting his journey with the group.

But there’s work to be done so he asks Tavra if she knows what she’s going to say for the Plan.

“Yes,” the Silverling spider replied. “I don’t know if it will be enough, but it is all I have. I can only hope that my words can move the Vapra to believe that there is hope... even without my mother and Seladon to guide them.”

“They still have you,” Naia assured her. “Even if your voice is small. If Amri’s right, and if Kylan can do what he did with the Sanctuary Tree, then...”

I like that their plans are always building up off their previous plans.

But before Naia can finish explaining the Plan there’s a crunching on the snow outside and the door is slammed open by an old familiar unexpected individual.

SHE! Her. skekSa the Mariner, who is just as confused to see the Gelflings here as they are to see here.

Its a small world after all, I guess.

Her menacing eyes fell upon Amri and his friends, then the star charts and sea maps. Amri found his hand on the hilt of Tavra’s sword. skekSa reached back and slammed the door, throwing the latch so there was no escape. She leveled the room with her gaze, hot breath steaming from her nostrils.

“Tell me, and I will let you live,” she growled. “Where is urSan the Swimmer?”

Dun dun dun?

#dark crystal #the dark crystal #Tides of the Dark Crystal #liveblog #Amri #Naia #Kylan #Tae #Onica #Tavra #another character

5 notes · View notes

nancywheelxr · 4 years

Note

I LOVE CULLEN FAMILY!!! Could you do “They’re not your kids, back the f*ck off.” with Carlisle where like this lady is trying to tell Carlisle how he should be raising his kids and how he’s not doing a great job and he SNAPS and everyone else is like “oh dang” because they’ve never seen him lose his composure like that?

Alice thinks they might have to skip town soon.

It’s not on any visions, she hasn’t looked yet in any case, but she doesn’t think she’ll have to. Even without her powers, she can see Bellingham isn’t a very good match. People are too nosy, gossip is taken too seriously.

And sure, this isn’t the first time Carlisle is called by their school, but it’s certainly the first time someone threatens to call child services.

“Is he going to do it?” Edward asks her, frowning at the closed doors, “he thinks it’ll look good for him. In the eyes of the community, you know?”

Alice hesitates. “I haven’t checked, I think– let’s wait a little more,” she tells him, biting her lips. Hesitation is not something she usually indulges in, not considering her gift, but something ugly and razor-sharp on her chest stops her from peeking around the metaphorical corner of their future.

At her side, Jasper squeezes her hand. “We’ll wait, then,” he says, thumb brushing circles on her skin, “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

Thank you, she thinks, smiling softly. Edward rolls his eyes. “We should have stayed in Vermont. Or checked out Canada.”

“Yes, I’m sure you and your infinite wisdom would do just fine in Canada,” she snorts, kicking him lightly in the shin. In times like these, she wishes Rosalie and Emmet hadn’t left already with Esme– Rose would be better at needling Edward and Emmet would certainly make this whole situation less tense.

“You chose to stay,” Edward points out, ignoring her comment.

“I wanted to see this play out,” she pouts, eyeing the principal’s closed doors. Even by human standards, the raised voices inside could be heard drifting from the cracks.

Very pointedly, Edward doesn’t remind her she could have done just that two hours ago when the principal had decided to call Carlisle. Also very pointedly, Alice refrains from reminding him time is malleable and nothing is set in stone, besides, it’s always a gamble with her power. She might see this scene, she might not. Either way, being in the present is more satisfying.

“ – you must understand, Dr. Cullen, your children have missed an entire week just this month,” the principal is ranting with his overly conceited voice, “it’s raised some concern among the community, especially when a camping trip is the only explanation given. This is in no way a responsible way to raise a child, much less five, and I’m sure a young man as yourself has much to do and little time to look after teenagers but–”

“Oh boy,” Edward pales, eyes going wide, “Carlisle is going to snap.”

“What?” Alice sits up a little straighter, “what do you mean–”

“He’s so– angry,” Jasper blinks, also staring at the door like he’s never seen one before, “I’ve never felt him this unsteady.”

Alice isn't sure she likes where this is going, not that she's anywhere near afraid Carlisle is going to kill their principal, but. Snap? That sounds troubling and maybe she should have seen ahead, after all, prevented this mess from even starting because, at this rate, they're catching way too much attention from the town and–

Carlisle starts to speak. "I see,” his voice is colder than Alice’s ever heard it and she shivers, shuffling closer to Jasper. They trade a concerned look before returning their attention to the conversation, “ – considering they are my children, not yours or the board’s. I believe you should keep that in mind from now on.”

The principal’s heartbeat is off the charts now and it’s clear Carlisle isn’t done yet. Beside her, Edward huffs a soft sound. “Oh.”

“What did you hear?” She frowns, wringing her hands despite herself.

“Carlisle, he– he’s so mad because the principal implied he doesn’t care about us,” Edward explains in that awkward way of his that means he’d probably be blushing if he were human. As he talks, he looks to the tiled floor, “that he’s not our father.”

“Oh,” echoes Alice, and she feels Jasper clearing his throat, uncomfortable. “That’s just bullshit.”

“Seems like the principal had to learn this the hard way,” Jasper shrugs, a wavering calm blanketing the room and most likely slipping into the office. At Alice’s raised eyebrows, he shrugs, “he’s just a fool, I feel bad.”

She huffs haughtily. “I’d leave him for the wolves.”

“See? That’s why Jasper’s the empath,” Edward suddenly grins, elbowing her lightly.

Before Alice could come up with a retort that would erase that smug smile off his stupid smug face, the door to the principal’s office swings open and they all scramble up to their feet as Carlisle steps out, a thunderstorm clouding his expression.

“Let’s go,” he says, softening a little at the sight of their concerned faces, and his hand is warm as he ushers them all out of the school.

There’s a lot that Alice sort of wants to say, especially considering the tirade she’s heard through the door and the rate of the principal’s heartbeat, but they all get stuck in her throat when she notices the tense line of Carlisle’s shoulders. “He’s sorry we heard all that,” Edward whispers to her as they linger a little behind on the way to the parking lot, “he regrets making a scene over– well. He’s not sure how we’ll take it, actually.”

It must be really troubling him, Alice figures, if he’s letting his thoughts open like that around Edward. “Now,” she decides, “that just won’t do.”

Skipping ahead, she worms her way between Jasper and Carlisle, linking her arms with theirs. She smiles up at their father. “Come on, dad, can we stop at the video store? I’m calling a movie night.”

“I second it,” Jasper nods, grinning. Around them, there’s just honey-warm affection.

“Motion passed,” Edward says, catching up to them at Carlisle’s other side, “meeting adjourned.”

“Well,” Carlisle chuckles, and to their delight, he already looks a lot less tense, a lot less worried. Instead, he just looks fond. “I suppose we can since I’m so clearly overruled.”

Above, the sky is a cloudy greying blue, the sun setting behind clouds, painting the whole town in pale shades of orange, and Alice is very glad home means a lot more than a splash of concrete and a couple of walls.

#twilight #alice cullen #edward cullen #jasper hale #carlisle cullen #alice x jasper #twilight renaissance #look an ask #twilight tag #cullen family tag

231 notes · View notes

evien-stark · 4 years

Text

✧I Need You✧ Chapter 167

Clint called for the debrief about the Seoul mission while you and Tony were still in the air. About a half hour away from the Tower. His immediate silence over the line told you everything you needed to know, but the both of you waited patiently for Clint to speak. And when he did- “We lost Nat.”

You felt your heart stop. “What??”

Tony, in his infinite wisdom (clearly smarter than you, held a hand up). “What do you mean lost?”

“Ultron took her.”

Both you and Tony made some very upset noises and you slumped back in your seat. “Jesus Christ, Clint. You’re no longer allowed to do debriefs.”

“There was a better way to phrase that.” Tony, as always, agreeing with you.

Clint sounded equally annoyed from his end of the phone. “Are we counting this as a win?”

Tony pursed his lips to the side, clearly deliberating how to ask, “Did you secure the Cradle?”

“Precious cargo. Yeah. I got it.” Clearly unhappy that the team was forced to make a trade.

It wasn’t fair. To make a trade like that. No doubt Nat had been doing her job. Doing her best. Ultron had snatched her- you couldn’t help but wonder why. ...and couldn’t stop yourself from wondering if you had gone with them, if you would have been able to prevent this. You were assuring yourself more than him as you said, “We’ll get her back.”

Finally Clint’s bad mood broke just a little. “I know we will.”

Tony made the next call to the Tower. The quinjet was not that far behind yours, and once you landed they’d have to have the lab set up to… well, as he momentarily lied, destabilize the Cradle. Destroy it. Ultron had apparently done a fair amount of work to it. Had started building something inside of it with Cho’s help- Cho who was now free. Steve had stayed behind to help her.

But that wasn’t really what he was planning to do. He just wanted to put facetime in with Bruce while asking him to try this one more time. You also decided not to chime in, understanding exactly the plan Tony was making. Bruce would be more amenable in person. A little bit more easily persuaded.

On touch down, the both of you exited the flight deck and made a straight line down to the lab. The secured and cleared a wide area. Clint, as promised, was not too far behind. And once the three of you (with DUM-E’s slow assistance) dragged the Cradle in, you felt something strange. Like a headache was on the verge of blooming. And just as they’d plugged a large wire into the back of the Cradle, you set a hand over the cover.

Tony looked up, sensing something was amiss. But he waited for you to speak, and when you did, you realized what was happening. A piercing, shrill noise had returned. “The thing- inside the scepter- it’s here.” You were sure of it.

Both Bruce and Tony quickly whirled around to their respecting computer consoles, typing away in a furious buzz. It was Bruce that confirmed first. “Gamma radiation buzz is off the charts. That thing is working overtime. We gotta shut it down.”

On the opposite spectrum, Tony seemed intrigued. “What’s it doing, I wonder?” Extremely curious to find out.

Clint secured his fingers on the very thin edges and tried to wedge his weight upwards. It was an extreme failure, and the rest of you stood around watching him try useless to work. This was one of the reasons you stood back in situations like this. Out of your element. And not as willing to… put yourself out there, to put it mildly. When he realized he wasn’t doing much good he gave it a rest. “This thing is sealed tight.”

Trying to draw his attention, and possibly looking after one of his own (albeit secret) interests, Bruce took his glasses off and fumbled about a little nervously. “Any word on Nat?” While you were all worried, he was a touch more so. For reasons that inspired a look cast between you and Tony.

He was the one who answered after the two of you were done making faces at each other. “Haven’t heard. But. Have to wager she’s alive.”

You found the follow up conclusion simple. “If she wasn’t, Ultron would be making a big deal about it. He can broadcast anything anywhere. Her picture would be on every screen in the Tower if he wanted to make a statement with her.” It was a grim way of looking at it, but… for as much as you didn’t want to understand Ultron, you at least were aware of his base-line motives. He took Nat because he could. Or because she was in the way. That was on the team. That failure. He wanted everyone to stew in it. No sense in killing her yet.

Bruce gave a solemn nod. “Makes sense, I guess.” Trying to redivert his attention, he cast a hand over the Cradle. “We’re going to need to access the program running in there. Break it down from within.” Moving on to work was the next easiest thing.

Tony seemed to not agree- only momentarily though, you knew. He put a hand on Clint’s shoulder. “Any chance Natasha might leave you a message- outside the internet? Old school spy stuff?”

It took him a moment, but when Clint nodded, it came with a little grin. “There’s some nets I can cast. Yeah. Alright. I’ll find her. You deal with this.” And just like that, he left the room. Which had been the point of distracting him that way.

Bruce was already in the middle of some serious typing, trying to work away, when you and Tony approached from the opposite side of the Cradle. He seemed to ignore the looming obviousness of what was about to happen. “I can work on tissue degeneration-” Though he did look up at Tony, “If you can fry whatever operational system Cho implanted.”

Waving one of the holoscreens out of the way, Tony leaned in just a little more. Standing at his side, you couldn’t exactly see the eyes he was looking at Bruce with. But you knew them all too well. “Yeah. About that…” Pleading. About to ask for something he knew he shouldn’t.

Apparently, for some reason, Bruce was no stranger to them either. Because in just the next second after that look registered, he put both his hands up. “No.” And gave a very sturdy warning.

You tried your hand at this mass negotiation that was going to have to happen. “Please trust us.” Because you were in on this. One-hundred-percent. There was only this.

Bruce shook his head, almost a little wildly. “Absolutely not. I don’t- not with this- are you serious??” While you tried to not take this too personally, you were starting to grow tired of everyone around here constantly implying you were better than Tony- and that they were always shocked when you failed to live up to those strange expectations they held of you.

Tony pulled his phone out of his inside jacket pocket. “Our ally? The guy protecting the military’s nuclear codes? We found him.” And with a little shake of his phone, he shot out that beautifully bright orange consciousness you’d grown to love.

JARVIS was alive. Moving. Thinking. And… warm. In a way you never would have been able to explain. A smile grew on your lips when he spoke. “Hello, Dr. Banner.”

You would never judge Bruce. But. Bruce not saying hello back was probably the rudest thing you’d ever seen him do. Tony went into a bit of an excited ramble. A light was opening up inside of him. One of excitement. And detrimentally manic. Scrambling to move this last piece of the puzzle while it was still on his plate. “Ultron didn’t go after JARVIS because he was angry. He attacked him because he was scared of what he can do. So JARVIS went underground. Scattered himself. Dumped his memories. But not his protocols. He didn’t even know he was in there until she woke him up.” Giving a little nod your way.

Bruce looked between you two. Back and forth. At least a few times. He then held a hand out, pressing it against the top of the Cradle. “So… you want me to help you put JARVIS into this thing?”

Tony was quick, “No!” So quick that it nearly gave you whiplash. No? His wide grin told the whole story before the next words out of his mouth, “I want to help you put JARVIS into this thing.” Already Bruce was backing away, shaking his head over and over. “We’re out of my field of expertise here.” Tony having no problem being humble, for once. “You know bio-organics better than anyone.”

He looked over your way. Waiting for a long time. Kind of pointedly staring at you. Like you might come to your senses and talk Tony out of this. As if you were the only one that could. But, when you just pressed your lips together, he sighed heavily. “What- you two just assume that JARVIS’ operational matrix can beat Ultron’s?”

You waved a hand up JARVIS’ way, brushing that lightshow with the tips of your fingers. “JARVIS already has been beating Ultron. He’s been keeping nuke codes safe. For longer than we even knew it was a problem. If you ask me we should have looked at him first for a world protection plan.”

JARVIS answered you, “Your confidence warms me, Ms. INY. Dr. Banner, please. I believe it’s worth a go.” There was something about this. JARVIS seemed a little different. A little more animated. ...emotional? Was that the word you were thinking of?

...was it possible that in his initial fight with Ultron- -well if Ultron had somehow gained sentience… couldn’t JARVIS have?

In your eager optimism over JARVIS, you missed Bruce shrinking away. And when both you and Tony moved to the other side of the Cradle to face him, he put both his hands up, keeping you at arm’s length. “No!” It was rare that Bruce raised his voice. He was really stressed suddenly. “I’m in a loop! I’m- I’m caught in a time loop! This is exactly where it all went wrong.”

Maybe it would have been a good idea to back off him. Let him cool down. But there was just no time to let him come to grips with this idea.

It was why you understood when Tony reached out, settling his hands on Bruce’s upper arms, giving him a little affectionate stir. “I know. I know. I know what everyone’s gonna say. But they’re already saying it. We’re mad scientists. We’re monsters, buddy. We gotta own it. We have to make a stand.”

There was a painful twist in your heart, hearing Tony speak so earnestly like that. What he believe to be honesty about himself. What his intentions made him. You didn’t think any of that about him, nor Bruce for that matter. But this wasn’t the time to start a therapy session. Instead, you tried to entreat him one last time. “Bruce, please… if it’s not this, it’s nothing. We need you. If you’re in a loop, this is where we break it.”

Though he was looking at you briefly he hung his head. “You don’t know that.”

“What if I told you I did? Would it make a difference?”

This time he really did look at you- he took a long look. And then finally- “If I’m being told I have a choice here, it really doesn’t feel like it.” He didn’t pause long enough for something cold to creep in. “But. Fine. Let’s try one last time.”

Tony gave him a clap on both his arms with another sturdier shake. “There you go, buddy.”

You, instead, were softer. “Thank you, Bruce.”

He sighed again. “Yeah, yeah, yeah…”

---

They got to work right away. Doing the things they did best. Babbling at each other. Hooking up the Cradle to their machines. Typing away. Working. Busily. Quickly. Because time was running out. Whatever was in the Cradle wouldn’t stay in that state forever- you caught at least that much. They were also working from the other end of the clock. Ultron was moving, too. Who knew when his next strike would be.

It took them an hour. JARVIS had disappeared. Tony had put the lightshow away. But he’d gone quiet, too. Something that unsettled you. If this didn’t work, would you lose him again? You were absolutely sure you couldn’t bear a repeat. You’d only just gotten him back. But, in his absence, the Cradle started… well, singing wasn’t the right word but… it was something awfully close. The lab was humming otherwise with energy, covering that foreign tune that laid inside the Cradle. They were moving back and forth constantly. And the next fifteen minutes they started ramping up in intensity.

Now or never had come pretty soon.

Tony was typing in a buzz on his keyboard. “This framework is not compatible.” You had no time to register if this was a good or bad verdict as Bruce walked by, seemingly unbothered. “The genetic coding tower’s at ninety-seven percent.” He looked up at Tony. “You have got to upload that schematic in the next three minutes.”

Your mouth was open- about to ask something inane by their standards, but the heavy steps of boots caught your attention too late. You hadn’t been paying enough attention, because when you whipped around you saw Steve. Standing in his anger. And not only him- he’d brought the twins with him.

His tone was condescending and tight. “I’m gonna say this once.”

Tony wore one to match. “How about nonce?”

Steve grit his teeth and waved his authoritarian hand around. “Shut it down!”

Quickly moving to the leftmost console, Tony’s attention played elsewhere. “Nope. Not gonna happen.”

You, in turn, stepped forward to try and get in between them, even though Tony was on the upper level. You held your hands out in defense. “Steve, please. You don’t understand.”

He leveled a finger at you. “No you don’t understand. You don’t know what you’re doing!”

Bruce was not too far behind you. “And you do? She’s not in your head?”

Wanda stepped out from beyond Steve and your eyes went immediately to her. “I know you’re angry…”

Something dark rumbled inside Bruce. Something foreign. “Oh, we’re way past that. I could choke the life out of you and never change a shade.”

You had to hold yourself very still after hearing that. It wasn’t like Bruce. Not at all. Then again… the news was back to calling him a monster. Because of her. He’d hurt people- because of her. There was a level of understanding for how truly angry he was over it. You looked her way. “Have a sudden change of heart?”

She frowned, fingers twisting together anxiously. “It’s not easy to believe- but after what we’ve seen-”

Tony’s voice boomed from the higher level. “That’s nothing compared to what’s coming!”

In one twisting move, she turned his way. “You don’t know what’s in there!”

“We know more than you do.” Something you asserted with more rights than you had. Tony said this was the next thing. The last chance. You believed him. And you’d stand by him. No matter what.

Steve narrowed his eyes at you. “This isn’t a game!”

A shouting match ensued with almost too many voices. But it died down as a blur flashed around the room, picking up wind as it wound around you- no- the Cradle- stopping with Pietro at the bottom, holding the main power source plug after yanking it free. “No no. Go on. You were saying?”

Alarms started shrieking. But nothing ever quite compared to the crack of a bullet being shot off in close vicinity. The noise startled you into a jump, just about the same time the glass underneath Pietro’s feet caved in and you stepped over quick to see Clint putting a foot over his chest. The rest of your attention was stolen by the sudden struggling lifeforce inside the Cradle.

That was until Tony’s anxiety spiked and he started moving in a hurry. “I’m rerouting the upload!”

Deciding where he stood officially, it really shouldn’t have shocked you- Steve winding up to throw his shield- maybe it didn’t. Because you double-tapped your Reactor without a second thought, and held up a hand to blast it off trajectory after it had bounced off a couple work stations and headed straight for Tony.

You were done with people attacking him. So much so that your next move was cleaner than the last. One shot of your repulsor aimed right at him. And the second he was off his feet, Wanda creeped closer in a weirdly stilted couple of moves. But she was brought to a standstill by Bruce who threw his arms around her from behind. “Go ahead. Piss me off.”

It was a shame that your awareness was stolen a second time. Panic had started as a low simmer inside the Cradle, but it was now collapsing in on itself. Dying. The computers were still shrieking- Steve was on his feet- Tony had called his armor-

But you couldn’t take your eyes off the Cradle. Or rather, what was snaking out above it. A familiar orange glow hit the air, wisping upward. Like it was leaving.

The next few seconds felt very important as your heart skipped a beat. That was JARVIS. Something in you told you. You knew. That light- that light drawing you in- drawing you up- That was JARVIS. And if you didn’t do something fast, he’d die.

Something pulled your arm forward. Something told you what to do as you held your hand up, fingers reaching, touching the tail of that energy. Calling it back. Calling it to you. And instead of continuing its upward flit, it shimmered back down, winding around your left arm, further still as you pulled your hand back, holding it to your chest.

The song in the Cradle spoke your name. Something ancient directed your movements. Told you what to do. Almost like you’d done it before. Both your arms moved in a roundabout flow and then you cast both your palms out over the Cradle, fingers outstretched, directing that orange light inside. Holding it there. Keeping it there. Struggling to do so as the life just faded away. You couldn’t keep it there forever- which was why you pleaded in a bit of desperation- “You need to repower the Cradle- I can’t hold it-!”

Tony said something- maybe just a call of your name-

But it didn’t matter. The next thing in your peripheral was Thor sliding into the room, bringing with him urgent fury. He then jumped on top of the Cradle and the two of you looked at one another. He then gave you a nod. So very knowing. Somehow. And that was when you stepped away, back into Tony who had come to your side, and in the next move you drew your arm forward, throwing up a shield as Thor raised his arm, hammer in hand, and then cast it down, striking the Cradle with lightning.

The sound was deafening. And once the light died, it seemed like it took everything with it. The computers had gone quiet. Everyone in the room held their breath.

Then the glass on the Cradle shattered, the force throwing Thor to the back of the room. Once he was out of the way, something slid up onto the lid- a fresh body- something synthetic. Red and silver- with that glowing yellow singing on its forehead.

His nervous eyes cast around the room. And as you reached out you were sure. You thought you were so sure that was JARVIS. But then he jumped forward, almost in an attack at Thor who had gotten to his feet. Almost. But you felt the scared desperation. The confusion. And when Thor reached up to grab that new body and throw him through the glass and down into the lounge, the voice that ripped from you was one of pure worry- “Stop!”

Not giving anyone in that room enough time to think about that command as you took off in the next beat on a boost of your jets, following him. Finding him floating against the tall windows. Just looking. At everything. First the city, twinkling in lights. Then at himself. And as you came to a stand on the catwalk just behind him, waiting patiently, you saw his eyes drift to your reflection. Your voice wouldn’t work the first time you tried, so as you forced it on the next turn, the name came out in a croak. “JARVIS?” Hoping. Hoping against hope that this had worked. Because if it hadn’t…

The moment took too long. Your voice had long since evaporated into the air, and he hadn’t so much as moved. But finally… your patience was rewarded, as a soft sheen of recognition bubbled up from him. And an even softer smile played along his reflection in the window. “Ms. INY.”

#Tony Stark #Tony Stark x Reader #INY Chapter One Hundred Sixty Seven

3 notes · View notes

kessielrg · 4 years

Text

[Daybreak Academy][KH AU] Hospital Beds

Summary: In which Skuld fades in and out of consciousness in the aftermath of her overdose (chapter 37 of Daybreak Academy). [oneshot][spoilers for @daybreak-academy-fanfic, obviously]

Rating: K+

Word count: 2,220 words

Skuld had only passed out on one other occasion in her life. It was the 2011 Departure County Regional Lux Pageant: Junior Division. It was the last major competition before going to state, so -of course- it was a very big deal. The whole situation could have been avoided if she, or her parents, had been paying enough attention that day. Ultimately, it was ruled that Skuld had been dehydrated and the incident was never brought up again.

But that was when something in Skuld changed. Her parents all but glossing it over and working on the next pageant nearly made her pop a blood vessel. After that incident, Skuld refused to attend any more pageants so long as she had a body to live in. No more lights, no more angry moms when their kid didn't win a crown, no more stage cues from hosts that didn't even pretend to care; none of it. Skuld was done.

When she received her letter of acceptance from Daybreak Academy, Skuld gave her parents an ultimatum: if she went to Daybreak, then she wouldn't attend any more pageants. It had to be one or the other. Of course her parents let her go to Daybreak- having a prestigious school listed as your alma mater looked far better on a resume than how many useless gold crowns you've won. For that, she was thankful her parents had some sort of common sense.

They say, when your brain realizes that it's about to die, your whole life flashes before your eyes. When Skuld could feel her whole body shut down on her, the rest of her life up until then didn't even matter. Back then (and right now) her only thought was 'what if no one finds me?' That thought was infinitely more terrifying when she was in her own private dorm and not about to be shuffled on stage in front of a crowded audience.

Skuld had no idea how long she had been out. Her mind took what seemed to be years before realizing that she was in a hospital room. A slow glance toward the window indicated that it was sometime during the day. Wasn't it after sunset when she passed out? The memories were fuzzy at best, and a good part of it still seemed fragmented as she tried to piece together what had actually happened.

But thinking took up too much brain power that she didn't quite have back yet. What with the 'hard reboot' and all of waking up without intentionally making your body shut down. She didn't even bother to know if her parents were even aware she was in the hospital right now. She had listed Headmaster Ava as her emergency contact for so long, she had memorized that number far better than her own parents'. Skuld let out a soft sigh as she let her body succumb back into a black abyss of nothing. Maybe she'll feel a bit better later on.

Hopefully.

. . .

“I should have known the moment she came to callbacks alone.”

Skuld knew the voice but couldn't bring herself to open her eyes to be sure. It took a lot more effort than she had to even give the slightest of peeks. Her glimpse was short, but it confirmed her suspicions. In the hospital room with her was Ms. April. With Ms. April was Headmaster Aced, awkwardly trying to navigate the hospital room with a small vase of get well soon flowers in his hands.

“You never would have guessed too.” Aced calmly noted, setting the vase of flowers on the bedside table. “Everything was kept on track, she dropped off notes about what needed attention then she'd send another note saying she found a solution...”

“That's not the point, Aced.” Ms. April snapped. “She's still child. There was no reason for her to have such a heavy workload without any of us noticing. I should have noticed. Ava- Ava should have noticed!”

“Ava?” Aced repeated. A quick look of confusion crossing his features. “What does Ava have to do with this? Gula is the Leopardus headmaster.”

“That stupid student council she started!” April declared. “Don't tell me you're not aware of it!”

“Of course I was aware, all of us knew...”

“And did any of you know that the five students she cherry-picked had trouble adjusting?” the short teacher snapped back. “Skuld wasn't the only one. And the fact that you don't even know that-!”

“It's not like any of them were from my house.” Aced argued. “I'm not the one who would have noticed even if I could!”

A dark silence immediately filled the room the moment he said those words. Ms. April was fuming.

“April...” the youngest of the two tried to say in a timid voice. “I...”

But Ms. April wasn't going to listen to him. Instead, she turned on her heel and immediately headed toward the door. Fear was quick to reach Aced's features as he went after her.

“April!” he even feebly tried to call. “April I didn't mean…! April!”

Skuld could hear the door shut when they both left. The tense air still lingered in the room, and it made her feel incredibly awful in its aftermath.

No, Skuld dully thought, Don't leave. It wasn't anyone's fault.

But she could feel herself drift off again. In seeing no use of fighting it, Skuld relaxed her body and went back to sleep.

. . .

Third time's the charm, as they say, and this time around Skuld felt much better. Or better enough that she could actually maneuver her body to reach for the call button. It still took a lot of effort, though, and she immediately flopped back down on the hospital bed in exhaustion.

“Skuld?”

Skuld blinked as she looked to who had said her name. To the right of the bed was Ava and Gula. They looked like they had placed another small vase of flowers by her bed and were completely surprised to see her awake. The teen tried to give them a smile of acknowledgment, but it came out as a momentary twitch instead.

“We should get the nurse.” Ava gently whispered to Gula, placing a hand on his elbow.

“I did.” Skuld slurred as she gestured to the call button- it was an attempt to pick it up and show it to the Vulpes headmaster, but it was a futile effort at best.

“How you doing kiddo?” Gula then asked, casually sitting at the end of Skuld's bed as if it weren't a big deal. He even gave her foot a playful pat before adding, “Enjoy your nap?”

“Gula!” Ava admonished before giving him a whack on the shoulder.

Gula only shrugged while giving a playful laugh. “Honest question.” he casually proclaimed. Skuld looked between the two of them like she had never seen them before. Maybe a part of her thought she didn't.

“My head is… numb?” she admitted in a slow drawl. “Still so tired...”

“Do you remember what happened?” Gula asked. His smiling face diminishing quite a bit to something more serious. Skuld raised an eyebrow before looking down at her hands. That was an idea she hadn't really considered until now. Her face scrunched as she tried to recollect her memories.

“I sent an email...” came the slow answer. “I got up and things were… wrong. Someone was at my door? Anna? Nora…?”

“Anora.” Gula corrected her. His tone was a bit darker than before now too. “Anora had come to your dorm just as you fainted. She called the ambulance for you.”

“Right… Anora...”

A small silence fell between the three of them as Skuld tried to further recollect her memories. She knew who Anora was, right? Skuld reclined a bit and in a brief flash when she closed her eyes, she could see a pink haired girl who very seldom talked and was currently the object of attention from…

“Ephemer.” Skuld wondered out loud as she looked back at Ava and Gula. “Is he with you?”

“Ephemer will be coming by later.” Ava told her. “He needed a little more time to… to process what had happened.”

“Idiot thinks its his fault.” Skuld huffed. She noticed her mental flub a moment too late, but didn't bother to correct herself. Gula laughed at it, though.

“Nice to know your sense of humor is still in tact.” he teasingly mused. It earned him another hard smack on the shoulder and Ava saying his name in a very disapproving manner. This time, Skuld did manage to smile, but it was still half formed and looked rather lopsided. Still, the attempt had been made, and only seeing it out of the corner of their eye made both Gula and Ava relax a bit more.

The soft moment was only interrupted by the nurse finally coming into the room. Ava and Gula excused themselves not long after, allowing the nurse to have more room to do her work. After some time the nurse called in the doctor for further tests. The doctor assigned to Skuld's case arrived about ten minutes after that. Not that Skuld was complaining when she saw him- he was super cute.

“How are you feeling, Miss Niyati?” the doctor asked her as he looked up from his clipboard of notes on her condition. He hit her with a million watt smile that nearly made Skuld's blood pressure spike.

Despite this, she gave him the automatic reply of “Dead.” without any thought put into it. The doctor laughed at this.

“Well, these charts say otherwise.” he humored her. “But that's just a sign you're still living, isn't it? Do you feel any pain, or a bit woozy?”

Skuld gave a small half shrug at first. “I think I have a delay. Words don't sound… good.”

The doctor once more gave her a kind smile before assuring her that such things were natural after an unexpected nap time. He went on to explain a lot more about how she had gotten there. Apparently she had taken too much acetaminophen and her body had shut down before any major damage could be done. The doctor told her that she was lucky to have gotten to the hospital as quickly as she did. Who knows how long she would have been out -let alone if she could even be woken- had her friend (Anora?) not contacted first responders right away.

It took some more time for them to run through some basic response tests before the doctor decided that she was good for now.

“I'll have a nurse come by so we can get your body weight before we do an MRI. With all luck Miss Niyati, you'll be out of here in no time.”

“Good.” Skuld replied with a small sigh. She was starting to feel a lot like herself again, and the idea of being in a hospital any longer than she needed to was starting to bug her.

“By the way,” the doctor said, almost as if he had forgotten something important. “Your friend, the one that came with you, she's still sitting outside. Would you like me to tell her that she can come in and sit with you?”

Skuld paused for a moment, looking up at the doctor like she had no idea what he was saying. But then it hit her; it must have been Anora. Right? Gula had said that Anora had called the ambulance, but he didn't say if she had come to the hospital as well. Ephemer had yet to show up, so maybe she was keeping watch for him?

The young woman carefully shook her head at the doctor. “She's waiting for someone.” she told him. He gave her an affirmative nod in agreement.

“Well, if that's all,” he said to her, “Then I'll be on my way. Remember, I'll have a nurse coming by for you later so be on the look out and try not to go to sleep again. Alright?”

At Skuld's agreeing nod, the doctor gave her one last brilliant smile before making his leave. Once the door closed, Skuld let out a long sigh as she relaxed against the hospital bed. Her head lulled over to the side so she could look at the small assortment of get well soon cards and flowers her bedside table had accumulated. When the nurse had helped her, Skuld had convinced them to read a few cards to her. They were all nice gestures- some of them were littered with apologizes about the school play.

But that was a subject for a different time.

Skuld's thoughts were interrupted when she heard the door to her hospital room open and close. She looked up to see Ephemer and Anora. Ephemer looked like a wreck- his eyes were bloodshot from crying, his clothes were put on rather haphazardly, and his hair looked like it hadn't been brushed in weeks. Anora, standing a little behind him, was nothing more than a shrinking wallflower that didn't want to get in the way between the old friends. Seeing them was almost a relief.

Skuld tried to give them her best smile before fondly remarking, “There you are. I was wondering how long it was gonna take for you to show up.”

3 notes · View notes

elireah · 4 years

Text

Doctors of tomorrow: showdown

Authors note: Hey guys! This is kind of the first real short story that I have written so let me know what you think! I appreciate your imput and I hope everyone is staying safe out there :)

“Doctor Walker, come quick, it is Miss Evans again!”

Nate glanced at Nia as she rushed in the breakroom of the Cardiology department. The nurse panted a little from what it looks like a full-on sprint only to take a big gulp of air before continuing her plea of help.

“Heartrate unstable, extensive sweating, heavy feeling on the chest. I don’t understand what is could be, I checked her treatment but it should be fine,” She rambled.

Nate laid down his juice box and lifted his hand as to halt Nia before she lost consciousness due to a lack of oxygen.

“Alright, alright, breathe. I will be on my way to check on her,”. Nia’s shoulders lowered themselves slightly, only to tense again.

“Thank you so much, it is rather urgent so if you could…”

Little did she know, Nate was already at Miss Evans’ door. He heard a view cries of surprise down the hall that he had taken. Well, Nia did say to be quick.

He sighted. Miss Evans was not particularly his favorite patient. Opening the door, he put on his best charming-old-people smile.

“Good afternoon, Miss Evans. How are you doing?”

Not a second later, Nate found himself dodging a gurgle of spit, impressively aimed at his head. For the urgency of the manner, Miss Evans seemed to be lively enough. Straightening his spine, he once again faced his patient.

Clustered to the hospital bed sat a fuming 76 year old Miss Evans, already reloading her ammo. “I told them over and over again that I don’t want to be treated by you, you… bloodsucking bastard!”

Mentally, he sighted. Why did everyone always play the race card against him. Miss Evans brought her cross out from under her hospital garment, presenting him with the new member of her arsenal. If looks could kill, he would have met his demise eight times already. Well. If it was possible for him to die again.

Contrary to the earlier chain of events, the unsteady rising of Miss Evans chest indicated that she was not well at all. Good that Nia will be here any second now.

And just as predicted, Nia, undoubtedly having taken another sprint, rounded the corner of Miss Evans’ room. At the sight of Miss Evans harassing me with her cross, she paused her movements. Not that Nate could blame her. It must be quite a sight. Doctor versus patient. Vampire edition.

Nia regained her senses, as well as her breath, and rushed to the struggling Miss Evans. “Miss, please, try to calm yourself. Doctor Walker is only here to take your pulse, please…”

Nate leaned back against the wall close to the door, putting his hands in his lab coat in an effort to look less hostile. Nia should not have said that.

He saw the last of the color in Miss Evans’ face vanish as quick as his mortality had. People are usually not very fond of him coming near their pulse. On the other hand, screw them. It was not like he had wanted to become a vampire. He would remember it until the last of his days. It had been the day before his graduation. Nate could still recall how excited he had been to finally receive his certificate. All that, literal, blood, sweat and tears would finally pay off. So, he and his mates had the brilliant idea to end the era with a bang and go party. One thing led to another and the next thing he knew, he woke up buried under the ground. He did not dig that. Turns out, there is not a manual on how to be a vampire so that was a whole second identity crisis right there. In the end, he managed to receive his certificate while a whole confused audience wondered why he was covered in dirt. After that, he had wondered what to do. Most fantasy novels suggested to join a cult of vampires that would fight for world domination but he did not even know his so-called sire, aka douchbag. Also. He did not fucking go to medical school for ten years to just throw his degree out of the window because of minor physical changes. Let alone the lifetime of debt that he had built up to get his degree in the first place.

Nate had started visiting hospitals, applying for a doctors position. One could imagine how that would go. Most hospitals were satisfied with his specifications and soon enough he was offered a trial position at the Nursery department. It turned out that babies are more perceptive than the common human-being. Needless to say that none of the babes particularly liked him.

Every time he had entered the nursery, a whole orchestra of children would start to cry. This had intrigued a few of his colleagues to experiment a bit. He could still remember Lea holding a baby continuously in- and outside the room he would currently occupy, creating the effect of a human siren. In the end, they had to let him go. His presence had overworked a large part of the department staff.

The next hospital was, ironically, understaffed at the Haematology department. Something about a certain virus that kept them working around the clock. Nate had been a relative new vampire and did fail to mention to his superiors that he was one at all. It is not like he wanted to drink blood but he needed to feed once in a while.

For quite some time, work was fine. He gained more experience in the field and learned his limit regarding his feeding. However, one day the limit was pushed to the edge.

Patient after patient had needed immediate medical attention and although his stamina was infinite, his self-proclaimed iron-deficiency was not. In the end, he may or may not have been caught feasting in the blood donor bank. The room had been an absolute mess. Blood was splattered everywhere. Walls were stained with a blood pattern that even serial killers could learn from. His colleague had seen him, fangs out and crazy eyes. It had been the first time another human realized that he was a vampire. What a great fucking milestone had it been. In the moment, Nate had identified a few stages of behavior that would later serve as his personal tree-chart guide to human-vampire reactions.

First and foremost, shock. Symptoms: mouth agape, pupils dilated and breathing non-existent.

It than took about a minute for his colleague to turn to confusion and denial to explain the sight of him. Shaking his head, mumbling something about ketchup. Third in line was disgust followed by the emptying of the stomach. Mild digestion, horrific smell and an unhealthy looking sausage. It ended with pure terror. High pitch screaming, body fluids dispersing and pants wet. However, the side note must be made that the last reaction can vary between terror and fainting.

Well, after that, the cat was out of the bag. The hospital was evacuated because of an alleged ‘fire’ and Nate had spent the following year avoiding a mild vampire-hunt. Looking back now, it had been a mistake on his part. But just like every fresh-out-of-college doctor, Nate had been desperate for the experience. At least he had learned something. However, he made a promise to himself that he would get the next job on his terms and his terms only.

Nate had walked into his current hospital and demanded to have an interview directly with the head of Cardiology, his preferred department of work. With some willful persuasion, he had ended up in the office of Karen Deas.

Karen had been unlike your typical Karen. Composed, perceptive and in-charge but equally as terrifying as all Karen’s. She just sat there at her desk sizing him up for a while, legs crossed, gaze sharp as a scalpel. Eventually, she had sighted.

“What do you want? My staff knows better to not disturb me with whatever nonsense you have to present to me. Just fill in the form like everyone else and we will consider it.”

She started to ruffle in a pile of clearly unorganized documents and pulled out a form but not without sending the rest of the pile to the floor. Before Karen knew what happened, Nate had intercepted the documents consisting out of new research for a semi-automatic heart prototype, specific patient data and a Tikka Masala recipe. Not a second later, the papers laid neatly on the corner of Karen’s desk. Organized from A to Z. Karen had been frozen in her chair.

Most people just told themselves to be amazed at Nate’s quick reflexes, dismissing the unnaturalness as mind games. But Karen was not most people. She was a goddamn doctor of science.

A few moments of eternal silent consideration later, Karen had lifted her arm slowly to unwind her hair from her tight bun. Her hair flowed to the small of her back as she struggled to get a cigarette out of her backpack.

Unwinding the buildup stress? No, looking back now, her blond locks had been an ever so small layer of defense against him. After all, he had not missed the slight shacking of her hand as she had lit the cigarette.

She had leaned back in her chair, inhaling slowly. Shakely, a big cloud of smoke floated in his direction, barely missing him. Karen again pinned him down with her stare full of questions.

“State your business,”

So he had told her. About his story, about his vampireness and his ambition. Karen had grown more and more pale during his story but still had maintained her surveilling stare. A whole of six cigarettes had not survived the conversation. She had been silent for while after he had finished. With a long exhale, she had thrown the last of her cigarette in the ashtray.

“What is it that you want from me?”

“A job. I did go to college to be a doctor and I intend to make that true,”

Karen had choked out a laugh, shaking her head.

“And what makes you think that I would let a vampire, a goddamn vampire, in the OK treating patients with heart problems?! The fucking organ responsible for the blood circulation,”

Again she had laughed, a stressed-out and broken sound. “It would be an ethical nightmare.”

Nate had suppressed the urge to role his eyes. As if he didn’t know that. He had experienced it first hand after all. But he had not come in empty-handed. Nate also leaned back in his chair, mirroring Karen’s position.

“Alright. I get your point. But let me strike you a deal. I will play by your rules, obey every tiny detail of them and you will let me work here,” Nate could already tell that she wanted to interrupt him. He lifted his hand to still her already open mouth.

“In exchange, I am willing to cooperate in any medical research you may want to perform on me. Within the bounds of humanity, of course.”

Nate could have practically seen the wheels spinning in Karen’s head. No medical researcher in her right mind would pass on this opportunity. He was the epitome of unknown medical science. Regenerate limbs? No problem. Stop aging? Sure, why not. Cure Cancer? Who knows. All he knew was that this was the only bargain he could make to gain a doctors position. And Karen was tempted. Extremely tempted by the looks of it. He could tell by the way she forcefully pursed her lips on each other and stared into his soul. Willing him to be as good of a person as he had presented himself to be. Again a few moments of silence lay in between them.

Nate had sighted.

“Look, I get it if you need some time to con…” Karen abruptly stood, shoving her chair against the wall. The speed of it made Nate question who the vampire in the room really was.

“Rule number one: Under no circumstances, and when I say no I mean no, will you talk to someone about this,” She started to pace in the small room. “I will introduce a small team who will be notified of your… condition.” It was like she was talking more to herself than to Nate. The following hour, Karen went on with a list of rules that he would need to follow.

“One last thing that I need to know. You must tell me your weakness. If you go out of control, I must know that there is a way to defend ourselves against you.”

Gods, that had hurt his pride a little be he figured it was only fair. Karen was responsible for the lives of all on the department and she was willingly striking a deal with the devil for all she knew. Nate scratched the back of his neck, staring at a crease in Karen’s wooden desk.

“I’m not that familiar with my weaknesses myself to be honest,”

Nate abandoned his chair. Karen visibly stiffened but did not move as he walked in her direction. As he stood before Karen, Nate turned his back to her, presenting her with the nap of his neck.

“However, some time back, I was hunted by some fanatics and they took a pretty good swing close to my neck,” He moved his fingers to the tiny scar on the back of his nap. “I regenerate from all injuries I receive. Whole limbs grow back in a matter of minutes and don’t show any permanent sign of physical harm.” He again faced Karen, who was at this point more curious than scared.

“But this, this wound left a scar and shows no sign of going away.” Nate felt a little sheepish. This was not really a concrete weakness though. It was more of a hypothesis than anything else. Karen’s questionable look had reflected how he felt.

“There is truly nothing else? Not a stake through the heart? A little bit of sunlight? Or perhaps some garlic?,”

She could not be serious. Nate had laughed out loud. The abrupt sound made her cross her arms over her chest. Apparently she had been dead serious.

“How do you think I walked in here? The sunlight thing is just a myth and I am especially fond of some garlic in my food. And a stake? Seriously? It is not like I come close to death every day.”

“I thought you were already dead,”

Nate threw her a glare. “You know what I mean,”

Karen arched a well-maintained brow but did not push it any further. Nate offered her is hand.

“Do we have a deal or not?”

Still skeptical, but swayed, Karen took his hand. “So you know, I’m not done making rules yet,”

“Yea, I figured.”

And so Nate came to work at the Saint Andrews hospital. It has been three years since the little job interview. And a lot had changed. Yes, there are more rules but he had also gained more freedom. More and more employees got to know about his state of being. He still could not tell if that was a good thing. Some people were just plainly fascinated with him. Others felt the need to make themselves his warden. As if they could. But Nate played along just to fain the illusion of security. And it was surprisingly fun to see Ethan stress-out at everything he did. Drinking a juice box is apparently highly dangerous to the small village that made out the hospital. If Ethan had looked closely, he might have noticed that Nate was drinking plain old tomato juice. A crime in its own right but whatever. Eventually, most of the staff had warmed up to him and even some of the patients came to know what he was. It turns out that people didn’t really mind his existence when they were already busy dying. In the department of fear, he would not stand a chance against Death. But hey, wouldn’t it be way more interesting to be killed by a vampire than by a popped artery? Not that he would, of course. But there were also some people that that did not like him too much.

Like Miss Evans. If he had to believe Miss Evans, the bible apparently had a passage dedicated specifically to male, allegedly bloodsucking, vampire doctors.

A rallying warcry pulled Nate from his thoughts. Miss Evans was screaming bloody murder at Nia as she was trying to calm the wailing women. This had taken long enough. He pushed himself from the wall and striked back his hair. In all the commotion, Miss Evans had lost an IV from her left arm. The punctured skin had soon enough made room for a dark beat of blood.

Nate sniffed the air. Interesting.

While Nia was still occupied on the right-hand of Miss Evans, Nate used his speed to intercept the drop of blood on Miss Evans’ left. To her it must have felt like a gust of wind, but Nate was already back in his place like nothing had happened. He licked the blood from his finger. Just like he expected.

Disgusting.

Everyone always made the mistake that he must love the taste of blood. Nate absolutely loathed it. The blood is only needed to prevent him from going 100% feral and even then he preferred animal blood over human blood any day. Rabbit blood to be specific. The thing about blood was that he could taste everything from the persons emotions and worries to their opinion about him or others. Therefore human blood was always clouded with envy, anger, love or loathing.

Yes, our lovely human-nature tastes like shit.

So he liked his blood bland and free, just like most animals were. However, in the medical field it was quite handy.

Due to the nature of the blood, he could easily diagnose the disease the patient was suffering from. The first time he had tried it, Karen had held him at gunpoint. Although, her silent rage had been more frightening than the M9 pointed at his face. She had locked him in the freeze cell until she had tested the patient on the particular illness he had mentioned. It had taken two whole days. Nate was to only do it again with Karen’s permission. Which meant that there will be some trouble in store for him later on.

Miss Evans blood was laced with her disgust for him. The feeling almost overpowered any other details but he could still distinguish the drugs present in the little drop. But mostly interesting about the taste was that it was ever-changing. One could mostly describe the after taste as ‘selective happiness’. Which is quite a contradicting flavor to her disgust.

“Say Miss Evans, you wouldn’t happen to have had any visitors these days haven’t you?”

The old women stopped her attack on Nia and returned her attention to him.“I don’t answer to you,” Miss Evans proclaimed through her grinding teeth.

Nia dropped her arms to the side of her body in defeat and sighted. “She has had a visit from her pastor this morning. It had something to do with cleansing the room.”

Of course it had.

“Filthy traitor,”. Miss Evans murmured some other insults under her breath while Nate tried to still his murderous thoughts. Him being a vampire had nothing to do with it, any human would have just about enough of this shitty behavior. He took a step closer to monitors surveilling Miss Evans. Her blood pressure seems to have skyrocketed since 1 pm. He narrowed his eyes.

“Now, now Cindy, it is not nice to lie to the people trying to save your life.” he purred.

Upon using her first name, Miss Evans seemed to shrink back a little. So she does sense when he had enough. Good.

“I seems like that pastor of yours and you had a nice chat. He even brought you flowers.”

Miss Evans’ eyes shot to the bouquet of flowers on her nightstand.“Yes, yes, he is a very nice man indeed. He even recited a verse from the bible.”

She grabbed for the bible on the edge of the nightstand. No insult this time. Nate fondled a rose petal from the roses as Miss Evans frantically tried to seek the verse in her worn-out bible. “Ah yes, here.”

God, give me grace to accept with serenity the things that cannot be changed, Courage to change the things which should be changed, and the Wisdom to distinguish the one from the other.

Amen.

Nate snorted. Amen indeed.

Still fondling the rose petal, he let out a fit of laugher. It was just too damn funny. Slowly pulling himself together, he met Miss Evans’ baffled stare.

“You must feel very serene or am I perhaps mistaken Miss Evans?”

Miss Evans went stone-faced. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

Oh, she was proper nervous now. Beats of sweat started to form on Miss Evans’ brow.

“No? A pity that you have not changed a bit. But I’m glad for you that God supports your little addiction.”

With one sweep he pulled the flowers from the vase.“I mean, flowers do heighten ones spirits around here.”

Nate carefully avoided the thorns on the bouquet and fished out a little transparent bag of pills.

He heard Nia gasp behind him. Miss Evans watched the event unfold without a sign of emotion.

“Oh my, he must have forgotten his pills.” She did not even bother to sound believable.

This goddamn women.

He must say that he admired the audacity to flat-out lie without giving a crimp. Even when caught red-handed.

Behind him he could feel Nia regaining her fighting spirit. “Miss Evans! We have talked about this. You are a heart patient and some drugs could further endanger your life!”

“Methylfenidate to be exact, also known as Ritalin,” he stated.

Nia grasped the pills from Nate’s hand, storming towards the sink. She dumped the contents in the basin and let the water run.

Miss Evans did not move an inch. However, the clenched jaw and the vain throbbing in her forehead told him that she was about to lose it.

Nia huffed as if to let out her anger and turned to him. “I will notify the other nurses to sharpen control for visitors. We will start adjusting her treatment. Thank you for your help, doctor Walker.”

Before he could reply, she was already out of the room. Fuck. Time to get out.

“Well, as always, it was a pleasure but I’m afraid I have to leave and…”

He turned to Miss Evans just in time for her explosion. A string of curse words that God for sure would disapprove of made its way to him as she reached for the vase resting on the nightstand. He reached the vase before her, putting it out of her reach. This led her to go for her second option, the bible. Already rushing out, he closed the door just in time to escape. The holy book slides of the door in response.

Thank God that was over. He smirked at the thought.

A fair opponent she had been but the final outcome was inevitable. Vampire: 1. Patient: 0.

“You determined the state of the patient remarkably quick, did you not Nate?”

The ice in her voice told him enough. She already knew. Karen stood a few meters from the room, already a hand on her gun. He was so fucked.

#vampire #vampire au #short story #doctor #writing prompt #writing #clash #funny #urban fantasy #creative writing

3 notes · View notes

chiseler · 4 years

Text

The Chiseler Interviews Tim Lucas

Born in 1956, film historian, novelist and screenwriter Tim Lucas is the author of several books, including the award-winning Mario Bava: All the Colors of the Dark, The Book of Renfield: A Gospel of Dracula, and Throat Sprockets. He launched Video Watchdog magazine in 1990, and his screenplay, The Man With Kaleidoscope Eyes, has been optioned by Joe Dante. He lives in Cincinnati with his wife Donna.

The following interview was conducted via email.

THE CHISELER: You're known for your longstanding love affair with horror films. Could you perhaps explain this allure they hold for you?

Tim Lucas: I suppose they’ve meant different things to me at different times of my life. When I was very young (and I started going to movies at my local theater alone, when I was about six), I was attracted to them as something fun but also as a means of overcoming my fears - I would sometimes go to see the same movie again until I could stop hiding my eyes, and I would often find out they showed me a good deal less than I saw behind my hands, so I learned that when I was hiding my eyes my own imagination took over. This encouraged me to look, but also to impose my own imagination on what I was seeing. Similarly, I remember flinching at pictures of various monsters in FAMOUS MONSTERS OF FILMLAND magazine, then realizing that, as I became able to stop flinching, to look more deeply into the pictures, I began to feel compassion for Karloff’s Frankenstein Monster and admiration for Jack Pierce’s makeup. You could say that I learned some valuable life lessons from this: not to make snap judgements, not to hate or fear someone else because they looked different. I should also point out that beauty had the same intense effect on me as ugliness, in those early days at the movies. I was as frightened by the glowing light promising another appearance by the Blue Fairy in PINOCCHIO as I was by Stromboli or Monstro the Whale. I also covered my eyes when things, even colors, became too beautiful to bear.

As I got older, I found out that horror, science fiction, and fantasy films often told the unpleasant truths about our world, our government, our politics, and other people, before such things could be openly confronted in straightforward drama. So I’m not one of those people who are drawn to horror by gore or some other superficial incentive; I have always responded to them because they made me aware of unpopular truths, because they made me a more empathic person, and because they sometimes encompass a very unusual form of beauty that you can’t find in reality or in any other kind of film.

THE CHISELER: I'm fascinated by what you term "a very specific hybrid of beauty that you can’t find in reality or in any other kind of film.” Please develop that point.

Tim Lucas: For example, the aesthetic put forward by the films of David Lynch... or Tim Burton... or Mario Bava... or Roger Corman... or Val Lewton... or James Whale... or F.W. Murnau. It's incredibly varied, really; too varied to be summarized by a single name, but it's dark and baroque with a broader, deeper spectrum of color. I’ll give you an example: there is a Sax Rohmer novel called YELLOW SHADOWS - and only in a horror film can you see truly yellow shadows. Or green shadows. Or a fleck of red light on a vine somewhere out of doors. It’s a painterly version of reality, akin to what people see in film noir but even more psychological. It might be described as a visible confirmation of how the past survives in everything - we can see new artists quoting from a past master, making their essence their own.

THE CHISELER: Your definition of horror, to me, goes straight to the heart of cinema as an almost metaphysical phenomenon. My friend and frequent co-writer, Jennifer Matsui, once wrote: "Celluloid preserves the dead better than any embalming fluid. Like amber preserved holograms, they flit in and out of its parameters, reciting their own epitaphs in pantomime; revenant moths trapped in perpetual motion." Do Italian directors have what I guess you can call special epiphanies to offer? If so, does this help explain your Bava book?

Tim Lucas: The epiphanies of Italian horror all arise from the culture that was inculcated into those filmmakers as young people - the awareness of architecture, painting, writing, myth, legend, music, sculpture that they all grow up with. It's so much richer than any films that can be made by people with no foundation in the other art forms, people who makes movies just because they've seen a few - and maybe cannot even be bothered to watch any in black and white. I imagine many people go into the film business for reasons having to do with sex or power rather than having something deep down they need to express. The most stupid Italian and French directors have infinitely more in their artistic arsenals than directors from the USA, because they are brought up with an awareness of the importance of the Arts. No one gets this in America, where we slash arts and education budgets and many parents just sit their children in front of a television. Without supervision, without a sense of context, they will inevitably be drawn to whatever is loudest or most colorful or whatever has the most edits per minute. And those kids are now making blockbusters. They make money, so why screw with the formula? When I was a kid, it was still possible to find important, nurturing material on TV - fortunately!

Does it explain my Bava book? I don't know, but Bava's films somehow encouraged and sustained the passion that saw me through the researching and writing of that book, which took 32 years. When my book first came out, some people took me to task for its presumed excess - on the grounds that “our great directors” like John Ford and Orson Welles, for all their greatness, had never inspired a book of such size or magnitude. I could only answer that my love for my subject must be greater. But the thing about the Bava book, really, was that - at that time - the playing field was pretty much virgin territory in English, and Bava as a worker in the Italian film industry touched just about everything that industry had encompassed. All of those relationships needed charting. It would have been an insult to merely pigeonhole him as a horror director.

THE CHISELER: I discovered your publication, Video Watchdog, back in 2000 when Kim's Video was something of an underground institution here in NYC. I mean, they openly hawked bootlegs. There was a real sense of finding the unexpected which gave the place a genuine mystique. Now that you've had some time to reflect on its heyday, what are your thoughts, generally, on VW?

Tim Lucas: It's hard to explain to someone who just caught on in 2000, when things were already very different and more incorporated. VIDEO WATCHDOG began in 1990 as a magazine, but before that it was a feature in other magazines of different sorts that began in 1986. At that time, I was reviewing VHS releases for a Chicago-based magazine called VIDEO MOVIES, which then had a title change to VIDEO TIMES. I pointed out to my editor that his writers were reviewing the films and not saying anything about their presentation on video, and urged him to make more of a mandate about discussing aspect ratios, missing scenes (or added scenes) and such. I proposed that I write a column that would start collecting such information and that column was called "The Video Watchdog.”

In 2000, VW's origins in Beta and VHS and LaserDisc had evolved to DVD and Blu-ray was on the point of being introduced, so by then most of the battles we identified and fought had already been won and assimilated into the way movies were being presented on video. But in our early days, my fellow writers and I - were making our readers aware of filmmakers like Bava, Argento, Avati, Franco, Rollin, Ptushko, Zuławski - and the conversation we started led to people seeking out these films through non-official channels, even forming those non-official channels, until the larger companies began to realize there was an exploitable market there. Our coverage was never limited to horror - horror was sort of the hub of our interest, which radiated out into the works of any filmmaker whose work seemed in some way paranormal - everyone from Powell and Pressburger to Ishiro Honda to Krzystof Kiesłowski.

Now that the magazine is behind me, I can see more easily that we were part of a process, perhaps an integral part, of identifying and disseminating some very arcane information and, by sharing our own processes of discovery, raising the general consciousness about innumerable marginal and maverick filmmakers. A lot of our readers went on to become filmmakers (some already were) and many also went on to form home video companies or work in the business.

I'm proud of what we were able to achieve, and that what were written as timely reports have endured as still useful, still relevant criticism. Magazines tend to be snapshots of the present, and our back issues have that aspect, but our readers still tell me that the work is holding up, it’s not getting old.

When I say "we," I mean numerous writers who shared my pretentious ethic and were able to push genre criticism beyond the dismissive critical writing about genre film that was standard in 1990. I mentioned this state of things in my first editorial, that the gore approach wasn’t encouraging anyone to take horror as a genre more seriously, and I do think horror became more respectable over the years we were publishing.

THE CHISELER: My own personal touchstone, Raymond Durgnat, drilled deep into genre — particularly horror films — while pushing back instinctively against the Auteur Theory. No critic will ever write with more infatuated precision about Barbara Steele, whose image graces the cover of your Bava tome. Do you have any personal favorites in that regard; any individual author or works that acted as a kind of Virgil for you?

Tim Lucas: I haven't read Durgnat extensively, but when I discovered him in the 1970s his books FRANJU and A MIRROR FOR ENGLAND were gospel to me. Tom Milne's genre reviews for MONTHLY FILM BULLETIN were always intelligent and well-informed. Ivan Butler’s HORROR IN THE CINEMA was the first real book I read on the subject, along with HITCHCOCK/TRUFFAUT - and I remember focusing on Butler’s chapter on REPULSION, an entire fascinating chapter on a single film, which I hadn’t actually seen. It showed me the film and also how to watch it, so that when it finally came to my local television station, I was ready to meet it head on. David Pirie’s books A HERITAGE OF HORROR and THE VAMPIRE CINEMA I read to pieces. But it was Joe Dante's sometimes uncredited writing in CASTLE OF FRANKENSTEIN magazine that first hooked my interest in this direction - followed by the earliest issues of CINEFANTASTIQUE, which I discovered with their third issue and for which I became a regular reviewer and correspondent in 1972. I continued to write for them for the next 11 years.

THE CHISELER: I was wondering how you responded to these periodic shifts in taste and sexual politics, especially as they address horror movies — or even something like feminist critiques of the promiscuity of rage against women evident all throughout Giallo; the fear of female agency and power which is never too far from the surface. Are sexism, and even homophobia, simply inherent to the genre?

Tim Lucas: None of that really matters very much to me. I've been around so long now, I can see these recurring waves of people trying to catch their own wave of time, to make an imprint on it in some way. For some reason, I find myself annoyed by newish labels like "folk horror" and "J-horror" because such films have been with us forever; they didn't need such identification before and they have only been invented to get us more quickly to a point, and sometimes these au courant labels simply rebrand work without bringing anything substantially new to the discussion. Every time I read an article about the giallo film, I have to suffer through another explanation of what it is - and this is a genre whose busiest time frame was half a century ago. Sexism and homophobia are things people generally only understand in terms of the now, and I don’t know how fair it is to apply such concepts to films made so long ago. Think of Maria’s torrid dance in METROPOLIS and all those ravenous young men in tuxedos eating her with their eyes. Sexist, yes - but that’s not the point Lang was making.

I don’t particularly see myself as normal, but I suppose I am centrist in most ways. I don’t bring an agenda to the films I write about, other than wanting them to be as complete and beautifully restored as possible. That said, I am interested in, say, feminist takes on giallo films or homosexual readings of Herman Cohen films because - after all - we all bring ourselves to the movies, and if there’s more to be learned about a film I admire, from outside my own experience, that can be precious information. I want to know it and see if I can agree with it, or even if it causes me to feel something new and unfamiliar about it.

My only real concern is that genre criticism tends to be either academic or conversational (even colloquial), and we’re now at a point where the points made by articles published 20 or more years ago are coming back presented as new information, without any idea (or concern) that these things have already been said. As magazines are going by the wayside, taking their place is talk on social media, which is not really disciplined or constructive, nor indeed easily retrievable for reference. There are also audio commentaries on DVD and Blu-ray discs. Fortunately, there are a number of good and serious people doing these, but even when you get very intelligent or intellectual commentators, they often work best with the movie image turned off, because it’s a distraction from what’s being said. Is that true commentary? I'm not an academic; I’m an autodidact, so I don't have the educational background to qualify as a true intellectual, and I feel left out by a lot of academic writing. I do read a good deal and have familiarity with a fair range of topics, so I tend to frame myself somewhere between the vox populist and academia. That's the area we pursued in VW.

THE CHISELER: David Cairns and I once published a critical appreciation of Giallo, using fundamentally Roman Catholic misogyny — and, to a lesser extent, fear of gay men — as an intriguing lens. For example, lesbians are invariably sinister figures in these movies, while straight women ultimately function as nothing more than cinematographic objects: very fetishized, very well-lit corpses, you might say.

Tim Lucas: See, I admire a lot of giallo films but it would never occur to me to see them through a lens. I do, of course, because personal experience is a lens, but my lens is who I am and I’ve never had to fight for or defend my right to be who I am. I have no particular flag to wave in these matters; I approach everything from the stance of a film historian or as a humanist.

There is a lot of crossdressing and such in giallo, but these are tropes going back to French fin de siècle thrillers of the early 1900s, they don't really have anything to do with homophobia as we perceive it in our time. In the Fantomas novels, Souvestre and Allain (the authors) used to continually deceive their readers by having their characters - the good and the evil ones - change disguises, and sometimes apparently change sexes.

I remember Dario Argento saying that he used homosexual characters in his films because he was interested in their problems. He seldom actually explored their problems, and their portrayal in his earliest films is… quaint, to be kind about it… but it was a positive change as time played out. I think the fact that Argento’s flamboyant style attracted gay fans brought them more into his orbit and the vaguely sinister gay characters of his early films become more three dimensional and sympathetic later on, so in that regard his attention to such characters charts his own gradual embracing of them. So in a sense they chart his own widening embrace of the world, which is surprising considering what a misanthropic view of the world he presents.

THE CHISELER: But Giallo is roughly contemporaneous to the rise of Second Wave Feminism. Like the Michael & Roberta Findlay 'roughies', this is not a fossilized species of extinct male anger we're talking about here. Women's bodies are the energy of pictorial composition; splayed specifically for the delectation of some very confused and pissed off men in the audience. I know of no exceptions. To me it makes perfect sense to recognize the ritualized stabbings, stranglings, the BDSM hijinks in Giallo as rather obvious symptoms of somebody's not-so-latent fear and hatred.

Tim Lucas: I think that’s a modernist attitude that was not all that present at the time. Once the MPAA ratings system was introduced in late 1968, all genres of films got stronger in terms of graphic violence and language, and suspense thrillers were no exception. At the time, women and gay people were feeling freer, freer to be themselves, and were not looking for new ways to be taken out of films, however they might be represented. Neither base really had that power anyway at that time, but at any rate it wasn’t a time for them to appear more conservative. That would come at a later period when they felt more assured and confident in their equality. Throughout the 1960s, even in 1969 films like THE WRECKING CREW and BEYOND THE VALLEY OF THE DOLLS, you can see that women are still playthings of a sort in films; there are starting to be more honest portrayals of women in films like HUD, but the prevailing emphasis of them is still decorative, so it makes sense that they would be no different in a thriller setting. There’s no arguing, I don’t think, that the murder scenes become more thrilling when the victim is a beautiful, voluptuous woman. It’s nothing to do with misogyny but rather about wanting to induce excitement from the viewer. If you look back to Janet Leigh’s character arc in PSYCHO, the exact same thing happens to her, but because she’s a well-developed character and time is given to explore that character and her goals and motivations, there is no question that it is a role women would want to play, even now. However, the same simply isn’t true of most giallo victims, which should not be seen as one of their rules but as one of their faults. In BLOOD AND BLACK LACE, I think Mario Bava shows us just enough of the women characters for us to have some investment in their fates - but when the giallo films are in the hands of sausage makers, you’re going to feel a sense of misogyny. It may be real but it may also be misanthropy or a more commercial mandate to pack more into a film and to sex it up. I should add that, because I’m not a woman or gay, I don’t bring personal sensitivities to these things, so I see them as something that just comes with the territory, like shoot-outs in Westerns. If you were to expunge anything that was objectionable from a giallo film, wouldn’t it be just another cop show or Agatha Christie episode? You watch a giallo film because, on some level, you want to see something with the hope of some emotional or aesthetic involvement, or with the hope of being outraged and offended. There is no end of mystery entertainment without giallo tropes, so it’s there if you demand that. Giallo films aren’t really about who done it, only figuratively; they are lessons in how to stage murder scenes and probably would not exist without the master painting of PSYCHO’s shower scene, which they all seek to emulate.

THE CHISELER: You mentioned Val Lewton earlier. Personally, I've never encountered anything like the overall tone of his films. There's always something startling to see and hear. Would you shed a little light on his importance?

Tim Lucas: He's an almost unique figure in film in that he was a producer yet he projected an auteur-like imprint on all his works. The horror films for which he's best known are not quite like any other films of their kind; I remember Telotte's book DREAMS OF DARKNESS using the word "vesperal" to describe the Lewton films' specific atmosphere - a word pertaining to the mood of evening prayer services, which isn't a bad way of putting it. I've always loved them for their delicacy, their poetical sense, their literary quality, and their indirectness - which sometimes co-exists with sources of florid garishness, like the woman with the maracas in THE LEOPARD MAN. In THE SEVENTH VICTIM, one shy character characterizes the heroine's visit to his apartment as her "advent into his world," and when I first saw it, I was struck by the almost spiritual tenderness and vulnerability of that description. Lewton was remarkable because he seems to have worked in horror because it was below the general studio radar, which allowed him to make extremely personal films. As long as they checked the necessary boxes, he could make the films he wanted - and I think Mario Bava learned that exact lesson from him.

THE CHISELER: I've always been fascinated by a question which is probably unanswerable: Why do you think it is that movies based on Edgar Allan Poe stories — even those films that only just pretend to sink roots in Poe, offering glib riffs on his prose at best — invariably bear fruit?

Tim Lucas: Poe's writings predate the study of human psychology and, to an extent, chart it - so he can be credited with founding a wing of science much like Jules Verne's writings were the foundation of science fiction and, later, science fact. Also, from the little we know of Poe's personal life, his writing was extremely personal and autobiographical, which makes it all the more compelling and resonant. It's also remarkably flexible in the way it lends itself to adaptation - there is straight Poe, comic Poe, arty Poe, even Poeless Poe. It helps too that a lot of people familiar with him haven't read him extensively, at least not since school, or think they have read him because they've seen so many Poe movies. The sheer range of approaches taken to his adaptation makes him that much more universal.

It also occurs to me that people are probably much more alike internally than they are externally, so the identification with an internal or first person narrator may be more immediate. But it's true that his work has inspired a fascinating variety of interpretation. You can see this at work in a single film: SPIRITS OF THE DEAD (1968), which I’ve written an entire book about. It’s three stories done by Roger Vadim, Louis Malle, and Federico Fellini - all vastly different, all terribly personal expressions of the men who made them.

THE CHISELER: Speaking of Poe adaptations, I've long thought it's time to confront Roger Corman's legacy; as an artist, a producer, an industrial muse, everything. Sometimes I think he's the single most important figure in cinema history. And if that's a wild overstatement, I could stand my ground somewhat and point out that no one person ever supported independent filmmakers with such profound results. It's as though he used his position at a mainstream Hollywood studio to open a kind of Underground Railroad for two generations of film artists. He gave so many artists a leg up in a business where those kinds of opportunities were never exactly abundant that it's hard to keep track. Entering the subject from any angle you like, what are your thoughts on Corman's overall contribution to cinema?

Tim Lucas: I can think of more important filmmakers than Corman, but there has never been a more important producer or mogul or facilitator of films. I said this while introducing him on the first of our two-night interview at the St. Louis Film Festival’s Vincentennial in 2011. He was largely responsible for every trend in American cinema during its most decisive quarter century - 1955 through 1980, and to some extent a further decade still, which bore an enormous influx of talent he discovered and nurtured. People talk about Irving Thalberg, Darryl F. Zanuck, Steven Spielberg, etc. - but their productions don’t begin to show the sheer diversity of interests that you get from Corman’s output. He has no real counterpart. I’ve spent a lot of the past 20 years musing on him, first as the protagonist of a comedy script I wrote with Charlie Largent called THE MAN WITH KALEIDOSCOPE EYES, which Joe Dante has optioned. A few years ago, I decided to turn the script into a novel, which is with my agent now. It’s about the time period before, during, and after the making of THE TRIP (1966). It's a comedy but one with a serious, even philosophical side.

You know, Mario Bava once described himself to someone as “the Italian Roger Corman.” It’s incredible to me that Bava would have said that, not because it’s wrong or even because he was a total filmmaker before Corman made his first picture, but because Bava has been dead for so long! He’s been gone now almost 40 years and Roger is still making movies. And he’s been making movies for the DTV market longer than anybody, so he sort of predicted the current exodus of new movies away from theaters to streaming formats.

THE CHISELER: Are there any other producers/distributors you'd care to acknowledge, anyone that you think has followed in what you might call Corman’s Tradition of Generosity?

Tim Lucas: No, I really think he is incomparable in that respect. I do think it’s important to note, however, that I doubt Roger was ever purely motivated by generosity of spirit. I don’t think he would put money or his trust in anyone merely as a favor. He’s a businessman to his core and his gambles have always been based on projects that are likely to improve on his investment, even if moderately. I have a feeling that the first dollar he ever made is still in circulation, floating around out there bringing something new into being. I also don’t think he would give anyone their big break unless they had earned that break already in some respect. And when he does extend that opportunity, he’s got to know that, when these people graduate from his company, he’ll be sacrificing their talent, their camaraderie, maybe even in some cases their gratitude. So yes, there is some generosity in that aspect - but he also knows from experience that there are always new top students looking to extend their educations on the job. I wish more people in the film business had his selflessness, his ability to recognize and encourage talent. It may be his greatest legacy.

THE CHISELER: You introduced me, many years ago, to Mill of the Stone Women — I'll end on a personal note by thanking you and asking: Would you share an insight or two about this remarkable gem, particularly for readers who may not have seen it?

Tim Lucas: MILL OF THE STONE WOMEN was probably my first exposure to Italian horror; I saw it as a child, more than once, on local television and there were things about it that haunted and disturbed me, though I didn't understand it. Perhaps that's why it haunted and disturbed me, but the image of Helfy's hands clutching the red velvet curtains stayed with me for decades (a black and white memory) until I got to see it on VHS - I paid $59.95 for the privilege because my video store told me they would not be stocking it. It's a very peculiar film because Giorgio Ferroni wasn't a director who favored horror; the "Flemish Tales" that it's supposedly based on is non-existent, a Lovecraftian meta-invention, and it's the only Italian horror filmed in that particular region in the Netherlands. It looks more Germanic than Italian. I’m tempted to believe Bava may have had a hand in doing the special effects shot, which look like his work, but they might also have been done by his father Eugenio, as he was also a wax figure sculptor so would have been good to have on hand. He seldom took screen credit. So it's a film that has stayed with me because it's elusive; it's hard to find the slot where it belongs. It's like an adult fairy tale, or something out of E.T.A. Hoffmann. I can’t tell you how many hours I’ve wasted, trying to find another movie with the unique spell cast by that one.

4 notes · View notes

oc-rehab-centre · 5 years

Text

OC Design Basics #1 - Colour Palettes

Every part of an original character, fandom or non-fandom, humanoid or animalian, is important to the bigger picture. Your original character is like a mosaic or a puzzle, every piece is crucial to having a “good” character: personality, backstory, relationships, etc., you know the deal. But today we’re going to discuss: the importance of OC design, common mistakes and what you can do to fix them.

Now, this isn’t a post made only to talk about how OC fame/attention is linked to OC design… Which is really isn’t, and I hope that’s clear! This isn’t a tutorial on how to get famous either, but rather a collection of information and tips meant to help you! This is also geared towards a younger audience - so some things are pretty obvious.

Alrighty then, let’s get into this~

Importance of Design

We all know the idiom “don’t judge a book by its cover”: which discourages people to prejudge something’s overall worth from a mere first glance, positive or negative. However, when it comes to characters, you’ll often see the images before you see their biography or information and get to know the nitty-gritty information about them.

It’s pretty superficial, but first impressions can make or break your OC’s popularity and reception, but alas, that is just human nature. If you have a fandom OC; how well your OC’s design blends in with the existing cast, or how much they stand out against them can reel in an intrigued audience. Your OC’s design is just one of many factors which may bring you an audience, or leave you with just a small one - but shove aside that notion and let’s focus on what’s actually important.

A good OC is congruent, with all the little pieces working together naturally to tell your OC’s story and fit with aspects of their personality in a way that doesn’t feel forced. Their appearance should reflect things about them, and give the audience an idea as to what they are like from a first glance or two. It’s a challenge, but as you grow more experienced, it becomes easier. However, some help along the way is always nice, and that’s why we’re here!

In this tip & tutorial post, I’m mostly going to cover more natural colours and make your OC look more, well, “original”! Of course as always, these are just opinions, and you are just as entitled to your own as I am to mine! Also, I’ll be talking about more common mistakes I’ve seen several young artists and creators make, so if you’re new to OC creation, here’s some tips from someone whose been doing too much of this kinda thing!

I will not be covering facial features and shapes here, but perhaps I will in the near future??? This mostly focuses on colours!

For this tutorial, by the way, I used a colouring page found HERE. I’m not entirely sure if this is the original artist, nor is the original artist credited. If you ever find the source and wanna let us here at @oc-rehab-centre know, that’d be just dandy!

Common Mistake #1 - Hair Colours/Styles

If you’ve browsed the undiscovered page of DeviantART, you may find yourself browsing the work of younger creators. It is always wonderful to see young artists working to produce their own characters, but it’s a shame to say that most OC creators can determine or guess your age range and experience from the way you design characters, or perhaps an inability to credit base makers lmao.

What I see a lot on DeviantART when it comes down to hair colour is often… unstimulating. Hair colours like black and oversaturated colours are often used, perhaps due to a lack of understanding the colour wheel of infinite possibilities or how to make colours beyond what they can find in their box of 24 Crayola coloured pencils.

When it comes to OC design, you want to try your best to avoid black and bright, bright colours that are hard on the eyes unless absolutely necessary and essential to your character.

Black hair can easily be substituted for other dark and natural colours, like shades of brown or red. Heck, there are entire charts of natural hair colours online you can browse.

Blinding shades of red, green, blue, etc. can all be made easier on the eyes by simply mellowing or darkening the colour. Perhaps you might settle for pastel hues, or a darker and less saturated tone. Both your eyes and the eyes of your viewers will thank you for making something other than pitch-black or a vibrant hot magenta!

Hopefully this little diagram shows what a difference a bit of playing around with your colour wheel can do! Now time to address another common trope in OC creation when it comes to hair: hair styles.

A very common hairstyle that you see is the hair over one eye. OCs with their bangs draped down over one eye. TV Tropes discusses this infamous design cliche as a way of symbolizing sexuality, shyness, solidarity or powerful [HERE].. However, most OCs with this hairstyle are not always explained and if it is, it’s done poorly, making it seem as though a) the creator was merely going for a run-of-the-mill edgy look with their character OR b) they just can’t draw the other eye.

While having an OC who's a bit on the edgy and badass side is cool and all, it is a trope to avoid. I went through a phase of having my hair over one eye in my elementary days but trust me, it’s not a very practical hairstyle, and it’s certainly not very stylish if your bangs are all scraggly too. If you have chosen this hairstyle to avoid drawing the other eye, just take the leap! You’re not going to improve unless you push yourself to experiment with new hairstyles, of which there are many!

Finding other hairstyles to use for your OC is as simple as browsing the Internet. There are countless of video and written tutorials to watch on how to draw hair styles, all of which are arguably more appealing and interesting than that mock of edgy bangs. If you are striving for an edgy character, there are other ways to show that in their design than simply such an ill-mannered hairstyle!

Credit: doggerland

Common Mistake #2 - Eyes/Facial Scars

Much like hair colours, overly-saturated colours can ruin eyes when they seem out of place. You can have an OC with natural coloured hair, a good colour palette and then oh wait - an eye colour that doesn’t really fit. I’ve seen many young creators using eye colours that really don’t exist and look very unnatural, clashing with their character’s design.

Like with hair, a certain number of natural eye colours exist. Even if you’re bending from natural eye colours, avoid using saturated shades or shades that are just too dark. You can get some nice and more natural colours by playing around with your colour wheel. You can be bold without using such assaulting colours! XD

Another common trope derived from anime and gaming are scars. I know I was mostly going to discuss colours here, but like hairstyles, it’s something worth addressing!Once again, I’m gonna make reference to TV Tropes’ article. The most common scars include:

A cut over one eye

A claw mark (usually three or four even gashes on the chest or face)

Any of the Standard Bleeding Spots

Any scar shaped like an X.

A scar on the face that happened in a sword duel.

Credit: TV Tropes

Regardless of the universe, fandom or non-fandom, scars may add to your character’s story, but it takes a lot to make a scar on the face seem original. I’m personally not a fan of OCs with scars on their face, since it’s often not acknowledged or even drawn in a way that is realistic.

For example, getting slashed across the eye with a sword or blade would not leave a clean scar and a pearly, blinded eye, as we often see in anime. It would look nasty and it would look as disabling as it feels, so when people don’t abide to the very nature of how the human body heals, it irks me a little bit.

My tip here would be to avoid scars that go over the eye unless you’re going to do it right. Research the injuries if you don’t have a weak stomach, and see what injuries like that would really look like. Overall, facial scars are also something you should steer away from. Important scars can go elsewhere, you know! There’s more to your OC’s body than just their face.

Scars also come in more shapes than just 3-4 animal claw marks, burns from abusive parents or straight-lined sword scars. Scars come in different shapes and sizes. Some are hypertrophic/raised while others are flat and just sort of look like birthmarks upon healing. Are you willing to give up your action-packed duel scene and settle for a more realistic scar for your OC? It’ll help in the long run if you’re aiming for accuracy.

Common Mistake #3 - Colour Palettes

Oh goodness you guys have probably heard enough about me yammering about colour. But hey - this tip post is mostly about the importance of colour. This here is the last major tip for designing your OC. This will be the last part of this post, and I apologize for this being a bit of a mess! I was trying to keep this one as general as possible!

ANYWAYS-

Colour palettes are essential to a character! I hope that’s ingrained in your brain at this point because it really is! Their wardrobe should reflect their personality and should be carefully considered as well. Too many times have I seen colour palettes that just do not work at all with the character’s attire nor their apparent personality.

Using the girl who has been our base for examples in this post, let’s take a look at her attire. A baggy hat, a bandanna around her neck, a sweater, fingerless gloves and a layered skirt. This is rather cutesy attire and while perhaps you could argue that a pink and teal getup or an edgelord black and rainbow outfit could work, there are palettes that might fit this character a little better.

Pastel colours fit better with this style of dressing. It feels more correct to have the four palettes on the right than the two on the left. This is the effect your colour choices have on how pleasing your character looks to the eye.

And that is all!

We hope you enjoyed this tip post! Likes, reblogs and follows are always appreciated. Some aspects of OC design were not covered here, especially the important stuff that more experienced creators would’ve wanted to see like how to make face, eye, nose, etc. shapes more unique and clothing design. I’ll try to ensure that gets covered in the future, as I said before, but I hope that those that read this enjoyed it!

#General #Multifandom #Non Fandom #Multifandom OC #Non Fandom OC #OC Help #OC Review

4 notes · View notes

twistofpayne · 6 years

Text

constant star - narry/lirry

Word count: 3k

Pairings: Narry with a lil bit of Lirry.

This heavily based on an O. Henry short story, and minorly based on my favorite Walt Whitman poem.

Niall is thirteen.

The dilapidated sedan crawls to a halt a quarter mile past the moor’s eastern gate. Bobby turns around in the driver’s seat, one hand braced against the headrest of the passenger seat, and nods once to each of them. “Meet me back here at 9 o’clock sharp, boys. Niall? Got your watch?”

Grinning with every inch of his mouth, Niall points to the wristwatch dangling from his left arm, just a little too big for his thin, preteen wrists. “9 o’clock!” he repeats.

“Good. And, Harry... don’t tell your mum I’m letting you boys do this.”

Niall can hear a snatch of Harry’s delirious giggle before they each open their doors and tumble out of the back seat.

Harry grabs his pack first from the car’s boot and hauls it to the ground. Niall can hear the tent poles clatter as it hits the ground with enough impact to send a pillow of dusty grit into the air. He squats to the ground and threads his hands through the straps, then tries to stand up. Instead of straightening up, he immediately keels forward, staggered by the top-heavy weight of the pack.

Niall bellows out a laugh and rushes to help Harry up. “Here,” he says as he grabs the top handle of the canvas pack and hefts upward with all his might. Harry follows his momentum and in half a second stands tall and earnest next to Niall, his triumphant grin threatening to outshine the sun.

“Now help me,” Niall says. He leaves his pack in the boot and rotates it so the straps face outward. He pulls them over his shoulders and leans forward while Harry pushes up. “There!” he says at last. They both turn to face Bobby.

“Got the sandwiches? And the torches?” Bobby asks. Niall nods. It’s the first time Bobby’s allowing them to go on their annual camping trip by themselves. He’s been doing this since he was five and his parents divorced, and brought Harry since he was eight. Besides, it’s only one night beneath the stars.

Just one night, he thinks later when he and Harry have rolled out their sleeping bags, close enough to the fire to feel its warmth but far enough that the sparks don’t threaten their nylon bags. He and Harry lie head-to-head on their backs, head cushioned by folded hands, staring upward at the astonishingly wide sky above them.

Niall could probably spend all night staring into the heavens. They’re lucky that the moor is secluded enough for even the Milky Way to be visible, a pearly ribbon of cerulean against the navy expanse. He knows all the summer constellations by heart. He points them out to Harry, who seems to forget each summer until Niall’s finger traces the celestial figures for him every trip.

“And that’s Draco, see? You can’t see that one if you’re in the city.”

He hears Harry tilt his head to follow the path of Niall’s index finger. “Which one’s your favourite?“

“Favourite?” Niall lets his arm drop to the side while he widens his eyes to drink in the night sky blanketing them. Then he points to the direction of six o’clock. “Bootes. Because it’s called Bootes.”

Harry chuckles at that, and the two fall silent. After a moment, Harry lifts his hand and points somewhere above him and to his left. “I have a favourite star. It’s that one.”

Niall cranes his neck to look where Harry’s pointing, but there’s no specific constellation in that part of the sky. Just an infinite pool of stars. “That bright one?” he asks, trying to follow Harry’s light of sight.

“Nah. Just below it, and to the left.”

Squinting, Niall studies the star, trying to understand what drew Harry’s attention. “Why?” he asks.

He feels, rather than sees, Harry shrug. “I just like it. I’ve decided to name it Francine.”

Niall stops craning his neck and cradles his hands back beneath his head. “You’re so fuckin’ weird sometimes, Haz.”

There’s a long silence that amplifies with its duration, and Niall wishes he could take it back. “Am I, Niall?”

Anyone else would have said those words sarcastically, but Harry’s tone is faint and earnest, befuddled. Niall knows this isn’t the first time Harry’s heard someone say that to him, but this time he actually takes it seriously. And the thought rises like bile in Niall’s throat. He doesn’t want Harry to change. He doesn’t want Harry to be any different.

“Yeah, but that’s why we’re friends,” Niall says forcefully. And he means it.

There’s another long silence, and Niall wonders if he should say something else to assuage Harry, but Harry is again the first to speak.

“I’ve decided my star isn’t a girl. His name is Liam,” he announces.

Niall is fifteen.

The sky isn’t as clear this time. They picked a spot too close to a village, and the Milky Way is invisible, but Draco and Hercules still watch over them as they pass a stolen bottle of whiskey back and forth. It scorches Niall’s throat and burns his eyes, but it’s theirs for the taking.

“Look, there he -- hic -- is,” Harry hiccups as he hands the bottle back to Niall. He points a shaky hand to the eastern sky. “Liam, just like last year.”

Niall takes a slosh and wipes his watering eyes before looking upward. “I swear you pick a new star every year,” he slurs.

“‘Course not,” Harry says. He eyes the bottle of whiskey and then shakes his head when Niall offers it to him. “No more.” He looks back up into the sky. “I told you he was my favourite. Not flashy. Burning away up there. Billions of miles away.”

“Whatever. Have you got any more Jaffa cakes? I’m starved.”

But after Harry swoons forward, sodden with whiskey, and Niall tucks him into his sleeping bag, he makes a note on his star chart.

And sure enough, the next year, Harry points out the same seemingly insignificant star.

Niall is eighteen.

It's the first time that Niall drives them instead of Bobby. He brings a pack of smokes that Harry won't touch, and a bottle of whiskey that they didn't have to steal this time.

"Greg's being a fuckin' twat," he spits out around the cig as the dusk draws around them.

Harry makes a noise between a harrumph and a grunt. "You don't need a brother when you've got Josh and Cal," he says. A pause. "And me."

Niall takes a drag on the cig, coughs, and tosses it aside. "These are shit," he says. "I shoulda listened to you."

He hears, rather than sees, Harry's satisfied smirk. "Thought I was a fuckin' weirdo."

"You are," Niall says. "Don't make me flick this cig at you."

They lapse into an easy silence while night falls. It's cloudy this time, not many stars except the few that manage to peek out at the horizon. Venus shines to the west and Niall fixes his gaze on it, like it's an anchor in a storm.

Harry takes a draught of the whiskey bottle and passes it to Niall. "Here, a vice I approve of."

"You're back on whiskey, then? Thought you gave it up after that camping trip three years ago."

Harry leans back to settle into his sleeping bag. "Ah, Niall, I've matured, see."

It's Niall's turn to harrumph, but he takes the whiskey and pours himself a healthy splash.

"Taylor didn't want me to come this year," Harry's voice floats up from below Niall.

He lets out a long, slow breath and shakes his head. "I know you like her, but shit, Harry--"

"We broke up."

"Oh." The silence fills Niall more than the liquor. "Shit."

"Yeah. 'Ts for the best."

Niall leans back to rest his head beside Harry's, their feet aiming in opposite directions. He lifts his shot glass. "To Taylor, then."

Harry lifts his hand to hold an invisible cup. "Nah. To Liam, wherever he's burning tonight."

Niall shakes his head, but can't wipe the smile from his face. "Fuckin' weird."

Niall is twenty-one.

"I got you a graduation gift for finishing uni," Harry says as they roll out their sleeping mats beside the fire. "You're gonna love it."

"Christ, if you got me another essential oil--"

"Ta-da!" Harry whips a bottle of Clynelish 12-year single malt scotch from his backpack. "Thought we'd go posh tonight."

Niall laughs. "Jesus, well, it's better than a kale smoothie." He dusts his knees off and sinks onto the top of his nylon bag. "I got you something, too." His voice nearly shakes with excitement. He hadn't told Harry that he'd snuck in an elective astronomy course at uni, though it had nothing to do with his International Affairs degree. He sits up and digs through his pack, looking for a folded manila envelope. He grins to himself as he pulls it from pack’s innards and smooths it against his lap before handing it to Harry.

“Oh wow, paper!” Harry says in mock enthusiasm. He switches on his headlamp (the red light, of course, so as to not ruin their star-gazing eyes to the light) and unsheathes a thick cardstock from the outer envelope.

Niall scoots closer to Harry, who bends his neck closer to the paper to read it. He points out a star map in the center of the page. “See? It’s Liam.”

Harry doesn’t answer. He continues staring at the page, glowing scarlet in the light of his headlamp, and Niall’s grin falters. “I adopted it,” he explains hurriedly. “You can adopt a star. Liam is 226K-421G, located at coordinates 18h 36m 56s and 38º 47' 01". I adopted it for you, Harry.”

In response, Harry slowly slides the sheaf back into the envelope and clicks off the headlamp. Niall stares at Harry in the sudden darkness, confused and slightly offended.

“Niall... thanks. But...” Harry trails off, then lifts his chin to stare back up into the sky, avoiding Niall’s gaze. “I don’t really want 226K-421G. I prefer Liam.”

“Okay,” Niall says numbly, mostly to fill the silence rather than indicate acknowledgment of Harry’s quiet refusal. Then, “I learned about it in my astronomy course. I calculated the coordinates myself.”

“That’s really cool, Nialler.” It’s a testament to their friendship that Niall knows Harry means it. He’s not one to say anything he doesn’t mean. “Uni-level astronomy, that must have been hard.”

“It was,” Niall says, once more leaning back to line on his sleepsack, trying to swallow his disappointment with another swill of whiskey. “I learned so much, though. Like, you’ve heard that the universe is expanding and every galaxy is zooming away from us every second?”

Harry, too, collapses back against his sleeping bag. “Yeah, Gemma told me that once.”

“Well, it’s not really like that. They’re not really moving away from us, so much as the space between us and them is getting bigger. And some day, the space between us is gonna be so big that we'll never see the light from them."

Harry falls silent. It’s only from the faint sound of his exhales does Niall know he’s not asleep. “You mean, one day there won’t be any starlight?”

“Yeah.” Niall nods, smiling lightly. “One day billions of years from now.”

“Well,” Harry says sharply, “that’s a perfectly terrifying thought. Thank you for gracing us with that.”

Niall laughs out loud. “Billions of years, mate. We won’t be here.” He tilts his head up to take another sip of whiskey.

They’re quiet for a few minutes, the only sound the occasional sips of liquor that they pass back and forth. “Imagine if there were still humans around then. On a starship. Chasing the last lights of the dying stars. Bit romantic, innit?”

Niall smiles through a swallow of beer. “Hmm. We didn’t touch on that in class.”

“Shame." Niall laces his fingers behind his head and refuses the dregs of the bottle from Harry, and they stare up in perfect silence at the stars.

The next morning, with both their heads heavy and slogged with last night's Clynelish, they set off on their day hike along a wide, unnamed stretch of river that feeds into the River Derwent. The air is cool and breezy by the rushing water, and Niall feels his energy restoring with each step, even with the heavy pack digging into his shoulders. Another mile and they'll find a spot to picnic, and then head back to the car park where they left his car. The day is as clear as last night was, and the sunshine splashes happily across the riverside trail.

But the good favour doesn't last. He hears Harry stumble before he hears the shout of alarm, but by the time Niall swings around to look behind him, he's too late to stop Harry from tumbling heel over head down the rocky bank into the water.

He doesn't panic - not yet anyway - the river isn't deep and he knows Harry can swim. But all the swimming prowess in the world couldn't get Harry out of the eddy that's caught his pack, pushing his head repeatedly under beneath the dead weight of the pack and unrelenting flow of the current rushing over rock.

"Shit," Niall swears and drops his pack at once. He scrambles down the bank, ignoring the sharp pain in his foot when he hits a rock at the wrong angle. Harry's head bobs in and out of the water and Niall can see his expression growing more and more stricken as his arms and legs try and fail to propel him into open water. Niall can see that his pack is caught on a submerged boulder, and the force of the water flowing over and around it prevents Harry from extricating himself from the tangle of straps.

He plows into the water at top speed and quickly decides that his best course of action is to get Harry's head above water so he can breathe. He wades through the current until he's just behind Harry and braces his feet as best as he can against the river bottom. He pivots and pushes his back against Harry's to incline the taller boy forward against the current. Harry's face breaks the surface and he splutters for air in terrified gasps. "My arm," he splinters out. "I can't get my arm out."

"Breathe first. I'll get to your pack in a sec," he says, hoping that keeping his voice even will calm Harry as much as he wishes it could calm himself.

After a few more seconds Harry shakes his head. "Just get me out of here."

"Okay. Hold your breath. Ready? One, two, THREE!" he releases Harry's weight and he goes down again, but this time he struggles less, saving his strength instead of fighting against the current. Niall wades as fast as he safely can to position himself upstream of Harry and his pack. He plunges his hands into the cold water and feels the tight canvas straps caught between two boulders. He scrabbles at them and feels the tension give as the straps slip free.

But in his haste he forgot to hold on to the pack. It tips forward with the flow of the current and Niall reaches up with a splash to stop it from falling onto Harry. He can't see Harry on the other side of the pack, and then all of a sudden the pack rips free from his grasp. What little calm Niall held onto vanishes when he sees Harry's plaid shirt drifting out towards the open water, straps still affixed to it. Harry's head bobs up and down again and Niall realizes something is very, very wrong. Harry must have given a giant tug the moment Niall loosed the pack, which toppled what little leverage Harry had and sent him careening into the open water with the dead weight of the bag dragging him down.

And now, Harry is out of reach. Niall screams out in panic, but the current is moving much faster than he can wade, faster than he can safely chase Harry without risking getting something caught as well. Harry's wet hair surfaces one last time before the river bends quickly around a steep embankment. Niall flouders out of the water on the opposite bank and runs flat out, all pain in his ankle forgotten.

He reaches the bend in the river and rushes down towards the water's edge, hoping Harry has washed up on the opposite bank by the force of the current. But Harry isn't there. He whirls to scan the depths of the river, and he sees movement from the corner of his eye and his heart nearly stops.

It's a man--two men actually, one cradling the other and kneeling on a sandy beach not ten yards from Niall's position. He nearly falls over himself as he stumbles forward and recognizes Harry's soaking wet tartan shirt.

He reaches the pair when the prostrate one, Harry, coughs up a lungful of river water and gasps almost hysterically for breath. The other man looks up at the noise of Niall's approach. "This your friend?" he asks.

Harry is hanging onto the stranger's tattooed arms for dear life, as if the man himself is a flotation device, soaking his clothes completely through. "Th-thanks," he chokes out.

Niall is almost speechless. "How did you-- where did you come from?"

"I come here sometime with my dad," the stranger explains with a polite smile, as if rescuing drowning campers is an everyday occurrence. "We like to fish. We don't usually catch people."

"Holy shit. Thank you," Niall says. He sinks to his knees to reach Harry, to touch him, as if he can't quite believe his own eyes, that the terror of the last few minutes has vanished with the sudden appearance of this gently smiling man. "Holy shit," he repeats, at a loss for any thought more complex than pure, unmitigated relief. "Thank you, Mr.--"

The man laughs and his eyes crinkle with the breadth of his smile. "Please, call me Liam."

#narry #lirry #liam payne #niall horan #harry styles #harry styles fic #one direction #1d #lirry drabble #narry drabble #narry ficlet #lirry ficlet

5 notes · View notes

quailridgeacton · 3 years

Text

Winning 파워볼분석 the powerball: strategies for success

What if you won the 파워볼분석 커뮤니티 next big Powerball jackpot? What would you do if you had an infinite amount of money? If you’re anything like me, you’ll have no trouble picturing yourself doing things like buying that new sports car or traveling around the world. The issue is, in this game of pure chance, are there any techniques you might employ to improve your odds of winning?

In this essay, we will go over some basic strategies that many individuals use while playing the Powerball. Some people may employ these methods merely because they have always used them in the past, while others will use them because they believe these strategies work and will eventually bring them a fortune. Although I do not discourage the use of Powerball methods, as they can be a lot of fun to play, it all comes down to the fact that the chances of winning the jackpot are extremely low. https://toboglivepowerball.com

One of the most common misconceptions about playing the Powerball is that if something hasn’t happened in a few of lottery drawings, it’ll happen soon. Let me explain with an example. A popular 파워볼분석 공유 Powerball method is to select the exact same numbers in each and every draw. The expectation behind this method is that ultimately, that specific winning combination of numbers must occur, perhaps not in 10-20 drawings, but certainly in 100-200 draws.

Unfortunately, nothing could be farther from the truth. The lottery balls have no memory, and each time they are selected in the Powerball, the likelihood of that specific winning combination appearing remains the same. Yes, the odds in each and every draw are roughly the same. This means that just selecting the right amount of numbers at random in each draw will give you an equal chance of winning!

This does not, however, rule out the potential of adopting such a strategy. There are a variety of lottery techniques available that can increase your chances of winning if a certain number 엔트리 파워볼분석 combination of your selection emerges in a given draw. I’ll attempt to clarify what this implies in greater depth. Assume you’ve picked the numbers 5-17-22-31-33 to win the lotto. If you had constantly played this combination, you would have had the same chance of winning as if you had picked any random numbers, as I previously indicated.

In this scenario, depending on how huge and complicated your winning combination is, a Powerball method can aid you in completing it. Assuming you successfully predict three of the five numbers in the above example, the Powerball technique may increase your chances of completing the winning combination by a factor of 10, or at the very least land you on the prize table.

Simple mathematics is employed by reputable Powerball techniques to increase your chances of winning, and they 실시간 파워볼분석 will undoubtedly assist you in your quest for the Holy Grail jackpot. You should be aware, however, that in order for a Powerball technique to work, you will need to play a lot more lines or tickets. In the end, it’s all luck, so if none of your lucky numbers show, you might as well not have played that particular line of numbers at all.

Using Powerball 온라인 파워볼분석 Prediction Software, you can become a winner.

People have been using Powerball prediction software programs for a long time, but not everyone is using the right software. People regularly use Powerball number generators to help them decide which numbers to put on their Powerball tickets. However, because it is based on numerology rather than scientific logic, this program is very unreliable. Powerball players should utilize software that is based on statistics and genuine science. People should have more faith in computers that analyze previous Powerball outcomes and detect trends in which numbers show frequently and which do not.

People who utilize tools that analyze Powerball results have a better probability of getting the correct numbers for their Powerball ticket. These algorithms simply analyze the entire previous Powerball drawing data and determine which numbers are commonly chosen and which are not. As a result, when people discover the numbers that are frequently chosen, they may choose which one to put on their Powerball tickets.

The Powerball prediction tool also tells players which number combinations are the most likely to win. To win the Powerball, you must have both the winning numbers and the winning 파워볼분석 토복이 combination. Powerball number forecasting software also considers which number combinations are most likely to be drawn.

The information generated by software systems for Powerball predictions is organized using graphs or statistical charts, and it shows individuals whether numbers are considered “cold” or “hot.” The software may also predict which numbers will shift from “hot” to “cool,” providing individuals with additional knowledge and options about what to do with certain numbers.

powerball 파워볼사이트가입 how to get rich playing with words

Another feature of certain Powerball prediction systems is their ability to recognize recurring doubles and triples. These algorithms can determine which numbers emerge frequently in Powerball drawings. This sort of combination is quite favorable in Pick 4 Powerball games. People may win less money in this category if the number combination they selected has three or two numbers that appeared in the exact order as the overall Powerball winning combination.

Another feature to look for in Powerball prediction software programs is the wheeling process. The wheeling system is a way of generating all potential number combinations that may appear in future Powerball draws.

People’s selections may be narrowed even more when this technology displays the possible combinations, making it easier for them to choose the combinations they want on their Powerball tickets. This 파워볼분석 가입방법 approach might be very useful in the Pick 4 Powerball. People just need to select numbers ranging from 0 to 9, making it easier to select the winning combination, especially if they use the Powerball prediction tool.

Those who wish to increase their odds of winning the Powerball might utilize a Powerball prediction software program that has already been proved to work.

0 notes

aksbrillmindz · 3 years

Text

choose shopping mall apps for better experience in malls

You know how everybody keeps saying that Netflix is going to obliterate movie theatres? But then a film like Black Panther arrives on the big screen, and you know what happens next. The magnificent experience of watching movies on a big screen isn't going anywhere anytime soon.

The same can be said for shopping malls. The growth of e-commerce can pose some challenges to shopping mall revenues, but the experience of visiting a mall and revelling in the larger-than-life aesthetics, awe-inspiring festivities, the scent of fresh merchandise, the bling and rustle of decadent fashion, items that you can touch, feel, try on, and be left in awe of is incomparable.All of this sensory gratification is far too powerful a force to be reckoned with, which is why shopping malls will still be packed. No matter how much the Amazon economy grows, the mall will prosper.

The only difference is that shopping centres must now prepare for the revolution and become more tech savvy. Over the magic of sensory perception, they need to add a layer of fingertip comfort.

And they certainly will! They can do something that no other e-commerce company can with a great mobile app.

Shopping malls will use technology to make the beautiful real-life experience even more convenient. On the other hand, no online shop will provide you with that kind of sensory experience on a mobile device.

Today's shopping malls must recognise that their clients do not have time to saunter around aimlessly. Regulation is something that modern consumers are used to. They have the power with a smartphone app that allows them to have a better experience at your mall. So, today, let's look at how shopping malls can use mobile applications to empower their customers.

Lets start discussing what are the main stuff

First make them want to come to mall

So, how can you persuade a customer to leave the comfort of their sofa, put down the addictive phone, forego the ease of home delivery, and actually visit a mall?

Well, that was easy. Simply demonstrate how much fun it is, and then make it simple for them to attend.

There are a number of factors that deter people from visiting a mall. One of them is deciding which one to visit. Which one offers the best price at this time of year? Where is the best bargain to be had? At this moment, which one is the least crowded? Would I have to search for a parking spot for another 40 minutes?

Those are some of the most common concerns that people have before visiting a mall. They'll be much more likely to visit the mall if a smartphone app can provide them with quick answers to these questions.

Shopping malls will provide consumers with a plethora of compelling reasons to visit. Tell them about the latest offers you've found or the new restaurants you've opened. Share tempting real-time photos of the lively, but not overcrowded crowd. Show them the quickest routes to the mall from their current location and let them know how long it would take them to get there.This is how mall can make the people to drop in to the mall

Make sure that they take the easy route

The hassle of getting there is one of the main deterrents for mall tourists. Most people are afraid of being stuck in traffic and wasting valuable time. A smartphone app that tracks metrics and helps consumers find the best times to visit based on the routes they frequent can help them with this.The app can identify the lowest traffics

As a result, each customer will receive a customised recommendation for the best time to visit the mall. When combined with simple driving charts, the software becomes even more useful.

Parking is the next big baddie. Finding a decent parking space, or even worse, realising that the parking lot are full after a long journey through traffic, is exasperating.

A smartphone app will help alleviate a lot of the frustration. Malls should make significant investments in the creation of intelligent parking solutions. Customers will be alerted about the likelihood of finding available parking based on their expected arrival time. If they are unable to provide parking, they may notify visitors of other options in the city.A mobile app that effectively simplifies parking would significantly increase a mall's customer footfall while also making them so happy that they return often. The FastMall app is a good example of how an app can make visiting a mall more convenient.

Allow Navigation with in the Mall

Modern malls are unquestionably much too large to navigate on foot in a single visit, with millions of square feet and tens of miles of walking paths. Even if a mall isn't quite as large as The Dubai Mall or The Mall of America, it's still too much for the average weekend shopper to manage on their own.Customers will enjoy their visit to a mall more if they have a smartphone app that makes navigating the mall easy.

Each customer's requirements are distinct. One might be out shopping for high-end fashion, while another might be searching for bargain toys. All the customer does, from which gate she enters to which elevator she takes up the mal, affects how quickly she finds what she wants.Finding the right store on the right side of the right floor to locate the right product is difficult. If the mall makes its customers' lives simpler, it will be infinitely easier to only buy on Amazon.

Investing in a smartphone app seems to be the ideal solution in this case as well. The app will provide consumers with not only simple interactive floor maps, but also go a step further.A mobile app can understand the stores that a customer frequents thanks to the tremendous power of analytics. When a customer is on that floor or in close proximity, geo-fencing allows it to give them reminders about unique ongoing deals.

Customers may also use a smartphone app to locate the nearest bathroom, fire escape, or staircase. Customers may also use the app to see whether wheelchairs, trolleys, or strollers are accessible. In reality, the app will help customers book these services and have the wheelchair or trolley delivered to them wherever they are, saving them time and effort.

Enable the payments

Consider the following scenario: you're at a mall and you're hungry. Your favourite restaurant is just across the promenade, but you're trapped at the fashion store's billing counter, waiting for your turn. Have you ever wished you could leave your cart here and let the workers take care of the billing while you go to the restaurant?When the billing is completed, you will be informed through the mall app, make an online payment, and pick up your bags on your way out. What a blast!

Conclusion

We have explained the factors that a app can benefit the shopping malls and we brillmindz one of the best mobile app development companies in dubai make the similar apps with the best development team in dubai

0 notes