#on film time is real estate and on film that makes attention a kind of currency and the paying of that attention a kind of devotion

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A Baker's Dozen - Five

Twelve Pedro boys, twelve stand alone short stories, all set in the same bakery.

Hello!

A surprise early drop of part five! I didn't want this gentleman to be lost among the Christmas cheer on Sunday night so please enjoy him a couple of days early.

This man was the one that most intimidated me to write, and I think that's true for most of us. Luckily my dear friend @morallyinept is an expert on the subject of this particular Pedro boy, and beta read it. Thank you so much Jett, your encouragement makes this a lot less scary!

Please say hello to Pedro boy number five...

Series Master List

It’s not the first time you’ve seen him in your bakery. Sometimes, when you have your extra staffer in over the weekend to handle the crowds, you’ve seen him waiting in line. Somehow he always comes in when you’re not at the counter, or dealing with another customer, but when you glance out through the open kitchen door, you spot him. More than once. And he’s always watching you, dark brown eyes, curious, intelligent, carefully watching. It intrigues you, and it scares you. 

He’s easy to recognise, the bright blonde patch of hair over his forehead makes him memorable, if nothing else. But the way he stands, the weight of his body on one leg, leaning forward onto it while he tilts his head and observes you through the open door with a wry smirk. It makes you think of a trickster, a smooth talker who will smile and charm you with his words while he tries to sell you real estate on the moon. Your eyes meet and he grins, holding up his hand in a nonchalant greeting. You let your eyes glide over him, ignoring his wave as if you didn’t see him, busy looking for a pan or a bowl. 

He comes in the next day again, you catch him from the corner of your eye as he steps up to the counter, just as you come out of the fridge. He doesn’t see you this time you think, so you hurry out of sight and go back to measuring flour into the large mixer. Through the door you can hear him talk to the high schooler you’ve got handling the Saturday afternoon rush. 

“Afternoon, may I ask after the proprietor of this fine bakery?” the man says, and his southern accent is eloquent in a way that reminds you of old films, theatrical and exaggerated, you can hear the smirk in his tone. In your mind he sweeps an old fashioned hat off his head and bows like the ringmaster at the circus. It puts your teeth on edge and you hope to escape his attention. 

“She’s busy right now but I’ll see if she has time,” your highschooler says and you sigh, waving your hand no when they come into the kitchen 

“I’m sorry, she’s right in the middle of something, can I take a message?” 

“No bother, I’ll stop by later, I have a proposal to the lady that’s best delivered in person.” 

You hear him say goodbye and then the door jingles and the hum of the afternoon rush continues as you turn on the big dough mixer, drowning out all else. You wonder what kind of proposal the man could have for you, his response was almost as if he was preparing a sale. The thought calms you and annoys you a little, dealing with insistent sales people was your least favorite activity as a business owner. There was always someone trying to sell you a new mixer or a new oven. You hope he doesn’t come back, but at least you know how to brush off a sales person if needed. 

He doesn’t come back until Tuesday, when you’re alone in the bakery, just before closing. The door jingles and you look up, seeing his smile as he steps across the threshold. 

“Afternoon,” he says, coming up to the counter, giving you a gallant nod in greeting, “I was hoping to catch you at a more quiet time, seeing as the end of the day draws near. I hope my interference doesn’t disrupt your day too greatly and cause you disturbance.” 

His smile sits fixed on his face, as if rehearsed to look polite and genuine, to sell you something. 

It’s hard to press back your customer service persona, so you give him a polite smile, internally you’re gearing up to be courteous but dismissive. 

“How can I help you?” you ask, and his smile widens into a grin as he tilts his head to the side and looks at you. 

“I’m in the market for a special type of treat, one which I hope you’ll indulge me in making,” he holds out his left hand to you, “I’m Ezra, and I really hope you can help me, miss…?” 

You take his hand and awkwardly shake it, ignoring his question, but your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. You’d been so certain he’d try to sell you something, you hadn’t considered that he’d be the one asking you to sell him something special even though special requests weren’t a rare thing. 

“If it’s doable and I know how to make it, I’m sure we can come up with something,” you reply and he nods his head.

“Oh, I’ll pay, handsomely, of course,” 

“What did you have in mind?” you ask, and his smile stretches even further, making his teeth show, and you balk, a tinge of unease shooting up your spine. In the back of your mind you’re reminded of the poem; ‘Will you walk into my parlour, said a spider to a fly.’ There’s a layer of something underneath that smile that unnerves you.

“A sentimental old favorite of mine, chocolate soufflé,” he says, his eyes suddenly slipping into softness as he seems to look past you, “Light, airy, rich and velvety.” 

He waves his hand as if he’s conjuring the dessert out of thin air, a dreamy look on his face that’s quickly replaced by his grin as he turns his attention back to you. 

“It’s an arduous dessert to master, only the most skilled bakers can create it. Are you skilled, sugar?” 

You give him a scowl, you’ve heard every pet name in the book vaguely related to baking by now and none of them sit well with you. 

He catches on to your scowl and chuckles, “Not ‘sugar’ then,” he grins as you put your smallest customer service smile back on. 

“I can make soufflé but I won’t be able to sell them here,” you explain, shaking your head. “They’re too delicate and need to be served and eaten straight out of the oven. But I’m sure there’s restaurants who have soufflé on the menu.”

Ezra shakes his head with a rueful look,”I’m afraid I’ve tried that route, but none of the restaurants in town have exactly what I desire on the menu, and they won’t make it as a special order. So my hope lies with you, cookie.” 

He chuckles again when he sees the flash of annoyance at the pet name, his eyes crinkling at the corners, his smile suddenly looking genuine, “If you’d told me your name when I introduced myself I would gladly use that instead of causing an umbridge with my embarrassing choices of guesses.” 

You ignore his comment about your name, feeling even less inclined to give it to him, and instead you begin wiping down the counter for the end of the day. 

“I’m sorry none of the restaurants have it, but I’m afraid I can’t help you, I can’t make the soufflé and then wait for you to come in, it would be flat and dull and I couldn’t sell you that.” 

“I’m sure you observed, because I’ve observed you in turn, several times, that I’ve been studying you,” Ezra says, his eyes narrowing as he gives you a charming smile, cocking his head to the side and leaning against the counter on his left side, watching you run the cloth over the display cases. 

“You’re the most talented baker I’ve seen in all my travels, all you sell here, you make with your own gifted hands,” he waves his hand around the bakery, “And I’ve sampled many of your delectable delights, nothing rivals what you can bake, cupcake.” 

His words make your cheeks heat up against your will as you glare at the pet name and he smiles back at you. . 

“It won’t change the physics of the soufflé though,” you point out, “it will still fall flat if it’s out of the oven waiting for the customer.” 

“Well, crumpet, I have a remedy for that, I have thought of it all. You make it for me while I wait, right here, after hours,” he says, leaning forward when he sees your doubtful face. He takes the cloth from your hand, stilling your movement as he wraps his fingers around yours, just tight enough for you not to be able to just yank them away. His eyes closer to yours now, imploring you to hear him out, and you don’t fail to note that his expression shifts into something more innocent, his brown eyes wide open, forehead pulled up as he pleads with you

“Please, truly, it may only be a soufflé to you, but it really does mean an awful lot to me, to be able to have this dessert again, to remind me of better days, happier times.” 

His fingers squeeze yours gently while he talks, “I lost my arm, a while back now, in a mining accident,” he says, looking down to his right hand side where you only now notice that his jacket sleeve hangs limp, “I used to love to bake, but I can’t anymore, on account of my…condition.”  

“I’m sorry to hear that,” you reply politely and Ezra nods again.

“It’s been a while now, I’m getting used to navigating life without it,” he says, shrugging his shoulders, “But I can’t bake, not like I used to, not something that requires two stable hands.”

He lets go of you and stands up, grabbing the empty sleeve of his jacket and lifts it up, “Imagine if this happened to you,” he says, giving the sleeve a frustrated tug as his voice gains an edge of annoyance, “Imagine if you, from one cursed day to the next, not only lost your ability to do your job, but also your ability to perform the most entertaining of tasks.” 

You feel your resolve slipping, he’s turned his eyes back on yours and falls silent, for what feels like for the first time since he stepped into the shop. His hand is on the counter between you, open, like he’s waiting for you to take it and shake on your agreement, and his eyes are imploring, his eyebrows raised. 

Like this he looks less like a trickster, the facade has slipped a bit, or maybe he’s pulled a new one up, you feel like you can’t be sure. You glance down at his empty sleeve and make up your mind, you’d be devastated if you couldn’t bake again. 

“Ok, I’ll make your soufflé, any way you want it,” you say, taking his hand, and Ezra’s face breaks into a wide smile. 

“Thank you, bon bon! Your kind gesture makes me most hopeful for the future, there are still good people in this world, prepared to help a poor, armless, man.” 

“Enough with the names,” you give him a small scowl, but you can’t help but smile at the same time, his own smiling, face seems genuine, honestly happy for your service. 

“Such a sweet baker lady has to have a name that matches the sweetness of her produce, jelly pie,” he chuckles, “I’ll keep trying them out until I find the one that sticks.” 

“If I hear one I like I’ll let you know, just don’t hold your breath,” you reply, but you’re smiling at him now and he seems less wiley with the change of his demeanor, more straightforward, as he runs his hand through his hair and grins at you. 

“So when do you want to do this? And what kind of chocolate soufflé do you want?” you ask, pulling out your notebook. 

“I once went to a small restaurant in France, a tiny little village, somewhere in the mountains north of Cannes,” he says, “and the chef would cover the bottom of the ramekin with caramel, sprinkle it with sal de mer before he poured in the chocolate and then finish with a little bit more just on top.” His hand makes a sprinkling movement over the top of the imaginary soufflé ramekin. “It was inspired, divine,” Ezra smiles at you, an excited gleam in his eyes, that you recognise all too well. “I asked him for the recipe and he was benevolent enough to make a gift of it to me, a small souvenir of a joyous visit and happier times.” 

Something in the way he says the last words, a slight slip in the excitement, a flash of something darker across his face, makes you open your mouth. But you close it again as his eyes brighten, the smile comes back up in place and he looks at you. 

“I had to translate the recipe into English of course, and now I have it memorized, from all the times I made it myself.” 

“Let me make a list then, and I’ll get the ingredients for next week, how about next Tuesday night? Does that work for you?” you ask and Ezra nods. 

“Any day would suit me, shortcake,” he grins and you roll your eyes, “But if it’s not too much trouble, I would prefer an earlier day? Maybe tomorrow even? And I’ll help you make it, as long as you have the ingredients?” 

You glance over at your calendar, you have nothing planned for tomorrow night and you’ll have time to get the ingredients into your usual weekly order tonight.

“It’ll be tight, but I think I can make it work, if I place the order straight away. Unless there’s something special in the recipe I should have all the ingredients already, eggs, cocoa and chocolate,” you list the items on your fingers, thinking out loud, “oh, I should get some extra cream.”  

“This chef used milk instead of cream,” Ezra interjects, “he said it made for a lighter soufflé.” 

“Ok, that’s fine, I’ve made them with milk in the past,” you nod, tapping your pen as you think and Ezra studies you, you can feel his eyes on you as his mouth quirks up in a small smile. 

“I do enjoy seeing you entranced by baking,” he says, “your attention to detail in the kitchen has kept me captivated while watching you work.” 

“I saw you, and I’ve got to say, kinda creepy to be watching people like that,” you reply and his eyebrows immediately pull together in an apologetic frown. 

“My apologies, sweet cannoli, but I was truly enwrapped by your work, your skill, I didn’t mean to be unsettling.” He reaches out and puts his hand on yours again, giving it a light squeeze as he leans forward, finding your eyes and searching them to make sure you accept his apology, “I truly am very sorry.” 

“It’s fine, just come in and say hello next time,” you reply, “and never call me ‘cannoli’ again.” The last thing you say with a roll of your eyes and Ezra laughs. 

“I didn’t think that one would stick, didn’t have much of a ring to it.” 

He gives your hand a last squeeze and lets go of it, raising his own in a wave. 

“Until tomorrow then, jelly,” he says and you give him a mock scowl that makes him grin wide, “Not ‘jelly’ either then,” he chuckles, “I’ll think of some new ones for tomorrow.” 

“No pet names necessary, Ezra,” you tell him, but he shakes his head. 

“No, no, you won’t tell me your name, now I make up my own, I will find the perfect one before we’re done. Until tomorrow, muffin.” 

“Absolutely not,” you call after him, “But I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

Ezra gives you a final grin before he exits and you see him walk off down the street. 

He appears again the next day, just before closing like the last time, giving you a polite nod and waiting by the door as you serve your last customer of the day. As the woman leaves, he steps forwards and gives you what feels like a genuine smile, unlike the rehearsed one he’d greeted you with yesterday.

“My sweet cream puff, I have been looking forward to this all day, I’ve been dreaming about finally eating this chocolate soufflé again,” he says, putting his hand on your arm and giving it a light squeeze. His hair looks freshly washed and cut, as does his patchy beard, and he brings a faint smell of cologne into the bakery. With his warm smile and neater appearance, he doesn’t look at all like the unnerving man you’d observed watching you the past few days, and you feel yourself relaxing. 

“Cream puff?” you laugh, “Better, but still not acceptable, Ezra.” 

“I have all evening to get it right,” he grins and holds up a take out bag, “I thought we could perhaps have dinner and not sustain ourselves only on soufflé, delectable as it may be. If that’s not too forward of me?” He says the last thing with his eyebrows raised in question and you shake your head. 

“Not at all, dinner would be nice, I’m getting a little bit hungry already.” 

“Then may I suggest dinner first, and then I get to enjoy the evening’s entertainment; watching you make the soufflé?” 

“Sounds like a plan, let me get some cutlery and glasses and we can eat out here,” you say. As you walk back into the kitchen, you can’t help but smile to yourself. This strange man is growing on you, his smooth southern drawl makes his flowery language work, and you have to admit, he scrubs up well, with his curls and his bright blonde patch. 

When you return with plates and cutlery, Ezra has set the take out on one of the café tables and is struggling with the knot on the plastic bag. You see the annoyance in his face as he tugs at the tight knot, digging his nails into it to get a grip, but failing as the plastic moves under his one hand. The sight fills you with empathy and you’re suddenly very glad you agreed to make him the soufflé. 

He hears your footsteps as you approach and he looks up, “It would seem the plastic bag has me beat,” he sighs, “I wanted to have it all laid out for you as you returned, after all, you’re doing all the baking later, the least I could do is lay the table. But not even that is something I can manage these days with…” He jerks his head in annoyance at the empty sleeve of his jacket and sighs. 

“It’s no bother,” you say, giving him a warm smile to put him at ease, and it seems to work. He smiles back at you, his brown eyes crinkling at the corners and you notice the dimple in his cheek under the patchy beard as he takes a step to the side, letting you put down the plates and cutlery.

“It’s why I agreed to bake the soufflé for you, I’m more than happy to help.” You untie the bag and lift out the containers as Ezra lays the table, taking meticulous care to line up the plates and the cutlery on either side, finding a few napkins and arranging them too. You go behind the counter to get rid of the bag and when you come back, Ezra has pulled out your chair for you and is waiting behind it with a smile. 

“I know this is purely a business transaction, but I have to confess, I’m very happy for the chance to spend an evening in the company of someone who shares my passion for baking”, he says.

“Thank you, Ezra,” you smile as you sit down and he slides the chair in, “I have to admit, I wasn’t sure what you wanted when I first noticed you looking, but this has turned out a lot nicer than just trying to tell another sales rep that I’m not interested in a new oven.” 

Ezra has sat down across from you and now he chuckles, “You thought I was going to sell you a new oven?” 

“A new oven, a new fridge, new baking pans,” you sigh, “you name it, the sales reps have been in here trying to convince me to throw out my working equipment and spend money I don’t have, on their new shiny product.” 

“Well, I’m glad I could surprise you then,” he replies as he begins to open the take out containers, “But I have another confession, I came into your bakery because what you displayed looked incredible, but….” he trails off, glancing up at you with a small smile before he begins scoop rice onto his plate, “I stayed because the woman who runs the bakery is captivating.” 

You feel your cheeks heat up as Ezra looks up at you again and he smiles as he sees your reaction. 

“And I don’t just mean that you’re beautiful, although that is certainly no exaggeration. But your talent…your talent….” he chuckles as you give him a bashful grin, “Sweet twinkie, you kept me captivated with your skill as I watched you through the kitchen door. You have such passion for this,” he waves his hand towards the bakery’s display cases, “so much creative talent and skill, I just…” he gives a small laugh, his hand rubbing his cheek as he drops his eyes down to his plate again, his usual confident manner suddenly replaced by an uncharacteristic shyness, “I wanted a chance to talk to you, if you’d let me.” 

“You’re very sweet, Ezra,” you smile, trying to contain the wide smile that’s threatening to take over your face at his praise. 

“It’s only what you deserve,” he says, smiling back at you and handing you one of the take out boxes, “Please, before it gets cold, I’m letting my mouth run away from me as usual.” 

It turns out Ezra had chosen a number of dishes from a local Indian restaurant down the street and you both groan as you pick your way through the selection. 

“I have to remember this place,” you moan around a mouthful of korma, “it’s incredible.” 

Ezra’s mouth is stuffed full with bhaji and he just nods as he chews, a look of bliss on his face as he swallows. 

“The man who runs it, I spoke with him, was most courteous. He recommended his favorites from the menu and I must say, he sure does know how to make people want to return.” 

“And there will be leftovers for days,” you say, leaning back in your chair, your belly full but there’s still so much food on the table. 

“You keep it, my fridge is out of commission at the moment unfortunately,” Ezra says, “you’ll have the most delicious lunch for the next few days.” 

“I can’t take all this food from you,” you protest but Ezra just shakes his head. 

“I have nowhere to keep it.”

“Then keep it here, and come by and have lunch with me,” you suggest, “we can keep talking about baking and you can spend more time in the bakery, maybe we can figure out some things you can still bake.” 

During the course of the meal Ezra had asked you about every aspect of your baking, your process behind the recipes, the techniques you used, the ingredients and where you sourced them. It had been a rare deep dive into your favorite subject with someone who shared your passion for the trade. You felt your attraction for him steadily grow while he leaned his head into his hand and kept his eyes on you as you went into the details of how to grow and maintain a healthy sourdough starter. 

“You won’t grow bored of my company, moon pie?” he smiled, “And my increasingly desperate names for you?” 

“No, I don’t think I’ll grow bored of you,” you smile back at him, “and your names are getting better.” 

He laughs at that and pushes back his chair, “Then let me be a useful guest and clear this for us, and then we can get to the highlight of the evening perhaps?” 

“Sounds like a plan.” 

You lead him back into the kitchen and the plates and cutlery are soon in your industrial sized dishwasher in the back room. You get the ingredients out onto the workbench as Ezra wanders around the kitchen, looking at your equipment and making approving noises. 

“I was never a professional baker like you, but I’m glad to see you favor the same brands for your pans as I do,” he chuckles, “Makes me feel less like a fraud.” 

“I’m sure you’re just as good as I am,” you reply, “your skill didn’t disappear with your arm.” 

He comes up to stand next to you, and as you look up at him, you see his smile fade as he shakes his head. 

“No, but it might as well have, I held my skill in my right hand, my left just isn’t as steady and sometimes you need two hands.” 

“I’m sorry,” you say, shaking your head, “I didn’t mean that it would be as easy as before, just that your knowledge of baking is still intact.” 

He gives you a small smile, his hand coming up to rest on your shoulder for a brief moment, the warmth of his hand seeping through your t-shirt.

“I know, I just get frustrated as I’m reminded of what I used to be able to do.” 

You lightly bump your hip against his and give him a smile, “Well, we’ve got three hands now, and a lot of skill between us, so this will be the best chocolate soufflé ever made.” 

Ezra chuckles and smiles too, his hand slipping from your shoulder. But he doesn’t lift it, instead it drifts down to the small of your back and he leaves it there, as you lean over the notes you’ve made for the recipe. It sits comfortably against the cotton, a small, intimate touch that signals something else building between you, or at least you hope it does. Ezra is a lot more fun to have around than what you thought when you first saw him, and you’re glad he’s proving you wrong. 

“Alright, I’m putting you on butter duty, I know you can do that one handed,” you say, giving him a wink as you look up at him, you want to involve him in this as much as possible, to make him feel good about baking again.”The ramekins are up on that shelf and the saucepan over there, you know what to do.” 

Ezra grins back at you and gives you a sloppy, left handed, salute, “Yes, ma’am, I’m on it.”  

While he gets started you set up the double boiler on your stove and start whisking the ingredients together. Ezra comes over with the saucepan and stands next to you while he melts the butter and you set up a third saucepan for the caramel. 

“The whisking is the really hard part,” he says as you begin to combine the ingredients, “And even if I use a stand mixer for most things, whisking while it’s over the double boiler proved too hard, the saucepan just slid all over the place.” 

“I wonder if there’s a way to maybe keep the saucepan stable?” you think out loud as you continue to stream the cream into the bowl, “Maybe a non-conductive ring, a silicone mold maybe? It wouldn’t heat up on an induction stove, would it?.” 

“Maybe, that’s not a bad idea actually…” he says thoughtfully and you smile up at him. 

“I can hear the cogs in your head turning, Ezra,” you laugh and he laughs with you. 

“Yeah, you got me thinking there, I’ve got silicone oven mitts at home, I need to try with them first and then figure out where to get a ring shaped piece of silicone. But it’s a really good idea, thank you!” 

He leans down and gives you a quick kiss on your cheek and it catches you by surprise, looking up at him and he smiles back. 

“I apologize, a good deed deserves a nice gesture in return, and your cheeks look very kissable, sweet cheeks.” 

He laughs at your exaggerated sigh and eye roll, bumping your hip in return as you’d done to him, “C’mon now, sweet cheeks, as far as pet names go, that one’s pretty good from my perspective.” 

“Keep trying, Ezra,” you laugh, you can’t maintain your fake look of exasperation when he’s smiling at you, his eyes crinkling at the corners and looking at you with such a mischievous grin. 

“Oh I’ll keep trying, biscuit,” he winks, “I’ll win you over soon enough.” 

He steps away to grab a pastry brush, and as you whisk the batter you watch him coat the inside of the ramekins with melted butter. He struggles a bit at first when the first ramekin starts sliding across the workbench, but you quickly grab a kitchen towel, wetting it under the tap before spreading it out on the counter for him to put the ramekins on. 

“You’re just full of bright ideas, pumpkin,” he smiles gratefully as you go back to the double boiler. 

“I have my moments,” you chuckle and you feel his eyes on you as you continue to whisk the batter. 

“You have more than a few moments, I think you have everything,” he says after a little while, his voice low and sincere. It’s ladened with something deeper and it makes you take your eyes off the batter and look up at him. He’s looking back at you, smiling, but there’s another layer to his eyes, like he’s smiling through a memory. A strange mix of regret and sadness flashes across his face, gone, as quickly as it appeared, and his smile grows wider, you realize it’s not reaching his eyes this time. But as you open your mouth to say something, he speaks first, turning back to the ramekins. 

“What’s the next step, boss?” he asks, his voice back to the same cheerful tone he had just a few moments ago, and you’re certain you can see the mask come up this time. But you don’t challenge him, he’s hiding something, or at least there’s something he doesn’t want to share. So you consult your notes and point him to the egg whites. 

“Use the Husqvarna and make the meringue while I chop the chocolate.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” he replies and gets to work, the whisking made easy this time with the help of the mixer. 

You continue preparing the chocolate batter and when Ezra is done with the meringue, you fold it into the airy egg whites, bringing them together into a light fluffy mixture. Ezra watches you as you drizzle a layer of caramel into the ramekins he’s prepared, leaving him to sprinkle a few flakes of sea salt before you scoop the soufflé batter on top, finishing with him sprinkling another few flakes on the chocolate. 

“Done,” you say, "we make a good team, Ezra.” 

“We do, and you’ve made this one handed fool very happy, letting him finally get to taste these soufflés again,” he says as you laugh and shake your head. 

“No early victories, please! We still have to bake them and you know how fickle soufflés are.” You take the oven tray you’ve placed the ramekins on and carefully move them into the oven, turning down the heat. 

“With this team?” Ezra chuckles, “I have all the faith in the world, cherry pie.” 

“Better,” you smile at him as you watch him wipe down the workbench and then turn to jump up to sit on it. 

“Better?” His eyebrows quirk up as he grins and holds out his hand for you, “Am I getting warm with my names?” 

You jump up on the workbench and sit next to him, shaking your head, “No, I just find the man using them more agreeable.” 

Ezra smiles, his dark eyes glinting as he turns to you, “You didn’t find me agreeable when I first arrived at your bakery?” 

“Not…un-agreeable,” you say, thinking out loud and studying his face, the bright blonde patch of hair over his forehead curling with the heat in the kitchen, as are the unruly strands of hair around his neck, patchy beard over his jaw and cheeks, his mouth twitching up in a smile as he waits for you to continue. 

“Just…hard for me to place? What you wanted. And why you were always looking at me,” you say and Ezra’s smile softens. 

“I looked, because you’re beautiful.” 

He says it so simply, no flourish, no fanfare or exaggeration. Just a statement as he keeps his eyes locked on yours, no smile, no grin, just his face, quietly scanning yours for a reaction. 

You lift your hand and lightly touch his cheek, fingertips tracing his jaw, the short hairs of his beard, tickling under your caress as he slowly exhales. 

He leans his face into your palm, your thumb soothing over the lines at the corners of his eyes as they close, and he lets a small sigh slip out, his warm breath tickling your wrist. Your thumb caresses his cheek while you study his face, the dark eyelashes casting shadows and his features soft, relaxed in a way you haven’t seen since he first showed up. He looks younger as you gently explore his lines with your fingertips and let them melt into softness under your touch. 

A quiet hum escapes him as he tilts his head and lets your hand slip over his jaw and back to his neck. The curls are soft, wayward, and wrap easily around your fingers as you lean forward. The plush swell of his bottom lip is irresistible and you press your mouth carefully against it. 

Ezra’s eyes fly open as your lips meet, his eyes dark and smiling. His hand comes up and gently mirrors your own, cupping your cheek as he presses his lips against yours in return. As you close your eyes, you feel his warm palm hold you steady and you part your lips, the tip of his tongue meeting yours, tasting him. His touch is soft, both his hand and his lips, making warmth spread through your body as he pulls you closer.  

He kisses you like he’s trying to learn how to read you, studying your reaction to how his lips mold against yours as he tastes your tongue under his. Each moan he pulls from you makes him come back to pull it from you again, running his tongue over the same spot, nipping on your bottom lip with a gentle tug. You realize you started the kissing, but Ezra quickly takes control, his hand cupping your cheek, keeping you steady as your own hands caress his back, feeling the bunched muscles under his thin shirt, the warmth of his body heating your palms. You can feel his heartbeat against you, your own pulse thrumming under his fingertips as he pulls another moan from you when his hand slips into your hair.  

He groans into your mouth and scoots off the workbench, pulling you with him so that he gains extra height on you. The change in angle lets him wrap his arm around your shoulders and pull you in closer, pressing his lips to yours as your hands slide down his back, dipping into the waistband of his pants, finding the warm skin just under the edge.

With a groan, he pulls back, his hand still curled around the back of your neck, your arms still around his waist. You look up at him but his eyes are closed and he leans down, letting his nose run along yours, caressing your cheek, down your jaw, breathing hot over your skin, while he nuzzles your neck, inhaling deeply. 

“Like chocolate,” he mutters, “and caramel. What I wouldn’t give…” 

He falls silent, his lips pressing against your neck in a searing kiss that makes heat rush through your body, before he pulls back and stands up. 

“I’d tell you your kisses are the sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted in this bakery, but I don’t think even I could get away with that comment,” he smiles and you roll your eyes with a giggle. 

“Not even you, Ezra,” you say, “although I’d say it’s a nice effort and that your kisses are just as sweet.” 

“We make a good team,” he smiles, letting his thumb caress your cheek again as you nod. His eyes are still on you and you feel him studying you again, but it doesn’t feel awkward this time, just…breathtaking. Your breath hitches as his eyes slip over your lips, his thoughts clear on his face as the tip of his tongue peaks out. He’s the one who leans in this time, watching you close your eyes as he presses a gentle kiss to your lips, his thumb and finger catching your chin. When he pulls away a fraction, you open your eyes again and he’s smiling at you. The oven timer is beeping in the background and you hadn’t even noticed, his soft lips distracting you both from the insistent sound. 

“I’ll get the timer, you get the soufflés,” he whispers and you nod slowly as he smiles and presses another soft kiss to your lips. 

“Now, my sweet cherry pie, or we’ll have a very flat dessert.” 

You smile back at him and grab the oven mitts and follow him to the oven. 

This next step is crucial, carefully you open the door and slide out the tray. They’ve risen perfectly but as soon as they’re out of the oven they start cooling down and soon they’ll sink. You set the tray down on the workbench and Ezra brings over two dessert spoons. His face is beaming at the sight of the soufflés, sniffing as the warm chocolate scent fills the kitchen. 

“They smell even better than the ones I made,” he grins as you slide a ramekin over to him. 

“A team effort, Ezra,” you smile, “your recipe, our skill.” 

“Your hands, luckily,” he replies, holding up his first spoonful of soufflé as if he’s toasting you, and you clink your spoon against his before you both have your first taste. 

The flavor is rich in your mouth but the texture is light and airy, a small hint of sal de mer hitting your tongue as you hum around the taste. Ezra’s eyes are closed, his head tilted back as he sucks on the spoon, a low rumble coming from his chest as he savors the chocolate. 

“My sweet soufflé,” he smiles, looking down at you through half closed eyelids, “this…this…is heaven.” 

He digs his spoon in, and gets some of the caramel too, taking another mouthful as he groans again. You copy him and make sure to get both caramel and soufflé on your spoon for your next bite, and Ezra was right, the combination is flawless. You sigh around your spoon, slowly sucking the caramel off it as the chocolate melts in your mouth. Ezra is watching you with dark eyes and a small smile, his own spoon forgotten in his hand. 

“I’d bake for you every day, no matter how much I’d struggle, if I could hear you make that sound again,” he says and it makes you laugh, giggling as he grins. He takes another spoonful of soufflé, smiling as he eats it, some of it catching on his mustache and you point at it. 

“You got some chocolate on your beard there.”

Ezra removes the spoon from his mouth and gives you a sly smirk, “I’m sure I won’t be able to reach it with my tongue, why don’t you help me?”. 

The tone of his voice, the mischief it promises, makes hot energy shoot through your nerves, your skin tingling as you put down your spoon and step closer to him. He’s looking down at you, his eyes full of mirth as you take his chin between your thumb and finger, tilting his head down towards you. He comes willingly, a small smile still lingering, and he’s so close, his hand finding its way to your waist. 

“Can you reach it,” he asks in a low voice and you nod, locking eyes with him. They’re the same rich brown as the soufflé, just as warm and soft right now, as you lean in and run your tongue over the corner of his mouth, finding the errant smudge of chocolate. Catching the edge of his mouth between your lips, you lap at the sweet taste. His hand bunches up your shirt and as you run your tongue over the seam of his mouth, he parts it easily, letting you in. He tastes of the dessert and you know he can taste the same on you. 

“I think you got it,” he mumbles, grinning, against your lips as you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him closer. 

“I need to make absolutely sure, can’t let you leave with chocolate all over your mouth,” you smile between kisses. 

“You take such good care of me, honey.” 

“That one’s a winner, Ezra,” you mumble, I’ll keep that one.” 

He chuckles, his lips pulling up in a grin under yours as he kisses you again, “But it’s too ordinary, for such an extraordinary woman.” 

“I like it, especially when it comes from you, you’re extraordinary enough for the both of us.” 

Ezra tugs you closer, making you sigh into him as he buries his face against your neck, pressing a kiss against the soft skin before he rests his head on your shoulder. 

“What am I going to do with you,” he says, more a statement than a question, his hand caressing your back, sliding up into your hair, cupping around your neck, “What am I going to do with myself.”

He slowly begins to sway, moving you back and forth in a slow dance without music. 

“I need to leave soon, but I don’t want to,” he mumbles, gently spinning you around as you let your hand rest on his shoulder, the one missing his arm, “I have to leave this warm kitchen, your tender kisses, this sweet nest you’ve built for us.” 

He spins you again, moving your body slowly with his own. 

“This home you’ve created for someone like me.” 

Before you can ask what he means he steps back, taking your hand in his, and with a flourish and bow, he kisses the back of it, making you smile.  

“I am afraid, my sweet baker girl, that it is time for my departure, I will steal no more hours from you,” he says, letting go of your hand and taking his coat from the hook by the kitchen door, shrugging it back on, the empty sleeve hanging limp by his side. The other arm he hooks around your waist and leads you back out to the shop, towards the door. 

“Ezra, it’s pouring outside,” you say, seeing the rain slick street outside, the asphalt shining black under the streetlights, “Let me at least give you a lift home, you’ll get soaked. Where do you live?” 

“No, it’s no trouble, honey pie, my car is parked just a block away. And unlike you, my sweet thing, I am not made of sugar, a little rain won’t melt me,” he grins. 

A twinge of regret hits your heart as you see the mask so clearly come up over his face again, the dark eyes shifting into something less open, the softness fading away even as he smiles at you.

“Do you have to leave?” you ask as he opens the door, and he turns, resting his back against the frame of the door. 

“The illusion has to break,” he says softly, raising his hand and running the back of it over your cheek, giving you a small wink, but the mischief doesn’t reach his eyes this time. 

“What does that mean, Ezra?” you ask but he just shakes his head, leaning forward and pressing his lips to yours. 

“Take care of my soufflé recipe, sweet girl,” he mumbles, pulling back and giving you a crooked smile. Then he turns and hurries across the street, the rain splashing around his shoes as he pulls his collar up and disappears into the darkness between the streetlights. 

…

The bell of the front door jingles just as you’re sweeping the floor, and as you look up, you spot Barbara from the dry cleaner across the street stepping into the shop. 

“Hi, you’re still open this late?” she asks, shaking out her platinum blonde box dye curls and you internally sigh, Barbara is the neighborhood chatterbox and you just want to go home, it’s been a long day. But you put on a smile and continue sweeping.

“I’m just getting ready to leave, what’s up?” 

“I meant to come earlier but I’ve been so busy. I just wanted to warn you in case he comes by here too,” she says, eyes scanning your bakery as if she’s looking for someone.

“Who?” you ask and she turns back to you. 

“There’s a man, you’ve probably seen him, shifty looking guy, he only has one arm, and a weird blonde patch in his hair. He’s been around to all the shops in this neighborhood. I saw him outside your place earlier today.”  

“What about him?” you ask, keeping your voice neutral as you duck down and wipe a shelf that’s already been cleaned, hiding your face. 

“He’s been conning business into giving him free stuff all week, food, clothes, shoes,” Barbara says, wrinkling her nose in disgust at the very nerve of asking for something for free. “Mr. Mason even gave him a haircut and trimmed his beard, how he dared to do that I don’t even know. I wouldn’t even let him into the dry cleaners, you can’t trust people like that.” 

You’re listening, your hand cleaning the same spot over and over as lead settles in your stomach. 

“H-how do you know that?” you ask, moving to the coffee machine, rubbing it down with your back to her. 

“Mrs. Levinson told me that Fanny, you know Fanny, in the flower shop?”

“Yeah, I know here, what did she say?” you ask impatiently, yanking at the milk nozzle, and you hear Barbara scoff behind you. 

“Well, apparently, this man, he told Mr. Olson at the hardware store, that he lost his arm in a construction accident, but Mrs.Saqib’s husband works at the hospital and he said this guy came in last year with a gunshot wound, all infected and nasty. And that’s how he lost his arm,” she snorts, cackling to herself. 

You continue to clean the machine, the heavy weight in your stomach turning to nausea, trying to keep your breathing steady as Ezra’s warm smile floats up inside your mind. 

“He told the police he got shot at a poker game and it was an accident but I reckon he’s lying,” Barbara continues, “men like that, you never know what they get up to, a real nasty piece of work I think.” 

“Thanks Barbara,” you snap, “I really need to close up and get home, thanks for telling me, I’ll be careful if I see him.” 

You usher her to the door as she huffs at the abrupt interruption to her gossip session but you can’t get her out fast enough, slamming the door harder than necessary and giving her a strained smile through the window as she waves. 

You hurry back to the kitchen, the ramekins still on the workbench and Ezra’s spoon next to them, just where he’d put it before he kissed you no more than a little while ago. You can’t even look at it, pulling your coat off the hook, you rush out through the back door and into the rain. 

Early next morning, long before the rest of the world is awake, you’re back at the bakery after a sleepless night. No matter how little rest you got, the bakery has to open, and for it to open, you need to bake. Familiar motions of the early hours, a chance to stop your mind from spinning, it feels like a small relief today. The thoughts of Ezra in your tired mind won’t let your head relax and as you walk up to the back steps you almost miss the envelope pushed under the door. 

You unlock the door and slip out the note inside while you step inside. The piece of paper is folded in an uneven line and as you smooth it out you see the unsteady handwriting of someone who’s writing with the wrong hand. 

I know what they say about me, the gossip, the rumors, and I confess, most of it is true. I’m sorry. I wish I was a different man, I wish I could offer you something, anything, but I have nothing to give to anyone.  

I did tell you the truth in the end though. You captivate me. You will always be my most cherished memory. That will always be true. 

Always yours, 

Ezra 

Part Six

Two links this time, one to the NYT recipe and one to the wonderful Claire Saffitz's making the souffles if you want to attempt them yourselves. I've added the caramel and sea salt though, as an extra layer of Ezra ☺

Tag list: @harriedandharassed @inept-the-magnificent @sheepdogchick3  @readingiskeepingmegoing @noisynightmarepoetry @survivingandenduring @vabeachazn @amyispxnk @oberynslady @vabeachazn

#Youtube

[limeinaltime]

With the news of a possible Nope sequel, I feel it is time to dump more insane ramblings at 1 in the morning. Specifically on an idea/possible theme(?) that’s been bouncing around with my head for a bit. Note that this is all just an idea I came up with personally; I’m sure that whatever Peele ends up serving up will slap.

What if Jean Jacket did have babies at some point before the film, or laid eggs or whatever before its death? What if all that aggression and territorial behavior wasn’t just self defense? And what does media eat up more than baby animals (and child actors)?

The general idea is that after the events of the movie, Jean Jacket’s corpse brings a lot of attention to the Haywood ranch, the photo ends up on Oprah, blah blah blah, the ranch’s business kind of improves but not entirely, but the photo makes enough money for OJ, Em and Angel to recover from the whole event without OJ having to jump back into running the ranch again. The three are ready to put all the UAP shit behind them, until the dead body sitting on their property attracts the attention of an infant UAP, the last piece of Jean Jacket’s legacy. It would also be a fun parallel to the events of Nope; Jean jacket kills OJ and Em’s father, Em and OJ team up to kill Jean Jacket, leaving its baby on its own, round and round it goes.

This UAP lacks Jean Jacket’s aggression and hasn’t learned to attack and eat everything that perceives it, but is ultimately not something that should be kept as a pet anyway. It causes havoc around the ranch, but ultimately ends up endearing itself to the main cast in its own unsettling baby murder roomba way. Coined “Jorts” or something related to jeans, OJ, Em and Angel are basically stuck playing stand-in nanny until Jorts can fly off on its own and find its own turf without domesticating it, and keeping the hungry eyes of the network from sniffing out what they deem as just another piece of media to be consumed.

Maybe some scattered Jean Jacket history would be thrown in as well, like some weird parallel to the Haywood siblings with legacy and stuff (I personally think it’s a descendant of the Roswell UFO that was killed or just died, similar to how the Haywoods are descendants of the black jockey on the horse). The hypothetical sequel would probably have some unsettling but kind of cute moments as the main trio tries to wrangle Jorts and keep it from becoming another spectacle for the press to eat up. Maybe a whole bunch of UAPs see Jean Jacket’s now-free territory and think “it’s free real estate” and start wrecking the gulch again. Maybe we’ll get Star Lasso Experience 2: Electric Boogaloo UAP Dinner Party Edition. The trio ultimately ends up releasing Jorts back into the wild where it belongs. Nature is cruel and cannot be tamed, but it still has its moments of beauty.

I’m honestly okay with either outcome of whether or not Peele does make more movies about the Nope universe. Each potential setting opens the door for another interesting way to explore the potential terror the UAPs can bring down upon humanity, but if he chooses to expand on the main story, then I’m down for that, too. I am thinking about an AU/event in another part of the world involving my own UAP, Blackjack, so I’m not one to talk.

#nope 2022

[girlfriendsofthegalaxy]

there's been an uptick in people asking if they can do tuesdayposts too (yes, hi hello yes, my god, please do i want to read them, the format isn't copyrighted or anything) which made me think about how i use the tuesdayposts as an excuse to go looking for weird shit and why i'm so annoyed when something is recommended to me but the rec doesn't give me a good pitch. this grew into a digression about the function of a critic and what i use reviews for. and what like axes of things i find important or what i use various sources for. so it's a separate post now bc there's not a real...point to it, mostly getting my thoughts in order. also it is very long

while i would not wish the title of "culture critic" upon my worst enemy, let's sidestep “oooh all critics/tastemakers/influencers are bullshit”. imo you’re supposed to find one whose taste aligns with yours and THEN use their reviews to find new things. if my taste aligns with yours, cool! if you're just here to see what weird shit i made or pulled out of an estate sale this week, also cool!

i think the most successful discussion of a work is "what is it/what's the pitch, what is it TRYING to do given the context of the time and people who created it, does it accomplish its goals or tell its story in a coherent fashion" and then finally what i think most people get most hung up on is "do I PERSONALLY think this work accomplished its goals or storytelling in a manner i found reasonable/understandable/liked".

i really, really, really hate the style of review that tells me nothing about the work except there's a token gay person in it. i saw zero useful reviews of OFMD before i gave up and watched the first ep myself.

here are some people who fulfill the above useful criteria, i pay attention to, and why their recs work for me: gita jackson, a culture/games critic over at vice knows the difference between a movie being Good and a movie being Fun, and is a queer person under 30 with a film degree so our needs align on several important axes. so i waited to watch the rpatz batman until they wrote an article and they said if it was fun or not.

cyberexboyfriend on instagram and i think mainly tiktok (lots of crossposts) has opinions i agree with about mcmansion architecture, and an eye for the weird late eighties through early oughts fashion and art that fell through the cracks. like the media that fuels the Extremely Online art i generally find annoying, but the source media of edited anime or fantasy movie screencaps on tshirts is generally pretty cool. this fills an important function to me bc i like going "ah! i know where that's from" when i see a hot girl in joanns wearing a shirt from vapor95.

i follow exactly four people on letterboxd and they are the aforementioned critics plus two mutuals bc i already know their general media tastes align with mine. wendy @dying-suffering-french-stalkers is very very good at finding things that have a certain quality of emotion to them. not full horror, not full tragedy, and not full melancholia either, but a catharsis or a putting an era to bed gently and turning the lights out when you're done. honey @birdcfparadise is willing to sit through a lotta goddamn nonsense in order to report back about the good ones and we both have a finely honed taste in the dilfs of the silver screen. where the fuck else am i going to get vital intelligence like this

furthermore these two are the only people i trust about Classic Movie (tm) Opinions. like, they will tell me if a movie that is very much a Product of its Era (tm) is worth sitting through the things that make it very much a Product of its Era (tm). i haunt the letterboxd activity page to see what they've added to their watchlists

i pay more attention to @morrak's book recs and shove them to the front of my list bc we have the same not-quite-engineer-but-enough-to-be-dangerous kind of brain and literally all of his recs have hit, including the ones where i'm like "ough this is very good but i need to come back to it later". i pay more attention to whatever the fuck @believerindaydreams is up to be we both like the same sort of heavily allusive, love letter to pulp kinds of stories.

my point is not "everyone needs to make more friends and if you don't have a richly layered online friend group of nearly a decade in some cases funneling art to you through the medium of tumblr then you're toast" but like. along with critics, friends' recs and things i found while trying to find friends' recs are a huge driver of the tuesdayposts. people fundamentally want to share the cool new shit they've found. that's why we're all here, blogging

#tuesdaypost meta

[aleksandrdubrovin]

Innovative marketing strategies

Currently, demand for Class A warehouse real estate exceeds supply, resulting in a shortage in the market. As a result, the vacancy rate dropped to a record low of 1% last year, while a balanced industrial real estate market requires vacancies of about 5%. Despite this, the market remains disequilibrium in favor of owners rather than tenants. Large developers can choose tenants and determine terms, affecting developer companies' marketing strategy.

Previously, developers have actively pursued marketing strategies to attract attention to their brand, increase market share, and establish customer contacts. With the right approach, these strategies significantly impacted the company's results. The developers used various methods such as creative banners, television commercials, Internet marketing, etc.

To promote their warehouse facilities, PNK Group has resorted to the help of marketing innovator Aleksandr Dubrovin, who led the creation of several videos. World-class celebrities were invited for the filming, including Samy Naceri - the main character of the movie "Taxi" - and Jean Renault himself. The videos were made in the format of extreme tours, in which the warehouses offered by the company were subjected to a kind of crash test organized by retired superhero tour guides.

Media trends have become increasingly demanding, showing that content must be high quality. A viewer spending more and more time on the Internet quickly loses interest, so more effort must be made to make your product stand out. One method that can work 100% is the use of celebrities. Aleksandr Dubrovin used this approach, got over 30 million views, increased brand awareness, and attracted new customers. Compared to boring advertising, which focused on the facility's deadline and area, extreme tours were a breath of fresh air.

In 2021, marketing strategy remains essential for commercial real estate developers, but experts advise shifting the focus to product quality. Aleksandr Dubrovin, a famous marketing expert and trendsetter in promoting industrial real estate, says that under conditions when the developer sets the requirements, maintaining the quality of the product is extremely important. There is often a temptation to go for quantity, but the demand for Class A industrial real estate continues to grow along with the growth of the online segment.

Commercial real estate marketing specialist Aleksandr Dubrovin is unfamiliar with an approach where objects are built randomly only to gain space and sell. Today the first place in marketing strategy is to develop new products that meet the needs of a rapidly growing market. For example, Aleksandr Dubrovin, as a trendsetter in promoting industrial real estate, recommends building two-story warehouses or small multi-user warehouses of a light industrial type suitable for small, medium, and large businesses. Statistics from significant retailers confirm Dubrovin's words about the continued growth of the online segment. Analysts at the largest online marketplace provided data on Black Friday results and compared them to last year's results. This year's total amount of orders exceeded 43 billion rubles, which is 2.6 times more than last year. Another major retail giant reported a significant increase in sales compared to last year - on its platform, the volume of orders on Black Friday increased fivefold. Such companies are buying Class A warehouses for their distribution centers, where goods are stored, sorted, and shipped directly to customers.

#Dubrovin Aleksandr #famous marketing expert Aleksandr Dubrovin

[throwawayfish]

𝐉𝐉 𝐌𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary: moving from new york city to the outerbanks was already difficult in itself. but having to deal with being hated by a blonde surfer who questioned your existence made it harder to keep a secret you cannot disclose. especially when his friends roped you into what they called a gold game

warnings: focuses on how you got to the outer banks, language, mild derogatory terms, mentions of death, adoption, accidents

a/n: my second series! hope you guys like this as much as the first one. let me know if you want to be added to my taglist.

the atrocious heat of the sun hit your substantially exposed body. as much as you didn’t want it to look too bare for people at the beach to have a free exhibit, the scorching july day made even your sheerest sundress too uncomfortable to wear.

you were unacquainted to the small island called the outerbanks. used to the chaotic hustle of new york city, it was as if life came to a sudden halt when you stepped out of the ferry to live a new life. a life where waking up early to avoid the morning frenzy on the subways and anticipating the city’s midnight madness was no longer your usual.

it did not take too long of living on the island that you mustered up knowledge about your new environment. how there are two sides of the island and two different groups. which meant it didn’t take long for you to realize that you were put in the kook category, just by the look of the houses in the area much like your own. but you hated it, the title and attention.

you closed your eyes, not minding the squeals and giggles of kids at the beach with their families. ignoring a few whistles you got and muttering of locals that you were sure were about you. as you blocked out the distractions, you laid under a palm tree seeking shade until the rays of light didn’t shine through the leaves anymore as the day progressed.

as the wind picked up, you headed back to figure eight, careful not to be followed by whoever. it has been a routine for you to do your laundry at the house as well as take a small amount of cash enough to suffice for a week or two. and as you finish what you need to do, lock all doors and go to where you felt safe and invisible, the cut.

life in new york city came naturally to you. growing up with adoptive parents made you thankful for them having to put up with you. it took years for you to open up when you were adopted, but when you did it was something you would even call magical. helena and marcus hawke made you feel loved you as their own, doing everything they can to make you have the best life to live, and for that you couldn’t be more happy. the house always smelling like freshly baked goods and breads. lively flowers littering the windowsills and the house well lit with the rolling stones playing no matter what the weather or season was.

it was a sudden shift in scenery. your brownstone that was once cozy became dull. one that could be a contender to houses used in horror films. you were closed off to people because of the handful of times you’ve had a foster home just for them to put you back in the system once they got tired of you, so you learned not to get comfortable.

you came home from school one gloomy, winter day. cheeks red and tight from the blizzard you barely just escaped. the house blue despite the candles and lamps doing everything they can to improve it. you heard thumping from upstairs, voices loud enough for you to hear them trying to keep it down. thinking that it was your parents who just got home from their three day business trip, up the rickety stairs you went. you were welcomed by your aunt in your dad’s old art room, the one turned into a boring office.

noticing the almost bare walls and a surprisingly clean desk, you knocked on the slightly opened door. two pairs of eyes were suddenly looking at you. cold ones, which only heightened your worries.

“what are you guys doing?!” you pointed at the wedding canvas that was taken down and leaning on the bookshelf. not meaning to raise your voice at them, you muttered a soft sorry and went back to scanning the room.

“y/n, you are coming to brooklyn with us.” vera, your aunt said dryly, making your head snap in her direction. austin, her husband didn’t bother looking at you and continued rummaging through the drawers and putting them in piles.

“austin, what are you doing? and what do you mean i’m going to brooklyn? where’s mom?!” tears were threatening to fall down your now warm cheeks though you didn’t have any idea why. but with the looks on their faces and actions, you could tell something was going on. mainly because the family you have been adopted into had too much pride to just accept you as their own blood, despite your parents loving you from the moment they saw you.

“helena and marcus got in a car accident yesterday. dead on arrival. now i don’t have much time, i have a busy schedule so will you please just pack. we’re leaving in a bit.”

you felt your heart breaking. it was like a huge punch in the face, the one that knocks you out and you forget what happened hours prior when you wake. and then you felt it, the feeling of being closed off because people who are important left once again, leaving you all alone.

“and you’re gonna tell me this when?! when they’re burried?! fuck!” austin strided towards you, vera not holding him back when he gripped your arm rather harshly.

“you should be thankful we’re even here, you ungrateful bitch! if it weren’t for the will i would be kicking you out into the streets so you can be a drug addict just like your real mom when she gave you up! now go pack!”

his words and behaviour were unexpected. of course you accepted the judgemental stares and coldness gave you every time there were gatherings or meetings your parents brought you to. you learned to accept that they will never treat you normally as part of the family, but you have never imagined it escalating to this. and with what he said, you further confirmed he was bad news.

you ran to your room, hurriedly gathering the things most important to you. including the shark tooth necklace your dad gave you when he gave you a tour of their lab. heading out the door, you turned back to grab the cassette he always played on the radio. you opened it to check if it was not damaged, and as you slid the tape out of the cardboard protector a pink paper your mom loved writing on fell on the floor.

to panic was your first instinct, especially with the footsteps approaching the room. so you hid the paper in your pocket together with your emotions just in time before your aunt barged through the door.

“i’m sorry for the way he acted, but it’s not like you didn’t deserve it. we’re leaving in ten minutes whether you like it or not. ten minutes.” she uttered and left, goosebumps travelling your body from her piercing eyes.

you immediately shut the door, doing your hardest to make the slightest sound. then you leaned against it and fished out for the letter. it was your mom’s handwriting, you haven’t started reading anything and just saw the usual cursive letters and just like that tears poured down your cheeks.

the letter contained information, of how to get into an island you had never heard of in your life. so you reached for the envelope said to be under your nightstand which contained fifty thousand dollars. and you were off, into the cold not caring for the protests of your aunt and uncle. smashing and throwing away your phone, with your duffel bag slung over your shoulder, you hollered for a cab, and to the airport you headed.

the letter contained fairly easy instructions, but it was difficult to ponder. the letter said to look for heyward and once you asked around as you stepped off the ferry, you were led to meet with a man with a welcoming aura, finishing up some groceries before ushering you onto another boat when you introduced yourself.

it was more or less half an hour when the dated boat parked on a dock of a huge estate not isolated but far enough from other mansions. the outside was surrounded with bright green grass. cobblestones in perfect placement lining the path to the front porch with large antique oakwood doors.

as you dropped your bag into the tiled floor, you heaved a deep sigh. looking at heyward as you forced a kind smile.

“thank you. my parents must really trust you if they told me to find you.” he nodded as if he bowed, looking around the bare living room before answering.

“you’re safe here, kid. and you’ll figure it out. you’re brave to go to a place you don’t know, especially from new york. it takes guts.” you raised the corners of your lips which he returned

the short stay you were in the house you noticed minor details that could be of great significance. no decorations or paintings on the walls, it was different back in the city as your dad loved art. no antiques suiting your mom’s taste, and no sign of anyone having lived there. the massive space only decorated with necessary furniture.

and with that, as heyward tapped your upper arm and turned around, you called out “is there somewhere i could stay that will not capture attention?”

you hated the feeling of asking him such question. after driving the boat to your house that are bright to the eyes of people, here you are asking for another place to stay. you felt like you were interrupting his tight schedule, but you felt worse thinking that you were bragging. he was occupied with his job when you arrived, working hard to make a living and you don’t even have to worry about paying for another house.

negative thoughts were wiped out of your mind when he let out a laugh, tapping his temple with his pointer finger “i knew you’re a hawke! smart kid. i know a place. but you stay here for a bit to explore. i’ll pick you up after a delivery i have to make.” you nodded, feeling the weight lift off your shoulders.

as he stepped out the door, he peeked one last time gaining back your attention “third room to the left upstairs, the small wine cooler is a safe, i’m sure you’ll know where to find the code.”

it was a peaceful drive that even you were surprised, used to having clouded thoughts that you cannot seem to get rid off. having the windows down definitely did you wrong as a loud honk of a horn from a rundown volkswagen startled you along with its bright headlights, making you swerve your jeep.

the probability of you crashing was high, being that you closed your eyes trying to control the vehicle. it just so happens that you are lucky enough to have pressed on the brakes faster before falling in a ditch.

heavy breaths escaped your now pale lips, your heart pounding twice the speed you were driving before the unfortunate incident.

“oh my god! are you okay?!” you heard a girls voice query in a loud tone as you tried to steady your breathing. you nodded quickly but she did not buy it, the shaking of your head made you panicked state apparent.

you looked up, three pairs of eyes glancing intently at you. “john b you stupid asshole!” she yelled once again as you observed all of their expressions. blue eyes catching your attention but breaking the contact as you tried to start the car once again only for it turn off.

“shit” it wasn’t unheard by the three teenagers as you turned the ignition for the hundredth time “we can give you a ride if you want.” the guy who the brunette lass called john b offered, you looked at him and back at the other for confirmation earning nods except from the blonde one.

“we’re not giving a kook a free ride.” he declared and your doe eyes widened by the statement not knowing how he can identify your so called title before relaxing as you watched scan your car.

“good to know that if i died i would’ve died right here because your bus is pogue exclusive.” you rebutted. he let out a laugh, the three others merely watching the exchange

“it’s a van, princess. not a bus.” his remark made you roll your eyes. you didn’t know if it was because of the reply itself or the nickname he gave you, nonetheless it made your stomach turn.

“don’t be a prick. come on, we’ll help you get your car back tomorrow.” the girl once again said. it was late at night, so as much as you wanted to decline, you had no choice but to agree. especially when her smile made you feel welcome despite the inhospitable approach of the blonde.

a shriek was let out by another boy when the sliding door was opened, the others let out a laugh and you couldn’t help to do so too by the sight of him trying to cover his lower area even with boxers.

“didn’t know we have a guest i would’ve prepared!” you giggled with the three, accepting his hand as he introduced himself as pope. the others soon doing the same except that one boy once again.

“do you have a problem with me?” you couldn’t help but ask out of annoyance. “i don’t need to explain myself to you, kook.” he answered under his breath and avoided your stare.

problems with any body on the island is one thing you wished to avoid, so at any given circumstance, and because you have the excuse for it, you played your last card.

“i’m a pogue, stupid.”

attention was on you, even john b who slowly stopped driving and looked back to ask you where you lived. making a u turn once you told him where your house was on the cut.

“are you new?” pope uttered starting a conversation. you shook your head, already having come up with a lie “lived here my whole life.” a scoff was let out and you looked at the blonde once again

“how come we haven’t seen you here before?” he asked, and you smirked “that’s because i’m a vampire, you just got lucky to spot me tonight.” the others laughed, making you comfortable to stand your ground against the blue eyed boy

“i still haven’t gotten a name you know.” all you got was a frown which turned to a smirk “that’s for me to know and y—” “it’s jj!” “kie!” you laughed at the altercation, secretly wishing to have a friendship like theirs as you watched them playfully slap and kick each other.

“a pogue with a brand new jeep, interesting.” he blurted out and drilled a hole into your head with his cerulean eyes “i’ll let you take it for a spin don’t worry.” he hastily shook his head, an irritated look on his face “i don’t want anything to do with you so fuck off will ya?”

as your eyes widened you let out a whistle and raised your hands in defeat. telling john b to let you out as your house is not far enough. for your own good and the blonde pogue’s sake.

you barely started your walk when you heard footsteps approach. turning around, you were ready to defend yourself from whoever would cause you harm, but were met by the boy who just made it clear he hated your presence.

“you don’t come up behind someone like that! i could’ve taken your eye out!” you wished to call the silence comfortable if it weren’t for the stares of the jj creeping into your arms and back. reciprocating the attention, you noticed he was staring just below your face. you were about to call him out when you glanced down your neck, where your shark tooth necklace carefully sat.

“why are you here—” “where’d you get that?” he asked sincerely, sending a tightening feeling on your throat. “found it laying somewhere. not that it’s your business. why are you here?” you lied and asked once again

“john b told me to tell you he’s picking you up tomorrow to get your car.” he stuttered, “okay cool.” you quickly muttered and turned around not wanting to further drag the interaction.

convincing yourself to relax, the blonde boy was bothered as he went back to the twinkie, letting out a laugh of dismay “she’s hiding something.” his friends furrowed their brows, ready to hear what he has to say

“she’s hiding something and i’m gonna find out what it is. even if it means being around her annoying ass.”

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[hwrryscherry]

 The one where the reader meets Harry as Jack

characters: HARRYxREADER!FEM

blurb: Harry is filming Don't Worry Darling in Palms Springs while Y/N is moving in in her new house in the neighbourhood where the movie is being filmed. Turns out the fate wanted to cross Harry and Y/N's way as a box full of books is very intriguing to Harry and Pride and Prejudice becomes Harry's new favorite.

word count: 2.7K

author's note: Heyy guys, it has been SO LONG and honestly I don’t think this is best work yet lol but anyway, I had the worst writer’s block of my life so it was so hard for me to write a single word. Honestly, I felt kinda pressured to write. I felt like I was pressuring myself for that so I had to take advantage of this block and take this idea out of my mind. I want to say something important too; I really want to say that the only story of mine that I’ll keep the face claim is HARRYxMODELY/N, just because I like to use the photos to make instagram posts sometimes. I will no longer describe types of hair as I used to say ‘’long strands of hair’’, it will be neutral for you to imagine yourself in the story. It’s all about you guys and how you can visualize the story and the character, if you want to imagine a face claim that’s cool but if you don’t want to it’s cool too. Feel free to read and visualize, it’s all about you. Thank you for the support on my account and my writing. I’m aware that I’m not the best lol, but I also think that I have so much to learn from you just as I have to teach. I’m so grateful for everyone who reads and like my stuff. Never forget that you’re unique, you’re loved, you’re so golden and treat people with kindness always.

   "Why is it so hot in here? It's fucking December!", you'd think to yourself as you drove your new car through the streets of Palm Springs. The thing is that after you moved from Columbia to reside so many years in New York while you were studying English Language and Literature in Yale, you just got so used with the usual colder weather from NY and it's just a different vibe from California. You had such a hard time to decide what you wanted to do after graduating, though. And after a few weeks and some long conversations with your family, you decided you would go to California. Palm Springs, to be more specific. You decided that because you remembered all the times you went there when you were a kid because your grandmother lived in there before she passed. You remember spending your summer vacation with her and how cool it was. It was in the early 2000′s and there was many kids on your age that lived on her street. You remember playing with them all day and then getting back into your grandma’s house and feeling that cinnamon scent that for some one only her house had. It wasn’t a usual cinnamon scent. It had something special in it. It made you feel so warm and welcomed. You remember helping her to bake the most delicious cookies, brownies and cakes in her kitchen. You remember the kitchen had a yellow counter, but the entire kitchen was white. All very pale and then the cheerful yellow in the kitchen that colored everything. You remember going to play bingo with her and how it made her happy to having you around. You both were so close and you had such a hard time when she passed, but the most important was she taught you so many things during your time together, and you’d never forget those things and her.

    As you drove, you’d remember those streets vaguely. You’d pass through the soccer court you typically used to go with the other kids and spent hours playing in there. You were vibing with the song in the stereo as you started getting closer to your new house’s street. It was Carolina by Harry Styles; you have to admit you’re not the biggest Harry Styles fan in the world, but you were definitely a One Direction fan when you were around 16, but you couldn't be considered a directioner either. You just listened to a few songs and thought it was good. But anyway, this specific song is one that you particularly like. It may have something to do with the fact that you’re from Carolina, of course. But it’s more about the vibe and the melody that by being animated it could actually cheer anyone up and the lyrics were undeniably good though, a little sexual, but good. It’s more about the vibe and the melody that by being animated it could actually cheer anyone up and the lyrics were really good though, a little sexual, but good.

    When you turned the right way into the street of your new home, you came across much more than you expected to see on your moving day. There were, as it seemed, paparazzi. Apparently they were shooting a movie right in your street, and it had also many people with many cameras and trailers that probably were dressing rooms. Naturally, you knew that thousands of films were shot in California, that’s obvious. But you didn't expect one to be shooting exactly on your moving day and specifically in your street, let alone that the street would be this crowded since the world is experiencing a global pandemic, ironic. You observed some of the people walking down the street, or should you call it a set? You don't know, but there were many people and many cars, at least they were all wearing masks. It had many classic cars, probably in the 40s or 50s style. They were colorful; vivid colors, though. Colors like yellow, blue and lilac was really present. To resume, the whole street looked like a movie from the 50s and for sure that was the intention because you could notice some extras walking around the set dressed up as 50s people used to.

    As you carefully drive through the street, you’d notice that from what seemed like a divine miracle, there was a vacant parking spot right in front of your house and you can’t help but smile when you see it. The first time you came here to see the house. You were with your family, and that was about four months ago. You just loved the house completely as it had such a different vibe from the place you used to live in New York, and honestly, just the thought of the house made your creativity activate as it had some really cool colored walls and you bought some colored mobile as well. Anyway, you stopped the car right in front of your house finishing the engine and grabbing your mask and putting it in your face as you'd use your hand to get rid of the seat belt and your other hand to open the car door and get out of the car.

    After closing the driver's seat door, you go around the car walking to the trunk where you use the car key to open it. When you open it, you are faced with two cardboard boxes. One was full of books. Books of all kinds, books of period novels, books of suspense, books of investigation and etc. Books that piqued your curiosity and made you want to finish reading it as quickly as possible. The other box was already full of clothes, those last clothes that you would finally be taking home. Your mother has done the biggest job in the moving issue; she was the one who was bringing the furniture and your things while you finished packing the rest of your things to leave New York. You try your hardest not to pay attention to the set of recordings and the people who walked back and forth, at the same time that you tried hard not to make any noise, because if you accidentally disturbed a scene, you would feel extremely embarrassed and would probably not even show up at the gate until the end of filming, but that was not the case. You removed the two boxes from the trunk just before closing it completely. You chose, perhaps, to enter the clothes box first. You bent down taking the box in your arms and walked to the door of the house where you used the key you received from the real-estate agent to unlock it before entering. You immediately noticed that some sunbeams reflected on the living room floor due to the white linen curtain that covered the glass windows. You observed the contrast of the sofa in such a light tone with the lilac wall just behind it. You walked with the box in hand by the door extension to the room where you placed the box on the small coffee table in front of the sofa. Returning out of the house, you can see the figure of a tall man dressed in a brown suit crouched in front of the box of your books. He had brown hair and properly cut. It didn't look like he was messing with your books, but he was definitely looking at them and it seemed like he was trying to read the covers of it for some reason. You slowly got closer to the man's body without making too much noise while you analyzed him, you crossed your arms upon your chest as you noticed the book cover he was looking at: Love is a mixtape by Rob Sheffield.

— This one is amazing! — You said, surprising the man that stand up fastly with the book in his hands connecting his green gaze with yours. He was tall, really tall by the way. His suit seemed perfect, just as his hair. He had a black mask on as a protection but the 16 year old teenager inside of you could never mistake those eyes. It was Harry fricking Styles. You considerated being quiet as you, yourself were pretty surprised now, but then you took your gaze to the book in his hand and then back at his face — It's like comparing love to a popular song that we usually search to define love. Just to find out that love is like oxygen, or love is a kind of drug, or a battlefield for some... — You said referring to the book with a tender smile on your face that Harry couldn't essentially see, but talking about a book that you loved caused this on you. And as you talked you didn't notice that Harry had a smile on his face as well. Maybe it was because you completely ignored the fact that he is Harry Styles and he was messing up your books as he's on the set filming a movie, or maybe it was the fact that he loved this book just as much as you did. He'd use to say this is probably one of the books that if he had to read just one book to the rest of his life, he'd chose this one and he usually had so much to talk about this book and so much to put on an argument about it but now he was completely speechless. He was just tongue tied. He was tongue tied about your reflection of one of his favorite books and how it looked so identical to his own personal reflection. He was tongue tied for the number of great books that he always wanted to read that was on that box. He was tongue tied at the owner of those books and her beauty, her intelligence of her voice and her voice as well so he just chuckled. A nervous chuckle as he leaned his head to look at the floor for a second before looking at you and holding out the book in his hands to you that calmly took it from his hands.

— I know! It's one of my favorite books! — Harry'd ultimately manage to say it as he observed you admiring the cover and running your fingers through it as a truly book lover would do — It's very interesting the interpretation you have of it.

— Don't you agree? — You'd interrupt him rising your head to examine at his face. He seemed paralyzed by some way, little did you know that Harry was mesmerized. He enjoyed the informal way you were speaking with him, and it genuinely felt like you already knew it each for years.

— That's the intriguing part. We have the same interpretation! — He'd say serenely, and then running his hand through his hair as he frown a little because of the sun that just hit on his glowing eyes.

— Well...Maybe you're just trying to imitate me to impress me! — You'd joke, with a mocking expression on your face making Harry giggle at your words and your face. It was the sense of humor to him.

— Oh really? And what makes you think I'm trying to impress you? — Harry'd say back with the same mocking tone that you formerly used. He'd observe your face go from playful to thoughtful in just as you to come up with a response.

— I mean...you were the one looking through my stuff, mister! — You say raising your eyebrows as you utilized one of your hands to take some strands of hair out of your face.

— Right... — Harry said with a defeated voice before as he compressed his lips together and moved his suit away from his shirt a little as he places his hands on his waist — I'm sorry about it, though. There was this box hanging here and I guess I was just intrigued! — He said shyly making you start walking towards the box walking closely to him causing him to feel a hot warm from your body as you passed. You'd bend over to grab the box but was stopped by Harry taking the heavy box from your hands — Let me help you with this! — Harry said as he held the box on his arms.

— There's no need for that. It'll ruin your splendid suit! — You'd say gently to him as he was standing up in front of you carefully holding the loaded box. Legitimately, he looked hot. He properly looked like a 50s husband helping with the moving with this outfit — And if you piss off your costume designer because of me I'll die! — You'd complement receiving a loud laugh from Harry's lips that shook his head while looking at you.

— She’ll be fine! — Harry'd argue back, then get a sigh from you before nodding at him as a statement.

— My house is right there! — You'd say using your right hand to point at your house, watching Harry turn his back to you and start walking towards it. You followed him through the door that was already open. Harry looked at the house immediately. It had a good vibe, and he wouldn't deny it. The choice of colors was exceptional, but he also noticed it was not very tidy, which would probably indicate that you were moving today.

— Where do I leave it? — Harry asked, referring to the box as he went farther into the living room.

— You can just leave it on the floor ��� You serenely said crossing your arms together and watching as he left the box on the floor and turned around to face you, but then deflecting his gaze to the ceiling before staring at your face again.

— It's a beautiful house! — Harry said as he moved his gaze through the room. He observed everything. He likes to observe. He likes to notice things that maybe other people didn't — Just like the owner, if I might say — Harry said cheekily and charming hearing your giggle invade his ears as you started walking towards the box of books that he previously set on the floor.

— The owner says thank you — You said bending down and starting to take the books out of the box and place it on the coffee table beside you as Harry watched your movements. You shyly looked at him thinking for a second and them smiling under your mask — For both compliments! — You said getting your attention back to the books. It's not that you don't want to give him your attention. It's that you genuinely think that he's just being nice, and he's probably not even interested in anything that you say.

— So... I have to go back to the film now but maybe you can give me your number so we can talk about your interpretation of my favorite book — Harry said shyly. His words took you by surprise actually but you couldn't hold back the smirk you had under your mask as you stand up again turning to face his green eyes. You noticed that he had his phone on his hand, hoping and waiting that you'd give him your number even though both of you knew that the book excuse was nothing more than an excuse as he was truly interested in knowing you.

— Well, it depends... — you said slowly as you took a deep breath before actually saying anything — If you agree to read my favorite books too, I'll give you my number!

— I'd be honored! — Harry chuckled after letting a sigh out feeling relief that you asked for something so simple that he'd love to do if that would make you happy — What's your name? — Harry said as he unblocked his phone screen and started to save your phone number.

— Save it as Elizabeth Bennet in there! — You said fastly with a proud smile on your face as Harry giggled and did as you ask and then looked at your face as he put his phone back on his pocket.

— Only if you save my name as Mr. Darcy when I call you! — Harry said knowing that after this, Pride and Prejudice would definitely become one of his favorite books ever.

#hwrryscherry #harry and y/n #harry styles and y/n #harry x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles au #harey styles blurb #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles blurb #harry styles one shot #boyfriend harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines

[writemarcus]

HITTING NEW HEIGHTS

BY MARCUS SCOTT

ORIGINAL RENT STAR DAPHNE RUBIN-VEGA TAKES YOU INSIDE THE IN THE HEIGHTS FILM

Qué quiere decir sueñito?” The disembodied voice of a girlchild ponders. “It means ‘little dream,’” responds an unseen authoritative figure, his feathery tenor with a soft rasp and tender lilt implying there’s more to the story.

Teal waves crash against the white sand coastal lines of the Dominican Republic and a quartet of children plead with the voice to illuminate and tell a story. Usnavi de la Vega (played by Anthony Ramos), sporting his signature newsboy flat cap and full goatee, begins to narrate and weave a tall-tale from the comforts of his beachside food cart: “This is the story of a block that was disappearing. Once upon a time in a faraway land called Nueva York, en barrio called Washington Heights. Say it, so it doesn’t disappear,” he decrees.

And we’re off, this distant magic kingdom ensnared within the winding urban sprawl of farthest-uptown Manhattan, the music of the neighborhood chiming with infinite possibilities: a door-latch fastening on tempo, a ring of keys sprinkling a sweet embellishment, the splish-splash of a garden hose licking the city streets like a drumstick to a snare fill, a manhole cover rotating like vinyl on a get-down turntable, the hiss of paint cans spraying graffiti like venoms from cobras and roll-up steel doors rumbling, not unlike the ultra-fast subway cars zigzagging underground. So begins the opening moments of In the Heights, the Warner Bros. stage-to-screen adaptation of the Tony Award-winning musical by composer-lyricist Lin-Manuel Miranda (Hamilton) and librettist Quiara Alegría Hudes (Water by the Spoonful) that is set to premiere in movie theatres and on HBO Max on June 11, 2021.

This stunning patchwork of visuals and reverberations combine to create a defiant and instantly memorable collage of inner-city living not seen since Walter Hill’s 1979 cult classic The Warriors or West Side Story, the iconic romantic musical tragedy directed on film by Robert Wise and original Broadway director Jerome Robbins. With Jon M. Chu at the helm, the musical feature has all the trademarks of the director’s opulent signature style: Striking spectacles full of stark colors, va-va-voom visuals, ooh-la-la hyperkinetic showstopping sequences and out-of-this-world destination locations.

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A Kind of Priestess

Joining the fray of proscenium stage vets in the film is Broadway star Daphne Rubin-Vega, who originated the role of Mimi in the Off-Broadway and Broadway original productions of Rent. She returns to major motion pictures after a decade since her last outing in Nancy Savoca’s Union Square, which premiered at the Toronto International Film Festival in 2011. When we caught up with Rubin-Vega, she was hard at work, in-between rehearsals with her In the Heights co-star Jimmy Smits on Two Sisters and a Piano, the 1999 play by Miami-based playwright Nilo Cruz, a frequent collaborator. Rubin-Vega netted a Tony Award nomination for Best Featured Actress in a Play for her role as the enraptured Conchita in Cruz’s Anna in the Tropics; that same year Cruz was awarded the 2003 Pulitzer Prize for Drama, making him the first Latino playwright to receive the honor. Despite significant global, social and economic disruption, especially within the arts community, Rubin-Vega has been working throughout the COVID-19 pandemic.

“People around me have [contracted] COVID… My father-in-law just had it. I’m very fortunate,” Rubin-Vega said. “This collective experience, it’s funny because it’s a year now and things seem better. Last year it was, like, ‘Damn, how inconvenient!’ The one comfort was that, you know, it’s happening to every one of us. That clarity that this is a collective experience is much more humbling and tolerable to me.”

The last time Rubin-Vega graced Washington Heights on screen or stage, she acted in the interest of survival and hunger as a probationer released after a 13-year stint in prison and given a new lease on life as an unlicensed amateur masseuse in the basement of an empanada shop in Empanada Loca, The Spalding Gray-style Grand Guignol horror play by Aaron Mark at the LAByrinth Theater Company in 2015. In In the Heights she plays Daniela, an outrageously vivacious belting beautician with a flair for the dramatics, forced to battle a price-gouging real estate bubble in the wake of gentrification.

“She’s like the deputy or the priestess,” Rubin-Vega said. “Owning a salon means that you have a lot of information; you’re in a hub of community, of information, of sharing… it’s also where you go for physical grooming. It’s a place where women were empowered to create their own work and it is a place of closeness, spiritual advice, not-so-spiritual advice. Physical attention.”

She said, “Daniela also being an elder; I think she’s not so much a person that imposes order on other people. She’s there to bring out the best—she leads with love. She tells it like it is. I don’t think she sugar-coats things. What you see is what you get with Daniela. It’s refreshing; she has a candor and sure-footedness that I admire.”

With the film adaptation, Chu and Hudes promised to expand the universe of the Upper Manhattan-based musical, crafting new dimensions and nuances to two characters in particular: Daniela and hairdresser Carla, originally portrayed as business associates and gossip buddies in the stage musical. On the big screen they are reimagined as romantic life partners. Stephanie Beatriz, known to audiences for her hilarious turn as the mysterious and aloof Detective Rosa Diaz in the police procedural sitcom romp “Brooklyn Nine-Nine,” co-stars as the fast-talking firecracker, Carla.

It’s been a year waiting, you know. It’s like the lid’s been on it and so we’re just so ready to explode.

Where Is Home?

“Well, Quiara and Jon really expanded on what Lin and Quiara originally created and now they’re partners—and not just work partners, right? But they’re life partners,” Beatriz said at a March press event celebrating the release of the film’s two promo trailers. “What was so gratifying to me as a person who is queer is to see this relationship in the film be part of the fabric of the community, and to be normal, and be happy and functioning, and part of the quilt they’ve all created.”

She continued, “So much of this film is about where home is and who home is to you. And for Carla, Daniela is home. Wherever Daniela is, that’s where Carla feels at home. I thought that they did such a beautiful job of guiding us to this, really, you know, it’s just a happy functioning relationship that happens to be gay and in the movie. And I love that they did that, because it is such a part of our world.”

Rubin-Vega said she had no interest in playing any trope of what one might think a lesbian Latina might look or act like, noting that the queer experience isn’t monolithic, while expressing that the role offered her a newfound freedom, especially with regard to being present in the role and in her everyday life.

“Spoiler alert! I felt like not wearing a bra was going to free me. Did I get it right? Am I saying that gay women don’t wear bras? No, it was just a way for me to be in my body and feel my breasts. To feel my femaleness and celebrate it in a more unapologetic way,” she said, laughing. “To be honest, I was really looking forward to playing a lesbian Latina. It’s something that I hadn’t really explored before. Latinos [can be] very homophobic as a culture, and I wanted to play someone who didn’t care about homophobia; I was gonna live my best life. That’s a bigger thing. It’s also like, maybe I’m bisexual. Who knows? Who cares? If you see that in the film, that’s cool too, you know?”

Stand-out performances abound, especially with regard to the supporting cast; newcomers Melissa Barrera (in a role originated by Tony Award winner Karen Olivo) and Gregory Diaz IV (replacing three-time Tony Award nominee Robin de Jesús) are noteworthy as the aspiring fashion designer Vanessa and budding activist Sonny. Olga Merediz, who earned a Tony Award nomination for originating her role as Abuela Claudia, returns to the silver screen in a captivating performance that will be a contender come award season. However, Rubin-Vega may just be the one to watch. Her performance is incandescent and full of moxie, designed to raise endorphin levels. She leads an ensemble in the rousing “Carnaval del Barrio,” a highlight in the film.

Musical Bootcamp

“We shot in June [2019]. In April, we started musical bootcamp. In May, we started to do the choreography. My big joke was that I would have to get a knee replacement in December; that was in direct relation to all that choreography. I mean, there were hundreds of A-1 dancers in the posse,” Rubin-Vega said. “The family consisted of hundreds of superlative dancers led by Chris[topher] Scott, with an amazing team of dancers like Ebony Williams, Emilio Dosal, Dana Wilson, Eddie Torres Jr. and Princess Serrano. We rehearsed a fair bit. Monday through Friday for maybe five weeks. The first day of rehearsal I met Melissa [Barrera] and Corey [Hawkins], I pretty much hadn’t known everyone yet. I hadn’t met Leslie [Grace] yet. Chris Scott, the choreographer, just went straight into ‘let’s see what you can do.’ It was the first [dance] routine of ‘In The Heights,’ the opening number. He was like, ‘OK, let’s go. Five, six, seven, eight!’”

Rubin-Vega said that she tried to bring her best game, though it had “been a minute” since she had to execute such intricate choreography, noting that they shot the opening number within a day while praising Chu’s work ethic and leadership.

“There was a balance between focus and fun and that’s rare. Everyone was there because they wanted to be there,” she said. “I think back to the day we shot ‘96,000.’ That day it wouldn’t stop raining; [it was] grey and then the sky would clear and we’d get into places and then it would be grey again and so we’d have to wait and just have to endure. But even the bad parts were kind of good, too. Even the hottest days. There were gunshots, there was a fire while we were shooting and we had to shut down, there was traffic and noise and yet every time I looked around me or went into video village and saw the faces in there, I mean…it felt like the only place to be. You want to feel like that in every place you are: The recognition. I could recognize people who look like me. For now on, you cannot say I’ve never seen a Panamanian on film before or a Columbian or a Mexican, you know?”

Another Notion of Beauty

Rubin-Vega’s professional relationship with the playwright Hudes extends to 2015, when she was tapped to [participate in the] workshop [production of]  Daphne’s Dive. Under the direction of Thomas Kail (Hamilton) and starring alongside Samira Wiley (“The Handmaid’s Tale,” “Orange Is the New Black”), the play premiered Off-Broadway at the Pershing Square Signature Center the following year. Rubin-Vega also starred in Miss You Like Hell, the cross-country road musical by Hudes and Erin McKeown, which premiered at La Jolla Playhouse in 2016 before it transferred to The Public Theater in 2018. With her participation in the production of In the Heights, she is among the few to have collaborated with all of the living Latinx playwrights to have won the Pulitzer Prize; Hudes won the 2012 Pulitzer Prize for Drama for her play Water by the Spoonful, while Miranda took home the 2016 Pulitzer Prize for Drama for Hamilton. Speaking on her multiple collaborations over the years, Rubin-Vega also acknowledged having known Miranda years before they would join voices.

“Lin to me is like a little bro or legacy; he’s a direct descent to me from [Rent author] Jonathan Larson, which is a bigger sort of all-encompassing arch,” she said, though she stressed that she auditioned like everyone else, landing the role after two or three callbacks. “Quiara and I have a wonderful working and personal relationship, I think. Which isn’t to say I had dibs by any means because…it’s a business that wants the best for itself, I suppose. […] So, when I walked in, I was determined to really give it my best.”

Life During and After Rent

Rubin-Vega has built an impressive resume over the course of her career, singing along with the likes of rock stars like David Bowie and starring in a multitude of divergent roles on Broadway and off. From a harrowing Fantine in Les Misérables and a co-dependent Stella in A Streetcar Named Desire to a sinister Magenta in The Rocky Horror Show, her evolution into the atypical character actor and leading lady can be traced back 25 years to January 25, 1996, when Larson’s groundbreaking musical Rent, a retelling of Giacomo Puccini’s 19th-century opera La Bohème, premiered at the New York Theatre Workshop. On the morning of the first preview, Larson suffered an aortic dissection, likely from undiagnosed Marfan’s syndrome and died at the age of 35, just ten days shy of what would have been his 36th birthday.

On April 29, 1996, due to overwhelming popularity, Rent transferred to Nederlander Theatre on Broadway, tackling contemporary topics the Great White Way had rarely seen, such as poverty and class warfare during the AIDS epidemic in New York City’s gritty East Village at the turn of the millennium. Rubin-Vega would go on to be nominated for the Tony Award for Best Performance by a Leading Actress in a Musical for her role as sex kitten Mimi Márquez, an HIV-positive heroin addict and erotic dancer.

  The show became a cultural phenomenon, receiving several awards including the Pulitzer Prize for Drama and four Tony Awards, including Best Musical. Rubin-Vega and members of the original Broadway cast were suddenly overnight sensations, recording “Seasons of Love” alongside music icon Stevie Wonder, receiving a photo shoot with Vanity Fair and landing the May 13, 1996 cover of Newsweek. Throughout its 12-year Broadway run, many of the show’s original cast members and subsequent replacements would go on to be stars, including Renée Elise Goldsberry, who followed in Rubin-Vega’s footsteps to play the popular character before originating the role of Angelica Schuyler in Hamilton, for which she won the 2016 Tony Award for Best Featured Actress in a Musical.

When the screen adaptation of Rent hit cinemas in 2005 under the direction of Chris Columbus, Rubin-Vega’s conspicuous absence came as a blow to longtime fans. The confluence of pregnancy with the casting and filming process of Rent hindered her from participating at the time. The role was subsequently given to movie star Rosario Dawson.

“First of all, if you’re meant to be in a film, you’re meant to be in it,” Rubin-Vega said. “That’s just the way it goes. It took a quarter of a century but this [In the Heights] is a film that I wanted to make, that I felt the elements sat right. I always felt that Rent was a little bit darker than all that. Rent to me is Rated R. In The Heights is not. It’s also a testament. Unless it’s sucking your soul and killing you softly or hardly, just stick with it. This is a business and I keep forgetting it’s a business because actors just want to show art. So, it’s really wonderful when you get a chance to say what you mean and mean what you say with your work. It’s a really wonderful gift.”

Rarely-Explored Themes

Like Larson’s award-winning show and the film adapted from it, In The Heights is jam-packed with hard-hitting subject matter, addressing themes of urban blight, immigration, gentrification, cultural identity, assimilation and U.S. political history. When Rubin-Vega’s character Daniela and her partner were priced out of the rent for her salon, most of her clientele moved to the Grand Concourse Historic District in the Bronx. Her salon, a bastion of the community, is met with a polar response when she announces she’s joining the mass exodus with the other victims of gentrification who were pushed out by rising rents. The news is met with negative response from long-time patrons who refuse to take the short commute to the new location. Daniela counters, “Our people survived slave ships, we survived Taino [indigenous Caribbean people] genocide, we survived conquistadores and dictators…you’re telling me we can’t survive the D train to Grand Concourse?”

The question is humorous, but also insinuates a more nuanced understanding of the AfroLatinidad experience in the Western world. The film also looks at the American Dream with a naturalistic approach. Leslie Grace, who plays Nina Rosario, a first-generation college student returning from her freshman year at Stanford University and grappling with finances and the expectations of her community, noted that while her character “finds [herself] at some point at a fork in the road,” she may not have the luxury to be indecisive because of the pressures put on by family, community and country.  

“The struggle of the first-generation Americans in the Latino community is not talked about a lot because it’s almost like a privilege,” Grace asserted. “You feel like it’s a privilege to talk about it. But there is a lot of identity crisis that comes with it and I think we explore that.” Speaking on the character, she elaborated: “Home for her is where her heart is, but also where her purpose is. So, she finds her purpose in doing something outside of herself, greater than herself and going back to Stanford for the people she loves in her community. I really relate to where she’s at, trying to find herself. And I think a lot of other people will, too.”

Worth Singing About

For Miranda, a first-generation Puerto Rican New Yorker that grew up in Inwood at the northernmost tip of Manhattan before attending Wesleyan University where he would develop the musical, this speaks to a larger issue of what defines a home.

“What does ‘home’ even mean? Every character is sort of answering it in a different way,” he said. “For some people, home is somewhere else. For some people, home is like ‘the block’ they’re on. So, that’s worth singing about. It’s worth celebrating in a movie of this size.”

Given the current zeitgeist, it’s no wonder why Chu, Hudes and Miranda decided to pivot with adapting the stage musical for the big screen, leaning in to tackle the plights and predicaments of DREAMers [children of undocumented immigrants seeking citizenship] stateside. In one scene, glimpses of posters at a protest rally read “Immigrant Rights are Human Rights” and “Refugees Are People Too.” Growing up in a multicultural household as a Latina with a Black Latina mother, a white father and a Jewish American stepfather, Rubin-Vega said she was used to being in spaces that were truly multiracial. Nevertheless, there were times when she often felt alien, especially as a du jour rock musical ingenue who looked as she did in the mid-1990s through the 2000s.

“Undocumented people come in different shapes and colors,” she noted. “To be born in a land that doesn’t recognize you, it’s a thing that holds so much horror… so much disgrace happens on the planet because human beings aren’t recognized as such sometimes.”

The film “definitely sheds light on that, but it also talks about having your dream taken away and its human violation—it’s a physical, spiritual, social, cultural violation,” Rubin-Vega said. “There’s a difference between pursuing dreams and being aware of reality. They’re not mutually exclusive. What this film does, it presents a story that is fairly grounded in reality. It’s a musical, it’s over the top… but it reflects a bigger reality, which is like an emotional reality…that people that are challenged on the daily, have incredible resolve, incredible resoluteness and lifeforce.”

She said: “Growing up, looking like me, I got to ingest the same information as everyone else except when it came time to implement my contributions, they weren’t as welcomed or as seen. The dream is to be seen and to be recognized. Maybe I could be an astronaut or an ingenue on Broadway? You can’t achieve stuff that you haven’t imagined. When it talks about DREAMers, it talks about that and it talks about how to not be passive in a culture that would have you think you are passive but to be that change and to dare to be that change.”

Dreams Come True

Dreams are coming true. Alongside the nationwide release of the much-anticipated film, Random House announced it will publish In the Heights: Finding Home, which will give a behind-the-scenes look at the beginnings of Miranda’s 2008 breakout Broadway debut and journey to the soon-to-be-released film adaptation. The table book will chronicle the show’s 20-year voyage from page to stage—from Miranda’s first drawings at the age of 19 to lyric annotations by Miranda and essays written by Hudes to never-before-seen photos from productions around the world and the 2021 movie set. It will be released to the public on June 22, eleven days after the release of the film; an audiobook will be simultaneously released by Penguin Random House Audio.

Hinting at the year-long delay due to the pandemic, Rubin-Vega said, “It’s been a year waiting, you know. It’s like the lid’s been on it and so we’re just so ready to explode.”

Bigger Dreams

“Jon [Chu], I think, dreams bigger than any of us dare to dream in terms of the size and scope of this,” Miranda said. “We spent our summer [in 2018] on 175th Street. You know, he was committed to the authenticity of being in that neighborhood we [all] grew up in, that we love, but then also when it comes to production numbers, dreaming so big. I mean, this is a big movie musical!”

Miranda continued, “We’re so used to asking for less, just to ask to occupy space, you know? As Latinos, we’re, like, ‘Please just let us make our little movie.’ And Jon, every step of the way, said, like, ‘No, these guys have big dreams. We’re allowed to go that big!’ So, I’m just thrilled with what he did ’cause I think it’s bigger than any of us ever dreamed.”

Speaking at the online press conference, Miranda said, “I’m talking to you from Washington Heights right now! I love it here. The whole [movie] is a love letter to this neighborhood. I think it’s such an incredible neighborhood. It’s the first chapter in so many stories. It’s a Latinx neighborhood [today]. It was a Dominican neighborhood when I was growing up there in the ’80s. But before that it was an Irish neighborhood and Italian. It’s always the first chapter in so many American stories.”

#Marcus Scott #MarcusScott #Write Marcus #writemarcus #Encore Monthly #theatre #Theater #Musical Theatre #musical theater #daphne rubin vega #rent #rent musical #Jon M Chu #lin manuel miranda #in the heights #Anthony Ramos

[mystery-skulls-ghost]

cracks knuckles

please welcome the Duskmarch dorm.

Founded on the determination and will of the Grand Marshal, Duskmarch is a... relatively obscure and bleak dorm. Its members are usually ones that keep to themselves and focus on their passion (which is mostly art in all its forms.) The only people they interact with are with each other and a few other people, but they're generally not sociable with the general public. They have some traditions, but the most prevalent ones are the events held every 22nd of each month, March 22nd being the most grandiose. Their purpose is celebrating the memories of its members past and present. And some other stuff, but we'll get to that eventually. Think a mix of Heartslabyul + Ignihyde. The current dorm leader is Emil A. Carcino while the vice dorm leader is Vice Abriss.

Dorm Location:

The general area is a monochromatic ghost town in the mountains that seems to be literally stuck in time, as in all surrounding fauna and wildlife are in suspended motion. The weather is always overcast. The only things that move are incorporeal ashes falling from the sky like snowflakes and a proper day and night cycle. At night, the sky clears up to show the stars above.

The dorm quarters are located in a mansion right in the center of town. The architecture seems to be similar to the one from the Ramshackle dorm. It's reserved for the dorm leader and the vice dorm leader. All other members reside in the other abandoned buildings. How do they get to choose which building? As a great man once said: "It's free real estate." As long as it's theirs, they can do whatever they want with them. For example: Xander's building is entirely covered with colorful spray paint art.

Members:

Emil A. Carcino

Twisted from: The Black Parade

Dorm: Duskmarch, Dorm Head

Year: 2nd

Birthday: October 23rd (Scorpio)

Pronouns: He/Him

Relationship Status: Taken by that edgelord below

Age: 17

Height: 176cm

Dominant Hand: Right

Birthplace: Rose Kingdom

Club: Board Game Club

Favorite Subject: History

Likes: Vice, skeletons, sounds with a good beat to them, celebrations

Dislikes: Killjoys (lol), clowns, babies

Flaws: Too easygoing, he's gonna let one minor thing slide and that escalates into some major problems

Favorite Food: Adobo

Disliked Food: Anything with cinnamon

Special Skill: Perfect pitch

The mysterious, dreamy, charismatic head of Duskmarch, Emil is a very lax kind of guy. He may not look it, but he's very passionate about the arts. Can't you tell by the parties the dorm holds every 22nd of each month? Aside from that, he doesn't seem to be fazed by anything, not even jumpscares or existential dread. Emil's the kind of guy to live in the now rather than dwelling on past regrets. He's wiser than he looks.

Unique Magic:

"Carry On"

Allows Emil to view a singular, specific memory of a target. The catch being:

He can only view them as a dream. He can't see them immediately, he needs to take a little nap.

You know how dreams are. Weird, vague, trippy, and all associated synonyms. They also take the form of musicals!

Emil's gonna have to interpret them by himself.

Relationships:

Vice - Dormmate. Boyfriend. He really is in deep, cutesy love with him. Could this not be just a high school first love thing?

Xander - Dormmate. Much needed lighting in this place! He admires Xander's feistiness. Fun to tease.

Azul - Clubmate. Always enjoys a round of Brabble with Azul. Their scores against each other are a perfect tie.

Idia - Clubmate. Appreciates Idia from afar. Every time Emil tries to get to know him, he's conveniently not there.

Riddle - Next door neighbors. Emil doesn't really know Riddle that much, but his mom does.

Tiny Tidbits:

Emil smells like a hint of vanilla.

His fondest memory is of a parade; so when he found out that Duskmarch held monthly parades, he was overjoyed.

He dyed his hair white to match the previous dorm leaders.

Emil's art is entirely in black and white. He says it's more "aesthetically pleasing" that way.

If he were sorted into a canon dorm, he'd be sorted in Heartslabyul.

Vice Abriss

Twisted from: Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge

Dorm: Duskmarch, Vice (haha) Dorm Head

Year: 2nd

Birthday: June 8th (Gemini)

Pronouns: He/Him

Relationship Status: Taken by that boy above

Age: 17

Height: 187cm

Dominant Hand: Left

Birthplace: Isle of Lamentation

Club: Film Studies

Favorite Subject: Poison Making

Likes: Emil, poetry, the color red (a specific shade being "Pitchfork Red")

Dislikes: Anyone getting TOO close to Emil, fish, Xander

Flaws: being a fucking dick

Favorite Food: Cinnamon rolls

Disliked Food: Big Bean Burritos

Special Skill: A very attentive eye for detail

The vice dorm head of Duskmarch. A heart attack in black hair dye. Vice is a very strict man. He's serious about everything he does. Does he even have any emotions besides quiet, seething anger? That all seems to go away when he's with Emil, so that's one thing. Although, please don't interrupt his alone time...

Unique Magic:

"Starless Eyes"

Makes Vice invisible. He can't do it for more than 3 minutes, because it'll take some serious damage on him, both physically and mentally. How, exactly? His clothes may disintegrate, his flesh might also disintegrate, he'll become slightly more unhinged, etc. etc.

Relationships:

Emil - Dorm head. Boyfriend. Truly, madly, deeply in love with Emil. Nothing comes in between Vice and him. Literally nothing. Because he'll destroy whatever gets in the way.

Xander - Dormmate. An annoyance. Vice barely tolerates Xander.

Vil - Clubmate. Surprisingly on good terms. Vice does double work, both behind the scenes and onscreen. Vil's picky perfectionism strives him to do more.

Tiny Tidbits:

Vice's art is very abstract. Abstract as in they look like a madman's scribbles on a wall as his sanity slowly deteriorates. They always have some splotch of red somewhere.

He would definitely kill a man if anything were to happen to Emil.

Has a fear of heights. This is why his worst subjects are everything that involves broom flying.

If he were sorted into a canon dorm, he'd be sorted into Pomefiore.

Xander Ammonitra

Twisted from: Danger Days/Party Poison

Dorm: Duskmarch

Year: 1st

Birthday: November 22nd (Scorpio)

Pronouns: He/Him

Relationship Status: Single

Age: 16

Height: 180cm

Dominant Hand: Right

Birthplace: Davane

Club: Track and Field Club

Favorite Subject: Practical Magic

Likes: Street art, parkour, cartoony shenanigans, monkeys

Dislikes: Authority, drab colors, sterilized entertainment

Flaws: Loud, obnoxious, dirty mouthed [BLEEP]

Favorite Food: Deep-dish meat pizza

Disliked Food: Canned Marshmallows

Special Skill: Really good hearing

An extremely loud kind of guy. How did a boy like Xander even get into the dark, monochromatic aesthetic of Duskmarch? He expresses himself with bold colors, graffiti, confetti, and anything colorful (both literally and verbally.) He doesn't take kindly to strict rules. Despite the rowdy personality, he's kind of a dork. As things should be.

Unique Magic:

"Make Some Noise"

Lets Xander turn random objects into (non-lethal) bombs of various effects. It's a lot lamer than it sounds.

Relationships:

Emil - Dorm head. Appreciates Emil's "anything goes" mentality. Xander does get huffy over his moments of teasing.

Vice - Dormmate. Shares the same feeling of antipathy towards Vice. Xander's willing to go through slapstick shenanigans just to fuck with him.

Deuce - Clubmate. Sometimes flings snarky negative quips towards Deuce. Not the very best of friends.

Jack - Clubmate. Legitimately thinks that Jack is cool. Xander doesn't really give his usual temperament towards him.

Jude - No relation. He's seen Jude around right before they were both enrolled into NRC. Xander sees him as an idol, him standing up to the city of bullshit that is Davane.

Tiny Tidbits:

Xander has a potted Mars flytrap among his mess of a room. Did he steal it from the campus? Maybe.

He WILL find a way to vandalize every seemingly impossible to reach places with a cartoon monkey. He gets bored sometimes.

His birthday happens to be on the 22nd of November! That means he's in charge of the parade of that month. Expect an extravagant eyeblinding event.

Xander is an appreciator of anything involving wheels. Mostly rollerskates. His cowboy boots may or may not be heelys.

If he were sorted into a canon dorm, he'd be sorted into Scarabia.

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst oc #twisted wonderland oc #twisted wonderland fandorm #twst fandorm #fandorm #oc bullshit #any additions are always appreciated #sleepy time now zzz

[kerikaaria]

Premiere

(Jungkook x gn!Reader) Oneshot, Established relationship

Genre: (G) Fluff

Warnings: None!

WC: 1.8k

Description: You’d do anything for your boyfriend, even if that meant sitting through the premiere for a horror movie.

A/N - Written for the lovely @aroseforyoongi ‘s birthday! We were given random prompts by picking two random numbers. My words were: Dedication and horror. AND I HAD NO IDEA WHAT TO DO. HORROR???? I couldn’t figure out where to go with that! So I’m also giving a HUGE thanks to @eternalseokjin​ for being amazing and giving me the basis for this little oneshot! 

Happy birthday, Dianchie! I wish you all the best, always.

You hated horror movies.

It was a mystery to you how people actually enjoyed being scared out of their wits as they watched a killer hunt everyone down, or a ghost slowly drove its victims to insanity. So why, one may ask, were you currently on your way to the opening premiere of a horror movie?

Simple—you loved your boyfriend much more than you hated horror movies.

Jungkook had been working hard at his dream of being an actor, getting his hands on any role he could. With each job, he hoped the right people would manage to see him and his potential in the few scenes and fewer lines he was offered and be able to make his big break.

This was the first big step to that for him. With a little luck, the director had picked Jungkook out at the auditions and offered him the lead role for the movie. And even luckier, it was a movie that a lot of people were looking forward to and was projected to do fairly well. If it did go as well as hoped, then maybe this could lead to that big break he’d been hoping for for years.

What kind of person would you be if you didn’t agree to attend with your loving boyfriend to the movie premiere of what could be the start of the future of his career? So of course, you agreed to come. Jungkook was really apprehensive when he asked if you wanted to go, knowing your severe aversion to horror movies, and you were absolutely sure he would have understood if you said no. But there was no way you could do that to him. If he could sit through hours of those family gatherings your grandma set up every year and deal with the back-handed comments from relatives you hardly knew about how he’s wasting his time on his dream, you could do this for him. It couldn’t be that much more torturous than that, right?

That’s what you kept telling yourself while you were attached to Jungkook’s arm, a smile on your face for the cameras. Much more important than your anxiety of sitting through the movie was the crucial real-life role you knew you had to play for Jungkook right now. He would never say it out loud in fear of putting pressure on you, but you knew that he needed you for support. The cameras couldn’t pick up the subtle hints you knew all too well that meant your introverted boyfriend was extremely nervous about making a good impression, and about how well the movie and his acting would be received by viewers. It was easy to shut down the anxiety when you knew he was relying on you to be a pillar for him.

As soon as the two of you made it into the room and found your seats you could feel Jungkook relax, body feeling lighter after being able to get away from the reporters’ questions and prying eyes. He loosened your grip on his arm so he could properly entwine his fingers with yours, giving your hand a firm squeeze as he leaned toward you.

��Thank you for coming, baby,” Jungkook whispered against your skin before placing a chaste kiss on your cheek. “I appreciate you being here with me.”

“Of course,” you responded, turning to smile at him. “You know I’m always here to support you.”

“Let me know if the movie gets to be too much for you, okay?” Jungkook said, squeezing your hand once more. “We can leave at any point if you need to.”

You had absolutely no plans to cut this short for him. Even if turned out to be the scariest thing you’d ever seen, you were already steeling yourself to sit through the entire film. But to comfort Jungkook, you assured him that you’d indeed tell him if you felt like you had to leave.

Once the lights dimmed to signal that the movie was about to start, you felt the anxiety you’d kept at bay start to crawl its way up your chest. You kept it tampered down for the time being, reminding it that these movies didn’t start out with the really creepy stuff and you still had some time before the ghost was going to do anything.

It was made even easier when you first saw your handsome boyfriend appear on the screen only a few minutes in. You always watched everything he was in, no matter how small the role was. But now that he was the main focus and in the center, you couldn’t help but to be even more proud of him than ever.

Jungkook loved to learn every detail he could about his craft, including having an interest in directing and filmmaking as well. Days spent listening to him critique filming techniques made you also moderately familiar with the subject. While the movie wasn’t doing anything much different than you’d expect from this kind of film, you immediately noticed everything that set up the mood for a horror story. The desaturated and dark tones, soft ambient music and sounds in the background rather than a full-sounding soundtrack, and the ominous feeling behind Jungkook’s character being left a whole estate by a rich relative he had hardly even heard about. It was honestly incredibly well set-up, even if the plot was a bit predictable so far.

By distracting yourself with picking apart the details of how the film was setting up the story and admiring Jungkook’s talent and good looks, you almost forgot what kind of movie you were watching.

Almost.

When the first genuine jump scare happened about half an hour into the film, it held up to its name by making you nearly jump out of your seat. Even though he kept it quiet, you could tell Jungkook held back the chuckle that bubbled up due to your overreaction. He quickly steeled his expression though, leaning in to whisper, “You doing okay so far?”

“Yeah,” you were quick to respond. “I was just distracted.”

“Distracted? By what?”

“By how talented you are, of course,” you easily answered.

Seeing the hint of a shy smile on Jungkook’s face and the tension in the movie having calmed down for the time being put your restless heart temporarily at ease.

But of course, it wasn’t too long until the horror aspect of the movie was pulling into full swing and it was ominous music, jump scares, and creepy old ghost lady creeping around every corner galore. You tried to continue distracting yourself with the well-done editing and admiring your boyfriend some more, but it only went so far. Especially when your mind forgot to remind you that what you were seeing on screen was fiction and not your actual boyfriend in danger.

After a while, you gave up trying to actually see what was going on and hid your face in Jungkook’s arm, letting the close proximity remind you that he was indeed safe and sound next to you.

“Should we leave?” Jungkook gently asked, whispering close to one ear while he covered the other with his hand to help mute the sounds of the movie for you.

You shook your head, determined to make it through this. “I’ll be okay,” you meekly replied after lifting your head up so he could hear you. “How much longer, do you think?”

“It should be getting close to the climax, and then it’ll be a lot calmer. Are you sure you don’t want to leave?”

“I can do it,” you assured him. You turned your head back toward the screen in time to see Jungkook’s character running down a hallway to try to get some distance from the ghost. I can do it, you repeated in your mind.

Honestly, you would have preferred a slasher flick. Demon ghosts had too much power and were too unpredictable in what they could do, and the idea of fighting something virtually intangible scared the living daylights out of you. But this was your current reality and you were going to make it through this for Jungkook.

He was right, and it wasn’t too long before the climax began building up. It was a little easier to bear despite the increasing tension, knowing that Jungkook’s character was close to stopping ghost lady—you certainly hadn’t paid enough attention to find out if she had a name. Soon enough, the climax of the movie hit its peak and things started settling down to a much more manageable finish.

It took another five minutes for you to realize you were still clinging tightly to Jungkook’s arm out of reflex. Letting go, you mumbled out an apology for no doubt hurting him and telling yourself to remember and check him for bruises later.

When the credits finally rolled, you felt infinitely more relieved. You slumped in your seat, Jungkook not holding back his chuckle this time.

Before long everyone was shuffling out of the theater and while Jungkook smiled endearingly at you, you were listening to what others had to say about the movie. It relaxed you and put a smile on your face when you heard people complimenting Jungkook’s acting and about the plot twists that they didn’t expect—and you didn’t really know about because you were too busy burrowing into your boyfriend’s shoulder to notice.

You were glad the two of you lived together because even just walking out to your car in the dark had you constantly looking over your shoulder, expecting a murderous demon ghost lady to be on your tail. On the way home, the two of you kept conversation light by talking about how well you thought it went. Jungkook was still nervous about what the reception would be like, but he was much more excited now as well.

It was when the two of you were laying in bed that Jungkook said, “You know, I’m really proud of you for making it through the movie, baby.”

Playfully, you rolled your eyes. “Good to know me watching a fictional horror film all the way through is such an accomplishment to be proud of.”

“You ran out of the room when we watched ‘Haunted Mansion’ because you thought it was too scary,” Jungkook deadpanned.

“It was! There’s a crystal ball with a floating head in it! How is that not scary?”

“The head wasn’t actually in there. Sorry to tell you babe, but a movie with a singing statue quartet isn’t scary.”

“Shut up,” you mumbled, running out of juice to argue.

“Seriously though,” Jungkook said after a moment passed. “I really am proud of you. And I’m really happy you chose to come with me. I can’t tell you how much it means to me.”

“I love you,” you said in return, knowing he’d understand that those three words held a lot more meaning than just that.

“And I love you.” Jungkook smiled as he pressed a soft kiss to your lips.

You would readily do this again for Jungkook if he ever starred in another horror film. But that didn’t mean you’d stop being a big clingy scaredy-cat about it.

My ask box is always open!

Also, if you’d like to donate to my Ko-fi, feel free! Absolutely no pressure though :) You can also check out my Etsy shop for BTS inspired charms as well!

#bts fanfic #jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook x reader #fluff #actor!jungkook #thebtswritersclub #btscreatorscorner #kafenetwork

[matthiasschoenaertsdaily]

Matthias Schoenaerts full interview for De Morgen Magazine (original in Flemish, translated into English by @matthiasschoenaertsdaily​)

Interview by Els Maes, published on November 28, 2020

Even a global pandemic will not destroy the optimism of actor Matthias Schoenaerts (42). Because he knows from his own experience how much beauty can emerge from the most hopeless situations. "I've had my back against the wall often enough, I'll always find a way out."

A bleak autumn day on a concrete square. There is lukewarm coffee, lukewarm Chimay and rolling tobacco. At dusk we see the silhouettes of fat rats that shoot past our ankles. And yet Matthias Schoenaerts will tell us in a glowing argument that this, here and now, is the very best place to be. That there is so much beauty to discover, he says. Le paradis c'est ici. As long as we want to see it.

"It's strange to say in this unpleasant period, but I've enjoyed the past few months enormously. It's the first time in ten years, since Runskop actually, that I'll be home for a long period of time. This is so beneficial: I am photographing, painting, writing. I can devote time and attention to the very simple things we'd otherwise race past."

"Seriously, look at that," he says, picking a leaf off the ground. "Those colors, that pattern. I can spend hours looking at the pure beauty of the things that surround us."

Above us a pigeon is wreaking havoc between the thinned out foliage. "While you are singing about the wonderful beauty of nature, that animal is going to shit on our heads," I say. "And that too will be a s-p-l-e-n-d-i-d moment," Schoenaerts answers.

Matthias Schoenaerts is Belgium's most successful international film star. But here and now, on a bench in his hometown, he is a technically unemployed actor, an all-round searching artist, but above all: fighter of cynicism. "I refuse to go along with all negativity and fear. The true battle today is cynicism versus courage. And I always choose the latter."

We're on the Oudevaartplaats, the square that everyone knows as the Antwerp Bird Market, and where Schoenaerts' childhood memories are waiting to be picked up. It comes into the conversation just like that: Brando, the cute chow chow that little Matthias got from his mom on this square, when here on the bird market puppies were still sold. "My dogs were my great loves. The home situation was often difficult, and with my dogs I found security. We had three chow chows, those fluffy lion dogs with a blue tongue. Brando was the first, I loved that animal."

"We lived in a small apartment with three dogs, anything but ideal. One day we let them go, to people with a large estate. That was heartbreaking."

There is a beautiful lesson in that, about love and letting go. It would have been selfish to keep your dogs if you could give them a nicer life elsewhere, wouldn't it?

"Absolutely, but I obviously didn't process that departure properly. Brando still appears in my dreams, after all these years. Then he returns home unexpectedly, and am I mad with joy.

"I often dream about my parents too: that reunion is so intensely beautiful and warm. Oh, there you are, finally! Those dreams are true to life, and the awakening is rock-hard."

Is that one of the reasons why you like being here in Antwerp, because here you feel more connected to the people that you loved?

"This is my home, my zero, I can't imagine a place in the world where I would rather live. When my mom was alive, and especially when she got sick, in between filming I tried to be with her as much as possible here in Antwerp. In the meantime I have an apartment here, my first permanent place of my own, but I've hardly been there in recent years. Now I can finally enjoy my home, I find peace, tranquility and inspiration there. I have seen fantastic sunsets on my roof terrace in recent months. So much beauty, and you can just admire it there, every day, for free. As long as you take the time to enjoy it.

"Normally I would have started filming again in April, and left for a hectic ride of at least two years, with projects that would follow each other quickly. I was at my limits, sooner or later I was going to bang my head against the wall. I feel how beneficial it is to slow down for a moment. David Lynch said that: 'Just slow things down and it becomes more beautiful'.

"As an actor you have to work in a big machine, according to a tight schedule. I have now discovered the pleasure of creating things for myself very spontaneously in my own cadence."

Is that work something you ever want to go public with?

"I want to do something with my photography someday, but I'm in no hurry. I'm also writing a film script, I've had an idea for a trilogy for a long time. It's a very personal project, and it takes time for it to crystallize into something very pure and proper. Maybe those films will come within ten years, maybe never.

"The most important thing is to keep busy. You have to look for something, anything, on which you can focus your passion, love and attention. Of course I would like to return to set, and those projects will come back later. But if I can't change anything about a situation, why worry about it?

"From a very young age I learned that there are not many certainties in life, I adapt easily to unexpected circumstances. There is one thing I can't stand, and that is feeling powerless. I never want to be the victim of a situation, I will always think: what can I do myself? Which way can I go? I have often enough stood with my back against the wall, I will always find a way out and take matters into my own hands."

So Schoenaerts decided to use this period to put Zenith - his artist name as a street artist - to hard work. Since the lockdown he has already created nine impressive murals, including one in the courtyard of the Oudenaarde prison, and one at the beginning of this month in the Antwerp Begijnenstraat, on the bare walls that form their furthest horizon for the prisoners. A moving event, he says. Not only by the touching conversations with inmates, and the forty-minute applause with which the prisoners welcomed him. "The mural contains a poem by my father. While I am there painting those beautiful words of my dad on the wall, I suddenly remember that my mom used to give meditation lessons to the prisoners there in the Begijnenstraat. I had completely forgotten about that until I stood there. How beautiful that is. Suddenly I felt my parents very tangible, very close to me."

It's a bit funny: a long time ago you were arrested for graffiti, now they invite you to prison to make a mural.

"I used to tag a lot, but I really don't like the vandalism that sometimes comes with graffiti. Defacing a facade, that's just ridiculous. But trains, bridges, tunnels.... frankly I think that's the max. Soon I'm going to do another oldskool graffiti wall, with some friends, back to the roots. But with permission, yes."

Scary dudes

The problems of the Belgian detention system are well known: outdated infrastructure, overcrowding and a system of pre-trial detention which means that some people are innocently stuck for years. Schoenaerts: "These are human lives that are destroyed by the Belgian state, isn't that scandalous?"

Schoenaerts' engagement started years ago, after meeting Hans Claus, prison director in Oudenaarde, who contacted him when he wanted to organize a screening of Le Fidèle, the film by Michaël R. Roskam starring Schoenaerts. Claus has been fighting for many years for a reform of our detention system, among others with the non-profit organization De Huizen, small-scale centers that are more focused on rehabilitation and reintegration of the detainee. How does Schoenaerts see his role? "Those murals are a kind of lubricant for me, to get attention for this problem. I am not the expert and I am certainly not a politician. This injustice touches me as a human being, and my message is clear: please listen to the people who have been working hard for decades to reform the system from the inside."

In The Mustang, your last feature film to be seen here before the lockdown, you take on the role of a prisoner who learns to tame wild horses and his demons. Has that role changed your vision?

"That rehabilitation program with mustangs really exists, and the chance of recidivism is almost zero percent. I had a conversation in the Begijnenstraat with the minister of Justice Vincent Van Quickenborne (Open Vld, ed.), and he told me that the chance of relapse here is 40 to 50 percent. Isn't that madness?

"That's what fascinates me most of all: what do we do with those detainees while they're stuck? How can we help to break the destructive patterns that put them in prison? Imprisonment is a punishment in itself, but someday we'll send those people back into society, so let's mainly support them in their self-development.

"In preparation for The Mustang, I visited prisons in the U.S., and talked to men who had been detained for 20, 30 years. Heavy guys: Aryan Brotherhood (powerful crime syndicate of neo-Nazis in American prisons, ed.), Mexican gang leaders... real scary dudes. You know what those say to me? That they live in fear every day, but they must not show weakness. Psychological counseling and things like that have their value, but that's often very cerebral. I especially believe in the healing power of art. Imagine that inmates can express all those fucked up emotions through art: I think that there is an enormous potential in this."

I heard you're playing with the idea of giving acting lessons to inmates?

"That's not a concrete plan yet, but I would love it if people from the creative sector would commit themselves to this: musicians, sculptors, dancers. Or writers who help prisoners put their own story into words.

"The cultural sector needs to start sticking its neck out. The sector is lying flat, and that's terrible. But we have to keep moving. We can all do something for the community, without being paid for it. Planting small seeds, doing something good for your fellow man, something beautiful always comes out of it."

Had you been to a prison before The Mustang?

"To visit friends, yes. In Merksplas, Hoogstraten, Hasselt, Dendermonde... We shouldn't talk about that any further. A prison is deep tristesse. Who dares to call that 'a hotel', shame on you."

This summer you painted an impressive mural in Paris in honor of George Floyd, murdered by American officers. And in Ostend last week a new mural was unveiled, with a 'decapitated' Leopold II. Is activism an important part of your street art?

"Graffiti used to be more of a style exercise for me, you want to create things that get noticed within the scene. But gradually I felt like communicating with a wider audience. I like to incorporate a lot of symbolism in my paintings, such as the cracks I photograph all over the world and then magnify them in another place. And the praying hands, a universal image of hope and faith in yourself. Art has the power to speak to our deepest emotions, and that is what binds us to the other. Connectedness, empathy, harmony, solidarity, that's the essence for me."

The corona crisis is one big exercise in empathy and solidarity. Sometimes we seem to lack that.

"I refuse to surrender to cynicism, and I surround myself with positive people who do beautiful things for others. This period would lead us to insights: how do we deal with each other? Do we help each other, or is it every man for himself? A human is such a wonderful creature, but we mess it up so much for ourselves.

"Yeah, I know. Some people who read this will think: this guy is smoking too many joints. (laughs) I don't smoke joints, and I'm not an unworldly idealist. But I will always focus my attention on the good, in spite of everything."

If you always want to see the good in people, are you sometimes disappointed?

"Yes, of course. I'm not a naive brat, I've learned to guard my boundaries. I can't please everyone all the time, and I don't let anyone rush me. I react badly when people put pressure on me because they want things from me. The perception of me that others have of me, I can't control. I don't let myself put out of balance easily anymore."

I saw that on your Instagram Stories you warned about fake profiles on social media, of people pretending to be you. That made you visibly angry.

"Really, that makes me angry. Every day I receive screenshots from people who have been tricked by crooks who approach innocent victims with my name and my pictures. There are stories of fans who have paid thousands of euros because they were promised a meet-and-greet with me. How disgusting is that? One person has transferred 14,000 euros to someone who pretended to be my manager.

"Of course, that raises questions about how gullible some people can be. But I've seen those chat conversations for myself: those criminals are terribly sneaky. They know how to play on the vulnerabilities of their victims in a very cunning way. This is manipulation and swindle of the filthiest kind.

"Really, I get physically unwell when I think about it. How can someone be so mean? If I ever catch these guys, I'm gonna bash their skulls in, I'm not kidding. Sorry."

Or: those crooks get a jail sentence, where you're going to give them acting lessons.

(laughs) "Okay, let it be clear that I think everyone should be punished for their crimes. My commitment to the prison system is not a plea for impunity, and I certainly don't want to romanticize crime.

"But when someone abuses innocent people's trust in such a cunning way, the question is: how did you derail so morally? And above all: how can we initiate a transformation in that person? Surely you can't lock someone up and expect that person to suddenly make better choices years later? First such a person has to take responsibility for his own actions."

Do you have something criminal on your conscience?

"No." (Thinks for a second) "No. Thank God. I couldn't live with that.

"I've probably hurt people in my life, like everybody else. Sometimes we just hurt people because of who we are, or because we can't fulfill what others want from us. But I have never harmed anyone consciously or criminally, no."

As a teenager you sometimes came into contact with the juvenile court, for vandalism. Do you think you could have ended up on the other side of the bars?

"Probably, a life can take strange turns sometimes."

What made you sit here today, and not get on the 'wrong' path?

"Wait... that's a good question. There's the one terrible dramatic event that caused a total turnaround in my life: when my dad went into a coma after a psychosis, and I was told he only had 24 hours left to live.

"I was 21 then, thrown out of school for the umpteenth time. I was doing graffiti and wanted to find my way creatively. But I was messing around, going with friends who... Anyway, there was latent danger, it threatened to go a little bit the wrong way.

"And then I got that phone call: come and say goodbye. Bam. The relationship with my father had been sour for years, we hardly saw each other. Until I stood there at his deathbed in intensive care... I only felt love, a wave of emotions that I had pushed down very deeply. That realization was rock-hard: this was it. My father and I will never get the chance to figure shit out, I thought.

"Long story, the rest is known: after 72 hours my father woke up from a coma against all odds. Like a plant: he could not speak, reacted to nothing or nobody. According to the chief psychiatrist, we had to accept that his condition would never improve. That was without the fighting spirit of my mother and me.

"It's because of that unlikely event that I've changed my whole lifestyle. For eight months, my mother and I went to visit my father every day. We talked to him, but he seemed to look straight through us. For hours we sat with him at the psychiatry department of Stuivenberg, how desperate those first months were also. We continued to fight, taught him to talk, to eat, to walk. A miracle, the doctors called it. Bullshit of course. It was love, dedication and stubbornness. Especially thanks to my mother, the lioness who kept fighting for him. And see how much beauty came out of it. My life then received an entirely different impulse.

"I suddenly think of an anecdote I've never told before. After a while we were allowed to take my father to the cafeteria once in a while, or to the garden. But he was absolutely not allowed to leave the hospital. Fuck it. I hid a bag of clothes for him, secretly dressed him in the toilet and took my father to the city. By bus, because I didn't have a driver's license. I wanted to stimulate his senses, test if any memories would come back. He was fond of Our Lady's Cathedral, so that's where I wanted to take him."

Matthiaske, why am I crying?

He plays it out. The written version here is only a dead script compared to the lived-through performance, right there on that dark square, just around the corner of the Arenbergschouwburg, where Matthias made his stage debut as a 9-year-old boy next to father Julien, as The Little Prince.

Matthias shows how he supported his frail dad, and how they shuffled in small, careful steps towards the cathedral. Dad looking at the ground to be sure not to fall. "I say, 'Dad, look up'. He looks up, and I see the tears rolling down his cheeks. I had never seen my father cry. 'Matthiaske,' he says, 'can you tell me why I'm crying?'

"I had already decided then that I would take my father into my house. Overconfident, yes, at that age, but they have become the most beautiful years of my life. Mom came by every day to help. Suddenly we were a bit of a family again, something we had only been for a short time when I was young."

It was at that time that you decided to become an actor. Why did you decide to become an actor?

"I had always resisted following in my father's footsteps. In my youth I mainly wanted to break away from my father, and seek my own path. I didn't want to have anything to do with him and all those loudmouths around him in the theater world. But most of all I was terrified that compared to the great Julien Schoenaerts I would never be good enough.

"Only now do I understand why I then decided to go to the conservatory. Not to become an actor, but to understand my father. We had so many years together, and now that we had been given a second chance, I wanted to get to know him as well as possible. By acting, maybe I could get closer to him." (pauses)

Sentimental fuss

He banishes the tears. It's one of the many things he has in common with his father, he says: they're both very emotional, but they hate sentimental fuss. "Come on, Matthias: breathe," he commands himself.

"Voilà, see how much beauty can come out of misery. What a chain of beautiful things came out of the fight my mother and I put up in the most hopeless situation. Who knows how differently my life would have turned out?"

"There are so many lessons in that. If we just talked about the rehabilitation of detainees, for example. It takes commitment. Not a workshop of two hours. You have to persevere, even in the event of a setback, with no guarantee of a happy ending. That's why I think it's so important to keep telling that story about my dad. Those are the values I believe in: dedication, stamina, attention, love. You can apply that to everything in life. Love is the fuel."

You often talk about your parents as if you want to keep them alive with your words.

"Because my mom and dad are the people I've loved most. With them I shared the most important moments, built the most beautiful memories. That loss is enormous. Life has been really fucking tough since they've been gone.

"That's what grabs me so much in this period. How many people have died of corona in Belgium?"

According to Google, today, on the day of the interview, the counter stands at almost 14,000 deaths.

"Fourteen thousand! Imagine how many people that has an impact on? How many people have suddenly lost their mother, father, brother, sister, best friend or neighbor? Behind those figures lie tens of thousands of poignant stories, of people who see a loved one torn from their lives. That is a mountain of unresolved grief, and far too little attention is paid to it."

Earlier during our conversation a guy had walked past coughing and maskless. It pissed Schoenaerts off: "And whining about masks or strict measures. Grow some fucking balls. Having to say goodbye to a loved one, that's the worst thing."

"Isn't that what this period teaches us? That our time here is limited? And what really counts in life: sharing moments of beauty with the people you hold most dear. All the rest is wallpaper. Having success, making movies, that's all fun. But the day you lie on your deathbed, you really don't think about the professional successes on your resume. No way."

#matthias schoenaerts #interviews #misc #by us

[cozyenigma]

Low Places (2/???)

I was stumped on how to continue this one for a WHILE but I think I’m happy with the results

Pairing- Reader/Darkiplier

Word Count- 1,495

Request?- technically yes!

Part One

Summary- After a few days that could be called weird if you were feeling generous, you finally start getting some answers. Or at least some of them.

Tag list- @cookielover0001010

After that night you didn't hear from Mark for a while. The radio silence, especially after he was so attentive, was unnerving. Not knowing what was going on put you on edge. No explanation, no apology, nothing. With Mark's absence you also hadn't seen the mystery man. Though you weren't as sure how to feel about his absence. Or really anything about him. The man seemed to come and go as he pleased and for what purpose you could only guess.

You started to get some answers late one night a few weeks later. A curt text summoned you to Mark's estate. Imposing as always, the windows were dark save the large one in the living room. It shone out like a beacon as you were drawn up to the front door.

Mark answered almost immediately. To your surprise he wasn't nearly as put together as he usually was. Looking like he just rolled out of bed, Mark waved you in with rumpled hair and a quiet greeting. Already the disquiet from earlier was back, increasing even, as he lead you into the living room. You took a seat as he made a beeline for the bar. The only sound for a moment was of the filling of his glass and the clinking of the ice as he made his way over.

"I owe you an explanation, I know," he said, voice low as he sat across from you. "It's been a long time coming but honestly?” Mark laughed with little humor. “I don't know where to start."

"Well," you started, letting yourself get a bit angry for the first time, "you could explain why you've been an ass lately."

He huffed, not looking your way. "Right. Suppose that's a good way to put it."

"It sure is. And even before that you were acting weird," you pointed, accusatory, "with all the gifts and the restaurants just to turn around and snap at me. What's going on, Mark? Really?”

After a moment of hesitation Mark crossed the room, taking a seat across from you and looking down at his hands. "I'm sorry if the gifts made you feel... uncomfortable."

You crossed your arms. "That's one word for it."

"I suppose that's what I'm used to," he sounded less sure then, glancing up at you. "High society and all that. That's what made this friendship... and you a bit different. Less," he waved his hand, searching for the word, "expectations to keep to. Hell some of the dinners I've been to with friends have dress codes if you can believe it."

"Right," you said slowly. It wasn't a secret you weren't used to the same caliber of social gatherings. You'd witnessed enough during filming to know you didn't much care for it either.

"Anyways, you probably don't care about that," Mark heaved a world weary sigh. "I haven't actually told anyone this part before so please bear with me, my friend."

You leaned forward a bit. For the first time since you'd met him he seemed vulnerable almost. The silence started to stretch as he thought over his words. As long as you'd known him you'd never seen him this hesitant. All cocky smiles on set, firm handshakes off of it. The change sparked a bit of concern in you. It competed with your anger as Mark finally started to speak.

"Before now I always thought it'd be best to keep it to myself," he said, eyes looking past you to somewhere else, someplace else, "that or have everyone believe I lost my mind."

"Try me," you said. No part of you expected what he was gearing up to tell you.

His fingers drummed out a quick beat against the glass in his hand. When he began, it was less like a confession and more like he was reading from a storybook.

"A long, long time ago I was... married. Happier. Had friends, big house, successful career. The works. Thought my star could only rise higher yet. And then, well... needless to say that didn't happen."

"What did happen?" You asked, wondering where he was going with all this.

The smile on his was face was little more than a brittle twist of the lips. Something mourning. Or close to it anyways.

"Well I was stabbed in the back of course. By one of my closest friends, no less," he leaned back into the cushions of the couch, gesturing with the glass, "though he did have my wife's help with that one."

"She... cheated on you?" You repeated slowly, turning the story over in your head. Tragic, maybe, but certainly not enough to warrant this much build up. Mark was known for the dramatic flair though and nodded anyway, pleased you were following along so far.

"Yes, well, if it only stopped there I'd be in the same boat as half of Hollywood. The real interesting character is the man you met. Well, I hesitate to call him a man anymore." Mark squinted into the glass, with an odd little smile on his face. "Guess you could say he's both more and less than a whole person now. Guess you could even say the same about me."

You sat by, baffled, as he stood and began to pace. A languid, unhurried pace and he didn't look your way during the whole circuit. Mark drained the glass in his hand and went to fill it again. The bottle was gestured your way and you shook your head.

"What are you getting at, Mark?" You asked. Your confusion must've been evident as he turned your way, holding up a hand for you to wait.

"I'm getting to it, don't worry," he took another swig from his glass. "See, that betrayal was really only what got the ball rolling, you see. Something unseen had been lurking in the halls of that house. Something dark. Something that wanted to feed." When he looked at you then, a cold gleam in his eyes, you were struck by the realization that he meant it. This wasn’t some practical joke. Not with the heavy weight behind those words and the tension that had settled into the room.

"Sounds like something from a movie.” You shifted uncomfortably in your seat.

"Hmm, don't think it'd play well with audiences," he said amicably, "no happy ending.”

You rubbed your temples, feeling a headache coming on. "What's the point of this story, Mark? I want to help but I swear if this is a joke-“

"The point is," he huffed, talking over you, "that's who you met. Not someone who's looking out for your best interests. Not someone at all. Something else piloting around the shell of somebody long gone."

You frowned. "What do you mean? That's not possible, it doesn't make any sense Mark."

"You've seen him, my friend, does he seem like he cares about what makes sense?" Mark snapped, shaking his head and setting the glass aside. He sat up and steepled his fingers. "All it took was one night, some drinks, and some heated conversation. I don't know the particulars anymore because it's been so long and, frankly, I should've died then. Everyone else did one way or another…”

He ran a hand through his hair. Whatever composure he seemed to have cultivated for this conversation fled him, leaving a tired, world weary man in front of you. It was the look of a man who was hunted.

"Ever since that night, he's been after me. Just- there in the shadows. Watching and waiting."

"Why?" You remember back to that first fateful meeting. Where the man had stepped into the room out of nowhere, looking for Mark. How he had disappeared right in front you. "I mean- what's he after?"

He smirked. "My destruction, most likely."

You sat back, taking a moment to process what he'd told you. Drumming your fingers you said, "You don't remember much else?"

"Nothing important," he shook his head, "I wish I could but I don't know much about him to begin with.” Mark paused then, looking you over. “I'd understand if you didn't want to associate with that kind of danger, my friend."

A pause. You shook your head. "No. Besides, you tell a story like that and I'm naturally gonna be curious."

Part of you wanted to prove him wrong. The whole story was out there and vague in a way that had you thinking he might say syke any second now. But as hard as it was to believe, you wanted to. He seemed genuine. Maybe that didn't excuse the behaviour from earlier but something had to explain it. Regardless, you couldn’t leave him like this.

Mark’s smirk was back now. "Well, don't say I didn't warn you, my friend."

"I can take care of myself," you said, trying for a smile. "You really don't know anything else about him?"

Mark hummed. "Nothing useful besides his name. He calls himself Dark these days.”

#darkiplier x reader #dark x reader #Darkiplier #actor Mark #Actor #youtuber ego #reader insert #markiplier ego x reader #ego fanfic #My writing

[florrickandassociates]

TGF Thoughts: 5x09-- And the end was violent...

It’s been a busy week, but I didn’t want to wait until after 5x10 aired to write this. This recap may be a bit rushed (read: I am going to make an effort to just skip over scenes I don’t care about; we’ll see how many of those there actually are). I didn’t love this episode overall, but I thought it was a huge improvement over 5x08’s parking ticket fiasco and wish it had immediately followed 5x07.

Bless these episodes for not being overly long

Oooh, the opening sequence is long and I have nothing to say about it! Thanks for making my life easier, writers!  

The point of this opening is to show that there are lots of problems with the official court system—inefficiencies, inconveniences like broken elevators, overcrowding in prisons (though, uh, I don’t think the actual problem there is that there’s not room to incarcerate more people)-- that might make cops open to an alternative like Wackner’s court.

I know the cop thread kind of started with last week’s parking nonsense, but surely there was a way other than the parking nonsense to bridge the gap between 5x07’s prison system and 5x09’s focus on Wackner’s court suddenly being a replacement for criminal court, too.

(Y’all, I have SO MANY questions about how Wackner can POSSIBLY judge criminal cases, but they’re all just variations on... UH, GUYS, ISN’T THIS ILLEGAL? LIKE SUPER DUPER ILLEGAL?)  

I see that there is a filming notice when the cops bring a dude into Wackner’s court, and that the notice says that by entering on the premises you consent to being on film. I do not think that this sign being displayed would hold up as evidence of anyone consenting to be sentenced to a private prison on criminal charges.

New question: How did Wackner Rules get on the air so fast? And are they just filming endless episodes in real time? They just film anyone who walks in?  

I think there is supposed to be a subplot about Marissa liking fame and attention; it is almost a little too subtle to be meaningful. I see a through line from her sleeping with that editor dude last week to her smiling at the flowers in this scene to her scenes with Carmen later this episode. Unfortunately, I need a lot more for this to work.

I don’t need Marissa to be a hero who constantly does the right thing and calls out Wackner on crossing the line, but I’m really sad that this is what they’re using Marissa for when we were due for Marissa calling Wackner out (in a meaningful, lasting way) like two episodes ago. It’s felt odd to me that she just sticks around and assists Wackner and Del when they’re doing things like putting people in private prisons and comparing the show they’re making to The Apprentice. Any subtle shift in Wackner’s decisions that has signaled to me that he’s gone too far is something that I can say with certainty would signal the same to Marissa. Marissa’s outspoken and passionate, and we have seen enough reaction shots to know she knows things are going bad, fast. Am I really meant to believe that because she likes Wackner and she likes fame, she’s not going to do anything more substantial than look upset from time to time? Not only does that feel out of character, it’s also just boring.  

And, it speaks to another problem I’m starting to have with the arc: they needed to get to the point faster. Once Wackner said “David Cord’s private prison,” this stopped being fun. It would’ve stopped being fun for Marissa and it stopped being fun for viewers (seriously though, the change in tone on Reddit between 5x07 and 5x08/5x09 is VERY noticeable). So why did we follow that up with some repetitive filler bullshit about parking spaces and then start getting back to the point in this episode? I’m sure they’re going somewhere big in 5x10, but you can’t follow an explosive reveal with more status quo.

(Also, lol, I think the parking space thing was meant to be a fun silly absurd little way of entering into themes about authority and Wackner trying to legitimize his court, but it was about an issue so relatable and illogical that I think it feels even harder to believe than the, like, whole concept of a secret court in a Copy Coop.)  

Time for Marissa to look concerned again! She’s confused about if the case is real or not, and when Wackner says it’s real, she says it’s not for their court and it’s crossing a line. She is absolutely correct. Wackner’s like, let me know if you think I’m crossing a line after I rule, and then he makes a silly flailing gesture that Marissa can use as a signal.

I actually don’t hate that scene; it is a good scene. I am only snarking on it because it feels like familiar territory and it belonged in an earlier episode.

Am I correctly understanding that these cops wanted to be filmed bringing a man against his will to a fake court with a private prison? And that they wanted this to air on television? Okay.

I will say that I believe the motivations of everyone involved except Marissa. Wackner thinks he’s doing good for the world. Del is getting good TV (I mean, I still think that Wackner Rules title sequence is shit and the show Del seems to be making is terrible, but that’s besides the point). Cord has so much money he’s untouchable and this is fun for him. The cops just don’t want to deal with bureaucracy when it comes to someone who they basically caught in the act.  

Court! Stuff! Happens!

Wackner sentences the guy to one year in “David Cord’s private prison.” Again, I know they have to say this for exposition/storytelling reasons, but I continue to find it hilarious that David Cord would want his name to be used in this way (because he like, absolutely would not want his name to be used this way).

The cops like Wackner’s verdict so they tell all their friends to also take their cases to Wackner. What could possibly go wrong!  

Like, yeah, there are problems with the criminal justice system—and some of them are even the ones these cops are mad about—but this is ABSOLUTELY not the answer!!! You cannot just take people off the streets and place them in private prisons because they were forced to enter a filming zone for a TV show what the actual fuck

Love David Lee still having candy on his desk. Some things never change.

Allegra, who was welcomed by the partners of RL last week, is interviewing for a job with David Lee. I don’t understand. Doesn’t David Lee have to approve new partners at RL?  

Please don’t mention real estate on Mars, Allegra. You’ve made me think of Jason and how bad season seven was.

Allegra is feeling a bit different from Elsbeth this episode, though she very much still has some Elsbeth energy. She is very strategic and blunt in a way Elsbeth isn’t, and she seems a little more focused and intense.  

“I notice, in a partisan world, the person in the middle controls the agenda,” Allegra says of her alliances with both Liz and Diane. This is interesting. What are Allegra’s goals here? Just to have power? Does she have a vision for RL? Is it just a good paycheck?

(My guess is it’s about power and money for her. I don’t think she is going to be the ally Madeline wants. I don’t think anyone who voluntarily signs up to be a name partner at a firm owned by corporate overlords is a natural ally for Madeline though, tbh.)

(I really hoped this arc would explore that just a tiny bit more. The longer this conflict drags on the more convinced I become that the whole question of if it’s appropriate for Diane to lead a black firm is moot. It’s an interesting and complicated question, but with some distance from the plot, it becomes pretty clear that in this particular situation, RL isn’t a black firm. It’s a subsidiary of a large multinational corporation.)

(The show seems very aware of this and keeps having plot points like Diane using David Lee to keep her job and having Madeline call out all the awful clients they have... but it needs to go somewhere.)

(This also may be why I’m more down on the end of the season—in the middle of the season, nods at the things I’ve been thinking are appreciated references. At the end, they’re more like plotholes or reminders of the questions we should actually be spending time on.)

“Are you shitting me?” David Lee storms into the room as Liz and Diane are working. “David, we are shitting you about so many things, you’re gonna have to be more specific,” Liz responds. God, funny!Liz is maybe my favorite part of season 5?  

Liz calls David out on his power, noting that he also reports to STR Laurie. So it seems like Liz and Diane can make decisions on their own, and STR Laurie can overrule them, but not stop them in advance?  

This little ad about an ice cream chain is like, 15 seconds too long.  

Carmen is back!!!! She’s helping Rivi sign a deal with an ice cream chain so that they’ll turn into a distributor of weed.  

Why do we have to watch a SECOND commercial?  

The farm wants Rivi to stop dealing other drugs if they’re going to enter into this deal.  

Allegra, another character who seemingly has no qualms about representing drug kingpins, quickly impresses Rivi.  

I understand why there is an interpreter for Rivi’s wife. I do not understand why the interpreter interprets conversations BETWEEN Rivi and his wife. And then he’s translating the sign language into Spanish? But also Rivi speaks fluent English in half of these scenes? WHAT is happening?  

Allegra is also different from Elsbeth in that with clients, you’re NEVER going to underestimate her. You might not follow her at first, but she’ll get to the point clearly and concisely and without telling you how much she likes your lipstick.

But like at 13:44 Rivi signs something to his wife, and when she signs back the interpreter tells him what she’s saying. This is so so so clearly for the audience but I wish it had just been captions because it makes NO SENSE that the interpreter is in on this private conversation between two people who both know sign language!?  

Rivi and Isabel now LOVE Allegra. Diane and Liz are like, okay!  

Cop stuff happens.  

Credits!!! If you haven’t already, be sure to check out indiewire’s piece on the making of the credits—it's fascinating.  

Brooke directed 😀  

Marissa the celebrity is signing autographs in Wackner’s court when the cops bring in some young men affiliated with Rivi.  

NO, GOD NO, NOT THIS DEVIL’S ADVOCATE FUCKERY. The problem I have with the Devil’s Advocate, in addition to it being fucking annoying, is that it is also the exact opposite of what Wackner’s court is all about. Wackner is about facts and really hearing people out, and from what we’ve seen, Devil’s Advocate is about... stereotypes and pop sociology so bad it’s essentially just racism?  

“These young men are the victims of a system that arbitrarily declares some drugs illegal, and others, like alcohol, not. They should be released. To hold them is to perpetuate an unfair system,” Devil’s Advocate says. Good lord, a 7th grader could write a more persuasive speech than this bullshit.  

WHY IS DAVID CORD PROSECUTING THIS, WHY IS THE TRIAL ABOUT WHETHER OR NOT DRUGS HARM COMMUNITIES, WHY IS THE DEVIL’S ADVOCATE SOUNDING LIKE A WHITE BOY IN AN INTRO TO SOCIOLOGY CLASS WITH HIS REFERENCES TO THE WIRE, WHY IS ANY OF THIS HAPPENING OMG MAKE IT STOP HOLY FUCKING SHIT THIS IS BAD

Why is Marissa the court clerk being called upon to be defense, WHY IS THE DEVIL’S ADVOCATE JUST SCREAMING “DEFUND THE POLICE” WHAT THE FUCK

I’m sorry, I am going to rant about this more, I truly cannot get over how fucking stupid the Devil’s Advocate is. He just starts screaming “defund the police”??? To what end?! Why does Wackner want this in his court?!  

I revise what I said earlier. Devil’s Advocate isn’t just sounding a white boy in an intro to sociology class. He is sounding like a white boy who showed up to an intro to sociology class absolutely hammered.

Marissa, correctly, argues that the arrestees should be taken to Cook County. Then she hears that they work for Rivi and she knows this is bad.  

Cord calling Marissa out for her firm representing Rivi: Another thing that would NEVER air on Wackner Rules.

David Lee seems surprised Liz and Diane did not get rid of Allegra. I don’t know why he is surprised, I think they made it very clear they don’t see him as an authority figure.

STR Laurie is now demanding (another) 10% in cuts to pay for Allegra. Liz says they’ll pay for her with the money that used to be for Adrian and Diane notes that Allegra has more stature than Adrian. Interesting.  

David Lee then decides to be both sexist and racist for really no reason at all. Pleasant!  

Showing Carmen as competent but not yet as strategic as Allegra is a really nice way to underline that Carmen is still a first year even if she is very very good.

Liz, Diane, and Allegra talk about cost cutting. Allegra is like, no, we need to spend more, which makes sense, both for the reasons she outlines and because when you bring on a powerful name partner, your need for lower level support does not DECREASE, it INCREASES.  

I know this scene is meant to show Allegra thinking outside the box, but I am a bit surprised that (1) Neither Liz nor Diane push back on the 10% cut and (2) When Allegra suggests hiring back all the associates and then some, Diane seems to think Allegra doesn’t understand they’re talking about cuts? Like, obviously she knows the topic of conversation, Diane.  

“We don’t run our own business. We work for a global conglomerate,” Liz notes. Yup. Right point, wrong context lol.

Diane and Liz are just too smart and strategic to have to be told ALL of this by Allegra... especially Diane, who is not only smart but also used to dealing with management.  

And worse... Liz and Diane think they made a mistake with Allegra because of this? I mean, I guess if your goal is to permanently work for a big corporation that will slowly chip away at your budget because they can and to never make any waves because that might disrupt the status quo, sure, Allegra isn’t who you want! But do Diane and Liz REALLY want the status quo?  

I hope they find a way out from under STR Laurie next year, as much as I hate the firm switching, because it’s just such a boring dead-end when Diane and Liz don’t actually have power or control.

OOOH I like Del asking Liz what SHE wants wrt the whole Diane situation. She says she wants to “stop fighting” and for Diane to “stop using her racist clients to keep her job” and for “the firm to be led in the right way by the right people.” So sounds like she wants to work with Diane, then? That last one is as vague as can be, but I think we can infer at this point that Liz is more concerned with stability and a work environment she likes than idealism.

God, Liz and Alicia would’ve gotten along so well as adults lmao.

Del tells Liz that “women at work always want to be thought of as nice. Women always want consensus. But you know what, baby, sometimes you just gotta say, ‘Fuck you, and you and you and you. Alright? This is my business and it’s my decision.’” I see where he’s coming from (even though this sounds like something my nemesis the Devil’s Advocate would say) but I am not sure I agree that’s Liz’s problem here.  

Actually, maybe I do agree with Del. I think Del’s saying to say FU to Diane, but what Liz clearly actually wants to do is say FU to Madeline lol

Liz asks him to change the topic. Where ARE they? Is this a restaurant or an incredibly nice backyard?  

Del changes the topic to how his boss wants him to come back to LA, but he wants to get Liz’s thoughts on their future. Liz asks him to start since men are better at saying what they mean (ha, love her giving him shit for that).  

He basically tells her he wants to stay and she says he should stay. Aww.  

Rivi’s house is... certainly something.  

Isabel is concerned because three of their boys have disappeared. She, naturally, suspects they’re at police blacksites.  

I’m sorry, did Marissa not elevate the Rivi case in Wackner’s court to the partners’ attention!? Rivi blames the dairy company, even though this does not... make that much sense?

This escalates into the murder of cows?? What... the fuck.

Now Marissa finds Carmen and loops her in! But only now that she knows Rivi’s looking for them and Rivi’s about to, like, kill Christian Borle’s character whose name I’ve forgotten.  

Marissa’s position on this is that Wackner will just let the boys go so Rivi shouldn’t know about any of this. Rivi would just kill Wackner. And Carmen is like, Rivi will just kill Christian Borle if we don’t tell. Fair point.  

Carmen, being an actual adult (sorry Marissa, I usually love you), is willing to admit when she’s in over her head, so she walks off to go get Liz for help. Yay!  

Rivi is not impressed with Wackner’s court or Marissa. He and Isabel want either Carmen or Allegra. Liz says Carmen will do it, I think meaning Marissa will do it but Carmen will be client facing.  

I love it when we get to see Liz just be super competent. It’s not a rare occurrence, but it’s just very, very clear in this scene how much better Liz is at handling this situation than Carmen or Marissa would’ve been and I like it when the show makes time to emphasize that even on a show full of hypercompetent people, some people are more skilled than others at handling some situations.

Liz, Diane, and David meet with STRL over Zoom. Allegra somehow pops up on the meeting but also joins as a cat because you know what the cat lawyer on Zoom needed? To be parodied on TGF. Ugh

OH MY GOD I DIDN’T PUT THIS TOGETHER SOONER BUT IT’S A CAT LAWYER YOU GUYS. This will mean NOTHING to any of you because it’s about an inside joke I have with the friend who got me into TGW, but indulge me in a little nostalgia here, ‘kay? So in like 2012, there was a trend on Tumblr where everyone would photoshop cat ears onto their favorite TV characters and my friend and I were like, why would I want to put cat ears on my favorite character, idgi. So then we started photoshopping cat ears on to the most unlikely characters and we landed on David Lee. We referred to David Lee as a cat for a really long time. Like, if we were to talk about David Lee today we would probably still call him Cat! David Lee.  

Allegra starts trying to work her magic on STRL.  Diane literally runs down the stairs to try to stop Allegra. I am not sure why Diane and Liz are so anti-Allegra during this conversation which is only happening so they can have the funds to keep her on board!  

Allegra tries to share a burrito with Diane and Liz and says she stands by her strategy. Liz finally says she’s not sure this will work. Allegra is understanding.

I respect that. Allegra may as well go all out and see if she can make this workable.  

(That said, this is pretty much the opposite of her whole staying neutral thing from earlier!)

No one is in the audience at Wackner’s court when Carmen shows up, yet the musician who I like only very slightly more than Devil’s Advocate is still on call. Just STOP.  

Overall I’ve liked the Wackner arc and I’m excited to see it wrap up tomorrow, but lemme tell you: it had better wrap up tomorrow. I am NOT open to dealing with this for another season.

The musician takes orders from Cord? The cameras are rolling? Rivi is there? WHAT?  

I know that NONE of this makes sense, but some things make exceptionally little sense and I just can’t.

Guys, remember the parking tickets?!  

Oh, excuse me, the ice cream company is actually a yogurt company.

Rivi notes that there are three boys missing. Wackner only has two.  

I am a little surprised Rivi has managed to be successful with that temper. Idk what skill set you need to be a top drug dealer, but he attacks people like three times an episode and that seems like a really good way to not build trust and to also get yourself killed?  

Liz and Del talk about what happened in Wackner’s court. Liz asks how they deal with liability. I guess she isn’t Del’s lawyer, then. Del says they have releases and people want to be on TV. Liz says what I’ve been saying, which is that Rivi doesn’t want to be on TV. Del says there are ways around that and references the show Cops as though that’s enough to make this question go completely away.  

Liz references The Apprentice, for those of us who didn’t catch the reference last week and/or for those of us (me!) who wanted to pretend that Wackner wasn’t somehow a commentary on Trump and star power. Ugh.  

(I don’t necessarily think it’s a bad point, I just am not sure that I think it is the most interesting point about the Wackner plot.)  

“Remember how we all watched and laughed and thought it was funny when they fired people?” Liz says. “We? No, no. Hmm, you... you never watched The Apprentice,” Del responds. She did not. Hahahahahaha I love this exchange. It feels very real.

Liz seems less concerned with Wackner and more concerned with Del’s eagerness to turn Wackner into a larger than life personality with a devoted following, which, yes, thank you, Liz, this is actually a much better and more interesting point!  

“That came out of nowhere,” Del says. “No, it didn’t,” Liz responds, correctly.  

Del talks about how Liz represents Wackner, along with murderers, rapists, drug dealers, and yet she wants to draw the line at reality show producer who makes people famous? He’s got a point, even if I’d argue that choosing a romantic partner is not the same as running a business.  

“Would your firm turn down [the producer of The Apprentice] if he wanted to join the roster?” Del asks. “Good point,” Liz sighs, resigned. She’s not happy he’s right, but she knows he is.  

Sigh. I already said some variation of this, but this season seems to have all the right ideas floating around, it’s just choosing the wrong ones to explore deeply and the wrong moments to mention other ones. Things like Liz worrying that someone she’s considering starting a serious relationship with might have some personality traits she doesn’t love can be done through throwaway lines that quickly come back to being about work/plot (that’s what happens in this scene, basically) and I love that. But the existence of STRL and the influence it has over whether or not RL is a black firm at some point can’t be dealt with through references. Wackner becoming increasingly off the rails can’t be turned down to a simmer after reaching boiling point. RL’s unsavory client’s can’t just come up in moments like this; they have to play into a central conflict.  

Like, what good is it to constantly remind the audience that RL represents a ton of “bad guys” if you’re not going to go anywhere with that other than making Liz and Diane occasionally be like, “hmm, good point.” when called out on their client list? This could be a really, really good piece of a larger puzzle about the culture at RL, and instead it feels like it’s a card they play whenever they need some moral complexity. Just... go somewhere with it, please. Either stop pretending that RL are the good guys or have them seriously deal with their client list.

Anyway, then Liz and Del talk about his possible LA move. It’s kinda inconclusive; they talk about work just being work.

Outside of court, Carmen doesn’t believe that Wackner only has two of Rivi’s boys.  

“I don’t know why you’ve been wasting so much time with this joke court, because it’s not gonna magically turn you into a real lawyer, Marissa,” Carmen lashes out. Oooo. Now this is interesting, can I have an extended version of this scene and also all the other Carmen/Marissa scenes that we should’ve gotten in the episodes Carmen was barely in?  

I understand Carmen’s frustration, especially since I imagine she worked pretty damn hard to get into/get through law school. And, as fun and smart as Marissa can be, she does get bored easily, try to skip over the dull moments, and moves on and still always lands on her feet. I can see how that would rub Carmen the wrong way, especially during a stressful moment.

Carmen isn’t exactly a rule follower, but I’d say she is someone who is very conscious of the rules, and, I think someone who values structure more than she lets on (I especially see this in her decision to stay at RL instead of work independently/with Lester).  

Marissa calls Jay for help!

Allegra talks to David Lee, with Liz and Diane in the background. Allegra makes her argument to  David Lee again and it goes over well. I think the writers think there’s more suspense in this plot than there is; it’s pretty obvious from the start that Allegra is correct and Diane and Liz are only correct if the goal is to avoid all conflict.

What is David Lee’s role at STRL? Is there anything else in that office besides awful HR and RL? He talks like he is more RL than STRL and that doesn’t track with what we saw of STRL last year.

Marissa spots a flyer that leads her and Jay to where the missing boy is: another fake court. This was inevitable—I think one of the very first things I said was that Wackner himself seemed fine and decent, but what happens when someone else decides they, too, want to be a judge because they said so—and I’m glad to see the writers go this direction. I actually think this would’ve been an effective build after 5x07 and would’ve kept turning up the tension, so again, most of my issues with this arc lie in 5x08’s momentum killing bullshit. It’s hard to get back into this plot when they lost me last week.

Shocker: Wackner having a reality show inspired more copy cats who take cues from the show and think Marissa is a celebrity.  

Vinetta, the judge of the second court, puts people in “time-out” (read: imprisons them in her basement) and... yeah, I don’t care how kind she is to them, this is not okay! The solution to the prison system is not for people to turn their basements into prisons!  

I don’t know that the writers are TRYING to comment on this here, but there is definitely something to be said about communities that the legal system repeatedly fails finding alternative measures of justice.  

Vinetta is nice and seems reasonable as a judge, but she also has a basement prison her judgments are influenced by her religious believes so, uh, yeah, not good!!!  

Wackner, however, thinks Vinetta’s court is GREAT! He wants to go see it, because “it’s finally happening.” What’s happening? “Justice,” he says. Uhhhhhhh, no. This is just so dangerous, even if everyone involved so far seems to mean well.  

I’m very curious to see how this little thought experiment wraps up (again: I say wraps up because I cannot deal with the thought of this being more than a one season arc).

One thing I love about the Wackner arc—my 5x08 issues aside—is its slow burn. The writers did a phenomenal job of getting me to take Wackner seriously at first, then slowly started to take all the things that seemed great and reasonable about Wackner’s court to their extremes (while still making his judgment on any individual topic* sound). It’s a very fun and entertaining thought experiment, and I think that’s why this arc has largely succeeded for me, even though it’s so far removed from reality.  

* Exceptions to this include policing, prisons, cancel culture, and, of course, parking spaces.  

#the good fight #tgf thoughts

[passable-talent]

Hi yes so I just finished the anakin punk au and it was uh perfect? And you should 100% please write more in that au it doesn’t even have to be in some coherent storyline, just more punk anakin please I am hooked

say no more my dear

I write this. and I think to myself “punks. they like weed. they drink. I should talk about that.”

and then I don’t. because I have a,,, responsibility to promote good health I guess?

don’t do drugs kids. most of them arent worth it i promise

and yes just like i mentioned wattpad in the last one tumblr is coming up on this one we’re breaking the FUCKING fourth wall

part one here

You passed out on his shoulder, exactly as he predicted, at about 2:00 AM.

He didn’t notice for a few minutes, and once he had, he had to make a very hard decision. 

He knew you were leaving in the morning, you had other places to be. And he had to get home, Cliegg was going to be pissed he’d been out this late as it was. But- just like you, he never wanted the night to end.

At 2:15, he shimmied out from under you, finding your room key quickly. Once he’d slipped it into his pocket, he picked you up, carrying you all the way back to your room. The door seemed to scream as it opened, but none of the girls were awake. He laid you onto the only empty bed, leaving your room key on the dresser, and kneeled at your beside, for just a moment. 

A night he wasn’t going to forget. One he wasn’t willing to leave behind. 

He found the notepad left by the hotel for guests and its nearby pen, scribbling his phone number onto it before smacking it onto your room key so that he knew you’d see it. 

He wasn’t taking any chances. He did everything he could to make sure that you were safe, that you’d sleep soundly, that he’d see you again. It was a bit of a walk back to where he’d left his car, at the venue, but it was worth it- he shrugged his jacket up around his neck against the cold and kept going, remembering how it’d felt to hold you. 

But, in all of his kindness, he had made one mistake. You didn’t get to say goodbye. 

You woke up in the hotel room the next morning, for a moment thinking that maybe you’d dreamed the whole thing. But then you realized you still had your shoes on, and you were laying on top of the sheets, why the hell would I do that, and you phone hadn’t been plugged in, and- 

And there was a phone number on the dresser. 

You weren’t really ‘dating’- you shouldn’t call it that. If you were going to call it that, then there would inevitably be a post on someone’s tumblr that you had a boyfriend, and who was he, where was he from, yada yada... that damn website already had half the internet convinced you were dating Padme, you didn’t want to add any more fuel to the fire. 

So no, you weren’t dating. But you were texting every day. You learned so much about him, about how he was raised by his mom and worked at her friend Watto’s auto shop, about his step-brother and future step-sister-in-law, how his mom died when he was nineteen, about how he’d tried to move to California with his friend Obi-Wan a few years ago, but it fell through. In return, you told him about your life- living in the outskirts of San Francisco, being pushed into ballet lessons as a kid (as he said- ‘that’s why you look weightless on stage!’), being cut out from your family for quitting college to pursue music. 

You texted every day and every night, sent him videos from gigs, and he sent dumb little snapchats from underneath whatever car he was working on. You expected that to be it, probably for a long time- neither of you had the money nor the time to see each other more often. So you held onto the connection you had, the night you’d spent together. 

And you thought that’d be it. But- the universe has a funny way of surprising you. 

Your record label was based in LA, so you lived in Salta Ana, about thirty miles away, where the real estate was way cheaper. The band lived together, close as four friends could be, so they knew all about how you’d fallen for Anakin. Ahsoka would notice you glued to your phone, and ask snarkily “texting skyguy?” to which you always scolded her that his name was Skywalker. 

Living so close to LA made it easy to do gigs at any venue that would take you- bars, clubs, a particularly anarchist biker hall. A bar- such was the case for tonight. 

Like usual with a gig like this, Aayla had taken to instagram and called any fan in the area, so the bar was mostly filled with people who knew the music, but there were regulars, too. People who couldn’t be damned to listen to the lyrics, and just let the atmosphere move them. 

The setlist changed, when you were at a place like this. You didn’t necessarily rely on the hundred voice chorus that you loved so much, and so couldn’t include some of those songs. Your music strayed a little more to the rock end of the spectrum, when you played in places like this. With that high energy came faster music, more running around the stage, more movement, but you weren’t tired, when the set ended at 11:25. You were more energized than usual, in fact.

“Pads, I’ve never heard you solo like that!” You said, a bright smile on your face as you pushed out of the employee entrance of the bar. She gave you thanks, but not a moment later stopped dead, not saying a word, staring at you. You paused, looking at her, then Ahsoka and Aayla, who’d both stopped, too. 

“What?” Ahsoka and Aayla, though, were looking at something past you, which made you realize that Padme was, too. You turned, and leaning against the wall was- was Anakin. 

“Oh my god,” you said under your breath, dropping into a run toward him immediately. “Anakin!” He shoved himself off of the wall, letting you run into his arms, and just held you. You pulled away to look at him, amazed that after months, here he was, right in front of you, real. 

“What are you doing here?” you asked, bewildered, surprised, ecstatic. 

“Visiting Obi-Wan,” he said, and he lifted his hand to your face, giving you a good look at that tattoo you hadn’t quite forgotten, dark lines reaching from his elbow to his palm. 

“And you,” he added. You couldn’t help it- you hadn’t seen him in so long, you couldn’t help the way you leaned into it when he pulled you into a kiss, and this time you weren’t exhausted, and you could let yourself feel it, you could pay attention to his chapped lips and the way he slid them over yours, still soft, even after waiting in the cold. You never wanted to leave this moment, like so many of the others that you spent with him, his hands on your face keeping away the January air. 

“Yeah, I’m heading home,” Ahsoka said, making you break the kiss. “Coming, or not?” You looked back at her with a bit of a glare, letting Anakin’s hands fall to your neck. 

“You guys go ahead,” you said, checking your jacket pocket for the essentials- wallet, phone, house keys. “I think I have a tradition to uphold.” 

The bar you’d played at tonight was a bit far away from the place you wanted to take Anakin, but you didn’t mind the walk, since it was with him. You’d been texting every day, and yet it felt different, there was so much more to talk about now. 

Apparently, Anakin hadn’t seen Obi-Wan since he’d left to move to LA, so it was a visit to an old friend as much as it was an excuse to see you again. 

“So you’re staying with him?” You asked, leading him by the arm down the street. 

“Yeah,” he said, hooking his elbow into yours, which let him keep his hands in his pockets. “He’s got an apartment in east LA, it’s got a nice couch.”

“East LA, not bad. What’s he do?” 

“He’s a talent manager, actually. Went to business school and everything.” Anakin paused, suppressing a chuckle. “He told me that he’d love to represent you, if you didn’t already have someone.” 

“Sadly, we do,” you said, playful, “but I’ll keep him in mind.” 

You’d pretend it was the winter chill that brought the flush to your cheeks- he’d told his friend about you. That had to mean you were important to him, right?

“Where are we heading, anyway?” He asked, and you, luckily, could channel your inner dramatic and turn toward the doorway you’d been heading toward all along. 

“Right here,” you said, and you took him inside. 

This was your recording studio- it was always open, so that any artist could stop in and get out whatever creativity they had. You showed your ID card to the lobby clerk, who approved it and called the elevator. Anakin followed your lead until the door closed, and just like you had on the night you met him, you pressed the button for the highest floor. 

“This is one of the buildings for our record company,” you said, the elevator so familiar. 

“Which would explain why he let you in,” Anakin said, a slight teasing tone to his voice. All you could do was chuckle, waiting for the elevator to reach the top floor.

From there, you lead him to a glass door, and swiped your ID card through a reader near its frame so you could step outside. 

“This is the rooftop set,” you said, gesturing to the wide space, “It’s where we film a lot of music videos.” This close to the door, it was hard to see over the side of the building, and so you took Anakin’s hand.

“The city lights keep us from stargazing,” you said with a smile, and brought him to the guardrail at the edge of the roof. “So I thought I’d show you the city’s version of the night sky.” Looking out across the city, there were a thousand orange sparkles, windows illuminated in buildings stretching as far as the eye could see. Criss-crossed between them were lines of red and white, LA traffic clogging the city streets even so late at night. 

No matter how many times you came up here, you’d never get tired of the view. Fifty-five stories up, there were other buildings that dwarfed this tower, but the west was free of them, so your view to the horizon was clear, even in the LA overcast. 

“Wow,” he said, looking out over it all beside you. “I’ve never- I don’t think I’ve ever been up this high.” You fixed him with a surprised expression, leaning your elbows down onto the banister. 

“No? Really?”

“I didn’t grow up in a city, like you,” he said, settling in beside you, his arm pressed to yours. You let your head rest onto his shoulder, remembering the night you met. 

“I’m glad you came out to LA,” you said, “though I’m hoping you’ll stay a while. I  want to go on an actual date with you.” You heard him exhale.

“You don’t call this a date?” he asked, and you lifted your head, looking at him, the lights of the city giving his face the slightest, golden glow. 

“Well, I mean-” If this was a date, then so had been the one after the show, back in October. Which meant this was your second date, and you’d technically been ‘dating’ this whole time, which kinda made him your- boyfriend? 

“Is it?” Anakin slipped his hand into yours, lacing your fingers together.

“This is better than any dinner and movie we could’ve gone to, I think.” He turned over your hand, tracing his first finger over the skyline tattoo that bisected your forearm. “Especially since it seems like this means a lot to you.” You couldn’t believe he’d noticed that tattoo- it meant he really was paying attention to you. 

“Yeah,” you said with a smile, lifting your arm up, his hand still held in yours, aligning the tattoo with the skyline you were looking at. “I got this done after we did our first video.” Silently, he examined the ink and compared it to the sky, seeing what you meant. 

“That’s really cool,” he said, bringing your hand back down, since his fingers were getting cold in the wind, and he had to assume yours were too. 

“How long are you going to be in town?” You asked, resting your temple down onto his shoulder again. 

“A week, or so. Watto says he needs me to work on a mustang that we’re getting- I think Cliegg told him to say that since he doesn’t want me in the city.” 

“Well, I don’t want to undermine your dad,” you said, “But I wouldn’t complain if you stayed here a lot longer than that.” You ran your thumb over the back of his hand. “It’s really nice to actually have you with me, and not over the phone.” Anakin turned to kiss the top of your head.

“Tell me about it. It’s worse for me, I promise- I listen to your music all the time, and it just makes me want to see you.” 

“Sometimes I forget that you were once just a fan,” you said with a laugh, “listening to our music.” 

“The luckiest one in the world,” Anakin added, and you almost wondered how you’d ever lived without him. 

You let a moment pass, in silence. 

“I’m twenty five,” you started, wondering if you had the courage to finish, “do you think I’m too young to be in love?” Anakin didn’t respond, at first. He turned to you, lifting his furthest hand to your face, making you look up at him. You could never get over those blue eyes- you’d forgotten how intense they were. 

“I guess it depends on the guy,” Anakin said, his teeth quickly catching his lower lip. “Do you think you are?” You reached up past his arm to his face, your first finger tracing his eyebrow before your palm came to rest on the ridge of his cheekbone.

“No,” you said, and you rushed forward to meet his lips. 

-🦌 Roe

#reader insert #imagines #anakin x reader insert #star wars anakin #anakin imagine #anakin x reader #anakin skywalker imagine #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker #punk!anakin #singer!reader #modern au #musician au #star wars #fics

[missroserose]

Summertime Thing

Okay, so really I should be working on the first chapter of this (which I actually have a hard deadline for on the 18th, sorta—more on that later), but I promised @laveracevia and @redmyeyes and @notwhatiam (and also an anonymous Tumblr person) that I'd post the bullet point outline for my angsty wincesty teen Sam novel so here it is, all three-thousand-plus words of it. Still tentative and with a fair amount to fill in, but that's what makes it an outline. (Has anyone yet beatified the SPN showrunners for setting the bar for research so ridiculously low? Praise be unto them! 😂) So, without further ado:

• It’s the summer of 1999 and Sam is sixteen.

• They’re living in rural Arizona for the summer, in a little town in the Chiricahua Mountains called Bisbee that I definitely didn’t live in for three years.

• Bisbee’s a weird place. It used to be a wealthy mining town, but in the ‘70s the company pulled out and the economy crashed. Some of the residents are old mining families, some are old hippies and artists who moved there due to the picturesque scenery and bargain-basement real estate, some are early baby boomers looking for an inexpensive place to retire. There's a surprising amount of live music, an absolutely thriving conspiracy scene, and the local police blotter is a smorgasbord of weirdness.

⁃ John picked it because it’s the county seat (which means lots of local records) with cheap housing and residents who don’t ask too many questions. Dean loves it because it’s straight out of the a Western—several famous movies filmed on Main Street, and the theme-park-town of Tombstone is half an hour’s drive away. Sam hates it, but in fairness, Sam kind of hates everything right now.

• Sam’s getting regular beatdowns with the puberty bat—he’s growing what feels like an inch a week, his voice is randomly cracking, he’s ravenously hungry all the time, and his moods go from happy-go-lucky kid to moody teen to full-on young-adult angst on the turn of a dime.

• Most terrifying of all, his relationship with Dean is fracturing. Dean can tell he’s having a hard time of things, of course, and tries his best to cheer Sam up. Sometimes they get on great; other times, even being in the same room as Dean makes Sam feel like his skin is three sizes too small.

• The frustrating part is, no matter how much of a shit Sam is, Dean won't give up on him entirely, just gives him space for a day or two and then reaches out, like—“hey, come keep me company while I give the car an oil change,” or “hey, sounds like there’s a hell of a party going on up the gulch—let’s go sneak in, I bet they have booze, maybe we can get you laid,” or “hey, Dad said we can take the car, let’s drive to the new mall in the next town and go see a movie. Anything you want.”

⁃ Sam definitely picks Cruel Intentions, intending to make Dean sit through something he’d find boring, but it backfires—the incest subplot ends up making him even more uncomfortable and Dean, predictably, digs watching Sarah Michelle Gellar and Selma Blair make out onscreen.

• Dean is having the time of his life this summer. The town is picturesque, the bars don’t look too closely at his fake ID, Sam’s old enough to fend for himself mostly, and he even gets an evening gig as a bar back a few nights a week, which means he has a little cash. Sure, Sam’s been weirdly moodly lately, but it’s just puberty, it’ll pass.

• Sam, meanwhile, is on his own a lot, with John either out working, out drinking, or buried in his notes; he spends a lot of time walking down to the library over the post office, which is surprisingly extensive, but more importantly, air-conditioned. If he has a couple bucks he might go to the new coffee shop by the library and buy an iced tea for lunch.

• At some point when John’s gone, Dean brings home Tina, a local bartender. Weirdly, they don’t seem to be sleeping together, at least initially; mostly they just hang out, easy with each other in a way that makes Sam jealous.

⁃ Sam hates it when Dean brings home girls (for the obvious reason that he gets kicked out of the house, of course), but he actually hates it more when Tina starts hanging around regularly, all the more so because she’s always very sweet to him—but Dean’s into her and that means Dean’s attention is on someone other than him.

⁃ Tina keeps working on Sam, and eventually he confides in her—he hates their life, hates lying to people, hates the ceaseless travel and string of anonymous motel rooms and constant scrambling for cash, but Dean loves it and he loves Dean. She mentions having a sister that she has a complicated relationship with, too.

• One day John announces that they’re taking a day trip as a family together, and they drive up to the Portal-Paradise area, which is a sky island—a mountain forest surrounded by desert, surprisingly lush and peaceful, with stunning views from the peaks.

⁃ It’s also a fairly cursed place, with bullet-riddled “KNOWN HUMAN TRAFFICKING AREA” signs and a cluster of boarded-up hovels from the ghost town of Paradise that definitely don't look like a Bender compound waiting to happen

⁃ After they've wandered around a bit, taking in the gorgeous landscape and sheer relief of being amongst so much green after months in the desert, John has them all pile back into the car and takes them up to Sugarloaf Peak. As they're climbing the mountain, he mentions that the fire watch station at the peak is a great place to watch for {insert signs of supernatural phenomenon here}. Sam gets upset at that, accuses John of using their family time for hunting. Dean points out (quite reasonably) that their family time has always been hunting together. John goes into Marine mode and shuts down the conversation, Sam grumbles something about "just because it's always been that way doesn't make it right," and goes into a sulk.

⁃ As he's sulk-climbing up the peak, Sam becomes convinced at one point that he hears running water. John tells him that’s unlikely before monsoons start, and to keep climbing. Sam keeps hearing it, though, and asks Dean whether he hears it; Dean listens, but doesn't hear anything. Sam falls further behind, trying to see the source—he catches a glimpse of something shimmering amidst the few trees and strikes off looking for it—but there’s nothing there, only a cliff that he nearly goes over. Dean comes up behind him a minute later, urges Sam back up the trail.

• The next day at the library, perhaps driven by Dean giving him shit about hallucinations, Sam starts looking into the history of water in the area—they’ve driven over the San Pedro River but it always just looked to him like a muddy creek. He learns about the 1877 earthquake that broke the water table and reshaped the water in the area, lowering the San Pedro's level and transforming St. David from a malaria-ridden swamp into a town of artesian springs.

• Later that week, Sam’s sitting outside the coffeeshop possibly reading Flowers in the Attic when he hears the older woman at the table next to him insisting that mutants are living in Paradise, only coming out at night, kidnapping people and murdering them, mutilating their bodies and leaving them for the sheriffs to find (and cover up, naturally). Sam is only half-listening—conspiracy nuts are a dime a dozen in this town—until the woman's friend asks patiently where they're getting water from, and the woman says something about haunted springs in the forest. He pretends he’s Dean for a moment, cuts in on the conversation, says he’s doing an independent study project over the summer. The woman fills him in on not just the one disappearance, but several over the past decade, mostly border-jumpers and itinerants.

• Reading between the lines, Sam starts to wonder if there’s a vampire nest in Paradise; he takes down some names, starts putting the research skills he's been learning to good use. He looks up some of the newspaper records on microfilm, finding records—occasional mentions in the Bisbee Observer (and before that, the more legitimate and much less typo-filled Bisbee Daily Review) of people missing, reading up on the history of Paradise.

• He comes back from the library, excited to tell Dean and John what he’s found, only to find John gone and Dean and Tina halfway through a case of beer she brought; they invite Sam to join them, and Sam does. Drunk!Sam ends up talking a lot about how cool the sky island forest is and trying to convince Tina to come with them to see it, but Tina seems oddly resistant. She changes the subject, tells them about her sister, how she was so dominant that she couldn’t tell where her sister ended and she began. Sam starts to feel a sort of kinship with her.

• The next morning he wakes up, discovers that Tina and Dean are gone. He wanders out to where John’s working in the living room, tells him what he’s found. John, who got in late the previous night and is singularly focused on demon activity, is a little condescending towards Sam—there’s dozens of conspiracy theories circulating through town, and besides, if there were actual vampires in Paradise he'd have found some direct evidence by now, they’ve been here more than a month.

• Sam is adamant about going anyway—"you always say it's our job to look into things nobody else will"—and maybe John's a little swayed by Sam's passion (or maybe Sam threatens to steal a car if John doesn't take him). As a sop, John gives Sam the keys to the Impala and tells him to come back if he needs help; as he's about to leave, John calls Sam back, gives him a tenner and reminds him not to head out to the middle of nowhere without supplies. Sam stops at the Circle K, packs a couple jugs of water and some nuts and jerky, and takes off; he’s a little pissed at Dean for ditching him the previous night (and also for, he assumes, sleeping with Tina) so he doesn’t bring him along.

• A couple of hours later, he’s jouncing up the road. The road is empty, as usual, the sun is hot, as usual. Sam gets to the border of the sky island, where the sun is less ferocious, and pulls off at the first group of abandoned houses. He goes to investigate; the first two are empty, barely more than hovels. The third looks empty, but he spots a table with no dust on it; looking closer, he finds a trap door down to a cellar.

⁃ Sam knows he should go get Dean, but he’s still feeling jilted, so he goes and grabs a machete from the Impala’s trunk

⁃ Carefully, he makes his way down the rickety staircase into the basement, shining the flashlight around—and is nearly jumped by a middle-aged woman, yelling at him in Spanish. He has some high-school Spanish but not much; he manages to ward her off, convince her he’s not ICE or Border Patrol. She still doesn’t trust him, but he notices the two children in the corner, the chains holding them there. In Spanish: “Why are they held?” “Coyote,” the woman spits. “Went to demand more money from my family. Should have been back three days ago. Probably drowned in a bar.” Sam doesn't 100% understand but gets the gist—the empty water jug in one corner and stinking bucket in another tell most of the story. The disappearances, the mutilated bodies—it's nothing supernatural, just people doing awful things to each other.

⁃ Sam picks the locks on the chains, tells the woman to wait a moment; he goes out to the Impala, gets the food and a jug of water, gives them to the woman. She’s still wary, but accepts the gifts. She tries to give him a warning, something about water, though his Spanish isn’t quite good enough to make it out; she also presses on him a small figurine, clearly very old, something that looks like a mermaid.

• He gets back around twilight, finds Dean and John bent over photocopies of local records. John sees him come in, asks him if he found anything. Sam opens his mouth, intending to tell him about his day…then decides against it. Just says there’s no vampires. John grunts in acknowledgement, mind already elsewhere.

• The next morning, Dean's missing again, so Sam stalks off to go swimming at the community pool. He’s doing laps, trying not to think about anything, but Dean keeps coming to mind, the way his eyes met Sam’s when Tina was talking about her sister, the way they felt almost hungry. It keeps haunting him, something about that hunger—he's walking back down Main Street, past some of the shops and galleries that sell local art to tourists, when he sees a large painting of La Tlanchana that bears some resemblance to the mermaid figurine—the woman’s warning comes to him again, and two pieces click together in his mind.

• He starts researching La Tlanchana and her various legends and beliefs about her over the years, particularly drawn by the darker and more vengeful incarnations that the Aztecs worshipped. He starts formulating a theory about the disappearances, that they’re linked to…what? A haunted spring? A mermaid? He’s so tantalizingly close…

• He comes home when the library closes, all excited to tell Dean what he’s found and get his input, but John and Dean are both gone; Dean’s bed is rumpled, and the sheets smell like…well, they smell like Dean and Tina, in a way that makes Sam’s stomach flip with jealousy. It's not that he hadn't guessed that they were sleeping together, but...he’d thought Tina liked him. He’d thought…Dean belonged to him. Little things like the hollow of his hip when his jeans rode low, or the way his knees bowed out when he walked, or the tightness around his eyes when he was trying to hide something—

⁃ —does horny uncomfortable 16-year-old Sam sit on the bed and envision his brother and Tina together and end up desperately rubbing one out right there on the bed? Oh yes he does. Afterward, roiling with several emotions (of which only some are shame), he half-considers going to the bar to look for Dean—but he has more trouble passing for twenty-one, and besides, what is there even to say?

• The next day, Sam intends to sleep late to avoid Dean, but his brother comes in at ten or so, in a disgustingly good mood. “Come on, Sammy, you’ve been cooped up in that library too long. Tina was telling me about a cave up on Mule Mountain, supposed to be a great place for a picnic.” John is still gone, and Sam’s in no mood, but can’t really say no to Dean.

• The brothers strike out over Mule Mountain, watching out for snakes and wildlife, looking for deer. Sam tries to explain to Dean his half-formed La Tlanchana theory, but Dean just humors him. Sam, nettled, starts griping about Dean’s navigation skills, about the way he sounds like their father, about all the time he’s spending with Tina, etc.

⁃ Dean deflects, but Sam’s upset about a lot of things he can’t acknowledge, so he starts in on the major sore point in their relationship—ripping on John for trapping them here, for never letting Dean be a kid, for always demanding their unquestioning obedience and loyalty, etc. Dean tolerates Sam’s griping to a point but once he starts in on their father it’s only a matter of time before he’s threatening to kick Sam’s ass; when Sam gets to the “he’s never let you be independent” part, Dean informs him with no small amount of anger that John has offered to give him the Impala, let him take jobs on his own—but he refused, because he’s been taking care of Sam—

⁃ They’re so caught up in arguing that they miss the way the sky’s going dark—it’s not until the first crack of thunder splits the sky overhead that they shut up and look at the sky, which is incredibly threatening

⁃ Sure enough, a moment later it starts pouring, with all the ferocity of a full-on faucet. Dean whoops, shedding his shirt like it’s an old skin, and dashes for an overhang that might shield them from the worst of it

⁃ Sam swallows and follows, soaked to the skin and shivering as much from fear as from cold. Cue the most miserably sexually-charged moment possible—Sam tryiing desperately not to notice all those little intimate physical things about Dean that he loves, Dean oblivious and in his element watching the storm transform the landscape

⁃ There’s a moment—maybe Dean says something like “Whatever it is that’s been eating at you, spit it out, Sammy—“ where Sam almost confesses. But cowardice, or perhaps intuition, hold his tongue—some secrets don’t need to be told. So instead, he passes it off as moodiness, apologizes. Dean confesses that he’s not actually all that into Tina—she’s fun, and all, but he knows they’ll be moving on soon enough. He lets slip that John’s halfway convinced that there’s no case here, anyway; they’ll probably be moving on in a week or two. Reluctantly, they allows things to revert to the status quo; as a consolation, they find a waterfall and eat slightly soggy sandwiches alongside it.

• The next morning, Sam wakes up to an entirely different town—the hills are starting to turn green, people in town are making plans to picnic by the waterfalls, everyone’s mood is lighter. Sam realizes he’s already looking at the town differently—as yet another place that’ll be in the rear view mirror soon, not as a place he inhabits. He’s coming to terms with that—glad for it, in some ways—when something tips him off that things aren’t right. Maybe the crackpot dude tells him the cycle is beginning again, or he overhears some gossip about how Tina didn’t show up for her shift last night, or sees something in the police blotter. Regardless, he ends up convinced that Dean and Tina have run off to the sky island and that Dean is in danger. Sam once again channels Dean, steals a county truck and floors it out to the sky island, this time forgetting to bring any supplies.

• Sam arrives in Paradise but sees no sign of Dean or Tina. He realizes he's parched (even flooring it out to the sky island, it's a good hour's drive); he listens for the water sounds. Instead, he hears Dean’s laughter, low and beckoning. He follows it, finds Dean standing shirtless in a spring, the version of Dean that terrifies him, untouchable and threatening and irresistible. For a moment he's almost taken in—but he knows Dean like nobody in the world, and thus knows a copy when he sees one. Not-Dean smiles, shimmers, reforms into the more familiar mermaid form.

• La Tlanchana (or this version of her) tells Sam how he puzzles her. She usually kills violent men, and Sam has a lot of violence in his past, and a destiny of violence in his future—but he was kind to the migrant mother, and undid some of the horror she’s seen done in her land. She sings for him, a lullaby of sorts, luring him away from his life of violence and yearning—

• Sam’s about to submit to her song when Tina appears, tells her to stop, that Sam’s destiny is his own to choose. La Tlanchana sneers at her, the same way you did? and Tina says yes—I’ve chosen you. It’s been more than a hundred years, and you’ve seen so much horror, grown vengeful—but I still love you, your kindness, the way you give life in the desert. They sing together, their voices intertwining, until they turn to water, melding together.

• Sam shakes off the daze, goes back to the truck; a few minutes later, he finds the Impala, bogged down in the rutted post-monsoon roads. He shakes him awake, questions him to see what he remembers—Dean appears to have been hypnotized, or something similar. He uses the truck to pull Dean out of the rut, tells him to return to the town, everything's over. Dean will have questions later, but for now he goes.

• Once Dean is gone, Sam goes back to the pool, now a perfectly mundane little monsoon-fed spring. He takes out the little figurine of La Tlanchana, sets it on a rock nearby, tells both Tina and her sister goodbye, and thanks them for their help.

• Epilogue: Sam is beginning his junior year in yet another new school. The smell of the school is the same, as are the lights (flourescent) and the lockers (stamped metal that echoes when it slams); he finds the guidance counselor’s office, lets himself in. The counselor looks up at Sam, comments on both his excellent grades and his peripatetic record. Sam: “So, if I wanted to go to college…”

#supernatural #sam and dean #wincest #summertime thing #my writing

[astrovian]

Richard Armitage interview on BBC Radio London for Uncle Vanya (25/10/20)

Full transcript under cut

Just a couple of days ago I was lucky enough to chat to Richard Armitage. He’s best known of course for roles in The Hobbit, Ocean’s 8, Hannibal, and of course, I was obsessed, absolutely obsessed on Netflix with The Stranger. Well, he’s about to star in the multi- Olivier-nominated play - in fact that’s tonight! We’ll find out if they win. Uncle Vanya – it’s filmed at the Harold Pinter Theatre during the pandemic, and uh, it’s incredible, it’s an incredible piece of theatre, and we’re all going to be able to watch it, which is a joy. And this is what we chatted about.

—

What a pleasure to speak to you for a number of reasons, because we can actually talk about how to bring theatre back to people’s lives, ‘cause I’m missing it desperately, but also talk about The Stranger. Let’s talk about Uncle Vanya first-

Yes.

-if we may.

Yes, of course.

Wow. What an incredible thing to do. Thank you for doing this, actually.

Yeah, I mean it was uh, kind of heart-breaking when we had to y’know, end our run six weeks early, and uh, the play was taking on so many kind of resonances of what we were living through, unexpectedly really. I, we thought the play was about, y’know, a man losing his livelihood, and then y’know, as, as the virus started to come into our lives and uh, the play started to change course really. So, and then, to sort of live through lockdown as well did and then come back to the play realising that’s exactly what these people have been doing, they’ve been stuck in a house together from summer through to the winter and going out of their heads. It again, it took on a whole other sort of energy, so a real privilege to be able to do that.

I mean, it is extraordinary when these old stories feel so relevant, and something a lot of people know, for people who don’t know something about it, we should explain a little bit about the story, but it feels like you’re talking about a story from today.

Well, it does. I mean, the fact is that Uncle Vanya, he’s the caretaker of this old estate and uh, he’s worked his entire life, um, supporting a property that’s not his, and then y’know, the owner who’s raised his daughter, Vanya’s raised his daughter for him, comes and says “right, I’m selling the estate for my retirement, um, and you’re all, you’re all out”. And it’s this devastating realisation that everything that he’s worked for is being snatched away from him. At the same time, y’know, my character is a doctor who is living through, trying to save patients during an epidemic, and uh, not handling it very well and turning to drink. And he’s also trying to save his little corner of the world that, y’know, is being deforested, so he’s planting trees and realising that the environment has such an impact on our health, um, *laugh* so it literally could’ve been written yesterday, um, and this was over a hundred and twenty years ago, so y’know, they knew. There was a huge movement in Russia at that time about, um y’know, how to, how to survive, and how to deal with the environment, and we seem not to have heeded any, any advice, really.

We, we never do though, do we? We seem never to.

Not really.

Well, many people don’t seem to. As you said, it just feels so relevant today. So when you, it must have been heart-breaking being in the show, the buzz was extraordinary, it was impossible to get tickets for. This way, I have to say, all the people who couldn’t get tickets, now we can all see it. I’m one of those people who couldn’t get tickets, as you can gather from what I’ve just said. Um, friends of mine went and said, “You’ve GOT to go!” but this is an incredible way to bring theatre to people who, like me are missing it desperately, and many other people who might not have gone to the theatre, who don’t live in London, who couldn’t have seen a show like this, so there is a plus side. I’m always looking for the plus side, I think. *Laugh*

Me too. I mean, I’ve always said that when a play is coming to the end of its run, putting together a film of it, and even a, a sort of audio recording of the play, I think is like an exit package. It’s worth doing for-

Yes.

-like you say, people that can’t go to the theatre, or maybe wouldn’t go the theatre because it’s like, y’know, it might be too expensive for them, and a cinema ticket’s a bit cheaper, they might be able to watch it on telly at some point. But y’know, hopefully they might watch it and think, ‘Oh God, that, that looked really good in the room, maybe I’ll go the theatre when it’s back’. But uh, either way, it’s still just great story-telling, and y’know right now I think everybody sort of wants to disappear into a, into a tale, and uh, hopefully, hopefully they’ll feel brave enough to go and see it in the cinema.

What does it feel like? I mean you’ve, obviously you’ve been in so many award-winning shows, what does it feel like when you’re, you’re waiting to hear? I mean they’ve all, there’s a number of Olivier awards that it’s up for, everyone was talking about this. Once again you were in something that everyone was talking about. Do you, do you feel slightly one step removed? I mean, The Hobbit, and obviously The Stranger, as you can tell I’ve got to go there because I LOVED it, I devoured it.

*Laugh*

Um, what does it feel like being on the outside of everybody talking about something that’s so - that’s such a part of you?

Um, to be honest, with – at the time that it’s happening, I, I sort of close my ears to all of that-

Oh, I love that. *Laugh*

-and try to live in it, rather than outside of it. That, that’s none of my business. But I do, I do pay attention after it’s over, and I love – y’know, I prefer hearing other people’s opinion of it, rather than reading about it myself, so, so I do enjoy the feedback. But when you’re in it, you’re in it. And to be honest with, with Uncle Vanya, we could tell that we were doing okay because the audience would let us know, and y’know that, the very, very first preview was such a kind of electric performance, and the audience were, were kind of laughing all the way through, which we hadn’t had in a rehearsal room. So that feeling is, is very, very precious, and uh, it continued like that through the run. But uh yeah, I tend not to sort of uh, pay too much attention while it’s happening, if you know what I mean.

Yeah, don’t read – everybody was saying-

No, I don’t read the reviews. *Laugh*

Do you REALLY not?! I bet you do sneakily sometimes.

I really don’t. I, I did it once, and it was – I y’know, I read one tiny miniscule negative thing about myself, and it was the only thing I remembered. And so I thought, ‘that’s a good lesson’. Don’t read the good stuff, don’t read the bad stuff. Read it at a later date, but at the time it does not help me.

Okay, alright. Well, I’ll tell you, they were all fabulous. Congratulations. All the reviews, absolutely incredible.

*Laugh* Thanks.

*Laugh* I cannot wait to see this. Now let’s talk about, if we may, The Stranger. I might have mentioned it a few times already in the past few minutes-

*Laugh*

-but it was one of those things I actually, I couldn’t stop. I loved it, I devoured it. And I sort of became slightly obsessed with it, it was BRILLIANT. Did you feel that when you were making it?

Yeah, and you know, again I, I was sort of in the middle of it, so I’m sort of focusing on the character’s journey, but Harlan Coben’s writing is very much in that vein – if you’ve ever read one of his books-

Yes, I have.

-you, you literally can’t put it down, and you can’t wait for, for bedtime so that you can pick it up again, and sometimes you, you get to the last chapter and you sort of, you think, ‘I’ve gotta space this out, ‘cause I’m just gonna devour the whole thing’-

Yes!

-so his writing matches that kind of uh, television format brilliantly. But I love it, and I, I loved what uh, Danny Brocklehurst did with that script. Y’know, he, he sort of elevated the book, and made it a kind of, much more kind of woven drama. So yeah, I love working on that kind of thing. And that is the type of TV that I will, I will watch on a personal taste level.

You’re happy to watch yourself?

No, I- *laugh*, I never watch myself, but I-

I like that, no please say that-

No, I- *laugh*, I never watch myself-

-I know that’s not what you meant, but that, it just sounded lovely that you’re happy to watch yourself in that one.

It, ugh, I haven’t yet, but I-

*laugh*

-I will eventually, *laugh*, um but it’s the kind of TV that I do, I do love watching. But no, again I’m, I’m not a good judge of myself, and ageing on screen is a REALLY hard thing to do.

You can watch that one, I promise you. Um-

Can I?

-may we go back to a part of your past that is, I’m fascinated by, that you – it was about music and musical theatre.

Mmm, yes.

And then you suddenly thought that that wasn’t enough for you, was that right?

Yeah, I mean I – it was at a time when there were, y’know, all of the big musicals were happening in the West End, and I, I saw kind of peers that would kind of move between Les Misérables, and then they’d go into Miss Saigon, and then they’d go into Phantom of the Opera, and I felt like I didn’t really want to, to follow that path. And I just felt that I wasn’t good enough, a good enough practitioner of either dance or song to, to feel that it was gonna be a sort of, that it was gonna have longevity for me, so I was already studying at the actor’s centre, and then I thought, y’know, I’ve gotta just y’know, go back to drama school and start again and do a classical training. ‘Cause that was the thing that was really exciting me. Um, and I’m glad I did it, but y’know, I still feel like in the future I might y’know, pick up that old hat again.

YES!

Yup.

That’s what I was going to ask! ‘Cause I’m a – I love theatre, hugely, as the way you can probably gather from the way I was talking at the beginning, um, but musical theatre is, I think, a very magical thing. And I think it’s possibly something that we all need as well, right now.

I agree.

So if you could – imagine – I’ve got a magic wand, okay?

Yeah? *Laugh*

And I am a magical music theatre fairy.

Yeah.

I could actually sing this bit, ‘cause I love musicals – *singing* “now you can do a theatre show”-

*Laugh*

No, I won’t sing it. Um, so you can do any theatre show on the planet-

Yup.

-any musical theatre. Which one is it, Richard?

Okay, so when we were doing our little warm-up before Uncle Vanya, Aimee Lou Wood and I used to sort of joke and fantasize about maybe doing Cabaret.

*gasp* Oh, yes!

Shall we, shall we send that out to the gods of the universe of theatre, to Aimee Lou Wood as Sally Bowles-

Oh, you can practice, practice, do a little bit-

-she’s got a GREAT voice.

Go on, just do us a little bit.

*Laugh* I can’t.

Oh, he’s not gonna do it, are you?

*Laugh*

I’ve made you – I can tell you’re blushing, which is great because I’m at one end of the computer and you’re at the other end of a computer-

You could do it, you sound great!

No, no, no, no.

Do you sing?

No, I’ve done it. Yeah, no, no. But musical theatre is a magical, magical thing, and I just – I, I love the fact that you’re open to all of that.

Definitely.

Now, let’s go to New Zealand on our next bit of travels. Um, what an incredible place to be for such an extraordinary film. I mean, The Hobbit, and everything that entailed, changing – I mean, for other people I’ve spoken to who were in any of The Hobbits, they all say that they felt it was such a MASSIVE part of their life, and they learnt so much doing it.

Yeah, I mean I never dreamed in a million years that I, I would get an opportunity to work on a project like that. And to work, y’know – I was a huge Tolkien fan for a start, and then when I saw Peter Jackson’s Lord of the Rings, I was just, I was obsessed with it. And it’s not one of the reasons I pursued it, it kind of came to me, and I felt like ‘Gosh, why does he want me to play a dwarf?’ but um, getting the chance to go that country for so long, and work with that cast and him, and be completely kind of, sort of disappear into a, into a sort of a world and a character. And to be taken in a helicopter to the top of a mountain and, and y’know, shoot in places where human feet haven’t trodden – you know, it was, it was life-changing, it really was. And apart from the success of the films, which was a whole other thing, the actual experience of doing it was, it was unbelievable.

Aw, well, listen Richard, thank you. It’s such a pleasure to talk to you, I could talk to you for ages. And I can’t wait to come and see you in Cabaret. And congratulations-

*Laugh*

-on Uncle Vanya. Pleasure to speak to you.

Thank you very much.

#RICHARD IN CABARET #fuck can you imagine #i can't wait for a future musical theatre production ft. RA #richard armitage

[possiblyimbiassed]

“E” as in Eurus, Enola and Estate

In June this year the Conan Doyle Estate Ltd filed a lawsuit against an impending Holmes adaptation movie on Netflix (article from RadioTimes here: X). 

Sherlock, Mycroft and Enola, starring Henry Cavill, Sam Claflin and Millie Bobby Brown.

This post about it by @tendergingergirl (X) seems to have gone largely unnoticed, but I think it deserves far more attention. In fact, it got me thinking “What’s all this actually about?” and looking a few things up.

My curiosity about the doings of this Estate began in December last year, before the release of BBC Dracula in January, when an interesting discussion initiated after an excellent meta by @yeah-oh-shit (X), who had made some investigations into previous copyright and public domain issues and lawsuits, which I had never known about before. 

And now it turns out that the Conan Doyle Estate Ltd (from here on I’ll call them ‘ACD Estate’) is suing the film makers, along with Nancy Springer, author of a book series based on characters from the Holmes universe called The Enola Holmes Mysteries (2006-2010), for copyright infringement. 

But I thought most of ACD’s Sherlock Holmes stories are now in public domain, including the Illustrious Client, the Sussex Vampire and the Three Garridebs, whose copyright under US law expired last year (2019)? Well, yes, but that’s still not all of them, and according to ACD Estate “for those of the stories whose copyright terms have ended, this action is brought within the three-year limitations period for infringement.”

More under the cut.

So, the ACD Estate’s copyright, they claim, still includes the following ten stories collected in The Casebook of Sherlock Holmes:

The Creeping Man (1923)

The Illustrious Client (1924) 

The Three Garridebs (1924) 

The Sussex Vampire (1924) 

The Retired Colourman (1926) 

The Lion’s Mane (1926)

The Three Gables (1926) 

The Blanched Soldier (1926) 

Shoscombe Old Place (1927) 

The Veiled Lodger (1927)

The whole lawsuit can be downloaded as a PDF file from this news article (X), and it’s quite an interesting read.

Claims about Sherlock Holmes’ emotions

So, since this is not the first lawsuit from the ACD Estate about adaptations, what’s their beef with the film makers this time? As far as I can see from their claims, this is about Sherlock Holmes’ emotions. 

This is how the ACD Estate reads Holmes’ character development in the lawsuit: “Conan Doyle made the surprising artistic decision to have his most famous character—known around the world as a brain without a heart—develop into a character with a heart. Holmes became warmer. He became capable of friendship. He could express emotion. He began to respect women. His relationship to Watson changed from that of a master and assistant to one of genuine friendship. Watson became more than just a tool for Holmes to use. He became a partner.” 

They even quote the famous passage in The Three Garridebs (3GAR, 1924) where Watson says: “It was worth a wound—it was worth many wounds—to know the depth of loyalty and love which lay behind that cold mask.”

But all this progress, they claim, specifically happened within these ten still (allegedly) copyrighted stories, which Conan Doyle wrote after World War One, where he had the traumatic experience of losing both his son and his brother.

They claim that Holmes’ emotional development is still under their copyright (which I believe in practise means their power to decide whether to allow a film adaptation or not) and apart from the emotions issue, they also provide the following other examples of developments that are (supposedly) unique to these ten still copyrighted stories:

Holmes employs a knowledge of medicine in Watson’s absence

Holmes and Watson use modern technologies in detective work for the first time 

Watson marries a second time during his association with Holmes (BLAN)

Holmes changes into someone who has great interest in dogs

Sherlock’s “secret sister”

The Enola Holmes Mysteries got me interested, and now I’ve read the two first of six instalments in total. The series is about Sherlock’s and Mycroft’s younger sister Enola, a clever teenager whom the brothers – in particular Mycroft - want to send away to a boarding school after their mother has disappeared and abandoned her. But Enola hates the idea of being confined to a place where she will be forced to wear a corset and restricted to a certain (‘female’) behaviour at all times. She escapes to London, where she starts a secret private detective career specialising in investigations of missing persons. Enola must keep ahead of her brothers who are determined to capture and force her to conform to Victorian society’s expectations for young women. She skilfully uses different disguises, just like Sherlock, and she meets John Watson pretending to be someone else. With her cleverness she manages to outwit even Sherlock. She is good at drawing and uses her sketches in her work. She manages to communicate with her mother (and eventually also with Sherlock) by using ciphers.

All of this does seem to have certain similarities with how Eurus Holmes is described in S4, doesn’t it?

Eurus is, like Enola, the secret Holmes sister whom we never have heard of before.

In TFP Mycroft claims Eurus’ intellect was superior to both Sherlock’s and his own; she was “incandescent”.

We see little Eurus draw sketches of her family members (not very pleasant sketches when it comes to Sherlock, though).

Mycroft made sure Eurus was sent away to an isolated prison/institution (Sherrinford) at an early age.

Their parents seemed absent and not particularly interested in the whereabouts of their own daughter (they didn’t even know she was alive); they let Mycroft and ‘Uncle Rudy’ take care of things, so one could easily suspect she was abandoned.

Eurus seems to have escaped to London at her own leisure, while Mycroft thought she was incarcerated.

Eurus appears in London under three different disguises: “E” (flirting and texting with John), 

“Faith” (walking the streets of London with Sherlock) 

and John’s new therapist. 

Eurus makes riddles with codes for Sherlock to decipher (“The cipher was the song”).

So, one might wonder if the Eurus plot is – at least to some degree – inspired by Enola Holmes? On the other hand, while Eurus appears cold and calculating, Enola is compassionate and sensitive and makes mistakes because of emotional bias. Enola seems more similar to Eurus’ disguised personas than to the supposedly ‘real’ Eurus - the one who burned the family estate down and killed Victor Trevor. 

I still believe that Eurus only exists inside Sherlock’s head in BBC Sherlock, being a part of himself, but that’s for another discussion.

As for the Holmes siblings, it’s also interesting that on the ACD Estate’s website, where they have a collection of ’facts’ about ACD’s characters, they seem to have included BBC Sherlock’s Eurus as a valid sibling of Sherlock and Mycroft (scroll down to “Holmes facts” on this page: X), even though this character is nowhere to be found in canon. Please correct me if I’m wrong about this, but the only reference I can find to ”the East Wind” in ACD’s stories is in His Last Bow (LAST, 1917), where Holmes says that ”There’s an east wind coming, Watson”, and goes on to talk about a cold, bitter wind that is threatening England; most probably a reference to WWI, which was raging at the time of publication. No one with the name Eurus is ever mentioned, though. If Eurus had already been part of canon, why would Mofftiss have claimed her to be the big ”rug-pull” in TFP?

I haven’t read the final part in the Enola Holmes series (X) yet, where allegedly Enola reconciles with her brothers (Sherlock in particular) and they end up respecting her independence and skills. But according to several reviews Sherlock softens up a bit in the end. In the parts I have read, the two adult brothers appear rather conservative, patronising and sexist towards their younger sister – indeed more condescending than I think Holmes view of women actually is described in ACD’s original stories (allegedly – we never see him treat women badly in practice, do we?). At any rate, I haven’t this far been able to find a single specific plot element from the ten (supposedly) still copyrighted stories in Springer’s work.

In their lawsuit, the ACD Estate claims that “The Springer novels make extensive infringing use of Conan Doyle’s transformation of Holmes from cold and critical to warm, respectful, and kind in his relationships. Springer places Enola Holmes at the center of the novels and has Holmes initially treat her coolly, then change to respond to her with warmth and kindness.”

So what they’re doing here is the same thing they’ve done before (and lost): they’re claiming they still own some intrinsic characteristics of Sherlock Holmes, even though most of the stories are already in public domain. 

Other lawsuits

A similar lawsuit towards Miramax (X) was made in 2015 for the film Mr Holmes, which had Ian McKellen as protagonist. But it ended in settlement before the defendants had responded to the accusations, which were similar to those regarding Enola Holmes about Holmes’ emotional life, but also had to do with the details of Holmes’ life as a retired man.

So, this is not the first time the copyright owners are interfering with content in Holmes adaptations. To complicate things further there seems to be two different estates claiming copyright for Doyle’s work. In 2010 there was some reporting that another estate had threatened Guy Richie’s Sherlock Holmes movies with disapproval after Robert Downey Junior had discussed Holmes possibly being gay on a TV show (X). According to Digital Spy, Andrea Plunket, who then represented the ‘Arthur Conan Doyle Literary Estate’, said: "I hope this is just an example of Mr Downey's black sense of humour. It would be drastic, but I would withdraw permission for more films to be made if they feel that is a theme they wish to bring out in the future. I am not hostile to homosexuals, but I am to anyone who is not true to the spirit of the books."

It’s very unclear which legal rights Andrea Plunket’s family (Andrea apparently died in 2016) actually has to represent ACD’s work, though. Andrea had been married to one of the copyright owners, and her family’s money had paid for the purchase of those rights, but after her divorce Andrea seems to have lost her part in the copyright, according to @mallamun on tumblr: (X). There’s also a lot of interesting things to read about these copyright issues in an article by Mattias Bodström from 2015: (X). However, there’s still a website from ‘Arthur Conan Doyle Literary Estate’ claiming ownership of the stories: X, and they have published a detailed account of their version of the matter (X).

The current case

I have no idea what the court will think about these new accusations against Netflix et al, but to me, if this isn’t farfetched, I don’t know what is. I think a good case could be made for most of these ‘unique’ elements listed above being expressed already before the Case Book. For example, in His Last Bow (LAST, 1917) they use a car, in The Dying Detective (DYIN, 1913) Holmes manages to fool Dr Watson that he’s very sick. When Watson declares his intent to marry for the first time already in The Sign of Four (SIGN, 1890), Holmes resorts to drugs. The dogs are all over the place since day one, and Holmes seems to appreciate them very much, not least Toby in SIGN.

And don’t get me started on the contradictions in Watson’s various discussions of whether Holmes has a heart. Holmes’ actions of helping people often contradicts the image of a cold, emotionless person. The Yellow Face (YELL, 1893) ends with Holmes being deeply repentant for being over-confident in his suspicion of a woman for adultery or maybe worse offences, when she was actually only trying to protect her little daughter from society’s racism.

In the Devil’s Foot (DEVI, 1910) there’s the following conversation (my bolding): “Upon my word, Watson!” said Holmes at last with an unsteady voice, “I owe you both my thanks and an apology. It was an unjustifiable experiment even for one’s self, and doubly so for a friend. I am really very sorry.” “You know,” I answered with some emotion, for I had never seen so much of Holmes’s heart before, “that it is my greatest joy and privilege to help you.”

Why on earth would it be a “surprising artistic decision” from ACD to develop Holmes into a little more caring and openly compassionate person as he grew older? Isn’t that the very classical character development of any literary hero’s journey and also a logical personal development for many people in the real world? It’s called ‘learning’ and ‘maturing’, as far as I know. To claim this is infringement of some unique idea is frankly ridiculous.

In short: They make a very literal, textual interpretation of the Holmes character, cherry-picking the parts that suit their interests, they claim there’s a clear story arc with very separate characteristics before and after WWI, and that they own the end of it. Thus, no adaptation with a progressive story arc regarding Holmes’ character would be permitted without their consent. Since apparently BBC Sherlock have ACD’s Estate’s license for their own franchise, this just makes me wonder how much trouble Mofftiss et al had with including things like Sherlock’s and John’s hug in TLD, or his emotional breakdown with the coffin after Eurus’ experiments on him in TFP.

Possible satirical meaning and small hints

Allow me to speculate a bit about the possible implications of BBC Sherlock in relation to the Estate. In a recent excellent meta by @raggedyblue, the ACD Estate as ‘Doyle’s bank’ is discussed, regarding the significance of the banker Sebastian Wilkes in The Blind Banker (X). Many interesting ideas are presented in this meta, I really recommend a read. This topic also initiated an interesting discussion about Doyle himself mirroring John in this post by @devoursjohnlock​ (X).

In an addition to that meta @shylockgnomes brings up John’s blog post about Tilly Briggs as another possible reference to the Estate (X). I totally agree with this; some time around the release of BBC Dracula this year, and our discussions about legal issues connected to both shows, I stumbled upon this particular ‘aborted’ blog post and came to realise its possible significance. It gave me the idea to change the title of my own blog to “Tilly Briggs Ship with Johnlock on it”, since I suspect that the blog post might be a clue about legal obstacles to a certain relationship. And that title is staying, at least until we know the true story (if ever). 

Canon contains some info about Matilda Briggs is in The Sussex Vampire, one of the late ACD stories that should be in public domain by now, since the copyright supposedly expired in December 2019. But, as shown above, the Estate now claims there’s a three-year lapse when they can still sue for infringement. Here’s the quote from SUSS (my bolding): “Matilda Briggs was not the name of a young woman, Watson,” said Holmes in a reminiscent voice. “It was a ship which is associated with the giant rat of Sumatra, a story for which the world is not yet prepared.” Sumatra, by the way, was Sherlock’s preferred destination in the TST tale of the merchant who met Death in Samarra. In Sherlock’s version, according to Mycroft, the merchant survived and became a pirate... ;-) 

John’s aborted blog post (X) is titled “Tilly Briggs Cruise of Terror”, which just might be yet another little jibe at the Estate. John says that “I had to take this post down for a while as the ship's owners are launching an appeal”. According to Jacob Sowersby (a Sherlock fan on the blog) and Mike Stamford, this was “mind-blowing stuff”:

So I can’t help thinking this sounds like a hint to us about the Estate and a certain ‘ship’ which is still partly in their (legal) power and control. In fact, it wouldn’t surprise me if the whole show - on the meta level - is partly meant as a satirical commentary on how Holmes’ and Watson’s characters, and therefore also their relationship, have been treated the last 100+ years by their ‘owners’. A treatment where I believe the hetero norm has always ruled, and where Andrea Plunket’s quote above indicates that homophobia regarding Holmes and Watson is still tied to legal obstacles.

Charles Augustus Magnussen also talks about ownership at the beginning of HLV (thanks for the quotes, Ariane DeVere): “Of course it isn’t blackmail. This is... ownership”. And later in the episode: “It’s all about knowledge. Everything is. Knowing is owning”. In fact, quite a bit of emphasis in HLV is put on Magnussen’s ‘ownership’ of characters people: “I’m a businessman, acquiring assets. You happen to be one of them!” Apparently - as this new lawsuit shows - it’s even possible to make money out of Holmes’ emotions.

@catwillowtree also pointed out, in another additional thread to @raggedyblue​’s meta, that Eurus’ burning down Musgrave Hall – the family estate - in TFP also seems like a reference to the ACD Estate. I would add to this, saying that the bomb that didn’t go off in TEH and the “patience grenade” that did go off in TFP might have to do with the same issue. What would happen if the ‘bomb’ of Johnlock would go off before the relevant stories are legally in public domain? Most probably another lawsuit from the Estate, which might become very expensive. 

Come to think of it, in TGG Greg Lestrade mentions an estate agent, when Sherlock receives a text message and a phone call on the pink phone from Moriarty: “What the hell are we supposed to make of that? An estate agent’s photo and the bloody Greenwich pips!” Well, if the Estate agent is somehow connected to the five pips, that fandom theory of the pips representing five series in the show comes to mind... For every pip in TGG there’s a victim covered in explosives; a huge bomb threatening to go off. (The third bomb did go off in TGG, but in S3 Sherlock found the ‘off-switch’ in time). If the fifth bomb is to explode in S5, I bet it won’t be until the relevant stories are safely in public domain. 2023?

More wild speculation while I’m at it: Maybe Sherlock and Ajay’s smashing of Thatcher busts in TST also ties in metaphorically to the same topic? The Thatcher era was not easy for LGBTQ people. There are several owners in TST whose Thatcher busts need to be smashed in order for Ajay’s lost memory stick to be recovered. AGRA is referred to as Ajay’s and Mary’s “family”. The memory stick contains personal information, ‘who you really are’. Could be read as if the info of who Sherlock Holmes really is can only be released once certain obstacles are overcome...

In another interesting meta from last year by @yeah-oh-shit​ (X), they mention the secret underground station at Sumatra road in TEH, where Howard Shilcott tells Sherlock and John that “They built the platforms, even the staircases, but it all got tied up in legal disputes, so they never built the station on the surface.” So maybe S5 is basically already written? It would make sense to me if the long hiatus we’re facing right now has a far more logical reason than the excuses Mofftiss have presented in interviews - the risk of legal disputes with the copyright owners.  

Tagging some more people who might be interested: @gosherlocked​ @ebaeschnbliah​ @sarahthecoat​ @sagestreet​ @thepersianslipper​

ETA: I have corrected some details about the copyright owners in this post; thanks @devoursjohnlock​ for pointing them out!

#The Conan Doyle Estate