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dweemeister · 3 years

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The 5,000 Fingers of Dr. T (1953)

Theodore Geisel, better known as Dr. Seuss, remains best-known for his children’s books. The Cat in the Hat; Green Eggs and Ham; and Oh, the Places You’ll Go! are household names in English-language literature. Seuss’ bibliography overshadows his work in films, beginning with the adapted screenplay of his own book, The 500 Hats of Bartholomew Cubbins (1943) – directed by George Pal as part of the Puppetoons series. During WWII, Seuss was heavily involved in propaganda films and the Private Snafu (1943-1946) military training films. After the war’s end, Seuss returned to writing children’s books, but also continued to write for movies. The Academy Award-winning animated short film Gerald McBoing-Boing (1950) benefitted from Seuss’ story work, and Seuss’ success there inspired him to write a screenplay for a live-action fantasy film. That screenplay – the unwieldy rough draft coming in at over 1,200 pages – was The 5,000 Fingers of Dr. T. The eventual movie, produced by Stanley Kramer (1960’s Inherit the Wind, 1961’s Judgment at Nuremberg) and directed by Roy Rowland (1945’s Our Vines Have Tender Grapes, 1956’s Meet Me in Las Vegas) for Columbia Pictures, would be Seuss’ only involvement in a non-documentary feature film.

Like many who speak English as their first language, Dr. Seuss’ books graced my early childhood. So integral to numerous children’s youth is Seuss that his whimsy, wordplay, and authorial stamps are easily recognizable. In that spirit, the cinematic record of live-action Seuss adaptations consists of the scatological Jim Carrey in How the Grinch Stole Christmas (2000) and the visual nightmare that is Mike Myers as The Cat in the Hat (2003). Compared to the original works, both films are ungainly, casually cruel, and overcomplicated. Not promising company for Dr. T. But even taking into account the three animated feature adaptations of Seuss – Horton Hears a Who! (2008), The Lorax (2012), and The Grinch (2018) – and the fact that Columbia forced wholesale deletions from the rough draft script of Dr. T to achieve a feasible runtime, The 5,000 Fingers of Dr. T is arguably the most faithful feature adaptation to Dr. Seuss’ authorial intent and signature aesthetic.

In other words, this is one of the strangest films you may ever encounter. No synopsis I could write in one paragraph will ever capture the film’s bizarreries.

Little Bart Collins (Tommy Rettig) is asleep during piano practice and his teacher, Dr. Terwilliker (Hans Conried), is furious. His overworked, widowed mother Heloise (Mary Healey) intuits Terwilliker’s unrealistic expectations (Terwilliker wants to teach the next Paderewski) towards Bart’s piano skills and inability to concentrate. Heloise also appears to be quietly eyeing the plumber August Zabladowski (Peter Lind Hayes) and his wrench. With the lesson done for the day, Bart falls asleep again. This time, he dreams that Terwilliker is now the leader of the Terwilliker Institute, a pianist supremacy mini-state which is built upon five hundred young pianist slave boys (hence, 5,000 fingers) forcibly playing Terwilliker’s latest compositions. His mother is Terwilliker’s unwilling, hypnotized assistant and plumber August Zabladowski (Hayes is essentially playing the same character, but in a different world) is Bart’s only ally around. Together, Bart and Mr. Zabladowski must evade the Institute’s guards as they attempt to undermine Terwilliker’s plans for his next concert.

In its final form, The 5,000 Fingers of Dr. T is a muddled mess of a story. The analogues between Bart’s reality and his dreams are inconsistent, several would-be subplots never resolve (or at the very least develop beyond a basic idea), and the film’s initial lightness is subject to rapid mood swings that make this picture feel disjointed. Indeed, Seuss’ sprawling social commentary in his first draft – including allegories and themes of post-WWII totalitarianism, anti-communism, and atomic annihilation – is in tatters in this final product. The viewer will witness brief fragments of those ideas, remaining in this movie as the barest of hints of the contents of the original screenplay’s rough draft. Even now, Dr. T inspires psychiatric analyses and accusations that Bart’s relationship with his mother reveals signs of an Oedipal complex (to yours truly, the latter is too much of a reach). The grim nature of Terwilliker Institute renders Dr. T unsuitable for the youngest children. For older children and adults, try going into this movie without expectations of narrative logic and embrace the grotesque aspects that only Seuss could imagine.

If my attempts to describe this movie’s preposterousness through its narrative and screenwriting approach have failed, perhaps I can capture that for you by writing on its technical features.

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For its sheer narrative inventiveness – inconsistencies, abrupt tonal shifts, nonsense, and Rowland’s uninspired direction aside – The 5,000 Fingers of Dr. T is nevertheless an ambitious film, and Columbia bequeathed a hefty budget to match that ambition. Much of that budget went to the film’s visuals. This is an extravagantly-staged motion picture, as nothing could do Dr. Seuss’ illustrations justice without fully committing to his geometric impossibilities: skyward ladders and improbable connections between rooms, an eschewal of right angles and straight lines, and architecture bound to raise the ire of physics teachers. One could compare this to German Expressionism, but Dr. T’s sets tend not to dictate the film’s mood nor are they subject to high-contrast lighting. Seuss went uncredited as the concept artist on Dr. T, and it was up to Clem Beauchamp (1935’s The Lives of a Bengal Lancer, 1952’s High Noon) and the uncredited matte artists to commit those visuals to the real world. Outside of animated film, Beauchamp and the matte artists succeed in creating twisted sets that seem to leap off the pages of Seuss’ most artistically interesting books. Some of the sets appear too stagebound, but the production design accomplishes its need to resemble a world borne from a fever dream (or, at least, a young pianist’s nightmare).

This movie’s outrageous costume design (other than Jean Louis’ gowns for Mary Healey, the costume designer/s for this film are uncredited) comprises absurd uniforms and two of the most ludicrous hats – the “happy fingers” cap (see photo at the top of this write-up) and whatever the hell Terwilliker dons in the film’s climax – one might ever see in a film. Most of the costumes are laughably impractical and ridiculous to even those without fashion sense. In what might be the tamest example, while working under Terwilliker, Bart’s mother wears a suit that is all business formal on the left-hand side and bare-shouldered, sleeveless, and nightclub-y on the right. The delineation of real life – which barely features in the film’s eighty-nine minutes – and this world of Bart’s dreams could not be any more unambiguous thanks to the combination of the production and costume design work.

The disappointing musical score by Fredrich Hollaender (1930’s The Blue Angel, 1948’s A Foreign Affair) and song lyrics by Seuss rarely connects to the larger narrative unfolding. Seven songs make the final print, with nine (yikes!) Hollaender-Seuss songs ending up on the cutting room floor. Seuss’ wordplay is evident, as are Hollaender’s melodic flourishes. Columbia, a studio not known for its musicals, assembled a 98-piece orchestra – the largest musical ensemble to work on a Columbia film at the time – for The 5,000 Fingers of Dr. T alone. That lush sound is apparent throughout for the numerous nonsense songs that color the score in addition to the incidental score. It is unusual to listen to a collection of novelty songs orchestrated so fully. Listen to “Dressing Song: Do-Mi-Do Duds” and its complicated, seeming unsingable lines:

Come on and dress me, dress me, dress me In my peek-a-boo blouse With the lovely inner lining made of Chesapeake mouse! I want my polka-dotted dickie with the crinoline fringe For I'm going doe-me-doe-ing on a doe-me-doe binge!

The rich orchestration seems to hail from a more lavish film. But too many of these songs are scene-specific, and rarely does Hollaender utilize musical quotations from these songs into his score. “Get Together Weather” is delightful, but it seems so isolated from the rest of the film; elsewhere, “The Dungeon Song” exemplifies a macabre side to Seuss seldom appearing in his books. Nevertheless, Hollaender is able to demonstrate his playfulness across the entire film, none moreso during any scene with the bearded, roller-skating twins and the “Dungeon Ballet”, in which the music complements stunning choreography and fascinating props that recall the jingtinglers, floofloovers, tartookas, whohoopers, slooslunkas, and whowonkas from the Christmas television special How the Grinch Stole Christmas! (1966). Yet, Hollaender’s film score and the soundtrack with Seuss seems to demand something – anything – to tie the entire compositional effort together. Perhaps a song or some cue like that was cut from the film, which is ultimately to its detriment.

Hans Conried (who starred as Captain Hook in Disney’s Peter Pan several months prior to Dr. T’s release) stands out from a decidedly average Peter Lind Hayes and Mary Healey – Hayes and Healey, in a sort of in-joke, were married. Conried’s performance as the sadistic, torture- and imprisonment-happy music teacher can be considered camp, but this is anything but “bad” camp. He throws himself completely into this cartoonish role, sans shame, complete with mid-Atlantic accent, and topped off with exaggerated facial and physical acting that fits this fantasy. As Bart, child actor Tommy Rettig (best known as Jeff Miller on the CBS television series Lassie) seems more assured in his performance than most child performers his age during the 1950s. His fourth wall-breaking asides seem more appropriate in a Bugs Bunny cartoon, but Rettig makes it work, and inhabits Bart’s flaws wonderfully.

Columbia demanded numerous reworkings of Seuss’ script, leading to several reshoots – most notably the opening scene (Seuss opposed the conceit of Bart’s dream framing the film) – and a ballooning budget. Upon its release in the summer of 1953, The 5,000 Fingers of Dr. T bombed at the box office and was assailed by critics. A crestfallen Seuss, who could not stand the production difficulties that beset the film from the start of shooting, would never work in feature films again. He would dedicate himself almost entirely to writing and illustrating children’s books, with many of his most popular titles (including The Cat in the Hat, One Fish Two Fish Red Fish Blue Fish, and Green Eggs and Ham) published within a decade of Dr. T’s critical and commercial failure. His hesitance to participate in filmmaking informed his reluctance to allow Chuck Jones to adapt How the Grinch Stole Christmas! thirteen years later. Animation suited his books, Seuss thought, and he would never again pay any consideration to live-action filmmaking.

The reevaluation of The 5,000 Fingers of Dr. T has seen a rehabilitation of the film’s image in recent decades. Home media releases and television showings have introduced the film to viewers not influenced by the hyperbolic negativity of the film critics working in 1953. This is not a sterling example of Old Hollywood fantasy filmmaking, due to a heavily gutted screenplay, scattershot thematic development, and incongruent musical score. Yet, the movie’s surrealistic charms and Seussian chaos know no peers, even in the present day.

My rating: 7/10

^ Based on my personal imdb rating. My interpretation of that ratings system can be found in the “Ratings system” page on my blog (as of July 1, 2020, tumblr is not permitting certain posts with links to appear on tag pages, so I cannot provide the URL).

For more of my reviews tagged “My Movie Odyssey”, check out the tag of the same name on my blog.

#The 5000 Fingers of Dr. T #The 5000 Fingers of Dr. T.#Dr. Seuss #Roy Rowland #Peter Lind Hayes #Mary Healy #Hans Conried #Tommy Rettig #Allan Scott #Stanley Kramer #Frederick Hollander #Rudolph Sternad #Cary Odell #William Kiernan #TCM #My Movie Odyssey

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mistsandshards · 3 years

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What Would Magnus Bane Wear? — 2007 Edition (Part 2)

City of Ashes

The High Warlock was wearing black leather pants, a belt with a buckle in the shape of a jeweled M, and a cobalt-blue Prussian military jacket open over a white lace shirt. He shimmered with layers of glitter.

Magnus swept toward them. He was wearing a floor-length green silk dressing gown open over a silver mesh shirt and black jeans. A glittering red stone winked in his left ear.

His hair was wrapped in a towel and he was dressed in a blue satin tracksuit with silver stripes down the side.

As he drew closer, she saw that his hair, normally spiked up and glittered like a disco ball, hung cleanly past his ears like a sheet of black silk. The rainbow leather pants had been replaced by a neat, old-fashioned dark suit and a black frock coat with glimmering silver buttons. His cat’s eyes glowed amber and green.

City of Glass

It was hard to miss Magnus—he was wearing a splash-painted white T-shirt over rainbow leather trousers.

A tall figure materialized out of the shadows, hair sticking up in a corona of ungainly spikes. He wore a black silk suit over a shimmering emerald green shirt, and brightly jeweled rings on his narrow fingers. There were fancy boots involved as well, and a good deal of glitter.

But the person who stepped out of the front door was tall and thin, with short, spiky dark hair. He was wearing a gold mesh vest and a pair of silk pajama pants. He regarded Clary with mild interest, puffing gently on a fantastically large pipe as he did so.

It was Magnus Bane, wearing a long and glittering coat, multiple hoops in his ears, and a roguish expression.

He wore a long, dark coat buttoned up to the throat, and his black hair was pulled back from his face.

He was dressed like a Victorian gentleman, in a long black frock coat over a violet silk vest. A square pocket handkerchief embroidered with the initials M. B. protruded from his vest pocket.

The Red Scrolls of Magic

Magnus was wearing black leather trousers, the material sleeking along his long legs as if the lean muscle had been dipped in ink. His belt was a metal snake, the links scales and the buckle a cobra's head with sapphire eyes. His cowl-neck shirt was a waterfall of midnight-blue and indigo sequins, dipping low in front to show not only collarbones but a long stretch of skin.

In the end, Magnus was sporting a shimmering white suit decorated with what looked like iridescent dragon scales, wreathing him in opalescent light. He wore an ivory cloak that hung to his knees, and the collar of his shirt was undone, pearly material curling against the brown of his skin.

Magnus’s head was tipped back, his shimmering white suit rumpled like bedsheets in the morning, his white cloak swaying after him like a moonbeam. His mirrorlike mask was askew, his black hair wild, his slim body arching with the dance, and wrapped around his fingers like ten shimmering rings was the light of his magic, casting a spotlight on one dancer, the another.

Magnus waved, snapped his fingers, and was instantly wearing a burgundy T-shirt with a plunging V-neck, a jaunty silk scarf, and a pair of skinny jeans.

He stood and waved a hand, and his wet towel transformed itself into jeans and a dark blue shirt scattered with yellow stars.

City of Fallen Angels

She flipped through the photos on Jace’s phone and giggled. Alec and Magnus standing in front of the Eiffel Tower, Alec wearing jeans as usual and Magnus wearing a striped fisherman’s sweater, leather pants, and an insane beret. In the Boboli Gardens, Alec was still wearing jeans, and Magnus was wearing an enormous Venetian cloak and a gondolier’s hat. He looked like the Phantom of the Opera. In front of the Prado he was wearing a sparkling matador jacket and platform boots, while Alec appeared to be calmly feeding a pigeon in the background.

Alec was dressed in a sober black suit; Magnus, to Simon’s surprise, was similarly dressed, with the addition of a long white silk scarf with tasseled ends and a pair of white gloves. His hair stood up like it always did, but for a change he was devoid of glitter.

See also:

What Would Magnus Bane Wear? — 18th Century Edition

What Would Magnus Bane Wear? — 1878 Edition

What Would Magnus Bane Wear? — 1903 Edition

What Would Magnus Bane Wear? — 1950s-90s Edition

What Would Magnus Bane Wear? — 2007 Edition (Part 1)

#wwmbw #what would magnus bane wear #the shadowhunter chronicles #tsc #the mortal instruments #tmi #the red scrolls of magic #trsom #magnus bane

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georgiapeachsims · 4 years

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Through The Ages: 1950’s (Lookbook)

James Semper

Hair: Javier Hair by Simstrouble

Hat: Macleod Hat by HappyLifeSims

This is James’ buisness outfit. The goal of a 1950’s business suit was to look like everyone else. Grey was really the only needed color, for buisness dull and understated was the way to go. Men would offend change out of these suits into something more comfortable at the end of the day, often sport coats. So James’ suit is plain and grey. He also wears the fedora/trilby hat, very popular in the 50’s. It’s grey to match his suit. This was the last decade where men would wear hats as a required fashion. He also wears brown oxford shoes.

Shirt: Escale Shirt by Rope’s Workshop

Hat: Tenore Fashion Set by HappyLifeSims

This is a much more causal outfit. Casual clothing, unlike business clothing, actually had color. The 1950’s was the decade where leisure wear became very popular. James wears a collared button up green shirt and bermuda shorts and a brown belt. These shorts reach just above the knee, but wouldn’t be worn without knee socks. That’s why he wears argyle knee socks, one of the most popular bold sock patterns. He wears brown oxfords too. His hat is straw with a bold ribbon.

This is his formal outfit. Men wore a tuxedo for every event after 6. His jacket is single breasted, but double was also popular. He wears oxfords (even if the photo cut them off). I’ll take this hatless opportunity to talk about his hair. His hair is short and simple, as men’s 50’s hair was. Not much to talk about with this outfit.

Alice Semper

Hair: Lady’s MidCurls by Birksche

Dress: Melina Dress by Tukete

Necklace: Classic Pearls x3 by Colores Urbanos

This is Alice’s house dress. While doing house work, women were supposed to look good and put together. It was a shirtwaist dress, the main dress of the decade. Just like all the dresses we’re going to see her wear, it follows Dior’s New Look of 1947. This look saw hemlines drop to the mid calf and the skirts become full. Her dresses is red with a black belt, the skirt being the swing style so common to the New Look. She wears black flats, but could also wear heels. She wears a simple pearl necklace (pearl jewelery was big in the 50’s). She could wear this outfit outside if she threw on gloves and jewelry. Her hair is short, as grown women were expected to have short hair. It’s a soft bob, just as curly as other styles but framed to the face, more versatile and popular than other cuts. Her makeup with this is pretty stereotypically 50’s. Her eyebrows are arched and full. Her eyeshadow is blue to match her eyes and she wears a cat eye. Her rouge is minimal, as rosy cheeks were out. And her lipstick is red. It is worth mentioning that suburban women rarely kept up with makeup trends but Alice has always been trendy! Why stop now?

Lil Darlin Dress by RetroPixels

1949 by Sentate

This the going out dress. It’s less simple than her house dress. The top is not just button up, but the skirt follows the swing style. This could have also been a sheath dress, but I couldn’t find cc for it. A sheath dress is what some of you might know a wiggle dress or a pencil dress. But sticking to this swing dress, it is blue and has a gingham pattern on the skirt. In this outfit, she wears heels and pearl necklace, earrings and bracelet. She also wears white gloves. Her makeup is almost the same, but her lipstick and eyeshadow is pink, another emerging trend of the 50’s.

Top: By Default by JolieBean

Pants: Audrey Pants by Hezza

This is Alice’s most casual outfit. She wears cigarette pants, which were very different from the wide legged, men’s wear inspired pants if the 40’s. Her pants are white, and she wears ur with a red tied collared blouse for a nautical look. Looking European was a desired look in the 50’s, and this outfit shows it. She wears black flats and the same makeup as the first outfit.

Dress: Pierre Balmain Evening

Gloves: Beauty and the Beast Collection by SimpleSimmer

Earrings: 1949 by Sentate

Necklace: 1949 by Sentate

This formal look is my favorite of this whole series. Formal dresses were very feminine and old fashioned during this era. They were inspired off Victorian Era dresses. This is more of an evening ball gown. Ice blue was a very popular color, and strapless gowns were also very popular. They’re were paired with long gloves and statement jewelry. Her earrings match her necklace and are very sparkly. She works slightly darker eyeshadow and looks amazing!

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CC Creators Tagged: @birksche @coloresurbanos @tukete @sentate @retro-pixels @linzlu @blogsimplesimmer @joliebean @hezzasims @simstrouble @happylifesims @simsontherope

This is a collaboration with me and @timeless-simmin

#tta #1950’s #sims history #sims historical #sims #sims 4 #maxis #maxismatch #historical sims #sims royalty #sims story #sims lookbook #sims cc #lookbook #50s

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fortheloveoffanfic · 4 years

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The Arrangement

John Wick x Reader (A/n- I have no idea where this is going, but its definitely going. Also, just for some supplemental texture--> John’s townhouse Y/n’s apartment)

The Arrangement

Warnings- NSFW/SMUT, dom/sub, vaginal fingering, semi public sex, some angst, John being kind of an asshole.

Sweet Surrender

John leaned back in the dark leather chair positioned behind his mahogany desk, his elbows propped on the upholstered arm rests and his fingers touching at the tips. Besides work, there was a lot of his mind, most of it having to do with Y/n. They weren't his usual thoughts of her though, these were troubling. Something had changed with her and lately, he had been starting to sense that she was unhappy. Y/n hadn’t out-rightly said so, but it was in the little things; she’d stopped offering him details on the life she lived outside of their shared moments and all in all, she wasn’t her typical light, carefree self.

In the beginning, it was Y/n’s bubbly personality that had attracted him, enthralling him. Before, he’d usually find his women via other means, there had only been a few others and they were all nice enough, good at following orders and fun in bed. But nonetheless, Y/n was certainly his favorite, upon meeting her, John could easily tell that she was a natural submissive and wasn’t thoughtless like those gone by. She didn’t take her role in his life lightly either, and John cared for her in a way that he hadn’t for anyone one else. Which was why it stung to think that he wasn’t doing right by her, their arrangement was supposed to bring them both pleasure, but if he wasn’t doing that for her, then half the purpose was lost. He wondered what had caused her discontent, up until then, he figured that he had been good to Y/n, he took care of her needs; sexual, financial and otherwise, he tried to listen when she needed an ear and always respected her boundaries.

He’d have to bring it up soon, John wasn’t afraid of addressing it, besides, it was nearing the eleventh month of their first contract, they’d have to discuss whether or not they wanted to renew it or not. Usually, John never renewed them, by the end of the year, he'd often find himself yearning for a fresh face, letting his latest attraction go like dust on wind, but that year it was different and he couldn’t see himself growing tired of Y/n in the foreseeable future. John knew what he wanted, the final decision would have to be Y/n’s.

“Mr. Wick?” his secretary poked her little brunette head into his office, interrupting his tumultuous thoughts. With a hum and annoyance expertly kept at bay, he glanced up, meeting a pair of clear green eyes. Abigail was just a few years older than Y/n and had been his secretary for going on three years. He could never tell what her angle was though, with all the tight shirts and short skirts, sure she was pretty enough, but it was the kind of beauty John could see himself getting bored of quickly. She didn’t really have much of a defining personality either, very two dimensional and he suspected that she didn’t have much more depth than she offered at face value. She was nothing like Y/n who was intelligent and exciting. “Your one o’clock is here,” even after she delivered her message, Abigail stayed there, still holding the door open.

With a quiet sigh, John sat up straighter, slowly moving to stand, “Is that all Abigail?” He didn’t even spare a minute to look at her, though, he could feel her eyes on him. When she offered a meek yes, finally turning to walk away, he called her back, just remembering something, “Did you finish the draft I asked you to work on?”

After a moment of hesitation, and shuffling her feet childishly, “No, Mr. Wick, I haven’t-”

“How the fuck am I supposed to start the deposition on Monday without it?” He snarled, glaring at her; John absolutely hated excuses, especially when he could tell they were going to be baseless. Alarmed, Abigail jumped, her face going pale and her eyes glassy. Apologizing profusely, she cast her gaze to the shiny marble floor, but John was too irritated to care. He’d have fired her right on the spot, but he needed someone working his receptionist’s station and for that draft to be finished by the end of the day. So, he’d spare her, for now. “Just….get it done by five,” he’d wanted to leave by four thirty to get ready for dinner later that evening, but he’d spare Abigail the half hour, “And get the hell out of my office.” Without another world, Abigail scurried out and John finished gathering his materials, almost ready to head to the elevator when his phone vibrated in his pocket.

It was a text from Y/n, and despite himself, he smiled, she never ceased to brighten his day a little. She had sent a picture of the dress she’d purchased for the night, per his request; a short, dusty mauve, chiffon one with a cowl neck and thin straps at the shoulders. Directly below that picture was another of strappy nude stilettos with thin five inch heels, John adored seeing her in high heels, especially those pencil thin, dangerous looking ones. The attachments were followed up by a simple question, “Are these okay?”

John moistened his lips, already able to picture how the outfit would look on Y/n, definitely good enough for him to want to keep her in the bedroom. She had a wonderful sense of style and normally looked good in anything. Usually, John preferred to be there when she shopped, ensuring that she wasn’t worrying about prices and that things like lingerie were suited to his tastes, but in the event that he was unavailable, John had found that she was fine on her own. “Those are perfect,” he sent the text, locking his phone and heading out of his office to the conference room.

John detested Y/n’s apartment. It was small, no, small would be an understatement, it was tiny and if he’d had his way when they were first checking places out for her, John would have seen that she’d gotten something bigger. But, he was deep in lust and Y/n hadn’t been happy with any of the other that the real estate agent took them to. In fact, it had taken almost a month for her to find that place in New York City and, when they had gone to see it, Y/n had instantly fallen in love with the quaint, cool-toned, vintage styled apartment with beige and mellow blue walls, light hardwood floors and white wooden doors that were intentionally made to look faded and unfinished. The decorator that John had hired kept with the natural vintage theme too, adding an old fashioned farm sink, a charming mix of stained marble and tiles on the kitchen counter, homely rugs and even a 1950’s refrigerator solely for aesthetic purposes. Thankfully, the running fridge was integrated and actually from their century.

As time passed, Y/n had also ensured that her love for houseplants were reflected in her decor too. She had one in every room, always watered and tended to, some growing cheerful flowers while others just maintained a healthy greenness.

Before Y/n had moved in, John had been sure to ask her well over three times if she was sure about her decision, and each time she’d assured him that she was. Y/n had eventually explained that if she lived in something bigger she wouldn’t have a clue on what to do with the extra space, it was just her and Theo anyway.

John stood at Y/n’s door for a minute, searching for her key on his bunch, casually looking up and down the hall. Thankfully, the neighborhood and by extension, the building, was a nice one. Upon finding the right key, John slipped it into the lock, turning twice. As he entered Y/n’s apartment, John called out to her, though, before she could answer, he felt a gentle rubbing on his leg; Theo.

Chuckling, he bent, scooping up the grey Scottish fold. John held the cat to his chest, absently running his fingers affectionately on his soft head, “Where’s your mom?” He asked, already walking towards the living room, earning himself a meow.

“Oh,” Y/n was just hurrying out from the other side of the living room, barefoot and still in her silk lilac robe, though her hair and make up was already done, “John,” her eyes went wide and she looked down in embarrassment, clearly alarmed, “I’m so sorry, I must have heard the time wrong.”

“You didn’t,” he reassured sternly, “I’m early, don’t worry about it,” he waved off her worry, still holding Theo in his arms. John had never been a cat person, but Y/n’s four year old rescue had taken a liking to him upon their first meeting and John at some point, the furry fella had grown on him.

“Thank you,” she smiled lightly and John offered a faint smile of his own in return, “Theo!” Y/n scolded just realizing that he was in John’s arms, “You’re gonna get cat hair all over John.”

“It’s okay, he just wants a little attention,” John sat himself on her olive colored living room sofa, the length of his legs exaggerated by how low it was, “Go finish getting ready,” he urged and after a brisk nod of compliance, Y/n hurried off again.

John’s hand was low on Y/n’s back as they followed the hostess to their party’s table in the high end French restaurant. Their table was near an elaborate indoor fountain, beneath a glittering chandelier and as they approached, Y/n could see that a middle aged couple was already seated with a round of drinks. Putting on her best smile, she waited for John to introduce her before offering her hand, “Ellis, Lauren, this is my girlfriend, Y/n.” Her breath hitched excitedly at the word, even if that was the way John always introduced her, it wasn’t like he went around telling people that he had an, by all intents and purposes, a paid for fuck doll. Still, it was enough to feed her hope that one day, maybe in the distant future, he could actually see her as that, as his girlfriend, that the word wouldn’t just be a cover.

“It’s nice to meet you,” after a moment of bewilderment and obvious hesitation, they took turns shaking her delicate hand, and Y/n did her best to maintain her trained smile; she was used to dealing with snobs anyway.

Even as they introduced themselves; Lauren and Ellis Capeldai, Y/n could see they were judging her; a girl her age, with a nearly middle aged, rich, powerful man? In their minds, Y/n could only be one thing. But alas, she was used to it, and if John had taught her anything, it was that opinions didn’t matter, they were consenting adults, and whatever they did with their personal lives was no one’s but their business.

John pulled out her chair and just as Y/n sat, John did too, immediately engaging conversation with Ellis. They glazed over small talk for a couple minutes, before getting into the specifics of a case; the Capeldais’ owned a private clinic in the city and had recently had a malpractice suit brought against them. Quietly, from her position next to John, she tried to keep up with their conversation, though, she only knew that much when it came to legal and medical jargon; an English degree could only take you that far in certain directions. In fact, the only thing she could deduce was that someone’s relative had died and that John was positive that he could prove that it wasn’t anyone’s fault but the dead patient’s.

Eventually, it came to the point where the more they spoke, the less Y/n wanted to hear. There was a dirty side to John’s job, or maybe it was just John himself, though Y/n could never bring herself to see him like that, so she blamed it on the trade instead. He was always willing to go the extra mile, or twenty, for his clients, just to make sure that they won, even going those miles meant getting his hands dirty. It was rare for Y/n to see that side of him, the side that he showed clients, that was ruthless and capable of anything in the name of victory and though John’s power and confidence enthralled her, it also scared her.

If he was like that, what else could he be?

Slowly, Y/n retreated into herself, no longer paying any mind to how their conversation unfolded. Working on autopilot, she steered her gaze to the plate before her, using her fork to shift around what was left of her entree, punctuating her movements with the occasional sip of Pinot Noir. Y/n sunk into her own little world until John’s grip held firm on her exposed thigh, his warm breath fanning her ear as he leaned in to whisper, “It’s rude to play with you food darling.” His gravely drawl sent shivers up his spine, “You don’t want to ruin our night by being punished, do you?”

Hastily, Y/n shifted her dilated gaze to meet John’s whiskey pools, the new rosiness in her cheeks brightening her sparsely applied blush, evident to those that sat across from them, “No sir,” she cast her head down out of instinct, “I’m sorry.”

Surely, the Capeldais’ were spectating with intrigue, though, thankfully not hearing a word of John and Y/n’s exchange. “It’s okay,” his rough fingers inched higher, sneaking beneath the hem of Y/n’s dress, “But don’t do it again,” he warned, covering his tracks with a peck on her cheek.

Even when John redirected his attention to his food, his hand still lingered on her upper thigh, slowly working its way further up, his feather light touch ticklish and reflecting in the pooling moisture in her panties. “So Y/n, dear,” Lauren turned to Y/n, her distaste masked under a stiff smile, “What do you do when you’re not being wined and dined by Mr. Wick?” There was malice in her words, Lauren had apparently decided that Y/n was nothing but a gold digger or something of the sort.

For a moment, Y/n glanced towards John, who cleared his throat loudly, thankfully, opting to answer for her, “Y/n works at a bank, you probably know it; Fraser Holdings,” John gave her leg a reassuring squeeze, and by then, his fingers were close enough to brush her crotch, “It’s where we met actually, I had some business there and she caught my eye.” John was a master of controlling narrative Y/n knew that every word of his explanation was chosen carefully, with the intention of carrying an air of vagueness. Y/n wasn’t ashamed of her job as a secretary, it paid the bills, at least, it used to, and she knew that John probably wasn’t either, but some people just weren’t worth the whole truth.

“Oh,” Lauren's stiff, condescending smile was apparently permanently plastered to her no doubt Botox infused face, and her nosiness was proving to be relentless, “And how long have you two been dating?” At the question, the graying Mr. Capadali looked up, he too was intrigued by the question.

Just as the query hit the ear, John’s stocky index brushed her lace clad folds. Caught off guard, Y/n jumped, her eyes going wide and breathing an alarmed gasp, her knee made painful contact with the bottom of the table as she crossed her legs, only serving to squeeze John’s hand in place. Again, she looked to him, but that time, he indicated for her to take the question, a slight smirk tugging at his lips, his trimmed scruff hiding it almost perfectly. “Um…” her words wavered as he rubbed gently, just barely grazing her nub with his pointer, the lace of her panties adding extra, effective friction. “We’ve been together for about a year.”

A slight tugging on Y/n’s thigh was enough of an instruction for her to uncross her legs, parting them slightly. Under the security of the pristine white tablecloth, John pushed aside the crotch of her panties, rubbing Y/n’s cilt slowly with the ‘v’ of his index and middle fingers. Once again startled, she glanced his way, but he merely offered. Her swollen bud throbbed beneath his expert touch and Y/n had to hide the moan that threatened to escape her matted-burgundy painted lips with a lengthy drag of her wine. Her breath shuddered as she set the glass down, quickly looking to John, who'd already rekindled conversation with the older couple, seemingly unaffected by her plight.

Her eyes stayed trained on his side profile though her attention waned; John's handsome features blurring as her orbs glazed over with desire. By then, it wasn't hard to identify the distinct pink hue standing out on her otherwise flushed cheeks and the absence of focus was blatant. The more prolonged John's ministrations became, the closer Y/n got to her tipping point. Just out of the corner of her faulty vision, Y/n could see when John carelessly let the fabric napkin fall over his hardened crotch, the creases and haphazardness of the eggshell material masking his hard on.

Another hitch of her breath came when one of John’s fingers slid further into her drenched heat, her posture, maybe thankfully, not allowing him access to her entrance. Though, John had a solution for everything, no mind how harsh or abrupt it may be, “Well, Ellis, Lauren,” he cleared his throat, pretending to check his watch. A waiter had just cleared their plates and had promised to be back soon with a desert menu, “I think we’ve covered a lot tonight, but Y/n and I have an early start tomorrow,” for the first time in a while, he removed his fingers, dragging them along her inner thigh, messily spreading her slickness. Now hot, bothered and still in the middle of a packed restaurant, Y/n could quickly feel herself growing frustrated at the loss of contact, ready to grab her clutch off its resting place on the table as John signaled a waiter, handing over a business card and requesting that the final bill be sent to his office. Y/n doubted that it was something the establishment regularly did, but there wasn’t a soul willing to deny John Wick. Besides, if he said he was going to pay, there wasn’t a bit of doubt that he wouldn’t. John was a man of his word.

After they’d bid their companions goodnight and safe travels, John led Y/n out of the restaurant, holding onto her into her light petite coat as the valet brought around his navy Maserati, the dark coat shining even in their dimmed surroundings. John, as Y/n had learnt, was quite the car enthusiast and he’d collected quite a few over the years, enough to supply a small dealership, with almost everything from prized, classic muscle cars and widely adored classics to flashy sports cars and of course, some more sophisticated ones.

After they’d gotten in, John had tossed her coat to the back seat and then peeled away from the curb, navigating the car onto the busy street, easily weaving through the thinning traffic. Stealing a glace, Y/n found that John’s expression wasn’t readily readable, though, when, not too long after they’d left, he turned into a deserted, poorly lit, damp alleyway between a shady Chinese restaurant and a low grade department store, she got a pretty clear idea of he wanted. “Do you know how fucking sexy you look in that dress babygirl?” His question strained and mumbled as John undid his seat belt and used the lever beneath his seat to push it back a little. Excitement had Y/n breathing heavily, and she didn’t think to answer his question. “Didn’t I ask you something?” He probed roughly, undoing the belt, button and zipper on his black slacks.

“I don’t know,” she breathed, blushing and blinking quickly, her stomach fluttered when John reached over to undo her seat belt, easily manhandling her over the console and into his lap.

“Well let me show you,” he grunted, grabbing her hand and shoving into his undone pants, over his erection, gasping quietly at the distinct firmness overtaking his member, “See what you do to me? This is all you baby,” he whispered harshly, catching her ear lobe between his teeth.

The alluring aroma of fine wine and musky cologne clouded her senses and Y/n’s breath hitch, the sound quiet, and pitched. “Sir,” she moaned, eyes wide and pupils lust blown as her hand lingered in John’s pants long after he’d stopped applying pressure.

John trailed feverish kisses down the column of her neck, high on the scent of her perfume, occasionally alternating between lapping his tongue over her vein and nibbling her skin. He was definitely going to leave marks, claiming her as his own. As his mouth ravaged her throat, John fiddled with the thin straps of her dress, letting them slip carelessly down the curve of her shoulders, eventually urging her arms out of them and pushing the top down, exposing her breasts, pushed together enticingly by a simple, cream colored strapless bra. “I want you to ride my cock,” John’s fingers slid up her body, thumbs brushing the smooth, stain covered padding over her nipples, before easily undoing the front clasp and freeing her full, voluptuous breasts, “Now,” he growled, pushing aside the crotch of her flimsy thong, his digits brushing the lips of her swollen, soaked pussy.

With anxious hands, Y/n helped John shove his pants down to the area right above his knees, “Come on,” he slouched further into the leather stead in an instant, John’s hands were up her dress, holding her hips in place as she eased down on him. Feeling how he bottomed out inside her, stretching her tightness so wide it burned, Y/n’s head lolled back, squeezing her eyes shut as her loud moan bounced off the windows. “Move, now,” he managed through his clenched jaw after he’d given Y/n a minute to adjust.

Desperate, filthy mewls swirled in the heavy air around them, joining John’s languid grunts as his hips rose to meet hers. Each time Y/n came down on him, her bouncing erratic and harsh, her core slapped his balls, rendering loud, wet, perverted sounds. “Sir,” her breathy cries were the only interruptions of her heady noises.

"Fuck," John hissed, just before taking one of her breasts in his mouth, his tongue swirling around her pebbled nipple and one hand sliding up her back, pressing her chest to his face, "Faster," he urged.

Y/n's eager hands slid up John's chest, the material of his grey button up smooth under her palm, his carnal heat seeping through. She settled them beneath the lapels of his tailored, black blazer, bunching the fabric up in her fingers as she quickened her pace with renewed vigor.

The tinted windows around them fogged over and the purring of the engine fell on deaf ears. John could feel her nails digging into his skin, even through his shirt and the throbbing veins running up his shaft offered Y/n an irresistible friction. Every time she came up, only to sink back down on him, John’s swollen tip reaching her end, Y/n could feel herself drawing closer to the edge. “Please,” she whimpered, pleading for John to permit her release.

John’s hips jerked upwards to slam into Y/n’s center, the remaining hand caught under her dress now aggressively squeezing and kneading her ass. The other violently grabbed a fistful of her head, rearing her head further back so John could ravish her neck without resistance, “Do it,” he commanded between skin pulling bites, “I want to feel your cunt squeezing my cock. You’re my little bitch and I need to feel you cum.”

Before long, Y/n was shuddering; her legs straddling John stiffening and her pussy convulsing as warm juices gushed from her center. Her gasps were broken and her breaths ragged as Y/n’s eyes rolled back and her hold on John’s now wrinkled shirt loosened. With a slackened jaw, the rest of her body went limp and John was the one still moving, though, his thrusts rigid.

The feeling of Y/n milking his cock entwined by the ecstasy that always accompanied being buried deep inside her was pleasurably unmatched and soon, John was following her to release, “Fuck Y/n,” he sputtered, slowing his movement as he spurted bursts of hot seed inside of her, their products mixing as it seeped out, coating Y/n’s thighs and dripping onto his.

It took awhile for their breaths to slow and for any sense of coherence to make its way back into the stilling running car, and even after; they lingered, John’s now flaccid cock still cocooned in her settled center. When he finally guided her off him, John used tissues from the glove compartment to clean Y/n up as she still sat in his lap, and she let him readjust her dress, forgoing her bra, instead just pulling the straps over her arms. When he set her back in the passenger seat, Y/n winced, though she wasn’t half as sore as she’d usually be after sessions with John, when he had more room and time to work with. In fact, hot, spontaneous moments like that one were rare, which arguably only made them more enjoyable.

Except, that night, as Y/n silently watched John clean himself up, his expression stoic, as it typically was, she couldn’t help but feel a little dirty, and not just in a physical way. That dinner hadn’t been her best one with him, she didn’t particularly enjoy seeing him as the villain, willing to desecrate the name of a dead man. Logically, she knew that it was the job, and someone had to do it, but being that good at it? It took guts and a certain kind of coldness that frightened her.

And then, of course, there was the typical issue of their otherwise unattached status. Because, as scary as John was when he was in his element, she still found herself falling deeper and deeper in love with him, which wasn’t exactly ideal, considering the more she fell, the more it hurt when she remembered that she was just his sub. It was confusing, but mostly it hurt.

The drive back to Y/n’s place was without conversation, though, when John parked on the curb and Y/n had gathered her stuff, namely her purse with generous bits of her bra sticking out the top and her coat draped over it, John grabbed her leg before she could get out, “Do you have vacation days?”

“Yes,” she nodded firmly, intrigued though not daring to say anything further.

“How many?” John’s eyes were void of anything telling and he wasn’t going to give her more without Y/n’s compliance.

“A month.”

“Good,” John reclaimed his hand, immediately fishing his phone out of his pocket, unlocking it and his fingers going to dance on the unlocked, brightened screen. He didn’t look at her again, leaving her bewildered as he came out and jogged to her side, opening the door for her. John helped her out of the car, and with a hand low on her back, he walked to the front double doors of the building, holding one side open but making no move to go in himself. “I want you to take two weeks,” he said, putting his cell away, “I’m taking you to a summer home in North Carolina. Abigail will book a jet for Sunday afternoon, call your boss and tell him you won’t be in on Monday,” and before Y/n could protest that she actually needed to give H.R. a month’s notice, John intervened, “If he gives you any trouble, let me know and I'll talk to him, okay?” By ‘talk to him’, it was quite possible that he meant bullying her boss into giving her the time off without consequence.

“Yes,” her lips quivered in surprise, and Y/n nodded again, “Okay.”

“Okay,” John repeated, stiffly reaching across to peck the side of her lips, “I’ll send you the flight details, and I’ll taking you shopping tomorrow afternoon,” when Y/n agreed, they exchanged pleasant good-nights and John finally let Y/n go, secretly hoping that their trip would do them both some good in terms of their upcoming discussion.

******

Tagging- @harrisongslimited @magnificentclodpiebanana @keandrews @greenmanalishi @rdjloverxxx @danceoftwowolves

#keanu reeves #john wick #keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves x you #john wick x you #john wick x reader #john wick fanfic #john wick fanfiction #ff #fanfic #keanu reeves fanfic #au #the arrangement #sweet surrender #fanfiction #john wick au

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dannyphantom-rewrite · 3 years

Note

What's "how to get to cracker barrel" ?

Oh now that, that one isn't Actually a wip. It's a short story I finished ages ago that later ended up being inspiration for one of the plotlines in an anthology style audio drama podcast I want to make some day. There's 4 main characters:

The Mckellen sisters Jamie and Lady who aren't Actually sisters but pass rather well for twins since one of them is actually a changeling, Natalie Anderson, photographer and lady's GF, and Gavin Walker, a mage still haunted by the death of his fiance, Caleb Adams, mostly due to the fact that his fucking ghost won't leave him alone.

Art by @unded-bun (click image for higher quality)

I'm leaving out a lot of details, but I'd be happy to fill in the gaps if anyone asks.

I'll Also throw the story itself under a read more here, bc I'm still super proud of it even though it's a few years old now.

A small hotel on the outskirts of Savannah, Georgia. There is a Sonic Drive-in across the busy street. Bright neon lights in the window state, “Open 24/7!” A Greyhound bus is idling in the parking lot. A man, Gavin Walker, climbs off and crosses over to the hotel. He walks easily, but not confidently. Approaching the hotel’s entrance, he spots a cat eating from a plastic bowl in front of the door. The feline is small, and feral. He is black, with white paws. He does not pay Gavin any mind as he enters, only continuing to crunch on dry cat food.

There's a desk on the left side of the lobby. The receptionist smiles kindly as he checks in. Her eyes are tired. Gavin gives her a knowing nod, and travels deeper into the building. There is a sign marked, “Out Of Order.” on the elevator. This is a good thing. Gavin takes the stairs, of which there are three flights. This is also a good thing, because three is a good number. He enters the hallway, which is old, and worn. The walls bear chipped yellow paint, and the floor, faded red carpet. Gavin continues down the hall after checking the time on his phone. It is exactly 11:59PM. He turns the device off and begins to count the seconds. At sixty he has stopped in front of the elevator. The fluorescent light above him flickers. The elevator does not have an out of order sign on it. It is the same elevator as before. Gavin enters.

He presses the button for the first floor. In the lobby the check in desk is now on the opposite side of the room. The lights are off, the receptionist is gone. It is daytime outside now. The bus is gone and the Sonic is closed. The road is vacant. There is a cat outside. She is white, with black paws. She looks up at Gavin as he approaches. They lock eyes, and he kneels in front of her.

“Hello, cat.” He says.

“Hello, Mage.” Says the cat.

She flicks her tail, “What is it you seek?”

“Direction.”

She nods and stands, before making for the road. The Sonic across the street is closed, but it was never empty. A Sonic is not a sit down restaurant. Customers are expected to pull into a parking spot and order over an intercom, and then a waitress delivers their meal directly to their car. Gavin’s pretty sure places like Sonic were more common in the 1950’s, and he knows that drive in diners are a dying breed now a days. The thought gives him a strange sense of nostalgia for something he’d never actually experienced, and he shudders involuntarily.

The cat sits down in the parking spot furthest from the building. She watches as he presses the the button on the intercom, listens, ears swiveling, as they are greeted with static. Looking out of the corner of his eye, Gavin can see something moving within the darkened restaurant. An outline of a figure, only vaguely humanoid. The thing moves like a deranged ape, long, long arms dangling to the floor and dragging it forward. Its back is hunched, legs short and stumpy. Gavin can not see its face, and he does not wish to. The intercom crackles to life.

“WhAt can aH’ do fER ya’lL?” Drawls The Thing in the Sonic. It’s got a southern accent thicker than congeling visera, and the pitch of it’s voice fluctuates wildly. Gavin glances uncertainly at the cat, and she nods.

“I’m looking for Direction.”

“Ahhhhhh……” groans The Thing, “WEll, watch’ Yer goNna wanna dO is hEad doWn the road, bout maybeEEee…..foUr, five miLeS, an’ yer gOnna wanna look fer’ weEl, watch yer gonna wanna fiNd is soMeTHing’ idEaliZed, ya knOw? Like uh, somethin’ kinDa romanticized, an’ a liTtlE faKe in sOme senSe but reAlLy true in anOther, ya follow?”

“Yeah.” said Gavin, even though he did not follow at all.

“Yep,” Continued The Thing, “n’ yer gOnna wanna gEt yourself sOme rasPberRy lemONade when ya get theRe, It’s some gOod shit, lemme tell ya.”

“Alright, I’ll uh, I’ll do that.”

“Good, GoOd, That’s Good. Y'all have a niIiiccceee daaaaaay nooooow.” And then the intercom crackled once more, and returned to spewing static. Gavin released the button and looked around for the cat, hoping, maybe, for some more guidance, but she had long since abandoned him. He started walking down the road, away from the Sonic Drive-In, and The Thing inside, and hopefully towards where he needed to be.

Gavin started to think as he walked, which was not something he liked to do often. He much prefered to act in the moment without much consideration for the consequences of those actions until they themselves became the moment. Gavin did not like to think because he often thought much too deeply, and it sometimes scared him. Gavin thought about a lot of different things in quick succession, he thought about the missing greyhound bus, and The Thing in the Sonic, and wondered if the disappearance of one had to do anything with the appearance of the other. It probably did. He thought about what The Thing had told him to do, and why he was doing it. He thought about why he’d come here in the first place, to this inverted little section of Georgia. And he thought about Liminal Spaces, about busted elevators and darkened hotel hallways and empty stairwells. The air shifted suddenly as a pickup truck speed past him, it had a faded confederate flag on the back window.

Liminal Spaces, simply put, were the areas between one place and another. The small spots in the middle of point A and point B where reality seems to be altered in such a way that the change is almost imperceptible, and yet, it is still enough to leave you feeling so impossibly strange.

Liminal Spaces can also be doorways, if one knows how to properly open them.

Gavin isn’t sure how long he’s been walking down this empty stretch of road, but it’s been long enough that he can no longer see the Sonic Drive-in behind him. It’s not even a dot in the distance now, just gone, as though it were never there to begin with. He keeps going. He walks until his feet hurt, and his legs ache, and keeps going even after that. At some point he sticks his thumb out towards the road, tired enough to risk hitch-hiking, but no cars have gone by since the pickup truck. And at some point he takes a moment to rest. He sits down on the shoulder, and just breathes for a while. And then when he stands again, he sees the Cracker Barrel just down the road. Exhausted as he is, he knows it isn’t possible for him to not have seen it earlier. Gavin decides it’s best not to dwell on that, though, because this is exactly the kind of place where Cracker Barrels can just pop into existence. (Although, as he enters the restaurant, he remains somewhat annoyed that it couldn’t have decided to do it a little sooner.)

The front of the Cracker Barrel is a store selling all manner of things. There's a back corner full of vintage candy, a small section of organic make-ups, and another full of knick-knacks like salt and pepper shakers, and dreamcatchers, as well as the usual crap that tourists like to buy, T-shirts and mugs and what not. Gavin has never actually been in a “regular” Cracker Barrel, so he’s not sure if this is a completely normal thing, but he’s certain that a “regular” Cracker Barrel would not also be selling such wares as bottled crocodile tears and Unicorn meat slim jims. There aren’t a lot of people in the store, and yet Gavin finds it impossible to get a good look at any of them. The people look normal, but they move like extras in the background of a film. The only person in the room with any notable features is the waitress standing by the back. She’s short, and her hair and eyebrows have been dyed a vibrant blue. As Gavin follows her into the seating area he can't help but stare at her hair, and he finds himself thinking that it can’t possibly be dye, it’s too bright, somehow. She smiles at him as he sits, and her teeth are a just little too sharp.

Once he’s seated, she says, “Can I start you off with a drink?” Her voice has a pleasant, lilting tone to it.

Gavin thinks back to The Thing in the Sonic, “A Raspberry Lemonade? If that’s something you have here?”

She nods, and goes off to get him one. Gavin leans back in his chair and takes in his surroundings, trying to relax. The decor in the Cracker Barrel has a sort of vintage, rustic feel to it, there’s things like black and white photos, and old advertisements on the walls. All the furniture looks antique. There are quite a few other customers present. Most of them look like the same nondescript folk from the front, but a few stand out. There’s a woman in the back corner, she’s dressed in black furs and her head is an ember eyed wolf skull. She’s sitting across from a man with the skull of a stag upon his shoulders, the antlers adorned with ivy. There’s something resembling a giant moth sitting two tables away, slowly crunching its way through a Caesar salad. Occasionally, there’s a figure leaning against the kitchen doors, they look as though they’re made up of television static. Gavin’s eyes start to hurt from trying to look at them, so he turns his attention to the menu instead. The waitress returns with his Raspberry Lemonade, and he orders the Country Fried Shrimp.

Gavin takes a sip of his drink and finds that he agrees with the Thing in the sonic. It’s definitely some good shit.

“Funny seeing you around here, Gav.”

Gavin looks up from his drink, almost spills it in surprise.

“Is this seat taken?”

Gavin manages to shake his head.

Caleb Adams pulls out the chair across from him and sits. Gavin stares at him. He’s wearing a T-shirt that reads, “NORMAL HOROSCOPES: Making your day a little more magic whether you like it or not.” Gavin’s not sure if it’s supposed to be advertising for a psychic’s shop or if it’s some strange indie band he’s never heard of. Knowing Caleb, it’s probably the latter.

He finally manages to speak, “You’re dead.”

“Yeah?” Caleb leans an elbow on the table, and props his head up in his hand, his smile never wavers, “And?”

“And- and I don’t know, Fuck, I don’t know.”

The waitress briefly interrupts his existential crisis by depositing his Country Fried Shrimp on the table. Gavin looks down at it and tries to focus on the smell of greasy seafood instead of the dead man sitting across from him.

“You seem confused.” Caleb’s voice sounds uncharacteristically sympathetic.

Gavin nods.

He sighs, frowning “Eat your lunch, and then we’ll talk.”

Gavin eats what he can, but it’s a large portion, and he’s somehow not that hungry. He takes a final bite, and pushes the plate across the table, silently offering Caleb the rest of the shrimp.

The barest hint of a smile returns to his face, “Thanks, but no.” And then he’s frowning again, “Why’re you here, Gav?”

“I just went where I was told to-”

He shakes his head, “No. I don’t mean the friggin’ Cracker Barrel, I mean Here.”

And Gavin doesn’t really know what to tell him. That he’s here because he felt lost and desperate? That he didn’t know what to do anymore? That it doesn’t matter anyway because he’s fine, everything's fine and he’s just tired?

But he doesn’t tell Caleb any of that, he just says, “I miss you.” And he can’t keep his voice from cracking.

“I know you do.” Caleb places a hand over his, “But this is damn near one of the dumbest things you’ve ever done. You knew this place wouldn’t be safe for you.”

He feels numb, “I didn’t really care.”

“Gavin,” Caleb grips his hand now, “Look at me, please. I mean, really look at me.”

So he does, he looks up at him, and finally, meets his eyes.

They have not changed. Death has not reduced the amount of compassion behind them, nor faded the sea blue color. Gavin stares. Eyes are supposed to be a window into someone's soul, a way to truly see into them, and Gavin just stares because Caleb’s eyes are still capable of conveying so much, and he can feel tears running down his face…..

“It’s time to go home, Gav, okay?” He gestures to the window, and the Greyhound bus has pulled up, “Your ride's here.”

And Gavin knows has to force himself to look away and loosen his grip, and he can’t bring himself to.

“It’s alright.” He says, “It’s going to be alright. I’ll take care of the bill, Please just let go.”

And Gavin finally, Finally manages to tear himself away.

He does not feel anything but relief as he leaves, as he boards the bus and settles into a seat. He leans back, and watches through the window as the world shifts and shimmers and is suddenly dark and starry once more. As the Greyhound pulls out of the Sonic parking lot, Gavin closes his eyes, and slowly falls into the comfort of a deep, dreamless sleep.

#southern gothic #tag game #Walker& Anderson #short story #ask #jamie McKellen can and will kick your ass bitch fights the fae on the regular #gavin just needs a nap and caleb needs to stfu lmao

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kathyprior4200 · 4 years

Text

Alastor: Unofficial Character Profile and Timeline

Character profile

Name: Alastor (meaning Greek spirit of vengeance/tormentor)

Birth: January 24th 1896, New Orleans, Louisiana (VA Edward Bosco’s birthday is January 24, 1986)

Human name: Alastor Roscoe Duvalier Cajun (Roscoe means deer forest and is also an old term for a handgun. Duvalier is last name of Voodoo genocidal dictator of Haiti.)

Race: Part White (French-American from his father) part Creole (Native American and African-American from his mother).

Hair color: Brown (red and black in Hell) usually short, sometimes in a small ponytail or brown ends reaching slightly past his ears

Eye color: Brown (red in Hell)

Skin color: Light brown (pale gray in Hell) thin pointed chin, lanky agile body

Clothing: brown/white nice shirts with bow ties, dress coats, hunting boots, wine colored pants, the occasional top hat with voodoo pins sticking from the top.

Items: Hunting rifle given to him by his father, sharp knives, a staff with a microphone on it decorated with small golden antlers curved near the top. (The staff became a red vintage microphone with an eye and magic powers in Hell that became part of him as per the deal he took)

Date of death: 1933

Cause of death: Bitten by dog with rabies, experienced hallucinations, inflamed brain, strange excitement and paranoia. When he sees water, it’s nothing but alligators, leeches and the darkness of an ocean. He ran from police and into the woods at night. The police sent several police dogs after him, appearing to Alastor as werewolves. He encounters Hustle, a deer hunter, yelling in agony, almost caught by police. Hustle alerts the police to his location, saying “Target criminal’s over here!” Alastor grabs the gun from the hunter and shoots himself between the eyes. His body is mauled by the police dogs and the hunter sinks down to his knees in shock and fear.

Demonic life: deer demon, overlord, radio host. His deer-like shadow has a mind of its own and reveals his true feelings.

Likes: cooking, singing, dancing, electro swing, Rosie, Mimzy, Charlie (as a friend), his mother, hunting and skinning deer, being out in nature, people failing, dark coffee, the Picture Show, the Stock Market Crash of 1929, theater, liquor, dad jokes, Jambalaya, epicurean food, making voodoo dolls of the Hazbin characters

Dislikes: being touched, strawberries, post 30’s technology, dogs, anything sweet, frowning, Vox, his father, Angel’s sexual remarks, tea, spray can foods, ketchup

Abilities: supernatural powers, voodoo, radio broadcasting, shadow manipulation, warping space, singing, charm

Kalfu is Alastor’s main voodoo deity, as both are destroyers and dark sorcerers.

Mother:

Loretta Marie Duvalier (last name became Cajun): (named after Loretta Petit, real life American radio personality born in New Orleans. Duvalier is last name of Voodoo genocidal dictator of Haiti.)

Speaks French. As a human, she had dark skin, thick black short hair and often wore bonnets, dresses, and on occasion, charms around her neck. She went to Heaven for her selfless actions in comforting Alastor when he was bullied and abused. She was the only source of light in his life before he snapped.

Her voodoo deity is Erzulie, the goddess of beauty, love, femininity and motherhood.

Alastor secretly cuddles with a voodoo doll of his mother every night.

Father:

Louis Francois Cajun: White man and Christian French immigrant, descendant of two French Canadians. He fell in love with Loretta, but bi-racial marriage was frowned upon, so they held it in secret. He is a skilled hunter and taught Alastor to hunt deer and game at a young age. When Alastor was younger, he told him to “beware the gators” in the nearby swamp. As Alastor grew older, he became more abusive to him, even molested him after sleeping with another woman on a Friday the 13th. He died brutally by Alastor in the 1920s/30s.

Louis became an oppressive black deer overlord but was defeated by Alastor a second time.

In Alastor’s vision, Louis is represented by Ogun, god associated with dogs, warriors, hunters, conflict. He’s symbolized by an iron knife and has fondness for pretty women and rum.

Samuel Cajun – Grandfather

Antoinette – Grandmother – Voodoo Priestess and Hoodoo oral practitioner

Racheil: Alastor’s friend and love interest (though he doesn’t want sex or serious romance.) She has short blonde hair and looks similar to Charlie in dapper clothes. She, like Charlie, is nice to him and loves to dance and sing. She tries to help him become a better person but after he snapped, she broke up with him and left him to solve his own problems. She almost got stabbed b him but managed to escape with her wife Agatha (whom she had married in private).

In Alastor’s dream, she appears as Oshun, a goddess connected to beauty, sexuality, wealth, pleasure, and rivers.

Alastor later makes a voodoo doll of Racheil’s similar counterpart, Charlie along with dolls representing the other characters.

Mimzy: Alastor’s friend and temporary love interest (Alastor liked to flirt with her but didn’t want to get intimate nor be tied down). Mimzy likes singing, jazz, desserts and doughnuts. She doesn’t like rock. Confident in her singing, she is the owner of a jazz club, both on Earth and in Hell. She is a short, chubby woman who wears pink/purple flapper dresses, a headband with pink feathers and short blonde hair. Her eyes were blue and her skin white as a human, in Hell her eyes were black with hot pink pupils.

Mimzy and Alastor sing several duets together on stage in both realms and even share a kiss much to the disgust of a jealous (human) Husk. As time went on however, Mimzy started falling head over heels for him, while Alastor wanted to stay friends. (She heard about his radio shows but didn’t suspect he was the killer until later). One night, a love crazed Mimzy (who had also had several drinks) tried to undress him and even reached for his private parts. He shoved her off and threatened to kill her if she assaulted him again. Then she realized in shock that he was the serial killer when he defended himself with a bloodstained knife. She tried to call for help, but he choked her with an insane look in his eyes.

Alastor keeps a voodoo doll of Mimzy in his lair with the straw arms missing.

Rosie: Alastor’s friend, fellow overlord, and associate. Rosie wears dark pink dresses, and a large pink hat with skulls, pink feathers, and black flowers on it in Hell. She has black eyes and sharp teeth. She is the owner of her emporium, after Franklin got eaten by demons.

As a human, Rosie looked similar to Mary Poppins: black hair, white skin, elegant dresses and an umbrella in her hands. She owned an emporium on Earth. Alastor used to sing with her and help her out like a gentleman. However, this was before he became insane. Rosie went to Hell after forcing her employees to work long hours with hardly any breaks (It was during a time where people worked their lives away). Like in Hell, she was self-centered and didn’t hesitate to overpower others to fulfill her ends. Hence, she became an overlord due to the impact of her evil actions.

According to Vivziepop, their relationship is similar to Jack and Mary’s relationship from Mary Poppins: both Jack and Alastor help out their lady friends and are polite to them. Like Mary, Rosie is stern, sophisticated, elegant, and a perfectionist. She’s “practically perfect in every way” at least in her opinion. Both Rosie and Alastor love singing, dancing, performing, and killing people. The three of them met up with Mimzy and all sang together.

Alastor keeps a voodoo doll of Rosie in his lair.

However, Rosie, like nearly everyone in Hell, has an agenda of her own: using Alastor to further her status. In fact, she often views those around her as mere friends and servants who purpose is to make her life easy and orderly. She, along with Vox, Valentino, Katie, and Sir Pentious are listed as antagonists.

Niffty: A small cyclops demon with a hot pink skirt and short pink hair with a yellow undertone. She is the maid for the Hazbin Hotel: she cleans the rooms, cooks meals and likes to sew, read and write. She is obsessed with men and was summoned by Alastor. She died in the 1950s as a Japanese-American woman at age 22. She is hyperactive and fast…and also a hopeless romantic who indulges in her own fantasies. Niffty isn’t afraid to use manipulation to get her way. Alastor summoned her from the fireplace but before that, he had charmed her into making a deal with him shortly after she arrived in Hell.

Alastor keeps a voodoo doll of Niffty in his lair.

Husk: A black and white cat demon with red wings with card suits on them. He has long red eyebrows, wears a black hat and wears a large red bow tie. Husk loves drinking, gambling, cards and magic shows. As a human, Husk interacted with Alastor as a broad man with short black hair. He went off to serve in the Vietnam War, gambling and drinking his problems away. He died in the 1970s.

In Hell, Alastor summons the grumpy bad-mouthed Husk to help man the front desk of the hotel for “charity work” and transports him there. Alastor got Husk to make a deal with him by promising him booze, cigars, and drinks spiked with catnip. Husk can speak many languages and is good with children.

Alastor keeps a voodoo doll of Husk in his lair.

Alastor’s ancestor from his father’s side: Marie LaLaurie, (1787-1849) real life New Orleans serial killer, cruel to Creole slaves

Dr. Facilier: distant relative

Alastor’s cousin from his mother’s side: Clementine Barnabet: (1894-1923) real life Louisiana voodoo priestess and serial killer, killed families with an axe.

Real life Axeman of New Orleans serial killer 1918-1919

Killed women and primarily used an axe. Spared those who played jazz in their homes

Albert Fish: serial killer, child rapist and cannibal 1924-1932 crimes, died in 1936

Alastor "Hazbin" Roscoe Cajun/Duvalier born January 24th, 1896 (Edward Bosco's b day Jan 24th 1986) to Francois and Loretta Cajun, born at 3:00AM; Loretta gave birth in the woods on the way to the hospital (born 3 weeks early). Light brown skin, brown eyes, round glasses, short brown hair with reddish tint, pointed chin, thin agile body

1897: Age 1 Things start off normal in New Orleans, infant Alastor plays in his crib and loves the music on the radio.

1898: Age 2 Alastor meets his uncle and aunt and discovers the marvelous outside world

1899: Age 3 Alastor watches musicals on the picture show and falls in love with them. His mother makes him Jambalaya, his favorite food of comfort

1900: Age 4 Reading and preschool, Sunday church goings which Alastor finds boring

1901: Age 5 Kindergarten: Alastor is teased for his freckles and whenever his hair glows a reddish tint in the sunlight

1902: Age 6 First grade: Alastor learns reading, writing, math, and art. He hates gym and loves music and art.

1903: Age 7 Second grade: Alastor's parents get into a fight for the first time in a while; Alastor is sent to his room whenever it happens. After he comes back upset, both his parents say that frowning is weakness. Loretta says "Remember to smile, Alastor, it shows dominance and confidence. You're never fully dressed without one." He takes that lesson to heart for the rest of his life.

Vision 1: Alastor dreams he is a young red deer who performs onstage and receives a standing ovation, representing childhood innocence.

1904: Age 8 Third grade: Alastor discovers his love of theater. He finds joy in attending and watching Mardi Gras parades and the costumes. He says 'Throw me something, mista!" during the parade but the other kids got to get the prizes thrown from the parade instead.

1905: Age 9 Fourth grade: A group of boys start to bully him and even punch him badly. Alastor smiles through it all. He tells his father and mother. While his mother comforts him, his father scolds him for not fighting back.

1906: Age 10 Fifth grade: Alastor gets his brutal revenge by daring the boys to enter into a nearby swamp. One of the bullies gets eaten by a crocodile while Alastor just watches. Alastor gets nicknamed by his father and bullies as "Alastor Hazbin."

1907: Age 11 Sixth grade: Alastor goes hunting with his father and his father shows him how to hunt and skin deer and other game. He becomes skilled over time and loves the meat. He also learns how to cook from his mother...Jambalaya being his favorite to make.

1908: Age 12 Seventh grade: Alastor gets slapped by his father for not participating in sports. Other kids make fun of him for being of mixed race. Loretta begins teaching him about Voodoo and Hoodoo. Alastor connects with Kalfu the deity and learns of his heritage as part French and part Creole. His grandmother was a powerful priestess and was believed to orally pass on stories and display feats of magic. His Grandmother was born in Haiti, moved to France and then to the U.S. His Uncle, Father, and Grandfather were Canadian/French Christians. His aunt was conflict avoidant, unlike his uncle and father. Loretta tells him (though he soon doesn't listen) that Voodoo is not to be used for evil, sacrifices, nor cannibalism and to only resort to cannibalism for survival.

1909: Age 13 Eighth grade: Alastor's father yells at him for not showing interest in girls. One fateful night, his father sleeps with another woman and Alastor notices. A helpless Loretta watches as Francois whips, humiliates and molests him in his room, warning him not to tell or "he'd kill (them) both." Loretta comforts him with hugs and Jambalaya. As he eats, Alastor imagines eating off his father's fingers.

Alastor is diagnosed with anxiety, narcissism and psychopathic tendencies. He is bullied in middle school and is not interested in sex and girls like the other boys. He finds it gross and pointless.

Loretta's Jambalaya nearly kills her when a drunk Loretta (too much Scottish Comfort) puts gunpowder and wasabi into it. Alastor's father makes him memorize Bible passages.

1910: Age 14 Ninth grade: Many girls both in school and outside fall in love, but Alastor isn't interested. A Satanic Ritual book appears after it was dropped by accident by imps. He looks through it with great interest and makes a deal with dark Loas: gain near unlimited power in the afterlife in exchange for his soul and the soul of a loved one.

1911: Age 15 Tenth grade: High school was a nightmare. The bullying was worse and Alastor became more and more withdrawn. During this time, Alastor becomes interested in being a radio host and also reads books on weapons and cannibalism.

Vision 2: Alastor dreams he is a red buck, who runs from hunters representing the elite white people. He evades a crocodile, resembling his father and his mother appears as the Voodoo goddess of beauty and motherhood.

1912: Age 16 Eleventh grade: Alastor applies to be an apprentice for a local radio station several times, but doesn't get in. His father and uncle berate him everyday and his mother is busy at secretary work, and Voodoo rituals every month.

1913: Age 17 Grade 12 Alastor graduates and applies again. He starts at the bottom, but rapidly moves his way up. He starts by telling dad jokes, then wants to talk about murder and crimes "far more interesting than the weather and social events."

1914: Age 18 After experiencing harsh critiques from mainstream stations, Alastor is fired. However, he soon decides to pursue his goals on his own. His makes radios from scratch and starts his own shows, with a few private listeners at first.

World War One begins! Alastor uses this opportunity to broadcast on a private station news of deaths in the war in graphic detail. More people start listening and his soon starts making money. Alastor makes his first kill when a man assaulted him and beat him up for him being "Black and outspoken." He was able to get away and he wondered what it'd be like to do it again on the ignorant folks.

1915: Age 19 Alastor promotes war efforts through announcements and songs, including his ending song "You're Never Fully Dressed." However, he still describes brutal murders for the sinister folks.

1916: Age 20 Alastor meets Husk and Mimzy at a jazz bar and club for the first time. He dances and sings with Mimzy, loving her confidence and sexy looks. (Though he doesn't like to be touched by anyone other than his mother, due to fatherly past trauma).

1917: Age 21 Alastor meets Racheil (alternate form of Charlie) and they become fast friends. He learns of the Axeman, a fellow serial killer and learns to be careful.

1918: Age 22 Spanish Flu Pandemic occurs! Sadly, Alastor's mother becomes gravely ill and passes away. Alastor smiles even as he cries. Alastor's father doesn't seem to care. Alastor gets raped again and his father abandons him. Alastor's mother goes to Heaven and Alastor, not knowing what else to do, eats her remains.

1919: Age 23 Alastor becomes depressed (and even suicidal for a while). He doesn't eat much. Alastor eventually snaps and begins his life as a serial killer. After his mother’s death, Alastor lost his remaining traits of humanity…succumbing to his demonic nature. At that point, he didn’t care who he ate and/or killed…it was the last think he could do to keep himself sane along with drinking liquor, coffee, sewing voodoo dolls, and broadcasting the murders by himself.

1920: Age 24 Roaring Twenties and Jazz Age. Alastor becomes known (though no one suspected it was him) by several names "Bayou Butcher," "Deer Devil" "Louisiana Lunatic" among others. Alastor revels in his fame and becomes richer and more materialistic. He buys himself suits, and a cane with deer antlers on it. One of his disturbing hobbies was using his gentleman charm to lure women into his home where he would lie them in the basement and kill them while broadcasting their screams.

Alastor plays in a jazz band and enjoys watching musicians play while smoking and drinking liquor. He often cries in private and makes straw dolls. He drinks dark coffee every morning.

1921: Age 25 Mimzy falls in love with Alastor and touches him inappropriately. He threatens her with a knife and she discovers he's the serial killer. She rushes to call for help but Alastor takes her into an alleyway and stabs and chokes her to death. Feeling slight remorse, he takes her home for his meal.

1922: Age 26 Racheil breaks up with him after being concerned about his sanity. Worried he might be caught, Alastor lays low for a while before starting up again. After Alastor's father comes back, he decides to get his revenge. He ties him to a tree and tortures him during the night. The predator becomes the prey. Alastor tracks him down to a local bar. (Although he usually doesn’t stalk or chase his victims as it breaks his moral code, but his dad is an exception. Also following others/sneaking toward them are often required to kill others.) His father had been secretly afraid that Alastor would be stronger and would want to kill him, thus proving his son more dominant than himself. He had weapons ready, but Alastor had set up several traps in advance. Though Alastor was physically weaker than his father, he was very clever. He had packed a backpack of all his weapons, rope and essential tools. His father says “You and your heathen mother deserve to die” only for Alastor to respond, “Nobody talks about my mama that way.” Seeing his father knocked out, Alastor raises his knife to kill him but stops. That would merely be too easy. He supports him by the shoulders, pretending to be concerned for him as onlookers watched in shock, “It’s okay sir, you just fainted from the heat. Let’s go for a walk in the woods.” He takes him deep in the forest and chuckles darkly.

Alastor knocks him out and ties him to a tree in a forest, waiting until he wakes up. He starts (smiling the whole time) by slicing off his father’s dick among his father’s cussing (“when you screwed me once”), inserting a hot knife inside his father’s privates (“when you screwed me again”) then slicing off his ears (“this is for all the times when you wouldn’t listen to me”), shoving his own severed penis down his throat (“When you shoved your macho beliefs down my throat”) he whips him, then slowly cuts deep down his chest with a chainsaw, organs revealed (“this is for mama”) and finally shots him in the heart (“and this is for me, you heartless bastard.”) He eats his father’s flesh over jambalaya and it’s the best meal he’s ever had.

1923: Age 27 He kills his victims in various ways: some hanging from trees with their organs spilled out, some buttered and eaten, others buried alive, some people shot and stabbed when he doesn’t feel like dragging it out. He’ll often poison other’s food/drinks and watch their reactions with a grin on his face. He enjoys tricking others into corners/tight spots so he doesn’t have to run after them. He’s found of pranks, especially deadly ones done on others. He saves brutal killings for racist men and women and those who think ill of him and his show. He becomes known as the “Deer Devil Dealer of New Orleans.” He only started killing people and animals at random after his mother died and he lost his mind.

1924: Age 28 Vision 3: : He has nightmares about a demonic skeletal deer covered with maggots and sores with chunks of meat over bone and one eye hanging loose running after him. He finds himself in a dark snowy forest, a fierce biting wind. After it seemed like he had been defeated by the monster, Alastor looks into a puddle and sees another, far worse monster, a demonic wendigo reflection staring back at him…Alastor sees a horned face and malnourished skeletal body, ripped red pinstriped dress coat, four clawed hands, red and black hair and red eyes, sharp teeth, large black antlers…the wendigo form resembling his current demonic form in Hell. After killing the alligator representing his father, the wendigo Alastor look-alike shadow appears and says “This is who you really are,” before Alastor wakes up.

1925: Age 29

1926: Age 30

1927: Age 31

1928: Age 32

1929: Age 33 Alastor enjoys the Stock Market Crash and uses the opportunity to enjoy watching orphans suffer. It helps remind him that he's far better off than many, besides the fact that kids were annoying to him. Alastor makes an "Axeman letter:"

"Hell, 1929 Stock Market Crash Esteemed Mortal of New Orleans: The Deer Devil/Bayous Butcher/Louisiana Lunatic/Hazbin of Hell

They have never caught me and they never will. They have never seen me, for I am invisible, even as the sound waves that surround your earth. I am not a human being, but a demon and overlord from the hottest hell. I am what you Orleanians call the Deer Devil. Down here, I’m the inevitable Radio Demon.

When I see fit, I shall appear and claim other victims as I see fit. I alone know whom they shall be. No clues will be left behind, save for what you might hear on the next broadcast. Tell the police and the racist, elite scum of the world to beware. Let them try not to discover who I am, for it’d be better for them not to have been born than to incur the wrath of the Deer Devil. You’ll have a deer in the headlights look and won’t have any idea what hit you until after it’s too late. Undoubtedly, you Orleanians think of me as a monster and murderer. But if I wanted to hurt anyone else here, I would have done so already. If I wished, I could pay a visit to your city every night. I could kill every one of your best and worst citizens, for I am in a close relationship with the Shadows of the Other Side. At 6:06 pm next Friday night, I am going to pass over New Orleans and then visit those in Hell. I am going to make a little proposition to you people. Here it is: I am very fond of jazz music, electro swing, and jambalaya. I swear by all the Loas and deities that I will spare those who can provide me with some great entertainment when I visit. Word of warning, I can read you people like a book, and see into your very souls. Anyone foolish enough to challenge me will have their corpses consumed and their screams muffled by the lovely sound of jazz bands jamming the night away. I have been, am, and will be, the worst spirit that ever existed in fact, fantasy, or realm of Hazbins. Smile and stay tuned! ~Deer Devil (Alastor)"

1930: Age 34 Great Depression occurs!

The event hits Alastor and many others hard...he runs low on food so he eats others and hunts more and more to survive. Now Alastor kills at random instead of focusing on the racist mean people.

1931: Age 35

1932: Age 36

1933: Age 37 Alastor's Death

The police eventually track Alastor down with the help of Racheil and Chasseur, a fellow deer hunter whose daughter had been killed by Alastor. Not too long before the police discover where he is, Alastor gets bitten by a rabies infested dog. For the next several hours, Alastor experiences hallucinations, paranoia, brain inflammation and a fear of water. In water, all he sees is leeches and alligators. In his hallucinations, he is being watched by a wendigo. The police chase Alastor though the dark woods, police dogs hot on the trail. A local deer hunter, Hustle, joins in on the chase. Alastor navigates the woods, trying to find a place to hide. The hunter accidentally shoots him in the back as he ran, thinking Alastor was a deer.

Alastor experiences extreme agony when the deer hunter spots him, pointing a rifle at him. The hunter announces his location to the police. Seeing no other way out other than pain and imprisonment, Alastor takes the gun from the hunter and shoots himself between his eyes. The police dogs maul his dead body and the hunter sinks to his knees in shock and terror. Strangely enough, Alastor dies with a creepy smile on his face, the mark of Kalfu appearing behind his cold neck, unnoticed by anyone.

1933: After death: Alastor's old body falls away as the deal with the Loas takes fruit. The shadows give him his immense powers in the shadow world and he transforms into his demon form in Hell. He gets his microphone staff, which enables him to broadcast his murders and victories. He is known as the Radio Demon. He conquers several areas of Hell, eventually getting the attention of the overlords who know to stay wary of him.

Alastor befriends Mimzy and overlord Rosie and they sing, dance, talk and murder other demons for fun. Alastor treats them both with respect and knows not to piss off Rosie as she's stern, violent, and "practically perfect in every way."

Every year when the Exterminators appear, Alastor broadcasts the chaos during the 24 hour period, and will go out and kill the angels too.

1950s: Alastor makes a deal with Niffty who becomes obsessed with him and men. She becomes his servant/slave/associate and cooks and cleans for him.

1970s: Alastor makes a deal with Husk and Husk becomes his servant/slave/associate after Alastor promised him a better life with money and booze and the promise of " finding love."

2019: Alastor sees Charlie on TV and decides to help her with the hotel (for his own enjoyment, of course.) He dances and befriends Charlie, forming plans to use her to dig deeper into the royal family and eventually take the throne and rule Hell. He hopes that with a shadow army and more possessed members, he can invade Hell, Heaven and even Earth to spread his chaos. He defeats Sir Pentious and changes the name to Hazbin Hotel, his formerly mocking nickname he embraced.

Future: Alastor helps Charlie and the others protect the hotel from Sir Pentious, Vox, Valentino, Velvet and other villains.

Other non canon versions of Alastor:

Stalaros (commonly known as 2p Alastor). Alastor with opposite colors and personality: he wears white and blue and cries a lot. He is one of the clients at the Haven Hotel run by Caoline Egnam, Heaven's princess. Stalaros is gay and horny like Angel Dust.

Lavender/Purple Alastor: Peaceful and confident, an OC made by fans.

Radiodust Alastor: An Alastor that loves Angel Dust. Popular with fans.

Charlastor Alastor: An Alastor that loves Charlie romantically. Popular with fans.

Redeemed Alastor: Appears as a man with a deer head and human-like traits in Heaven. In this universe, he reunites with his mother.

FHE (“For His Entertainment”) Alastor: Alastor in his truly evil form: he takes over all of Hell and possesses the demons. His shadow can turn into a monster wendigo. This Alastor has a hole between his eyes from a bullet wound, and antlers stained with blood.

#hazbinhotel #hazbin hotel theory #alastor #human alastor #alastor lair

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bing-fucker · 4 years

Note

Imagine JJ wants to try wearing skirts and dresses but he's really shy so Marvin gently encourages him and is really sweet so he takes him to the mall helps him pick out a nice one. What he didn't expect was how hot JJ would look in a skirt and they end up fucking in the dressing room.

Okay but Jameson in skirts and dresses is my absolute favorite image, yessssss. Marvin would adore his baby boy in pretty things.

Warnings: Crossdressing kink, public sex, praise kink, orgasm denial. I dunno if it counts as a kink or needs a warning, but just in case, Marvin does have a semi weird fantasy at one point. And acts a bit like a sugar daddy... As always, ask me to add as you see fit!

Marvin turned around at a tap on his shoulder, smiling softly at Jameson and accepting the mug of hot chocolate the little gentleman offered. Jameson smiled and walked fully around the couch, settling in next to Marvin and looking at whatever movie the others had chosen to put on for the night.

Something was on his mind. It was pretty easy to tell when something was on Jameson's mind, he was- well. Not quieter, but slower to sign or even acknowledge he was being spoken to. He was almost always in his head when something was on his mind, thinking too deeply to respond.

"JJ?" Marvin whispered, gently setting both his and Jameson's mugs to the side. "Jayj, what's on your mind?" Jameson looked away from the movie and shrugged, snuggling into Marvin's side and resting his head on the cat-masked magician's shoulder.

"Hmmm... Is it something embarrassing?" Marvin asked, still speaking in a whisper so they didn't disturb the others. Jameson shook his head. "Something cute?" Jameson gave a small nod. Marvin smirked and leaned closer. "Something... sexual~?" Jameson blushed brightly and shoved Marvin's face away, drawing a laugh from the magician.

"Sorry, sorry," Marvin said, apologizing both to Jameson and to the others at the interruption. At the apology, Jameson gratefully snuggled back up to the magician.

"Is it weird if I want to wear dresses?" Jameson asked, signs quick and small, like he only wanted Marvin to see. Marvin swallowed suddenly, ignoring the twitch his cock gave at the images that sprung to mind.

"I don't see why it would be," Marvin whispered back. He gently nudged Jameson up so he could lay down and pull Jameson to lay on top of him for cuddle purposes. "Why? Do you want to?"

"I do. Are you sure it is not weird?" Jameson replied, tangling his legs with Marvin's and snuggling closer.

"I'm sure it's not weird," Marvin assured, gently rubbing Jameson's back. "Why do you think it might be weird?"

"Well, I know I am not the picture of masculinity, but I am still a rather masculine presenting man. I just thought it might be weird for me to want to wear a dress..."

"Hm," Marvin hummed, tracing circles against the small of Jameson's back. "I don't think it's weird. Sure you're not exactly what people are going to think of when they imagine men in dresses, but who cares what they think? I think you'd look adorable."

Jameson blushed faintly and nodded, leaning up to briefly kiss Marvin. "Thank you," he signed, smiling brightly against Marvin's lips. "Will... will you take me shopping? I do not want to look for dresses alone..."

"I would be happy to," Marvin said, kissing Jameson briefly before peppering kisses all over the gentleman's face. "Besides, you can't see color, so I have to come and make you try on all the pretty things!"

Jameson giggled silently, playfully pushing Marvin's face away at the kisses. Marvin laughed more and kissed Jameson's hands, drawing more silent laughter from the gentleman.

"Guys, stop!" Jackie protested, smacking Marvin's shins from his position on the other end of the couch.

Marvin quirked an eyebrow at Jameson for a second, and then both magic users were scrambling over to the other end of the couch to (playfully) torment the superhero.

"Z'he popcorn!" Henrik despaired as Jackie kicked out in laughter.

Marvin couldn't find it in himself to feel bad for ruining movie night.

The mall was busy. Marvin usually didn't like busy malls- people tended to stare at the mask, or recognize him from his stage performances. But Jameson preferred busy places, since it made it less likely he would be noticed. For a showman, Jameson didn't like to be noticed.

"C'mon, I know a good shop for this," Marvin said quietly, wrapping an arm around Jameson's waist and leading him through the crowd. Jameson simply nodded and followed Marvin to a boutique in the far South corner.

"Here we go!" Marvin looked around cheerfully. The boutique was large and pink (although Jameson couldn't see that part). It wasn't too busy, but there were some other customers. The workers also seemed to recognize Marvin, which did bring Jameson some comfort.

"I come here a lot for my show looks," Marvin explained, leading Jameson past the shirts and slacks and to the dresses and skirts. "Do you like how it looks? The shop, I mean."

Jameson nodded, "It looks nice!" he signed. "Nobody is staring. That is good."

"If they were staring, it'd be because you look wonderful," Marvin replied, letting go of Jameson's waist to look around at all the skirts and dresses.

"Wait, where are you going?" Jameson asked, panicked.

"Just going to find you some dresses to try on," Marvin reassured, kissing Jameson's forehead before turning to look at the dresses. Jameson nodded and wandered slightly off to look at skirts.

Jameson returned a few minutes later, hands folded behind his back as usual.

"Couldn't find anything you liked?" Marvin asked, looking at Jameson.

"They were all B-O-D-Y-C-O-N," Jameson explained, frowning slightly

Marvin choked on his breath, looking at Jameson. "Where did you learn that word!?"

Jameson smiled and pointed to a worker that had helped him, who waved cheerfully to the two of them and winked at Marvin.

"Right. Uhm. I found some dresses for you," Marvin said, blushing beneath his mask at the wink. Jameson clapped, seeming much more excited than when they had first entered the store. Marvin handed Jameson the five dresses he'd found and lead the small gentleman over to the dressing rooms.

Jameson waved cheerfully as he went into one of the dressing rooms, leaving Marvin on the small, pink couch outside the room to wait. Marvin sighed deeply and leaned against the back of the couch. It would be a bit before Jameson had anything to show. Jameson always wore at least three layers that he insisted on folding neatly even when trying on clothes.

Predictably, it was about fifteen minutes later when Jameson opened the door, blushing and hesitantly stepping out of the room. Marvin stared in shock, almost immediately blushing as well. The dress was long and red. It was exactly tight to his body, but it was definitely not loose.

"Oh, wow," Marvin commented. "You look wonderful, Jameson. Do you like it?"

Jameson shook his head. "It does not swirl when I spin," he complained. "And it has a weird texture..."

"Okay," Marvin said, smiling comfortingly. "We don't have to get it, then." Jameson nodded and went back into the dressing room to try on a different one. Marvin shifted awkwardly, crossing his legs and waiting.

A few minutes later, Jameson returned again, this time in a mid length black dress.

"You look like a fifties housewife in that," Marvin noted, very determinedly ignoring any feelings or images that brought up and crossing his legs more.

Jameson smiled and spun, the skirt poofing around him slightly. "I like this one! It is soft, and it swirls when I spin!"

"I'm glad you like it," Marvin said, rather proud of himself for finding this one. "Do you want to get it?" Jameson nodded excitedly and went back into the dressing room to try something else on.

Marvin relaxed back against the back of the couch, watching the door of the dressing room. And most definitely not getting lost in a fantasy of Jameson as a 1950s American housewife, home alone and lonely without his husband to keep him company...

Marvin startled out of his thoughts when Jameson snapped in front of him. The new dress was short and the same teal as Jameson's hair. It had a similar fit to the dress before, but only hit about mid-thigh. Which gave Marvin a very good excuse to stare at the younger's legs. And notice that Jameson had shaved. Had he planned to show off his legs? Jameson never showed off his legs! But Marvin most definitely wasn't complaining. Jameson smiled brightly and spun, the skirt poofing higher than the other dress and- oh. Those were definitely not Jameson's usual boxers. Those were lacy and Marvin's favorite shade of pink and how in the world did Jameson get such a specific shade of pink!?

"You look incredible," Marvin said eventually, looking away from Jameson's legs and finding himself quite grateful that Jameson seemed not to notice his staring.

"Thank you!" Jameson signed cheerfully, looking at the skirt. "I like it! It is cute!"

"You're cute," Marvin replied, crossing his legs tighter and smiling at Jameson's happiness. "Do you want this one, too?"

"If it is okay?" Jameson asked, blushing and looking at Marvin hopefully.

"Of course," Marvin replied, smiling softly. "Anything you want today, JJ. This is my day to spoil you!"

Jameson giggled and hugged Marvin. A bit awkwardly, due to Marvin not uncrossing his legs, but it was certainly enough to get Marvin's cock straining further against his jeans. Jameson, luckily, didn't seem to notice.

"Okay, go try on the other two," Marvin said, smiling and releasing Jameson from the hug. Jameson nodded and cheerfully went back into the dressing room.

Jameson returned quicker than before, this time in a short, blue and yellow skater dress. Marvin clapped lightly, smiling brightly. That dress was honestly his favorite. It was fun and flowy. And although it showed off more of Jameson's arms than the gentleman usually liked, he at least seemed to like it.

"Do you like it?" Marvin asked, watching Jameson spin. Or, more accurately, trying to get another look at the pink lace that looked obscenely tight against Jameson's ass and, presumably, his cock as well. Jameson nodded happily, gripping his skirt gently and swirling it lightly. "Okay, then we can add it to the pile!" Jameson smiled wider and spun again before going back to the dressing room.

Marvin leaned back on the couch, half-lidding his eyes and returning to his fantasy from earlier. He was about halfway through the narrative of Jameson running away from his horrible husband to Marvin when he was again interrupted by Jameson knocking on the wall. Marvin snapped back to attention, looking at Jameson. Jameson was just barely peeking out of the room and Marvin knew exactly what he was wearing.

The dress had been a joke, and Marvin had actually expected Jameson to throw it at him and pout when he found it. But instead, Jameson hesitantly stepped out of the dressing room. It was a club dress, not even at mid-thigh. It was pink sequined and bare backed when Jameson hesitantly spun.

"You know, I think you might need help getting out of that," Marvin commented. Jameson was blushing brightly, biting his lip as Marvin stood and strode over to him.

Marvin quickly pushed Jameson back into the dressing room, closing and locking the door behind both of them. Marvin pushed Jameson against the wall, kissing him deeply. Jameson made a startled face before returning the kiss, wrapping his arms around Marvin's neck. Marvin groaned and gripped one of Jameson's legs, pulling it up and grinding against Jameson.

"Fuck, baby," Marvin breathed, running his hand up Jameson's thigh and under the dress. "When you said you wanted to wear dresses I didn't think it would be so feckin' hot." Jameson gave his best attempt at a moan, making Marvin grin at the breathy noise.

"I don't think I can make it home, baby," Marvin commented, tugging at the waist band of Jameson's underwear. Jameson blushed and bit his lip, carefully reaching down and leading Marvin's hand back to his ass and, more importantly, the buttplug nestled inside of him.

"Oh, shit," Marvin groaned, pushing his hand down the back of Jameson's panties and gently moving the buttplug inside of Jameson. "You planned for this, didn't you, you little minx?" Jameson blushed and nodded, tilting his head up and kissing Marvin again. The magician eagerly returned the kiss, pulling away after a few seconds to push Jameson up against the dressing room mirror.

"Look at you," Marvin purred, pushing the dress up over Jameson's hips and pulling his underwear down. "You knew all along what this was doing to me, didn't you~? Could feel how hard I was getting for you~" Marvin groaned and accentuated his words by grinding his still-clothed hard-on against Jameson's ass.

"I noticed that you got excited when I brought it up last night," Jameson admitted, pushing away from the mirror just enough to be able to sign.

"And you liked that, hm?" Marvin purred, gently pulling the buttplug out of Jameson and setting it on Jameson's clothesn - much to the gentleman's displeasure - before pushing his pants down.

"Eyes on the mirror, little one," Marvin groaned, pushing into Jameson quickly. "I want you to watch how cute you are when you're falling apart underneath me~" Jameson blushed brighter, focusing on the mirror.

Marvin groaned and started to move, quickly using his magic so no one would notice what they were doing. Jameson panted, scrambling for purchase against the mirror as Marvin sped up his pace.

"Fuck, JJ," he muttered, kissing Jameson's neck and dropping one hand down to Jameson's cock to stroke him in time with his thrusts. "You feel so good, baby~ Feel perfect around me, and you look even better~" Jameson gasped and weakly bucked into Marvin's hand. "Look at yourself, beautiful~ Look at how gorgeous you are when I'm fucking you~"

Jameson whined and leaned his head back against Marvin's shoulder, shuddering and panting. Marvin groaned and moved faster, biting Jameson's shoulder and sucking to make a mark. Jameson blushed brighter, reaching behind slightly to grip Marvin's hair.

"Fuck, baby, I'm close," Marvin groaned, thrusting as deep as he could and grinding. He could tell Jameson was getting close as well. Jameson always clenched tighter when he got close, and his baby seal grey eyes tended to cross slightly. Marvin groaned and turned Jameson's face to the side, kissing him deeply as he spilled inside of the younger.

Marvin grabbed the buttplug from earlier, pulling out only to quickly replace his cock with the plug. "There we go, beautiful," he purred, gently smacking Jameson's ass.

"Marvin," Jameson signed, looking like he'd be whining if he could make noise. "I did not get to finish."

"Aw, I know, gorgeous," Marvin said, kissing Jameson briefly and fixing the younger's underwear. "But we don't want you ruining your pretty new dress, right? Don't worry, I'll give you what you want at home." Jameson blushed and pouted, only drawing a laugh from Marvin.

"Get dressed, gorgeous. I want to take you lingerie shopping."

Jameson blushed even brighter and Marvin practically cackled as he exited the dressing room and dismissed his magic.

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forestwater87 · 4 years

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201X in Review: A journey of cringe and regrets

Realizing 2020 is really close and wanted to look back at the second (full) decade I’ve actually been alive for. I feel like either a huge amount of stuff has happened, or basically nothing’s happened, but there’s no middle ground.

2010:

Cringy 2010 photo: High school prom (in middle, dark green dress and...a face)

Junior in high school.

Had my first-ever Real Boyfriend(TM). (Pictured in above cringy photo.)

Had just ended an extremely toxic 12-year relationship and was still figuring out how to have friends.

Chemistry fucking SUUUUUCKED and I don’t miss it.

Had a super intense love for Megamind. I saw it minimum of 4 times in theaters and had a major crush on that blue lil nerd. (Began a personal grudge against both Tangled and Despicable Me for taking away its deserved spotlight, a resentment I have not yet gotten past 10 years later.)

Most regrettable 2010 memory: Getting way too intense about a new boyfriend and lowkey abandoning my friends. Not cool.

Most awesome 2010 memory: I have friends from back then I still love and keep in touch with (despite my abandoning them for a bit there). That’s pretty dang awesome.

2011:

Cringy 2011 photo: High school graduation with one of the most beautiful women in existence. (We’re still friends, and she’s still gorgeous.)

Graduated high school! (Gym fucking SUUUUUCKED and I don’t miss it.)

Fell in love with the college that was supposed to be a “safety school” and didn’t apply anywhere else, which means I can brag about having been accepted into 100% of the colleges I applied to.

Started at Ithaca College -- don’t say “it’s gorges,” it gets so old so fast -- and had a miserable first semester and an incredible second.

Started getting . . . uncomfortably involved in religious groups. (I mean, I’d been doing that since I was a kid, but it got kicked up to 11 in college.)

Most regrettable 2011 memory: Dressed as a “g***y” for Halloween. Fucking yikes.

Most awesome 2011 memory: Figuring out what I want to be when I grow up.

2012:

Cringy 2012 photo: Modeling first successfully completed knitting project. With bamboo needles because Ithaca is a hippie paradise.

Learned how to knit, entirely out of boredom in long lectures.

Technically started my tumblr experience, though it was only for a few months while I worked through some Shit by being in love with Loki from the Avengers (and THiddleston in general). Stayed on here just long enough to discover Achievement Hunter and Rooster Teeth, and never went back.

Broke up with first-ever Real Boyfriend(TM) and handled it so well I was diagnosed with depression and anxiety disorder.

Got very deep in a religious group at IC, which was . . . not very healthy and could perhaps not inaccurately be described as “cultlike.” (I owe a major apology to everyone who knew me back then; I was very much a major bitch.)

Despite the previous two bullet points, this was the best year of my life up until that point. I lived next door to my two best friends in college, loved my major, and pretty much was confident that I had everything figured out.

Most regrettable 2012 memory: Writing a fan letter to Tom Hiddleston, which included a photo of me and my phone number. I was convinced my charm and wit would totally make him fall in love with me.

Most awesome 2012 memory: Pretty sure this is the year my love affair with RiffTrax began, too. I had a posse and we’d go see live shows together.

2013-2014:

Cringy 2013 photo: A blanket that I made and sent to Jennamarlbes for her dogs, because it was too small for people. Pretty sure it showed up in a video at one point.

Cringy 2014 photo: My awesome college roommates and I dressed up to give out candy to people’s dorms on Halloween. Reverse trick-or-treating: very fun, always recommended.

HA. So much for having anything figured out.

I don’t actually remember much of this period in my life, because I was navel-deep in a major religious crisis that would continue until . . . a couple months ago, basically? There was a lot of freaking out and trying to reconcile culty fundamentalism with the freewheeling pinko that lived deep inside and was trying to break free.

Lots of therapy, though. And med adjustments. Eventually figured out something that worked. Free campus counseling was the bomb though.

I do remember living in an apartment and cooking for myself for the first time, and also playing a lot of tabletop games with my roommates. (Also drinking. Lots of drinking.)

Oh shit, was this when I started that Drunk Librarian blog? I was trying really hard to be The Nostalgia Critic for books (ew), but I remember having a lot of fun with that. That was when my lifelong vendetta against John Green began.

Most regrettable 2013-2014 memory: Did I mention that the blanket I sent to Jenna included a letter? Did I mention that letter included some bible verses I thought she would appreciate????

Most awesome 2013-14 memory: Started a knitting club. It was just like 4 people hanging out and not knitting.

2015:

Cringy 2015 photo: Me being emaciated, makeup-smeared, and proudly showing off a collarbone piercing. That piercing has since rejected, but was in fact cute af.

Graduated college! Summa cum laude, bitches. (And an unfinished minor because I didn’t feel like taking the one (1) class I needed to graduate.)

Started library school and moved back home with parents. That was . . . an adjustment.

Changed library school “majors” halfway through my first year, after a lot of soul searching and panic attacks.

Had a short but catastrophic relationship with a man 9 years older than me (who was my pastor. Awkward). Religious crisis continued.

Got really skinny and hot because I was too miserable to eat. Dyed my hair red for the first time and looked basically like Ariel.

Discovered Party Hard and got really good at killing people.

Remembered how much I fucking love my parents’ dog:

Most regrettable 2015 memory: Being that person who “thought I could change him.”

Most awesome 2015 memory: Did you see how cute that dog is? His name is Oscar, after Oscar the Grouch.

2016:

Cringy 2016 photo: I had this huge thing for 1950s dresses for a while, complete with petticoats.

Grad school continued.

Religious crisis continued.

Therapy happens to deal with Things, is quickly dropped due to money and lack of shrink-chemistry.

Discovered a dumb little web cartoon with a teensy fanbase and no love for my favorite ship. Began work on a fanfic to correct this.

Finished a long-form fanfic for the first time in my entire life.

Virtually abandoned every other fandom to hyperfixate on this for the rest of my life.

Got super political, then super depressed. Quit Facebook because I realized I hate everyone I’m FB friends with.

Discovered Stardew Valley and never got anything done ever again.

Found Tumblr again (needed it to keep in touch with my first-ever beta reader, @raenbowsofficial) and turned into fandom and politics trash.

Most regrettable 2016 memory: Man, was I cocky about that Hillary Clinton winning the election. Oops.

Most awesome 2016 memory: I mean, CAMP CAMP. Obviously.

2017:

Cringy 2017 photo: My first day of work as a very bisexual-in-denial librarian.

Finished grad school and became a certified librarian (in NYS anyway)!

Got a job at a local college, including my own office!

Shaved half my head!

Moved into my own apartment and adopted a cat, fulfilling a goal over 7 years in the making!

Became friends with two of the most important people I’ve ever met. Visited one of them on a semi-impromptu 9-hour drive to Virginia and met IRL for the first time. First ever all-night solo trip, one of the best days of my life.

This might’ve been the year I got the VFD eye tattooed on my ankle, though I can’t swear to that.

Was part of my first long-form tabletop RPG with friends from college (and friends-of-friends). Was very emotional and also quite gay.

Rediscovered Megamind thanks to excellent fanfiction. That shit is still great.

Currently the best year I’ve ever had.

Most regrettable 2017 memory: I should’ve attended my graduation from library school instead of deciding it didn’t matter. It mattered a lot.

Most awesome 2017 memory: Seeing the-artist-formerly-known-as-ciphernetics in person.

2018:

Cringy 2018 photo: Um, apparently we don’t get one, because there’s an image limit to these posts. Lame.

Was laid off and took 6 months to find another full-time job. Spent most of that time depression-napping.

Said full-time job lasted 4 months before I ran like my shoes were on fire, because it was morally . . . suspicious and left me borderline suicidal.

Got very fat because I was too miserable to stop eating.

Had to cut my hair so I would look “professional.” Looked like my ex-boyfriend. My mom said I “looked like a Trump supporter.” To-date the meanest thing anyone’s ever said to me.

Moved back in with my parents due to not-having-job-ness (got to bring the cat, though).

Lost parents’ health insurance and had to pay for my own. Discovered health insurance is ridiculously expensive.

Became super left-leaning thanks to the power of Tumblr and Youtube (and possibly that super expensive health insurance thing).

Writing came to a virtual standstill, though I managed to organize and actually finish participating in all of Gwenvid Week (for the first time).

Two weeks after quitting the job from hell and three weeks after moving back in with the parents, I was offered my old position back. Accepted. Was once again a college librarian.

Most regrettable 2018 memory: Knowing I didn’t want the nightmare job and accepting it anyway. Might’ve been the only choice, but it caused a lot of unhappiness.

Most awesome 2018 memory: The day I was laid off, I hopped on a plane and went to fucking Disney World. Because why not?

2019:

Started work again. Finally (mostly) stopped having panic attacks about being fired/laid off out of the middle of nowhere around 8 months into new job.

Fewer paper cuts than expected.

Accidentally became associated with dinosaurs at work, despite not having any sort of special affinity for dinosaurs.

Did develop a deep and abiding affinity for octopus. Also elephants.

Took cat to doctor. Cat didn’t enjoy doctor. Cat is now 8 lbs. and 14 oz. She is big girl.

Rediscovered the joy of reading again. Newly discovered that mysteries actually can be pretty awesome, and read barely anything else all year. (Personal recommendations: The 7 1/2 Deaths of Evelyn Hardcastle by Stuart Turton and Waisted by Randy Susan Meyers.)

So. Many. Youtube. Video. Essays.

Discovered Stardew Valley mods and eventually broke 3k hours of playtime.

Napped frequently. Panicked less frequently. It’s a step in the right direction.

Most regrettable 2019 memory: This post sure is long and over-share-y, isn’t it? Didn’t even include a cut so you could more easily scroll past my face. Inconsiderate, is what that is.

Most awesome 2019 memory: This one is pretty good. Right now.

2020:

???

Profit.

#all right the 2010s were weird #random forest ramblings about my life i guess #here you go

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rwbyremnants · 5 years

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WARNINGS: domestic/child abuse, burning-related injury, occasional smut, minor character death. Some brief incest in the MUCH later chapters. Not affiliated with the similarly-named fanfic by DinasEmrys (which I haven't read, just saw the name when checking to see if the name I liked for this was already taken).

Welcome to probably THE longest solo project I've ever done! This version of Vale is set in America in the late 1950s, the era of greasers and sock hops - even though I didn’t make a big deal about trying to be SUPER period accurate. The fic does go a little off the rails in the latter half, but not too badly. It's going to be a long and bumpy ride but I hope you'll strap in, I had a LOOOOOT of fun with this one. Enjoy, cats and kittens!

=Chapter 1

"Announcing the arrival of Her Majesty, Princess Schnee."

For the fifth time that day, Weiss Schnee tried to walk as fast as she could past the rough girls who hung out in front of locker 134. The Dragons , whispers in the cafeteria had informed her. They were always there, always dressed in matching black leather jackets with yellow stripes down the sleeves, and always said uncouth things about most of the “nice girls” in school. She knew they were just ignorant and poor, and clearly had no idea what they were talking about. Her parents had told her as much, and she always trusted her parents. Why would they ever steer her wrong?

However, the stares from the blonde with the vaguely Asian features were different. Sure, the brunette with the flaming eyes and the one in the beret and aviator sunglasses just jeered and flipped her off, yelled things or giggled along with the rest. The amber-eyed vixen blew a cheeky kiss. But the expression of the one with such long, luxurious blonde hair was almost captivated. Obsessed. That look got to her, even if she couldn't figure out why.

"Gonna get you, Schnee," she catcalled again, causing her other four or five associates to burst out laughing. But she wasn't laughing - just grinning darkly. "Gonna get you, get you, GET youuuuu..."

"You will not!" Weiss finally snapped. This had been going on for over a week and she had reached her limit. The clique looked vaguely surprised she had spoken up, waiting to hear more. "You'll show me the respect I deserve as a fellow human being, you... you BRUTE!"

The others started going "WOOOOOO", but the ringleader - Weiss was only guessing, she didn’t know the first thing about gangs - ignored them and walked right up to her, away from the pack. She stood her ground, even though she could feel her heart thudding up into her throat in terror the closer she got.

"You want me to be a brute," she growled in a low voice - one for just the two of them. “You like it.”

"No, I… don’t be a pest. I want you to leave me alone. All of you!"

"They will. If you let me be a brute to you. Just me."

Blinking, she took a slight step back. "Wh-what on earth are you talking about?! No, I don't want anyone to be a brute to me! Go take a long walk off a short pier!"

"Let me. Just once. If you still don't like it... we'll all back off." Her index finger flashed out and ran along the scar on Weiss's cheek, just below her left eye. The one mark disfiguring her otherwise-flawless features. "Yang Xiao Long will make you forget whatever put that on your pretty face, baby."

Weiss felt her stomach disappear. Nobody was impolite enough to comment on her scar - usually. The memory that went along with it always made it hard for her to think, or to respond. "You... w-what... I- that's none of your-"

“Great. Meet me after you get outta cheerleading practice. Parking lot. Don't be late or I'll be rougher... unless that's what you want." Then she waved over her shoulder and went back to her friends as they hooted and stomped their feet, clapping her on the back as if she had accomplished something.

Funny thing was, she might really have. As Weiss hurried on to class, she realised she was probably going to do exactly what the Dragon called Yang asked. And she didn't understand why.

------------------------

"You came."

All of Weiss's books were pressed to her chest protectively as she glanced around the bustling car park. It was a security blanket measure - a shield that gave her a false sense of safety. "I did. You, um... you said you'd leave me alone if I don't like, um, whatever it is you're going to do, so j-just get it over with."

"Not so fast," the blonde hoodlum said as she sat on her motorcycle. All of her "girls" had one, but the other bikes were gone; she had told them to take off without her, apparently. "Hop on."

"No."

Yang's eyebrows went up. "Little Miss Schnee, what can the matter be?"

"I'm not going anywhere with you ."

"Ohhhh. You sure about that?" Standing up from the leather saddle of her mechanical steed, she slowly paced around behind Weiss, moving with the languid grace of a wild cat stalking its prey. When she had reached her back, she began pushing gently - it wasn't even hard, or "rough" as she had promised earlier. Just a nudging until she was standing up against the metal frame of the Harley.

"You... have a beautiful bike." Why did she say that? There was absolutely no need for her to compliment that delinquent's motorcycle!

"Pretty great, yeah. Needs one more accessory."

Gulping, she tried to look over her shoulder, but Yang was hovering directly in the blind spot behind her head. "And... what is that?"

Strong hands encircled her waist, lifted her easily into the air - and she did yelp, but it was weak, pathetic. She was ashamed of that yelp, and the next one that came when she felt her butt connecting with a leather seat.

"Got it now; a little paper-shaker with baby blue eyes. Perfect ornament."

The hands weren't leaving her hips. Then other hips were pressing into the backs of hers, cold leather grazing her arms and making her shiver. Hot breath on her neck. Her skin crawled even as her heart pounded and her mouth went dry.

"Stop," she begged in a whisper.

"I can't, Schnee. Not until I've been your ‘brute’, remember? Then I'm gone if you want me gone." Her face leaned over and she gave her a level, penetrating gaze from inches away. "Unless you can't even handle that much."

Why did she find it so hard to say a simple "no" to this woman? Her lips were speaking before she gave them any commands.

"I can handle whatever you got."

Her mouth split into a grin as she reached forward and gripped the handlebars, revving the engine. "Good. I won't hold back."

They peeled out from the curb, and Weiss felt her heart shooting into her throat. She’d never gone so fast before! Surely this wasn’t safe, and they had no protective gear! But Yang was completely confident behind her, a warm, solid presence. If she wasn’t afraid, then neither was Weiss. Even if she was and just wanted to appear as if she wasn’t. However, there was one question filling her mind: where were they going?

------------------------

Arriving didn’t answer the question at all.

"What... is this place?"

"A bar." After killing the engine, her flaxen-haired captor hopped off her bike, then turned to lift Weiss down. Her hands were like hot vice grips, but were gone just as quickly once she set her down.

"Wait, I'm not- we are not old enough! To go in there, I mean!"

"Relax," she laughed harshly. "They have food, too - and they don't serve kids booze. Even though I’ve seen Cinder get some under the table before."

Weiss’s heart was pounding as she looked up at the dark brown edifice. Smoky windows, bluesy rock music coming from the walls. A sign that said "Junior's" that flashed in pink neon letters above the door - and other neon signs of various colours advertising brands of alcohol. Never in her life had she come within fifty feet of such a place. Her stomach was a mess of butterflies.

The door opened. Two people came out, kissing. Two MEN. One blonde, and one whose hair was the least natural shade of blue she'd ever seen. And they didn't seem to care that two girls were standing around nearby - ones that weren't old enough to drink as much as they probably had.

"C'mon, we'll grab my usual table."

"Oh... okay." And Weiss found herself stumbling along behind her, trying to keep up.

Inside was worse. Dingy floors, bad lighting, and a powerful smell of liquor. The patrons at the bar were all drunk as skunks with an assortment of empty glasses in front of them. The booths and tables were evenly split between people with food and people without. Yang headed straight for one and plunked down, putting both feet up on the seat opposite her so that Weiss had no choice but to squeeze in next to her on the bench.

"Hey," she purred, looping an arm around her back. Weiss only gulped, and she motioned for the waitress to come over. "Two gut busters and an order of fries. Oh, and what do you want to drink? Scotch and soda?"

"Just a soda," she replied meekly while Yang grinned, amused with herself. She hated hearing herself sound so weak, but the waitress - with her muscled arms and no-nonsense attitude - made her feel like making any sudden moves or speaking out of turn would mean her death. She tried again. "Cherry cola."

"Same," Yang said smoothly. "I like cherries." Her designs on Weiss had to be obvious, but the waitress didn't seem to care - and didn't speak. She just wrote down their orders and went into the back.

"Are… you sure the food is… safe for human consumption?"

"Hey, I've been eating here since I was a half-pint. Never did me any harm."

"That's debatable."

The thug's face twisted into a slight sneer. She leaned closer and closer, eyes heavy-lidded and scowling, breath heaving. For a few seconds, Weiss had no idea what she was going to do - hit her? Kiss her? Shove her onto the floor and tell her she was worthless? All the possibilities played out in her mind, and she hated them all. Or didn't. She couldn't be sure, couldn't be sure of anything.

But then Yang grinned and muttered, "I knew I liked you. Like how you stand up to me. Nobody else at school does. Got spunk, and I like it."

"But I don’t like it, though. This, this… whatever this is." Breathing shallow and fast, she ignored the two glasses of soda left at their table and kept going, as if she couldn’t stop the words from spilling out. "And I don't know what's wrong with me, why I'm here with you, I… I loathe you! Hate everything about you, that smug face, your 'tough girl' act, ALL of it! I can't stand your existence!"

"Really? Why are you here then, if you hate my guts?" Weiss didn't answer, so she leaned in and pressed her lips right up against her ear. Their bodies were so close she could feel the heat pouring off her chest from her low-cut top. "You're curious. And your curiosity is going to get you brute -alized."

The emphasis on the first half of "brutalized" worried her a lot less than if there had been no emphasis at all, but she still was sitting there, biting her bottom lip and trying not to cry or run away, trying not to lash out again for fear of what might happen if she did.

"You like that. Right there." Still whispering, she raised her other hand and began to caress Weiss's shoulder. "You need this feeling. The rush. Pampered little princess like you has never had it before anywhere in your life, and I give it to you, and you hate that I'm where you can get it… but you want the rush more than you want to tell me to get lost."

"M-maybe! Maybe I do, but I hate this, and I hate myself for not hating this enough! Why do you even do this to girls? Why me?! Y-you… you're too…"

The minute the tears were leaking down her cheeks, even though her face barely changed, Yang's hand came up to cup the back of her head and pull her into her shoulder. Weiss clutched at her back as hard as she could, nails digging into the leather. She was surprised at herself for not pushing Yang away - what was the matter with her?

"Alright. Alright, nobody's really hurting you. You're fine. Sorry if I pushed too hard."

"You did! You wanted me to break!"

"Not break. Just... break on through to the other side. The wild side." Pulling back, she wiped the tears away with one thumb - as if she'd done it before. Maybe many times. "Sometimes, you gotta push through the pain to get to the good stuff. Nothing worth having comes for free, right?"

Somehow, even though the "sorry" had seemed insincere at first, the piercing nature of her violet eyes and the way she wasn't blinking, wasn't looking away as she soothed her with well-placed words, convinced Weiss that she might really mean what she said. And the heart in her throat was telling her to trust that. To trust her .

"Really?" Sniffling and hating how she sounded, she shrugged and asked, "What kind of good stuff?"

"Later," she chuckled provocatively. Then her expression softened the slightest amount as she said, "But I bet you're starting to feel better right about... now."

Against all sanity, she was. The brief moment of crying and confrontation had made her a lot less fearful, less ready to snap. She still wasn't sure if she should actually trust a girl like Yang, but she no longer wanted to run screaming to the bathroom and sob into a toilet bowl.

"Yeah. There ya go."

"And there you go," said the waitress in her gruff voice as she put a plate down in front of each of them, and a basket of fries between. Without saying anything else, she left the check on the table and sauntered away.

"Wait until you try these," she said with a little less toughness and a little more earnest excitement. "You'll never go back to Mickey D's again."

"I don't go there in the first place." However, they did look like pretty solid burgers - overflowing with tomatoes and pickles, semi-melted cheese dripping down the bottom bun. She picked hers up to inspect, curling her lip.

"It won't bite. Well... not since yesterday."

Weiss decided to ignore that ominous comment and took a bite. It was every bit as delicious as Yang claimed, though the grease running down her chin made her panic and grab a napkin to catch it before it ruined her clothes. Yang chuckled but didn’t mention it otherwise; simply dug into her own food and watched the prim and proper girl feed her face.

"How is it?" she finally asked about halfway through the burger.

"It's… so wrong that it's right."

Grinning wolfishly, she leaned in and took a bite of the other end of the burger - away from Weiss's mouth, but trapping it between them for the briefest of seconds. Pulling back, she chewed and swallowed, then whispered, "Welcome to my world."

------------------------

Half an hour later, Yang's motorcycle was growling through the old neighbourhoods, sending echoes off the buildings. Still having no idea where she was being taken, Weiss tried not to act surprised when they pulled up in front of the old abandoned train depot.

"Oh," she breathed when Yang hopped off. "This… is it? Your hideout?"

"That's not how I think of it," she grunted as she helped Weiss down and started toward the broken-down shell of a building. Shifting a couple of boards aside, she managed to edge her way through the door - and her hand remained on the boards for Weiss to step through.

"You can't be serious."

"As a heart attack."

"There are probably a thousand ways to get tetanus in there!" No response. Letting out a frustrated growl, Weiss stomped forward and tried to squirm her way through the opening without letting anything touch her.

All she got for her trouble was a swat on the backside, one that caused her to shriek - and Yang to shriek with laughter. Ignoring that as best she could, she followed her up the nearby set of stairs to the old offices, and through one of the open doorways.

Inside were several old wooden chairs, and a comfortable couch that had seen far better days. On top of the couch was a crisp, clean linen sheet, which helped to lessen her disgust. In addition, there were two tables, the smaller one covered in candles of various sizes. As the sun was just beginning to set, Yang wasted no time taking out a Zippo and lighting them.

"You sure know how to show a girl a good time," Weiss told her, voice heavy with sarcasm.

"We’re barely getting started, Schnee," Yang said, turning back to her. When Weiss tensed, she lowered herself down into a bestial stance. "Gonna get you, GET you, GE-"

"STOP THAT." Yang was grinning, but she did stand up from her crouch, one hand on her hip. "Now, I… I don't know what exactly you thought you were going to do with me here, but there's not going to be any-"

Her words cut off when she felt Yang's hands alight upon her hips, thumbs massaging her gently. Dark eyes stabbing down into hers, even though they were barely visible in the low lighting. There had to be words left that could take her out of this situation, that would force the uncouth girl in the leather to release a princess of such high breeding. Why couldn't she think? Why did being this close cloud her brain?

"Any what?" Weiss dropped her gaze, so Yang urged, "Go on."

"Hanky panky."

The leader laughed in her face. Actually laughed, loudly and riotously, and Weiss felt her cheeks colour for an entirely new reason now: embarrassment. "Seriously?! That's how you wanna put it?!"

"Then how would you put it, if you're so, so… well-travelled?!"

One hand reached up to her neck, grabbing it from behind - not just cupping it, but the fingertips digging into either side. Her heart stopped, her stomach tightened into a knot. And before her mind could catch up with current events, Yang was kissing her, pressing hot lips into hers and sliding them across each other, tugging gently at Weiss's lower one. Everything about her body was completely useless as she stood there and took it, as she let this insane event that she could never have envisioned unfold, starring a double of herself who apparently had no willpower at all.

But it felt better than anything she'd ever experienced, even if she hated thinking that. Better than walking in the rain when she was a small child, better than her bed in the morning when she didn't want to get up. Better enough to be the best.

When Yang finally pulled her away with that strong hand, she breathed, "Words... don't really work for that."

Slowly, Weiss's hand came up and brushed her own lips. That really happened. Some girl from her school - some GIRL - had just taken away her first kiss. Maybe it had been perfect in every way other than its origin, but that was still a first she could never do over again.

"Hey, what is it?" Yang asked, eyebrows knitting slightly as she leaned in - and the instant she did, she set off a reaction.

SLAP!

The blonde's eyes were so wide they looked like they might fall out. Hand pressed to her cheek, she slowly turned back to look at Weiss, who was standing there, huffing and puffing with her fists clenched down by her sides, arms straight, blue eyes sparking and jaw clenched.

"You hit me," Yang said in a low voice.

"I did!" she snapped angrily. "Wh… what are you going to do about it, you neanderthal? Push me down? Make me yours, or hurt me, o-or kill me, or what?! I don't care! I'm… I'm not your toy!"

Weiss was fully prepared to bolt from the room at a moment's notice. Yes, she was a cheerleader and a star athlete in physical education class, but she had a feeling that if she got in a fight with Yang, she would lose. And perhaps not survive the encounter.

But she was not prepared for the pain that slowly crept into the thug’s face. Revulsion, confusion. Lowering her hand, she did indeed close it into a fist, but what she said was very different from Weiss’s expectations.

"You really think… I would ever harm a hair on your head? That I'm that kind of person?"

"How should I know?! All you ever do is say you're going to 'get' me!" Her arms gestured at their surroundings, at the remote and abandoned nature of them. "Well, you have me now! Are you going to finish 'getting' me or not?!"

Then Yang's face started to get more and more angry. She wasn't moving, but she also wasn't saying anything else. More than anything, Weiss found that to be terrifying - because she couldn't figure out what it meant.

Not wasting any more time, she fled out the doorway and down the stairs. Whether she had a ride home or not, she didn't want to spend another moment with the brute. She had done her time.

Of course Weiss expected to hear the racket of the motorcycle coming up from behind. Her insides clenched in fear at the sound, but she'd known it was a possibility.

"GET ON!"

"NO!" she called over without even looking, arms tucked tight around her body. "Leave me alone!"

"I can't, you stupid nitwit! Get on the bike!"

Finally, Weiss's pace slowed and she turned to glare at the blonde, trying to ignore the intensity in her face - to ignore the fullness of the lips that had just done unspeakable things moments ago. "Not going anywhere with you, ever again! You tried to take advantage of me!"

"I did not! I tried to wake you up outta that boring life you have! You're not happy without a little spice - and you know it!" Glancing at the road ahead of her, she repeated, "But this ain't about that! Get on!"

"Never again, okay?! I..." Finally, she stopped, and Yang followed suit. "You shouldn't have done that, you didn’t even ask! I'm not a… whatever you are, that isn't me, and you had no right to try to t-turn me into one! And I think you knew that, so you pretending you're not to blame is so childish!"

Her hand reached out for Weiss's forearm. "Schnee-"

"SHUT UP! Don't touch me!" Jerking away, she started to walk again. "Just leave me alone! Go find another target for your candles and your… your advances!"

"This ain't about me!" Vaulting off her bike, she grabbed Weiss from behind. "Get on the bike, right now, you goddamn idiot!"

"WHAT?!" Struggling, she tried to kick Yang - and succeeded. Didn't seem to make a bit of difference. "Let me go! What are you doing - how dare you go any further after I specif-"

"QUIET!" she hissed hard. "You don't want them to hear us!"

"MAYBE I DO! MAYBE I WANT THE WHOLE WORLD TO HEAR ME!"

Losing her patience, Yang spun her around and glared directly into her eyes, talking more quietly than ever. "You don't know where you are, cupcake. This place, it's safe for me. Barely . Not for you. So I'm not letting you out of my sight until you're back in the La La Land you normally call home."

"Excuse me?! I didn't ASK you to protect me!"

"Who cares?" Yang growled. "Doesn't matter if either of us wants that. It's just happening. Get on or I'll literally roll along next to you the whole way, but I promise you're gonna be in a lot more danger the slower we go."

Finally, the fog from the kiss seemed to roll back within Weiss's mind, and she saw how Yang was actually shaking . Not from rage, but from anxiety - from fear on her behalf. This was the first time she had ever looked afraid of anything to her knowledge, and that stopped her from responding with another flippant dismissal.

"You're serious. There are really… this is where a dangerous element hangs out?" A brief nod. "Then why would you bring me here?!"

"Like I said, nobody will scrap with me. They know they'll go down; even if they take me, my girls will come for revenge. On the other hand, a little piece of penny candy like you, walking all by herself? That’s no challenge at all." Her hand reached up to Weiss's cheek, but when she saw her flinch she stopped an inch away. "Just... do us both a favour and get on the damn bike. I'll take you home."

The prospect caused Weiss to glare. "You really will? No games, no detours, nothing?"

"Promise."

"Schnees stand by their promises. They also don't forgive people who break them." Glancing over her shoulder at how one of the streetlights was flickering on and off, she took a step toward the bike. "This is your last chance. Don't toy with me."

"Scout's honour." Then she picked Weiss up and sat her on the bike, as before, and slid on behind her. "You better… Yang on tight." The roar of the engine drowned out the sound of Weiss's groan at the horrible line.

------------------------

By the time Yang followed Weiss's clipped directions to her house in Atlas Heights - a neighbourhood where Yang's noisy hog was most certainly unwelcome - both of them had calmed down significantly, though there was still a great deal of tension. After helping her down, Yang allowed the engine to idle as she turned to her.

"You stopped a little short," Weiss remarked.

"Wouldn't want your mommy and daddy to see you getting dropped off by me." Reaching down into her saddlebag, she produced Weiss's books and pushed them into her arms gently. "Take it easy, Schnee."

"Wait." Yang didn't say anything or move. "You… I don't know if you were being honest about the danger back there or not. But even if you exaggerated slightly, I guess I appreciate being driven home."

"Believe me, I undersold it. You gotta be tough as nails to hang out in my neck of the woods. The only reason nobody messes with my creampuff little sister is because they know she's my little sister. And the Dragons are always safe, of course."

That made her blink slightly. "You have a little sister?"

"Yeah, she's a junior. Why, that surprise you?" Then she grinned, half-wolfishly but half-wan. "Probably thought I grew out of some kind of tree fungus."

"The possibility had crossed my mind, yes." Biting her lip, she glanced over toward her house, then back. "What happened… in the depot. Why did you have to do it? That was the scariest, most horrible thing that ever happened in my life."

"You liked it." When Weiss ground her teeth together, Yang held up both hands. "Just calling 'em like I see 'em, Princess. If you really didn't want me to kiss you, it never would have happened; you're not some weakling, even if you’re not a roughneck like me. So somewhere, deep down, you were at least curious, even if that's all there was to it. And now you satisfied that curiosity. You’re welcome."

Weiss wanted to shout at her, to deny everything. But there was no use in delaying the inevitable. "So maybe it did feel good. That does not mean I wanted it with you, and does not mean I want it to happen again, alright?!"

"Fine. It won't." Yang's smile finally faded again. "And I won't bother you again at school; none of the Dragons will. You tried being with a brute, and I think you liked it more than you want to admit… but if you're really done with your test drive, that's cool. Held up your end of the bargain, so I'm not gonna go back on my word."

"Fine. Guess that's honourable of you. See you in class." With that, she turned and walked up the sidewalk.

“Night, Schnee.”

But when she got to her door, she couldn't help but look again. Yang was still on her bike, still staring up at the house. Waiting for her to make it safely inside. Her mouth dropped open, but she decided to suppress any and all urges to call out to her, or otherwise alter her course. They had already agreed to leave things that way. So she gave a brief wave and went inside, and that was that.

Except it wasn't. After she had unloaded her books, finished what little homework she had left to do and readied for bed, there was no longer anything to distract her from the intrusive thoughts about Yang's kiss. About how much more exhilarated she had felt than ever before in the entirety of her short life. Against her will and all her best planning, she rolled over and squealed into the pillow at the thought of what had happened.

First kisses always do that to a person.

#Princess and The Dragons #freezerburn #freezerburn fanfic #1950s AU #rwby fanfiction #rwbyremnants

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solskinns · 4 years

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Gold Over the Heart

It's a simple night in the city of true perfection; even the horrors of night have no power to tarnish the beauty of the city lights from above on top of some of the tallest buildings. Such a scenery allows me to see the cars below as if they are mice or rats and my good friend Lanced-Moonlight looks down too. I believe clarification is needed though, I am the great Captain-Daylight; hero in the thriving city of Perfania though I personally want that ‘f’ to be a ‘v’ however that is me getting ahead of myself. My ability of great strength and flight has made me the hero of light. Though my friend ends up my opposite as the night's final answer wielding a lance more like a bow-staff. He sees the city that he holds so dearly to his heart.

“Look at them all, at ANY time ANY of them could end up in jail if they make even a single wrong move” He said worryingly.

“Do not fret old friend, soon we can make sure the utopia we achieved remains so” My answer became. Indeed this city couldn't be better of its painful perfection after the work of war being neutralized. What WAS here was the rubble of a broken city doomed for apocalypse upon its fallout during the 1950s and war in the 1960s! Therefore, upon the end of the war, peace had settled in at last with the help of me and my fellow men that took the call to action. Now the buildings stand taller than ever a renaissance beginning with a bigger, scattered, more functional Stonehenge towering over those who innocently roam the streets; truly, a paradise has been made in hopes of it being maintained!

It always seemed to be the alleyway, however, that was still as dark as it always was aside from the litter and graffiti that no longer marks these areas, though warning signs for innocent strangers are what fashion them now. It makes the roundup of bad guys much easier honestly.

“You know Lanced-Moonlight, such heroism is quite difficult for keeping morale amongst our public; how is it you are maintaining such popularity?” I question sitting against a wall with him holding his lance like a once warrior now king, waiting for his next challenger pridefully.

“John, must we go through with the reasoning of your failure as a hero on the daily now?” He questions back with disappointment in his tone. I could tell it was disappointment laid true considering his mention of my name and his heart seeming unwilling to mention it once more. It's also possible that he doesn't want to be here anyway.

“It has boggled my mind then and it still does NOW, so I believe it is still needed, yes” I say so a bit assertively with my kind wish for advice

He sighs defeated “Well if you MUST know, you are completely out of your league; powers of the strong with a mind for the weak” he scoffs as if disgusted and continues “Where I am able to take down the villains to the delight of our fans, YOU are criticized time and time again by your methods”

Like always, I'm shocked by the response I got “Methods? Well why woul-”

He cuts me off “Don't you see your excitement is killing your reputation for what you do?!” He blurted out of a hate for WHAT I do rather than me specifically.

I basically wait till he's done which he took as me speechless.

“They all love me because I don't bother with horrifying acts like that and they ALL have feelings that you of all people have a dark side to yourself,”

“well that goes for you too my frie-”

Once again he cut me off from my little joke “Me included…” Now THIS was a new one and worst of all, it felt like he kept that in for practically MONTHS!

He gets up from the cold low hair of concrete and brick and looks down at the alley he has been on the lookout for as his eyes narrow to a group down there, so he tries to finish our shorter of talks “I suggest that you change your acts before you get labeled a madman and get thrown in the prison, I'm sure they'd LOVE to talk to you there” he jumps down and next thing I end up hearing is the punching and even cracking of bones. Not a single scream or beg for mercy was uttered by the my old friend!

The next day, my rest in a simple mattress was rather nice; my apartment room was small with a kitchen, bathroom, and bedroom all wrapped into a nice package the size of half an attic really. I manage getting out of bed and do my daily routine of perfect hygiene, a great breakfast of eggs, bacon, and pancakes filling my nostrils and my stomach, and finally dressing up in my uniform of the white suit with the significant C in a sun as well as yellow gloves and boots for this occasion. OH, and can't forget my flowing yellow cape to fly in.

With all the essentials, I fly out the window, close it, feel the sun return my abilities in full force, and patrol the streets of a perfect city, no crowds and no trouble either. I could feel the wind flow my well cut and positioned hair as the only sounds I get to hear up here is the public enjoying their lives without a second thought. That is until I find a line decorating a single sidewalk to an expo center. Now what on earth is all this? I look for a sign on the building and oh I thought seeing Lanced-Moonlight’s daily routine of the morning. I decided to float my way slowly to the expo that would be the the most average sized building in the city.

People and even security allowed me inside without the need to wait in line. Upon arriving, it was clear as day, Lanced-Moonlight was signing autographs and selling his recent stories for all to see his work. Not to mention his merchandise flying off the shelves like a tornado took all the good products! There DOES exist my merchandise, but, like every time, it lays dormant and fully stocked. Only a select few have wandered there just because the Lanced-Moonlight stuff is long gone.

“AH, the Captain of Daylight himself” He says smiling smiling at me and getting up. His costume is visual and his navy blue suit is shown with a crescent shaped moon and stars making an L shape. He sports a scarf of pure white with only a few light gray spots here and there. Simply put, he stays my opposite in every way “HEY EVERYONE ‘GOODY-GOODY’ IS HERE TO TELL MY STORY TO YOU GUYS! Aren't you pal?” patting my shoulder with a nice grin directed to me. He also jokes with me seeming like a ‘goody-goody’ he calls it.

“Sure, I'd like to” I recite the story as I heard it for myself and how I didn't join due to me...having faith in his ability to do it alone...yeah. The audience would correct me on the violent acts he did and laugh at my cowardice as I portrayed it “and there you go, the story of another victory for the Lanced-Moonlight against the dreaded Jaded-Key” I really assumed it was the villain who could open any door through his incredible strength; it simply made sense from the voice. He segued me off to the side as to give himself more attention. It didn't matter to me though, I did what he wished and that's all I want, besides, I'm going to be late for MY meet and greet.

I fly off in the lower streets where kids usually have trouble around here and sure enough, I snatch a cat from a tree and talk to its owner about this behavior, I get a kid a brand new balloon to replace the one in the same tree as well as scold him for doing it for the seventh time this month, and even stop some roughhousing between four kids while having them make up for past mistakes. They all say the same thing “get away” “I can't talk to mean strangers” “so what old man” and my favorite “go jump on the meanie-trainy” the imaginations on these children seem to never end. It all passes by me though; I helped them and I'm okay with that. What madness it is to get that across others and to say I'm not crazy which once more, I protest still, my mind is sane and well.

I fly on down to the gray box of inescapable brick and I stand proudly in front of it, opening the doors that contain these villains all that have destroyed or stole in some way or another. I walk past every cell with names flashing by; Winged-Zapter, Professor Gulp, Sea-beast, and then Jaded Key which I stop at. There were others beyond his cell, but I don't need them now, for now it's HIM I need! I take my breath and get ready for my vile deed to the city. Delay is no longer an option. I must do this. For my city. For my people...I open the door as it creaks in the way a metal door would to see him peacefully sitting on the bed.

I smile relieved; he could escape easily with his strength and yet he sits. I take a seat on the other end of the bed as my position is to him so we can have this be done and over with“good morning, Jake, I trust you slept well today”

He smirks at my mention of his real name “better than ever, but ya kept me waiting” he responds gladly.

“Oh, well I had some delays on the way here, you know me” I chuckled.

“Yeah, hero business and what not” He says understandably.

“Now...let us talk about what happened yesterday,” this is no interrogation “how was it?” this is my horrible act that I pull every single day

“Well ya see…” he responds with how he was just fine with all the chaos that was going on. Do I regret what I do because the fans won't give me fame from what I do? Am I tricking this man? Do my acts cause pain and sorrow to those I face? Absolutely NOT! Why? Because despite the city claiming its openness to all, the people of PerVania do not see the segregation that still reigns supreme and is even SUPPORTED by the likes of the Lanced-Moonlight!

Therefore, as the only light in the dark, I believe everyone deserves a second chance...EVERYONE!

*CUT*

Coming this week; the next story concept of a perfect world trying to figure out how to remain perfect. This short story is not the real thing and Captain-Daylight as well as Lanced-Moonlight will not be this simple. Lanced will be lighter and less selfish than that while the 'bad guys' are typical villains instead of criminals. Daylight is more optimistic while also somewhat ignorant to the big picture as he only saves lives and unintentionally gain fame amongst the audience. Just as further salt on the wound, the audience is okay with all of this. No worries though, a hitman in a world where corporations are all there is has been thrusted into this world of a classic and tired formula...this is more comedy as I create it so maybe look forward to that. Until then, keep the sun shining! Buh-byye

#Painful Perfection #Superheroes #moral compass #Rights of a Hero #A pilot of sorts #Captain-Daylight #Lanced-Moonlight #Is villainy mostly mistakened?

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dweemeister · 3 years

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Movie Odyssey Retrospective

Cinderella (1950)

In the first few decades of Walt Disney Productions’ (now Walt Disney Animation Studios) existence, the studio veered perilously between periods of feast and famine. The success of Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (1937), Dumbo (1941), and the modestly-budgeted films of the package era kept the studio afloat despite Walt Disney’s occasionally disastrous business instincts and rotten luck due to World War II cutting off European audiences. With WWII concluded, Disney’s propaganda commitments to the federal government and tightened budgets were no more. With the exception of the aftermath from the release of The Black Cauldron (1985), the studio’s survival has not been seriously endangered since. That is in large part because of the gamble that is Cinderella, directed by Clyde Geronimi, Hamilton Luske, and Wilfred Jackson.

Any rebirth for Disney animated features depended on Cinderella’s success. Not since Dumbo had so much been riding on one of the studio’s movies – especially now as Walt was dividing his attention between animation, live-action features, television, a preliminary plan to build a small play park, and collaborating with the FBI to root out suspected communists at his own studio. More later on Cinderella’s legacy (I think you, the reader, have an idea about what happened to the Disney studios after this), but the film was the fifth highest-grossing movie in North American theaters that year, ahead of Born Yesterday and behind Cheaper by the Dozen and Annie Get Your Gun. In various ways, Cinderella is among the most important movies in the Disney animated canon, even if it does little to nothing to elevate animation in cinema and contains issues that have metastasized in subsequent Disney animated features.

Decades before the Disney name became synonymous with fairy tales and princesses, the writing team assigned to Cinderella used Snow White as their template on this film. The opening minutes of Cinderella share much of Snow White’s alchemy: the opening of an ornate storybook, an orphaned young woman whose lot in life is to be a rag-wearing scullery maid, that same woman singing about dreams to an audience of animals that instinctively know of her kindness. What starts off too similarly like the second coming of Snow White then descends into an overstretched sequence of the animals’ tomfoolery (half the film is dedicated to the animals’ hijinks!).

Cinderella’s animals, unlike those in Snow White, are fully anthropomorphic – they wear clothes, converse with Cinderella in their high-pitched squeak-talking, tiptoe around the obviously villainous cat named Lucifer, and make fools of themselves to entertain the youngest set. In the opening minutes, Cinderella squanders its serviceable musical opening for vapid hilarity as it unlearns the lessons that began with Snow White and reached its apotheosis with Bambi (1942). In works where animals live alongside humans, animal side characters serving as comic relief are most effective and timeless when they behave like animals, not humans. Disney’s animated canon has been hampered by this development – one codified by Cinderella and, in its foulest iterations in recent decades (e.g. 2005′s Chicken Little), originates from commercial, not artistic, decision-making. The excessive screentime for the animals in the film’s opening third and especially the heavily gender-coded dialogue and behavior by the mice – “Leave the sewing to the women!” – is enough to eject Cinderella from the upper echelons of the Disney animated canon.

In my review to Snow White, I wrote that the writing of female characters in Disney’s animated canon films reflects the writers’ understanding of gendered roles in their respective times. Cinderella expressly looked to Snow White for inspiration after two decades where the Great Depression and World War II upended traditional gender norms. In the 1930s and ‘40s, thousands of American women found themselves in traditionally male occupations, altering – if only for a time – popular beliefs about what might be considered masculine or feminine behavior. Over in Burbank at the Disney studios, its departments were segregated by gender (its ink and paint department was solely staffed by women, and there were no significant clusters of women elsewhere in the studio) – insulating it from this phenomenon.

As if foreshadowing the gender-conforming atmosphere of the 1950s, it should not be a surprise that Cinderella cannot envision women beyond a vessel for marriage or a homemaker. With an eye towards a prince to sweep her away from her stepmother and stepsisters, an interesting protagonist Cinderella does not make. And with Cinderella not showcasing as much of her personality as Snow White did, she feels far more inert as a character than her predecessor. However, comparable to Snow White, Cinderella’s life has been one of deprivation and a lack of healthy human interaction – one without quarter, love from others. Knowing little else about life beyond her scullery duties, it is easy to see why she holds such retrograde beliefs for her own salvation.

Cinderella’s rough beginning is nevertheless the prelude to its visual wonderment. The visuals in animated feature films are the collaborative work of hundreds – credited or otherwise – of animators, background artists, character designers, painters, inbetweeners, cinematographers, and more. Sometimes, one particular artist wields an influence that extends across an entire feature. In the correct set of circumstances, they set an aesthetic that alters the artistic direction of animated films for an entire national film industry or a single studio. For Cinderella, its visual beauty is set by its backgrounds. Tyrus Wong’s background art defined Bambi a decade earlier; here, it is Mary Blair’s work that defines Cinderella.

Blair, a modernist whose style fit the films at United Productions of America (UPA; a breakaway studio which was founded by striking Disney animators) better than Disney, had been working at the studio since 1940. She worked through the package films era and on two live-action/animation hybrids in Song of the South (1946) and So Dear to My Heart (1948). But it is Cinderella where Blair’s style – flat, graphic, abstract – is the dominant force of the film. Blair’s buildings and their arches shoot upwards, supported by architecturally impossible reed-thin columns, making rooms cavernous and façades larger than life. The sprawl of these interiors suggests not only the fantastical atmosphere that this fairy tale inhabits, but the grandiosity of Cinderella’s story. The vertical frames of Blair’s buildings are elegant and abstract, never intimidating, as if hailing from a children’s storybook. With the exception of when Cinderella is dancing with (and fleeing) Prince Charming, blues, whites, and sometimes muted greens dominate the scenes of her regal desires – as if shimmering in moonlight.

In character design, three men – all part of the “Nine Old Men” fraternity – served as supervising animators for Cinderella. I find Cinderella’s character design plainly uninteresting, but it is how she moves that will leave awestruck this film’s most vocal detractors. Marc Davis (the three principal animated characters in Song of the South, Alice in 1951’s Alice in Wonderland); Eric Larson (Peter Pan in 1953’s Peter Pan, Mowgli and Bagheera in 1967’s The Jungle Book); and Les Clark (1928’s Steamboat Willie, 1961’s One Hundred and One Dalmatians) made heavy use of rotoscoping in their attempts to animate Cinderella. Rotoscoping, developed by Max Fleischer (and made exclusive to Fleischer Studios by patent from 1915-1934), involves an animator tracing the movements over projected live-action footage as opposed to animating something from scratch or some other form of reference. As an animator traces over the footage, they may add a personal flourish – a delay or embellishment of movement – in the process. For animating humans, adhering completely to human movement via Rotoscope results in footage that looks stilted, as if hailing from a different universe than one created for an animated film. For Davis, Larson, and Clark, there hardly is a scene where Cinderella is not benefitting from rotoscoping. The rotoscoped animation allows Cinderella to move more fluidly than any human character drawn by the Disney animators at this point in the studio’s history. Whether she is scrubbing the floors, waltzing with her animal friends or Prince Charming, or making herself scarce before the stroke of midnight, there is a majestic grace to her movement – and yes, that includes the moment where she loses her glass slipper.

The less cartoonish a character acts in Cinderella, the more they are rotoscoped. So alongside Cinderella, Prince Charming and especially stepmother Lady Tremaine – the latter’s supervising character animator was Frank Thomas (an animator for the Seven Dwarfs on Snow White, supervising animator for Tod and Copper on 1981’s The Fox and the Hound) – are the two other characters heavily rotoscoped in the film. Lady Tremaine’s imposing posture and manner of dress gifts her a wordless authority over everyone residing in the Tremaine château. In contrast to Cinderella’s stepsisters – characters who act and look in ways that one might expect in a bawdy animated short film – her stern demeanor, realistically angled long face, and deliberate movements effuse opportunism, menace, spite. Lady Tremaine’s appearance, in respect to how much it contributes to the film, is a pronounced upgrade from the Queen in Snow White. She relates a spectacular amount of characterization in just a glance, a scowl. Yet, Lady Tremaine’s darkly charismatic character design would only be the appetizer to even more iconic villainous designs to appear later that decade.

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The incidental score by Oliver Wallace and Paul J. Smith is dominated by quotations from the songs, and is not nearly as independent from the soundtrack as previous Disney animated canon scores. For the first time in a Disney animated feature, the studio looked outside its Burbank campus for its songwriters. Looking towards Tin Pan Alley, Disney hired Mack David (the title songs to 1959’s The Hanging Tree, 1963’s It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World); Al Hoffman (“Papa Loves Mambo”, “A Whale of a Tale” from 1954’s 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea); and Jerry Livingston (the title songs to The Hanging Tree, 1965’s Cat Ballou). Cinderella possesses a wonderful musical score, headlined by “A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes”, “Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo”, and “So This is Love” – ignoring “The Work Song” (squeak-sung by the mice in something that set a precedent for Alvin and the Chipmunks), of course.

One of these, obviously, is unlike the others. “Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo”, sung by the Fairy Godmother (voiced by Verna Felton, who voiced the Elephant Matriarch and Mrs. Jumbo in Dumbo and, over the 1950s, became a Disney voice cast regular), is an exuberant frolic, and easily one of the best songs with nonsense lyrics in film history. Nonsense and novelty songs in Hollywood typically wear out their welcome, running a minute or more longer than they should. Clocking in at roughly one minute, the Fairy Godmother performs her magic, and promptly whisks Cinderella away to Prince Charming’s ball by song – a musical exemplar in narrative brevity.

Thirteen years following Snow White, Cinderella benefits from advances in recording technology and a richer – if not necessarily fuller – orchestral sound. Ilene Woods was primarily a radio singer, and her voice’s timbre is suited to play Cinderella. “A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes” parallels Snow White’s “I’m Wishing” in its exceptionally early placement and nowadays-formulaic function. But it is a serviceable introduction to Cinderella as a character, even with no specific dream mentioned in the lyrics. Sung with Mike Douglas (as Prince Charming), “So This is Love” is a dreamy duet, a waltz that musically defies a typical waltz. Waltzes, in ¾ time, usually have a pulse that even those not versed in music can “feel”. That pulse is usually on the downbeat, the “1”. Yet “So This is Love” generally begins its phrases and pulses on the “and” of the second beat (as one would count a measure as: “1 and 2 and 3 and”). The song’s frequent use of slurred notes, even fermatas, gives it its romantic flow and dramatic ebbs. This is an unconventional waltz, one that resists categorization and a song that would have been quite difficult to compose – despite its outwards simplicity.

Walt Disney appreciated the financial cushion that Cinderella provided (funding for the project met fierce resistance from his brother and the company’s CEO, Roy), and never truly worried about funding issues after the film’s release. The funds from Cinderella were injected across the company: for feature animation, live-action narrative features, the True-Life Adventures nature documentary series, Disney’s eventual television presence, and into purchasing a tract of orange groves in Anaheim. As for Cinderella itself, Walt could see the artistic shortcuts (rotoscoping included) in most every frame. It was no Snow White, he thought to himself. And though this 1950 adaptation was technologically superior in every way from the 1922 silent Laugh-O-Gram* short based on the same story, there seemed to be no artistic fulfillment for Walt in this Cinderella’s success.

Cinderella heralds the start of the Disney studios’ “Silver Age” – the second half of Walt Disney’s tenure as the creative ringleader at his namesake studio. Various film writers will provide conflicting definitions for these periods in Disney animation history. According to this blog, the Silver Age (1950-1967) is named as such due to the cessation of the package films and the return of more traditional animated features, Walt retreating from his once-omnipresent role in the artistic decision-making for those animated features, and the limited animation of the 1960s. However, the Silver Age is also the beginning of the studio consciously crafting large portions of these movies (if not the entire movie) explicitly for children. This is not to say films specifically for children are not worthwhile – Dumbo being a prime example. But to introduce characters, plot devices, and humor geared for children at the expense of the film’s storytelling or thematic resonance to viewers of all ages is the Disney studios at its most cynical and business-minded. These trends – that are not solely the fault of any single film – have persisted into modern animation, and are artistically incompatible with Disney’s Golden Age animated features. Those cynical trends are absent in the next Disney animated feature – an adaptation of a Lewis Carroll work that embraces a tsunami of colors and its own looniness.

To audiences in North America who had not seen a non-package animated feature in almost a decade and to war-weary audiences abroad reintroducing themselves to Disney films, Cinderella must have been an astonishing work after episodically-structured movies without a natural through line. In this Silver Age, Walt Disney and his animators would define the studio’s hallmarks – princesses, fairy tales, comic relief intended for children inserted for non-artistic reasons, and the distinctive visual style of artists like Mary Blair. Cinderella is the genesis for these developments. The Silver Age’s most innovative, accomplished work would still be several years away.

My rating: 7/10

^ Based on my personal imdb rating. Half-points are always rounded down. My interpretation of that ratings system can be found in the “Ratings system” page on my blog (as of July 1, 2020, tumblr is not permitting certain posts with links to appear on tag pages, so I cannot provide the URL).

* Founded in 1921 by Walt Disney, The Laugh-O-Gram studio was located in Kansas City, Missouri, and was the short-lived predecessor of the modern-day Walt Disney Animation Studios. Alongside future animation industry stalwarts Ub Iwerks, Hugh Harman, Rudolf Ising, and Friz Freleng, the Laugh-O-Gram studios made short animated silent films. Many of these films were based on fairy tales – including Cinderella (1922).

For more of my reviews tagged “My Movie Odyssey”, check out the tag of the same name on my blog.

This is the twentieth Movie Odyssey Retrospective. Movie Odyssey Retrospectives are reviews on films I had seen in their entirety before this blog’s creation or films I failed to give a full-length write-up to following the blog’s creation. Previous Retrospectives include 12 Angry Men (1957), Oliver! (1968), and Jingle All the Way (1996).

#Cinderella #Walt Disney #Clyde Geronimi #Hamilton Luske #Wilfred Jackson #Mary Blair #Marc Davis #Eric Larson #Les Clark #Frank Thomas #Ilene Woods #Eleanor Audley #Verna Felton #Oliver Wallace #Paul J. Smith #Mack David #Al Hoffman #Jerry Livingston #My Movie Odyssey

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midnight-macarons · 6 years

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@onyourgoat

I went and dug up the old info sheet I had on my daughter Naomi! Some of my thoughts on her have changed, but she’s still mostly the same. I’ll put it under a read more, ‘cause it’s a lot!

General Info

Name: Naomi

Nickname/s: Miss Naomi [DWMA students], Icon of Curiosity [Index]

Gender: Agender w/feminine expression and pronouns

Sexuality: Asexual/Aromantic; focus on platonic love

Age: 323

Species: Immature/Incomplete Knowledge God; Sorceress

Birthday: June 21 [Gemini/Cancer]

History: Created by Eibon as a fragment of his soul and eventual successor 321 years before the events of Soul Eater. She was designed to look like Eibon’s deceased wife. Acted as guardian of the Book of Eibon. Her soul was bound to the book to be used as a key, just as Eibon’s soul was the key to Brew. Was kept in a library slightly to the left of reality, slowly reading through what had so far been collected within the Book of Eibon, becoming familiar and even friendly with Index and his Icons of Sin. Was betrayed by Index, who allowed the Icon of Greed to steal the key from her soul via magic and trapped her within the Sloth chapter of the Book. Though released from the book after the events of Soul Eater, she has not recovered fully. A lot of what she knew before being attacked by Noah/Icon of Greed has been lost, and her abilities have been significantly reduced due to the damage done to her soul. It is no longer possible for her to take over her father’s position as the Great Old One of Knowledge. Instead, she now looks after the DWMA’s library, guarding the sensitive information present there while working to restore her memories and abilities. She tutors witches in her spare time.

Personality: One can call her a nosy person...but not in a malicious way. Her greatest desire is to understand everything about the world around her - especially the people. She enjoys sharing her varied knowledge with others, with one of her most commonly used phrases being “Did you know...?” She’s a bit disorganized, with her living space being cluttered with books, plants, knick-knacks, and scientific instruments [with which she conducts her own research on a variety of topics]. On top of being a powerful Sorceress, she is an accomplished physicist, chemist, and a serviceable doctor [though she has no medical license]. She is highly susceptible to the Madness of Knowledge, and is occasionally consumed by her desire to understand. She is resistant to the Madness of Power, however.

Hobbies: Botany and mycology, writing

Bad Habits: Going long periods of time without eating, drinking, or sleeping. Getting all up in other people’s business.

Likes: Macarons, vintage fashion, plants and fungi, learning new things, rainy weather, libraries

Dislikes: Spicy food, high heels, messy handwriting, Professor Stein, the morality that prevents her from truly knowing everything, sad movies

Abilities:

Memorization - Anything she reads/learns is stored in her mind permanently. She can recall information at a moment’s notice. There is no drawback for this skill, and it is automatic.

Telekinesis - like her father Eibon, she can move objects without touching them. She does this by moving her arms and hands - as if conducting an orchestra. The object[s] are lifted in a blue aura. However, unlike her father, she is unable to lift things without moving her arms, and cannot lift herself using this ability. If she overuses this ability, she gets headaches.

Future Sight - also like her father, she can see into the future...but only barely. She has moments of precognition where details about the future are revealed to her, but she never gets the whole picture. This ability can activate at inopportune times, distracting her from the events at hand.

Weaknesses: She is physically weak - she was not designed with combat in mind. She is very fragile and is easily injured. Additionally, she does not have a lot of stamina, so she has trouble running long distances or using her telekinesis for long periods of time. Over exerting herself results in debilitating headaches that leave her out of commission for days.

Affiliations: DWMA, Eibon

Appearance:

Naomi was created in Eibon’s wife’s image

Hair: Long white hair which she wears loosely tied back. She braids it for special occasions and puts it in a bun when she’s in one of her Fits of Curiosity.

Eyes: Extremely expressive warm brown eyes. Even when controlling her expression, her eyes may reveal her thoughts.

Skin Color: Medium-brown.

Height: 5′0″

Weight: 100lbs

Public Attire: Likes vintage dresses! Think 1950′s style, often with bows and ribbons. Her favorite looks like this!

Sleeping Attire: T-shirts that are several sizes too big with funny sayings on them worn with leggings [or nothing]. Like this!

Outdoor Attire: Jeans, flannel shirts, lace-up boots

Swimming Attire: 1950′s style one-piece bathing suits in bright colors

Formal Attire: Short cocktail dresses, always in shades of blue

Accessories: Question mark jewelry. She thinks its quirky.

Social Info:

Parent/s: Eibon [father]

Sibling/s: Index/Table of Contents [brother-ish]

Relative/s: The Icons of Sin [they’re related somehow, I just know it]

Best Friend/s: Tsubaki [and also Blair]

Friend/s: Everyone else? She’s quite the socialite despite all the time she spends reading/researching.

Enemy/s: Noah. Sure, he’s dead, but he’s also the reason she can’t become a full-fledged Knowledge God. She’s also got beef with Index and the Great Old One of Power.

Rival/s: Index. Such is the nature of siblings.

Pets: A large sentient slime mold named Gooey

Favorites:

Color: Blue

Food: Macarons

Song: Hard to pick one, but she likes Jazz

Quote: “Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back”

Animal: Cats [she’s never once killed a cat]

Season: Spring

Time of Day: Sunset/Sunrise

#Soul Eater #Soul Eater OC #I know its a lot #i appreciate your interest #NOW ITS YOUR TURN #tell me about your Soul Eater OC!!!#please???

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jana-hallford · 5 years

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Valentine Memories: School Valentines, Heart-Shaped Candy Boxes, and a Special Cupcake

Valentine’s Day is by its very nature a sentimental time. I remember Valentines like the ones below, exchanged on Valentine’s Day all through elementary school. Some came in sheets with perforations for separating individual Valentines, while others were fully die-cut, ready to be signed. In both cases, packages of Valentines came in assorted designs.

As I mentioned in my inaugural post, Valentine and Christmas card designs are often reprinted for years, so the ones shown here could easily have been used before and after my era. We’re apparently allowed to get a little old-fashioned for these holidays,

Vintage bunny-theme Valentine.

Vintage telephone-theme Valentine. When I was growing up, images of young girls talking on the phone were very common, on greeting cards and even birthday cake decorations.

Pirate-theme vintage Valentine.

I like this cute kitten vintage Valentine. No play-on words, just a sweet cat with a simple message.

Vintage television-theme Valentine.

Vintage scuba-theme Valentine. The 1958 - 1961 television series “Sea Hunt” popularized scuba diving.

Vintage Valentine featuring a young witch resembling Elizabeth Montgomery of the "Bewitched" television series, 1964 - 1972.

Vintage Valentine for a teacher.

I enjoyed using printed Valentines, especially selecting pictures or themes that matched the interests of my friends. However, my favorite memories are of Valentines I made myself. I remember in kindergarten, my first chance to exchange Valentines, the set my mother bought me was about eight or ten short for the number of classmates I had. (Baby Boomer classes were large.) I drew pictures of ballerinas and made Valentines for the girls I knew best, and gave the printed Valentines to everyone else. My hand-drawn Valentines were much admired, and that made me, a five-year-old artist, very happy.

In the 5th grade, I was starting to get a bit self-conscious about giving out mushy Valentines to everyone. Inspired by a story from a “reader” (reading textbook) about an Eastern European immigrant girl who didn’t have the means to buy Valentines or the materials to make paper ones, I baked heart-shaped cookies for my whole class. Those also went over well.

Heart-shaped boxes of chocolate were very popular on Valentine’s Day, and still are, but back in the day many were highly embellished with ribbons and lace.

A collection of vintage heart-shaped candy boxes, including one from See’s Candy,

Vintage red heart-shaped candy box with ruffles and lace, topped with a red bow and an artificial rose.

Vintage heart-shaped candy box. This one stands out for me because it is a beautiful light blue, rather than red or pink.

Lovely pink vintage heart-shaped candy box, with lots of ruffles and lace, topped with delicate pink roses.

Yet more vintage heart-shaped candy boxes. I wonder about the women and girls who originally received these as Valentine’s Day gifts, and what their lives were like.

When I was about five, my parents gave me a Valentine’s Day heart-shaped box of chocolates with a doll on it. Candy box dolls were inexpensive dolls, typically with “frozen” (non-bendable) legs, but I loved that gift, and remember it fondly. Below are some similar candy box dolls.

Vintage red heart-shaped candy box topped with a doll with a pink dress trimmed in red. She has millinery flowers on her red hat (which appears to be heart-shaped) and for her bouquet.

Vintage heart-shaped candy box topped with a doll in a white dress with blue trim. Her face looks like she’s a little older, from the 1940s or 1950s, but I’m including her because I think she’s pretty.

Vintage pink heart-shaped candy box topped with a doll in a pink hat and a blue and white dress, carrying a little bouquet of millinery flowers.

Vintage Valentine candy box topped with a doll with a red dress and hat. She too has a bouquet of millinery flowers.

One of my all-time favorite Valentine’s Day memories is of my mother taking me, age six, and my brother, age two, to a bakery with a Swiss chalet-inspired façade, and buying us each a fancy cupcake. (My three older siblings were off doing something else.) The cupcakes were decorated with hearts and cute smiling faces made from round, spun balls of paper on toothpicks, and they wore little hats. The next year or so, I was given a small red heart-shaped box of chocolates. I still have the decoration from that, with a plastic head and pipe cleaner limbs.

Vintage Valentine decoration, from my personal collection. I’ve had this since I was about seven years old. The label on the back says MADE IN JAPAN.

#vintage valentne #valentine #baby boomer memories #vintage heart shaped candy box #vintage candy box #vintage candy box doll #valentine cupcake #valentine memories

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wp-yahoo-style-1042-yahoopa-blog · 6 years

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See the evolution of summer's sexiest shorts from the 1940s to the 2000s

Few clothing items usher in summer quite like a perfectly worn-in, frayed, and ripped pair of denim shorts. Some call them jorts (aka jean shorts), while others might prefer “cutoffs.” They’re a 21st century festival staple and a street-style favorite, with price tags that span the gamut from a couple bucks for some vintage Levi’s dug up in a thrift store, to roughly $1K for this Valentino pair, embroidered with butterflies.

But, before there were jorts, there were jeans. It’s nearly impossible to imagine a world or closet without denim, yet the durable, universally beloved garment only dates back to late 19th century, when Levi Strauss (along with a tailor, Jacob Davis) invented “waist overalls” in 1873, named for where the style starts on the body, compared to the full-body overalls of the past.

From left to right: Students at Los Angeles City College in 1958, Karen Erickson, 19; John Zinda, 20; Annette Schiff, 19; Biggio Pennino, 21; and Al Ponce, 19, look on as Jerry Brooks, 18 (second from left), reads a campus order instructing students not to wear shorts. (Photo by USC Libraries/Corbis via Getty Images)

Shorts have been around since the early 20th century, remaining taboo through the 1930s, 1940s, and 1950s, for both men and women. There were even dress codes against, and fines for, wearing shorts, in certain cities throughout midcentury America.

Though it’s unclear when in the 20th century, exactly, the denim cutoff was born, denim itself was invented in the 1700s in Nîmes, France, and was initially touted as being completely tear-resistant. (The word “denim” actually refers to the birthplace of the sturdy fabric: it’s derived from serge de Nîmes in French, which translates as serge (a sturdy fabric) from Nîmes.

Punk rock singer and poet Patti Smith poses for a studio portrait. (Photo by Lynn Goldsmith/Corbis/VCG via Getty Images)

Long before jorts was a word — a dictionary-official one, even, but more on that later — the shorts style picked up popularity in the 1970s. The edgy twist on a beloved American staple was particularly big during the decade famous for punk and rock musicians. There’s a subtle but powerful symbolism in literally ripping apart a material that, while invented across the pond in France, had become strongly associated with American workmanship.

In the latter part of the decade, Patti Smith, a denim devotee in general, often donned pairs of roughly chopped and cuffed jean shorts, topped with oversized tweed mens’ blazers, loose T-shirts, or baggy button-downs. Smith often sported her cutoffs with black tights underneath, and wore them in a slew of situations, often photographed with her partner Robert Mapplethorpe, as well as onstage while performing.

Debbie Harry of Blondie on the beach at Coney Island (Photo by Roberta Bayley/Redferns)

Another musical icon to memorably rock the rebellious style was Debbie Harry: The Blondie frontwoman donned a very short, very ripped pair of cutoffs while cavorting on the beach in Coney Island, Brooklyn, in a series of shots from 1977 by rock photographer Roberta Bayley.

Daisy Duke, played by Catherine Bach in “The Dukes of Hazzard.” (Photo: Everett Collection)

The garment was most powerfully immortalized by actress Catherine Bach in the TV series The Dukes of Hazzard, which aired from 1979 to 1985. Bach’s character, Daisy Duke, frequently flaunted her gams in extra-short cutoffs to help her get out of perilous situations that she and her two brothers found themselves in. The hot-weather answer to denim wearing become synonymous with a stereotypical, Southern flirtatious sex appeal, thanks to the show, and bequeathed them an enduring nickname: The shorts are (still!) often called “Daisy Dukes.”

However, despite their breezy, bare-legged appearance, the cutoffs featured on The Dukes of Hazzard weren’t exactly styled in the most beach-friendly manner. The show’s network, CBS, deemed the minuscule shorts inappropriate for TV, and Bach had to wear flesh-hued tights under her cutoffs in every scene.

Behind the scenes on “Stunt Women”: Cindy Crawford in 1992 (Photo: Shutterstock)

Cutoffs got the Vogue treatment in the early 1990s. Supermodel Cindy Crawford wore a pair as part of a photoshoot on a Malibu beach in 1992, Herb Ritts shot Cindy Crawford for the November issue of Vogue, cavorting on the beach in Malibu with her husband at the time, Richard Gere, her supermodel physique displayed nicely in a pair of frayed Levi shorts. Before cutoffs made a Vogue cameo, their full-length predecessors were notably featured on the fashion bible’s cover four years before, when the magazine’s then newly minted editor-in-chief, Anna Wintour, featured a pair of blues on her very first cover, in 1988.

A big part of the charm of cutoffs is how democratizing and DIY-friendly they are; crafted for a couple bucks, or free, even, using any old pair of jeans and a sharp pair of scissors. The advent and popularity of the premium denim market in the late ‘90s and early aughts ushered in previously unheard-of triple-digit prices for the wardrobe workhouse, from brands like Frankie B, Seven for All Mankind, Paper Denim & Cloth, and True Religion. Shorts versions of pricy premium denim also took off, whether intentionally sold with abbreviated hemlines or in DIY form.

A model on the runway at the Spring/Summer 2000 Chloé ready-to-wear collection designed by Stella McCartney, wearing white tube top with smocking at top edge, fringed hot pants, high-heel sandals with white and gold ankle bands, and carrying a straw bag with cat-face design. (Photo: Getty Images)

But the humble cutoff has also gotten more upscale runway treatments: In 1999, for one of Stella McCartney’s final collections as creative director of Chloé, she showed ultrashort white shorts with a low rise (as was the preferred, hipbone-exposing silhouette of the era) and extra-distressed hems.

Then, the shorts reconnected with their musician-vetted roots in a new way, thanks to their growing ubiquity with festival fashion. Specifically, with one increasingly popular festival: Coachella. The annual three-day blowout in the desert of Indio, Calif., which began in 1999, is where many a trend has hit critical mass in the 21st century, particularly in the past five to 10 years, be it jorts, flower crowns, or chokers.

Jessica Simpson in the film version of “The Dukes of Hazzard.” (Photo: Everett Collection)

In 2005, Jessica Simpson introduced Daisy Duke (both the character and her signature shorts) to a younger generation with the film version of The Dukes of Hazzard. Unlike the O.G. Daisy Duke, Simpson didn’t wear tights under her cutoffs. Plus, the entire ensemble (both the shorts’ length and fit, and the snugness and cleavage-baring factor of her tops) were sexed up in the modernized, silver-screen take on the campy TV series.

Kendall Jenner in 2016, wearing a fringe jacket, jean shorts, and velvet boots. (Photo: Getty Images)

In 2015, the term “jorts” became a legitimate, official noun: the term, a portmanteau of “jeans” and “shorts,” was added to the Oxford dictionary that year, along with other modern vernacular, like selfie, twerk, and guac.

In the past decade, denim cutoffs have yet again cropped up on runways, in their fanciest, priciest form fathomable. During designer Hedi Slimane’s stint as creative director at Saint Laurent from 2012 to 2016, one of the (many) sweeping tweaks he made to the venerable French fashion house was peppering his collections with supershort hemlines and punky vibes, sometimes translating to cutoff shorts (and even cutoff denim overalls, like this spring 2016 Saint Laurent look).

Alexander Wang Spring-Summer Collection 2016 at New York Fashion Week (Photo: Getty Images)

Alexander Wang trotted out some artfully beat-up, ultrashort pairs in his fall 2016 collection, too. 2016 also marked the year supermodels Kendall Jenner and Gigi Hadid added jorts to their model-off-duty street style.

Gigi Hadid in 2016 wearing jean shorts, a T-shirt, and navy coat. (Photo: Getty Images)

Beyoncé wears the Saint Laurent sparkle boots alongside Jay-Z. (Photo: Instagram)

The most epic jorts moment in recent memory came courtesy of the one and only Beyoncé, at what’s become the most important modern natural habitat for the garment: Coachella. While headlining the festival in April 2018, Queen Bey slayed in her first of five outfit changes throughout her set: a heavily shredded, customized pair of Levi’s High-Rise shorts, paired with a bejeweled yellow satin hoodie, flesh-toned fishnets, and iridescent sequined boots. The superstar had another memorable cutoffs getup a couple months earlier, in December 2017, thanks to a pair of black cutoffs paired with glittery Saint Laurent knee-high boots.

Beyoncé at this year’s Coachella Valley Music and Arts Festival in April in Indio, Calif. (Photo: Getty Images)

These days, denim cutoffs are less associated with their late 20th century connotations of Daisy Duke and punky DGAF rock legend style, and more with celebrity street style (and, of course, festival garb).

A plethora of stars regularly don cutoffs, both off-duty and, occasionally, on the red carpet. To wit: famous fans of jorts include Kate Moss, Taylor Swift, Kim Kardashian, Victoria Beckham, Gigi Hadid, Rihanna (in another epic Coachella getup, pairing jorts with a Gucci bejeweled bodysuit and matching balaclava), and longtime cutoffs connoisseur, Chloë Sevigny.

So, just like the enduring, universal appeal of jeans — despite changing silhouettes, rises, and inseam lengths that cycle in and out of trendiness over the years — denim cutoffs are the indispensable warm-weather counterpart.

Rihanna wears a Gucci sparkle bodysuit and balaclava with her jorts at Coachella. (Photo: Instagram)

The appeal varies widely: For some, there’s a sort of Southern sexpot vibe, thanks to the surprisingly sartorially memorable television character, Daisy Duke, while others might associate with it a punk-rock insouciance, à la Patti Smith. Or, perhaps, a carefully curated but “carefree” quintessential Coachella look.

Expect this wardrobe staple to stick around for many more decades, sure to be championed by a new generation of style icons, across music genres and various creative fields, personal style preferences, and price points. In other words, love them or loathe them, in all likelihood, jorts are here to stay.