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misslilli · 3 years ago

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Hope you guys are not too busy with Fictober 😄 thank you, as always, for your amazing feedback!

Felix Felicis

MSR. AU. PG-13. | tagging @today-in-fic | read on AO3

Chapter 26 - A Pivotal Peppermint Mocha

[ DS ]

He respects my wishes, of course he does, and I don’t see him before or after Thanksgiving break, except for a few glimpses from afar, across the school yard or at the farmer’s market. As time passes, each time I see him, it gets less and less painful and my funk begins to lift. My kids at school breathe a sigh of relief and my friends stop tiptoeing around me. The nights get easier, too, and I manage at least a few hours of shut-eye.

I just got home from school, a little earlier than usual and I can hear the girls chatting and laughing in the kitchen.

“…and then Squirrel rolled her eyes and said: ‘But Felix, that’s impossible, no-one can stuff 100 marshmallows into their mouth, not even your dad!’ I get such a kick out of this kid, he insisted over and over again that Moose could do it and he’ll prove it to her. You should’ve seen the exasperated look on Squirrel’s face!”

What the hell? That conversation is eerily familiar because I’ve just had it this morning at recess. Why the fuck are they referring to us as Moose and Squirrel?

They jump about a mile as I step into the kitchen, guilty looks plastered all over their faces. Sarah, who just told the story, starts to speak first. “Uuuh.. hey D, you’re home early…” My hands on my hips, I give them each a long, hard stare.

“Who. The Fuck. Are Moose and Squirrel?” They share a look I can’t decipher and Holly pulls out a chair.

“You better sit down for this, D.” I do as I’m told and glance around the table, waiting for someone to start explaining what’s going on.

Sarah and Holly both make it clear by silently staring at Alex, the calm one of our group, the one they trust can explain in a way I won’t kick their asses afterwards.

Alex folds her hands in front of her and takes a deep breath. “Okay. I’d like to preface this with stating that everything we did was done with love and because we care about you and your happiness.” ‘Oh goody, I can’t wait to see where this is going…’

“We’ve been talking about Moo- Mulder a lot at our Friday night dinners and we could tell that you liked him. When nothing happened and no-one made the first move, we thought we’d give fate little pushes in the right direction.” I stare at her, starting to panic.

“Oh God, what did you do? Is anyone else in on this thing? Is he in on this whole thing?”

“No, no, no-one knows except for us. And Miss Hannigan, but only because we needed her help with the costumes and we swore her to secrecy.” I snort, you can’t swear the town gossip to secrecy.

“So the Halloween costume was your doing? That we went to the town fair in a couple’s costume?” Alex nods. “What else?”

“Just little things, I swear. Remember when we were at the Farmer’s Market and we all had various errands to run? We saw Felix and Mulder were heading over, so we scattered to give you some alone time.” Which led to our first quasi-semi-let’s not call it a date-date, yes I remember.

“So what’s the Moose and Squirrel business then?”

“Well, since it was all a secret operation, we needed codenames. Sarah came up with a play on the first letters of your last names and we thought it was cute, especially since there’s such a big height difference between these characters too. This was how Operation: Bullwinkle was born. Of course, after the basketball fiasco, we called it off… are you mad, D?” I sit in silence for a while, taking in the things my friends came up with to set Mulder and I up.

They eye me anxiously, trying to gauge my reaction and if they should run for cover right about now.

“No, I’m not mad. It was actually a really clever secret operation and I’m kind of sad it didn’t work out the way we all wanted.” Holly lifts her shoulders, relieved that I understood that they didn’t mean to cause any harm.

“Never say never, D.”

—————

[ FM ]

My mom has taken Felix with her while she’s out grocery shopping, which gives me a good part of the afternoon to leave the house and roam the streets. A good way to clear my head. It’s the first week of December, but New England hasn’t been graced with snow yet, just a misty cold that seeps into your coat and straight through to your bones.

My hands are freezing because I forgot to take my gloves, so when the green logo of the local Starbucks catches my eye, I go in to warm up and get a cup of coffee.

Usually, I avoid this place like the plague, I don’t possess the fast decision making skills required to choose from the 999 combinations, just to have a cup of freakishly overpriced coffee.

I can barely get through the door, the place is jam packed and soon, I can smell why. Peppermint Mocha season starts today. The prospect of standing in line for hours almost makes me turn back, but something stops me from leaving.

Most of the people are holding a cup in their hands gleefully already, so I push my way through the crowd to where the line starts. When I reach it, I find myself dumbly staring at the back of a fiery head of hair, a shade I’d recognize anywhere in the world and in the most crowded places.

Shi-hit, does this break the ‘giving space’ rule? No, I’m just getting a cup of coffee on a cold winter day, no big deal. I don’t even have to talk to her. Yeah right, who am I kidding?

—————

[ DS ]

I’m way too excited about the start of Peppermint Mocha season, so here I am, in a place packed with people, patiently waiting in line to finally get my hands on that glorious to-go cup of Christmas Spirit.

I’m next in line when the person in front of me turns a little too quickly, making me take a step backwards to let them pass, bumping into the person standing behind. I mumble a “I’m sorry!” over my shoulder and freeze when I hear a familiar voice respond with an “Don’t worry about it.”

Counting to ten in my head before I turn my head, I come to face with a grinning Fox Mulder, who adds “Fancy bumping into you here!” His silly pun elicits the first genuine smile I’ve given in weeks.

“Technically, you didn’t bump into me, I bumped into you.”

He grins even wider and nudges my shoulder with his index finger. “There. So, I’m new in town, what’s good here?”

I order my Peppermint Mocha with sweet cream foam and an extra espresso shot while he pretends to gag, he orders his black coffee to my snort and the barista’s comment on what kind of first name ‘Mulder’ is. We move to stand at the end of the counter to wait for our coffees.

“Sometimes, I just want to tell them my name is Bob, just so I don’t have to explain Mulder or Fox to another barista.”

“Don’t ask me how many time’s I’ve been Donna, Danny or Dinara and one time, Daniel. I think they do it on purpose. At least yours is easy to spell, Eff - Oh - Ex.”

“Oh I bet you were a regular hit at the spelling bee, with those mad skills of yours!”

“I’m a woman of many talents, Bob.”

The barista calls out our names, ‘Peppermint Mocha for Daisy, black coffee for Mouldy’ and we reach out to accept our respective cups. Pushing out way to the crowd, we continue our conversation.

“Daisy? That's not even remotely close to my real name… but Mouldy is freaking priceless!” Her giggle at their slip up almost makes it worth it to have a shitty first name.

“Yeah, yeah, make fun of the guy with the funny name. I kind of like Daisy, though, it’s a pretty name!”

I’m so happy to see that we turn to head in the same direction, strolling along the crowded sidewalk, sipping our coffee. I have to walk pretty fast to keep up with his long strides.

“It is, yeah! So tell me, Eff- Oh- Ex, how much flak did you have to take way back in the day, when “What does the Fox say?” came out?” I shudder at the memory.

“They didn’t tease me with it. Much. Just a lot of ring-ding-dingalinging. It became a thing in my friend group, whenever they asked me something, they’d add ‘So what does the Fox say?’. It went on a long time and they still do it sometimes, when we get together, just to drive me nuts!”

“I hope for your sake that Felix never discovers that song, he’d have a field day!” Oh God, she’s right. Must keep him away from it at all costs. At my panic face, she laughs an evil laugh. “We do listen to a lot of music at recess…”

“Oh no, you wouldn’t!” I point an icy finger at her. “Promise me you wouldn’t!”

“Well, it does have a lot of educational material in it, with all the animal sounds…”

“I’ll have you know that you hold my sanity in your hands, handle with care!”

“I hear they have a lot of fun pills at the asylum, maybe I’ll come visit so you can sneak me some!”

We come to stand at the junction where we have to part ways and she raises her cup.

“Have a good day, Mouldy!”

“You too, Daisy!”

—————

[ DS ]

I think about the strange but fun encounter all the way home, the world didn’t end like I thought it would when we met again and it was a rather pleasant conversation. Like a conversation between long-time friends, even though friendship is not exactly what I’m looking for here. But it’ll have to do, for now. It’s just nice to talk to him again.

#xf #the x files #xf fanfic #msr #felix felicis

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creativityobsessed · 4 years ago

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Be Brave Adachi, or the musical shaping of episodes 1-4

Part 1: Episode 1

Ok folks, buckle up. @ohmypreciousgirl asked me for more music meta and I need exactly ZERO arm twisting for that to happen, so I immediately put on my listening ears and musicologist hat and started my eleventy first rewatch. Since I’m currently only through episode 4 on this rewatch, and I have a page and a half of notes, I’m gonna put in a Read More so that I don’t take up the next 5 miles of the tags. You might be interested if:

You like music

You’re interested in detailed analysis of character development

You’re wondering why the heck those scenes where Adachi is having all the anxiety are so dang effective.

The answer, of course, is that the music helps to shape the exact moments that Adachi makes steps towards character growth. Under the cut, you’ll find out exactly how it’s doing that.

This will be a 4-part series, running over the next 4 days because I got halfway through episode 3 and realized that yall did NOT want a 10 page paper in a single tumblr post. Plus then I can extend the series to include the rest of the episodes later.

So. Without further ado.

Episode 1 (If you’d like to watch/listen along, cue up 19:45 in episode 1* now.)

At the beginning of the show, we’re introduced to Adachi, the shy, introverted, anxious klutz. He tells us lots of things about himself, most of which include some reference to either his lack of bravery or his self-esteem which is currently so low that it seems to be floating somewhere in the Marianas Trench. Aside from the opening scene with the bike (which many of us, myself included, have hypothesized comes from some kind of future) the music is mostly laid-back, a little jazzy, and repetitive. Adachi’s office scenes come with a walking bass/guitar line that never really finds a melody, and reminds me of nothing more than generic 90s/early 2000s slice-of-life “this is every day” music. His Adachi-at-home music is gently strummed guitar, slow and kind of lethargic, mirroring the way Adachi just floats through life. The main exception is Adachi’s monologue on Kurosawa, which is fast paced, march-like, and jaunty - a reflection of how Adachi sees Kurosawa before the events of the show.

And then, at the end of the episode, that changes, and we get something new for the first time. Adachi is processing the new revelation that Kurosawa actually does like him, and he has just finished telling himself that Kurosawa must have gone crazy to like someone like him. There has been no musical accompaniment since they were in the office together. Kurosawa wraps the scarf around Adachi’s neck and Adachi hears Kurosawa’s inner monologue, cataloging the things he likes about Adachi.

This speech is obviously a turning point for Adachi, but we can be more specific than that. For Kurosawa’s first couple of points, we’re still in silence, and Adachi is looking down. We can imagine that he’s doing his own mental list that starts something like “yeah but…” But after the line “He’s actually an extremely kind and nice guy,” Adachi looks up at Kurosawa, and finally, after two whole minutes of silence in the soundtrack, a new kind of cue comes in.

This new cue is the antithesis of the rest of the soundtrack. It’s fully acoustic (with a little bit of reverb) and played on the piano, an instrument that the composer has not yet used. What’s more, the fragment that the piano repeats is completely unstable. We have no idea what key we’re in (yet. Spoiler, it’ll be A-major, eventually). [warning: technical stuff starts here, if you don’t care about specifics, jump to the /endTechnical tag] It starts with a first inversion D-major chord (in later iterations, IV^6) that attempts to resolve to G-D-A which is NOT a chord, or rather, it could be any number of chords but without a 3rd somewhere in there we don’t know which it is.

Ok, ok, so, resolution failed. Let’s try again! D-major^6 and then instead of going down to D, the A goes up a M3 to C-sharp, making G-E-C-sharp - WHOOPS that’s a tritone, less resolution than the first time. To be fair, the tritone is pretty far apart, and there’s an E floating around in the middle, so it doesn’t feel as teeth grinding-ly gross as your average Danse Macabre, but it SURE AS HELL doesn’t feel resolved either. [/endTechnical]

And we go back and forth between these two VERY unresolved phrases. It’s like we’re (read: Adachi is) stuck asking new questions that he doesn’t have any answers for. It’s unsettling and we spend almost 30 seconds just sitting there feeling unresolved, trying again and again in different octaves, with slightly different notes in the (almost inaudible) string parts-- nothing works. Adachi is not ready to move beyond the questions themselves, so the music doesn’t either, ending on a high unresolved note with Kurosawa’s “Wait.”^

And that’s IT. No resolution. The next musical cue is after enough dead space that our metaphorical ear palate has been cleansed (which is good, cause we jump from quasi-A major to a sequential figure with at least FOUR FLATS - about as distant a key as you can get). To get resolution for the Questioning cue, we’re going to have to wait.

And wait and wait, because that’s it for tonight yall! Episode 2 coming tomorrow!

Continue to part 2

[Although, real quick, before we move on to Episode 2, I just wanna mention that I love that Adachi’s fears about Kurosawa’s crush are scored with a very speedy bebop style cue while Kurosawa’s actual fantasies might as well be a Bach Oratorio COMPLETE WITH METRONOME, because if you needed to shorthand “antithesis” musically I’m not sure I could think of a better way of doing it, short of using screamo metal and Hildegard von Bingen lol.]

*All video timings and quotes are from Irozuku Subs videos. If you’re watching somewhere else, your mileage may vary slightly.

^As an English speaker I love the parallelism in how American English speakers use a rising tone to indicate questions, but I don’t know enough about Japanese to know if that transfers.

#cherry magic #cherry magic! thirty years of virginity can make you a wizard?!#adachi kiyoshi #music meta #someone: can you tell me more about the music? Me: OH BOY CAN I!!!#Look if Ao3 had an audience for ACTUAL ACADEMIC ANALYSIS PAPERS that I don't have to do footnotes and academic english for #I would be the most prolific author they ever had #(not really but also yes really)#acafandom

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tsipasce · 4 years ago

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Same Difference ch. 15

A/N: this thing fluffier than mf pancakes

That first night Nanami was awoken by the sound of the front door and a heavy sigh from a familiar voice. She glanced at the clock to see it was 2:30 am, a feeling a bit of empathy as she remembered all the 12-hour shifts she pulled, only to return to an empty place and heat up leftovers from the night before. He was probably doing the opposite of ~*saving lives*~ during his long shifts, but the sentiment remained. She heard him walking into the kitchen as the steps on hardwood turned to tile and he opened the pantry then subsequently the microwave. By 3:15 am she heard his shower going as she fell back asleep, wondering how he kept up with this schedule, his consistent grumpy mood suddenly making more sense.

By morning Nanami’s alarm for 5:30 am began blaring and she hurriedly shut it off, knowing they were only a room apart, but not how heavy a sleeper he was. Hoping she hadn’t awoken him, she quietly went through her morning routine and slipped into her workout gear. Since her training, she’d gotten back into running, and morning jogs were the only ones she had the time or energy for. On paper, any kind of jogging sounded tedious, but she found a certain peace in being able to clear her mind and get the blood flowing before beginning her day. Grabbing her headphones and phone, she quietly opened the door to her room before gently closing it. She crept down the hallway, looking back to his room to find the door still closed. He must be asleep still. Better make this quick. She thought before continuing down the hall. The sun was streaming in, but the kitchen and living room lights were off, further strengthening her confidence. As she rounded the corner, she sa— “Aggh!” There he was with his back turned, leaning on the counter. He had on a baseball cap, dust mask, sweatshirt and gym shorts with compression tight underneath, all black.

Overhaul calmly turned his head at the sudden noise as though he’d been expecting it, “You didn’t really think I wouldn’t notice you leaving, did you?”

“Wha—no, way. I was just gonna…” his bored expression let her know that whatever half-baked explanation she planned on selling, he wasn’t buying it, “Ok, you caught me.”

“You cannot be outside alone. What part of ‘there’s a price on your head’ are you not getting?”

A defeated look crossed her features as she realized he was right. For at least a couple weeks, she needed to lay low. It wasn’t an unreasonable request, and she knew it. “You’re right…” She began as she turned to go back to her room.

“Where are you going?”

The question caught her off-guard as she turned, confused, “To change?”

“I had plans to go on a run myself. You can join, if you behave.” He said plainly, as he headed to the doorway to put on his shoes. In any other circumstance she’d complain about being treated like a child, but considering she’d literally just gotten caught trying to sneak out like a teenager, she thought it best to spare him the retort and herself the hypocrisy.

“…Fine. Lead the way~”

“And leave the earphones, you need to be alert.”

“Yes, sir.” She responded simply.

He stopped, quickly turning to her, a dark look in his eyes. Seemingly coming back from wherever his mind went in that moment, he cleared his throat before turning back and adjusting his hat to cover more of his now-flushed face. “Let’s… let’s just go.”

Note to self: The magic words are not ‘please’ and ‘thank you’, but ‘yes sir’. She gulped.

They walked out of the main door and past the courtyard to the street. Looking at his watch he set a timer and they began their jog. The sun was still rising, and the air was fresh as it filled her lungs. The neighborhood was quiet, and the streets were empty, the only sounds being the morning birds and her own breath as they began their third mile.

Hold up, where is—she thought as she looked over to see him still there. She knew he had to be in better shape than her given the fact that he fought so frequently, but he was running as though they had just begun, not a shred of fatigue on what was visible of his face. It was slightly off-putting seeing someone she knew had a whopping 2 hours of sleep run a couple miles without breaking a sweat. She on the other hand was beginning to tire. Slowing down she breathed heavily as he raised a brow at her questioningly.

“You’re…” She breathed, her hands above her head as she continued, “you’re like an electric car or something… How?” She panted, trying to cool down.

“None of that made sense.” He deadpanned, still jogging in place.

“Ugh, I’m trying to say, how are you not tired yet? I haven’t heard a peep out of you this whole time.”

“Practice and overhaul. Get through 5 miles without being this winded and I’ll consider teaching you.”

“Nothing is ever easy with you, is it?”

“Says the woman who makes a game out of defying me.”

Gasping, she dramatically put her hand across her chest, “Just because it’s true, doesn’t mean you have to say it! Besides, you invite confrontation.”

“I what?” He asked incredulously.

Just as they were about to continue bickering, a voice cut them off. “It’s a bit early to be carrying on like this, isn’t it?”

Seeing the old man from the day before, Nanami immediately felt embarrassed, having shown the stranger a less-than-flattering side of herself twice in such a short span of time. “We’re so sorry for the noise, that was my fault.” She bowed trying to apologize. Just as she was about to check for Overhaul’s reaction, she saw him doing the same.

“My apologies. We won’t be a bother again.” There wasn’t a trace of sarcasm or irritation in his voice and it sounded almost foreign to her.

Well, he does have manners, so I guess it’s not that surprising… she reasoned to herself.

“That’s quite alright, for someone my age, it’s nice hearing you young folk being so spirited.” He looked between them before continuing, “How would you two like to have a morning cup of tea with me?”

Before Nanami could find a way to wiggle out of it, Overhaul responded, “Of course, we’d be delighted.”

They stood back up, the older man already turning to go inside. Nanami turned to him mouth “what the hell are you doing?” as she didn’t want to get the man involved, not knowing how misplaced her concern was. He simply sighed, seemingly resigned to this tea break as he motioned for her to go inside. She could tell he knew something she didn’t, but reluctantly went ahead as he followed close behind through the front gates of the house.

The courtyard was very similar to that of the front house used to enter the base, except it felt homier upon entering. It was quiet and serene, as the melodic clank of the deer scare echoed and a stream of water ran into a small pond, the morning birds sparing an odd note or chirp in the background. Now cooling down from their run, she could feel the fall air crisp in her lungs once again as she took a moment to appreciate the scene. The wrap-around porch had cushions and a tea set laid out as though he was expecting guests. Nanami was suspicious of the coincidence but couldn’t bring herself to feel threatened with her partner being so calm. At the end of the day, she was confident she and Overhaul could handle an ambush between them, but this didn’t feel like an attack, at least not for her.

“Please, have a seat.” The man smiled warmly as they obliged. Nanami was still unsettled at seeing her lab partner so placid and cooperative with another person. Must be trying to keep up a cover or something… I’ll have to be a barrier to make sure Mr.NoseyNeighbor doesn’t dig too deep and get himself in trouble with bird brain over here. This sweet old man has no idea what he’s gotten into…She thought to herself. The man poured them their cups and she clasped it with both hands, savoring the warmth as she sipped. “So, do you spend this much time with all of your patients or just the ones that are ‘particularly needy’?”

Nanami almost choked, registering the question and possible insinuation. Ok, what the fuck. Not-so sweet, after all... She used the cup as a shield, drinking as she regained her composure to answer, “I’m not sure what you mean, but I take care of all my patients equally based on what their condition demands.”

“Ah, I see. I wish I had a doctor as involved as you. Tell me, what hospital did you say you worked for again, Dr. Watanabe?” He asked innocently sipping his tea, but maintained eye contact.

“I didn’t. It’s funny, I also didn’t mention my name either. People in this neighborhood usually keep to themselves from what I’ve seen.”

“And I assume you’ve seen a lot.”

“No more than someone of your tenure has, I’m sure.” She smiled easily, determined not to lose this quasi-confrontation. She could feel her grip on the teacup tightening until Overhaul cut in.

“I think that’s enough, Pops.” He said, a tinge of exasperation in his voice.

Her head snapped to look over at Overhaul, wide-eyed. “POPS”??

The older man’s stern face and calculating smile were replaced with one of genuine amusement and a hardy chuckle. “Oh, I just wanted to test her mettle a bit. I’ve heard so much about her, but we’ve never had the chance to formally meet.”

“POPS” LIKE A DAD? LIKE HIS WHOLE ASS FATHER??

“Well, here we are. Boss, Dr. Nanami Watanabe. Dr. Watanabe, Boss.” He motioned between them. Her heart still finding time to skip a beat at the sound of him saying her given name for the first time.

Wait, Boss too? I’m… it’s too early for this. She lamented inwardly at her growing confusion before gathering her face, trying to seem unsurprised and unbothered by the introduction, though she was still hesitant. Is this another manipulation tactic?

“It’s alright, please relax, doctor.” He assured, seeing the skepticism on her face, ”I’m fully aware of your involvement in our organization. Though I do appreciate your caution. It puts me at ease knowing your prudence when discussing the Shie Hassakai extends even to me.” He chuckled.

“Oh, my apologies. It’s a pleasure to meet you sir,” she replied, her shoulders relaxing slightly as she realized there wasn’t a crisis to be averted, at least not the one she thought.

“No need to apologize, I’m just grateful to have you over. Chisaki speaks so highly of you, it’s nice to be able to put an in-person face to the name.” At this she cautioned a glance only to see him very preoccupied with watching the deer scare. “Chisaki” huh…

“Oh, does he now? He’s usually so quiet when we’re working together.”

“Except for the occasional smart remark, I’m sure.”

She tried to stifle a giggle, “You really are his father then. If it’s not that, there’s certainly a ‘can’t you be serious for one second?’ thrown in there if I even attempt a joke myself.” She said in her best Overhaul impersonation voice.

The Boss let out a hardy laugh, “Well, we’re not related by blood,” at this a look of surprise crossed her face. “But that does indeed sound like my son.”

Realizing her expression had been misread, she clarified, “Oh no, I didn’t— what I mean to say is that my parents adopted me too, so I understand what you mean.” She smiled sincerely, though there was a fragment of sadness in her features Overhaul noted as he glanced over at her when she wasn’t looking. Wanting desperately to change the subject, she looked around the courtyard, “Anyway, you have a lovely home. I’m impressed your hydrangeas are so lush during this time of year, I’m having a real hard time with mine.”

He perked up, more than happy to explain the ins-and-outs of his gardening techniques. He rose to show her around, the both of them crouching and inspecting the plants in the courtyard as pops gave her the life story and history of each plant. It was odd to think that she was having a casual conversation with The Boss himself, but figured it was best to play it cool and keep things light and genuine. She made sure to maintain a healthy level of respect while addressing him, but the interaction flowed easily. For a moment she was able to forget her situation and just enjoy a morning tea while listening intently as he spoke about all matters horticultural.

Still on the porch, observing the pair, there was a warmth creeping into Chisaki’s chest. Bloodshed, murder, brutality—those were familiar, but this… was different. Not in the mood for self-reflection, he pulled his mask down and sipped the tea, enjoying the view without questioning it. Her hands gently grazed the petals, her gaze soft as the rising sun illuminated her features, a warm smile across her face. He cleared his throat, careful not to articulate the thoughts that crossed his mind. Careful not to acknowledge just how nice it would be to become used to this visage. He made a mental note to create a garden of his own to help facilitate this new wish, but for now, there was work to be done. Like clockwork, his phone rang, stirring him from his thoughts and he knew it was time to go.

After a brief call, he pocketed the device, standing up and walking over to them. Pops noticed and took the cue, “Well, it looks like duty calls. It was lovely to finally meet you, Dr. Watanabe.”

“The feeling is definitely mutual. Thank you for the tea and gardening tips, I’ll be sure to update you on the progress of my green thumb, whenever it shows up.” She gave a small laugh as she rubbed the back of her neck, a bit embarrassed at telling him how many plants had gone to die at her place.

“I look forward to it, and to seeing more of you around here. I know others feel the same.” He glanced over to Overhaul who averted his gaze like a reticent child at the remark.

They gave courteous bows before leaving, heading back in the direction of his house. There was a marked silence between them as they jogged this time. She had a million questions but couldn’t bring herself to ask even one as they arrived and entered the house. Lost in thought, she continued walking until she almost bumped into him as he stopped in the hallway. Looking over his shoulder, he addressed her “You know, there’s no turning back now.”

“I think we crossed that bridge a while ago,” she tittered before looking up to see his gaze soft and almost anxious to hear her response. “Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.” She assured, referring only partly to her commitment to keep a low profile until the bounty could be resolved. If she was being completely honest with herself, there was an insinuation she hoped he wouldn’t miss; that he wouldn’t reject. Both exhaling a long-held breath, he nodded, heading down the hallway to his room, a faint smile forming behind his mask.

#same difference #overhaul #kai chisaki #chisaki kai #bnha #mha overhaul #overhaul fanfiction #overhaul x oc #mha fanfic #mha oc #bnha fanfic #overhaul x nanami #nanami watanabe #overhaul fanfic

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mi6021huwfenny · 4 years ago

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Inspirations and Influences

vimeo

I really enjoyed the conceptual integrity of Boom is Life. It was transcendent, the sheer workmanship and the execution of the production. The combination of both stop motion and 2D elements was a great influence for the concept of my own work. The poetic monologue over the unique visual stimuli, the neon yellows and greens mixed with the contrasting darkness, made the film feel like it had heightened production quality and impeccable idea development on the creators part. It was very idiosyncratic and I was passionate about replicating this into my own work. I am really just curious about multi-media expressionism. placing a 2D character into a home-made 3D environment was an incredibly inspired choice by all accounts and I would like to do something similar by using both 2D and stop motion together in unison for my final project.

vimeo

Hanging by a Thread was also a strong influence on my work. I liked the incorporation of mental health and the manic state of mind within the short video. I found the inclusion of self exploration and mental health stigma really enriched the concept and I found in most of my work I like to explore mental health and using animation, and other forms of art, as a way to explore self expression and visually show ones struggles and mental health. It uses less complex story telling and narrative, focusing on primarily visual stimuli. And the fact that the film was made by hand using stop motion really interests me.

youtube

I found this film a few years ago, because as a child I was always interested in Peter and the Wolf - especially the Disney version which I had on video cassette. I think it was a Merrie Melodies episode, in the same vein as Silly Symphonies but I cannot be sure. From what I can remember, the wolf in the animation was lumbering but lithe, a being of power and as a child, very traumatic. This may have influenced my dreams and influenced me to find fear and horror interesting as a concept.

This version of the classic story was recreated in 2006, by a team of animators from Poland, the UK, Norway, Mexico and Switzerland. It is a 30 minutes short film set in Russia and was created using stop motion animation. There is an uncanny realism to it that is reminiscent of Laika productions and films, it is also similar to Wes Anderson’s Fantastic Mr Fox with the use of real fur. The environments are so rich with atmosphere and add so much to the film.

Above, Disney’s Peter and the Wolf (1946)

Above, “Piotruś i wilk” [Peter and the Wolf], (2006)

Fantastic Mr Fox (2009)

Fantastic Mr Fox, directed by Wes Anderson, is a poignant influence for my work. The wolf has only a few seconds of screen time but it is powerful and commands a powerful screen presence. It is used as a metaphor for the wild side of Mr Fox, as is shown visually by having the animals all anthropomorphic and bipedal, except the character of the wolf. It has no lines of dialogue and simply stares at the characters curiously.

“Chirin’s Bell” or “Ringing Bell” (1978)

To a lesser extent, the underrated 1978 anime Chirin’s Bell influenced the idea development of my work. Following a lamb who’s family is slaughtered by a wolf, travels to the wolfs lair to become the wolfs apprentice so he would never feel as powerless as he did when he was unable to protect his family. As the lamb grows he becomes a formidable creature and joins the wolf on his hunts. They attack the farm where Chirin lived as a lamb. Chirin suffers PTSD and attacks the wolf before he can murder innocent sheep. Chirin kills the wolf and goes back to his flock, they reject him. He has become stronger but he is, much like the wolf, feared. He has become the thing he hated the most as a child and now the only person he had by his side, the wolf, was dead by Chirin’s own hand (hoof?). Chirin travels back to the cave alone, presumably to die.

I found the wolf both as a teacher and as an animal with urges and faults was an interesting narrative device. As if, although guided through life by a teacher, the outcome and flaws of such a thing can have dire consequences.

My Depression Is Like Having A Bad Dog https://www.buzzfeednews.com/article/kayeblegvad/dog-years

I read this article a few years ago and it always stuck with me. This is a major influence on my idea and work. I found it incredibly relatable at the time, and now, as I have grown and developed as an artist and a person, it still gets me in my soul. It was reflective of my mind state and allowed me to visualise my issues such as depression, anxiety, suicidal thought into more real, malleable things. The metaphorical extension of using an animal as a way to express your depressions behaviour really inspired me to create this project.

Mood boards

As a pseudo-cinephile, I wanted to encapsulate the mood and feeling into my work that resonates with myself and can properly convey a feeling towards an audience that can help them understand.

I love A Clockwork Orange and Trainspotting, and I find opening scene of A Clockwork Orange (referenced in Trainspotting) interesting as an image. I wanted to pay homage to it, as an outsider - not self proclaimed but scathingly honest - it shows the characters as both young and misguided, as well as something unsettling, something not quite right. As they are holding milk in the scene, this shows innocence and naivety. I wanted to have something similar in my own film.

8 Mile, Quadraphenia and Donnie Darko also focus on the outsider. People that are rejected from their societal groups and are neglected for being different. The use of white space, in Coroline (and to a lesser extent Mac Miller’s music video for Self Care) is something I am eager to experiment with. Its a beautiful way of exploring loneliness and separation of reality, akin to the dissociative effects of depression. This also allowed me to explore the use of black and white in film as an artistic tool. Sometimes it is uses as a flashback (American History X), and others it is used to create tone within a film (Raging Bull).

I was interested in stop motion since I started the course. And I find the works of Laika Studios. Will Vinton, the late founder of Laika Studios created fascinating character models

I thought the imagery of the berserker was an interesting motif to add to my work as I liked the notion of it. I was a man who wore an animal pelt to empower himself, however I wanted the juxtaposition of the narrator wearing a wolf pelt and being weak and vulnerable - the polar opposite of the berserker’s purpose.

With the addition of Peter and the Wolf for inspiration, I also referred to Grimm's Fairy Tales for inspiration. The image of the wolf has been moulded, in my opinion, through folklore and fairy tales for millennia. I thought that having the start of the animation as a quasi-Charlie and Lola-esuqe style would appeal to the thought of children's books and would give the beginning a strange, unnerving quality. The wolf from the Never Ending Story was also an influence, as it shares the overall appearance with my own designs as a black wolf with haunting yellow eyes and giant teeth.

Milt Kahl’s use of animation in old Disney films such as The Sword in the Stone and Robin Hood was interesting, the constant line movement and the inconsistencies in appearance of certain characters appealed to me greatly. Especially the different designs of wolves through out Disney’s 2D animated era.

Isle of Dogs and Fantastic Mr. Fox, both directed by Wes Anderson, were heavy influences on how I wanted the wolf to appear and move. Using real fur because I liked how it would move about when they were animated.

Hemlock Grove also deals with wolves, however they are more of the lycanthrope kind. I liked how in one scene the wolf appears from the jaws of one of the characters during a transformation and I wanted to pay homage to that in my animation.

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eirabach · 5 years ago

Text

For @gumnut-logic 's FabFiveFeb Challenge

Prompt Two - Gordon

[Can't / No clothes]

Also inspired by Nutty's TAG ages meta, because it gave me *emotions*. I'm super sorry. Added Vance Joy because it’s Gordon.

---

Under the surface you don't know what you'll find,

Until it's your time.

---

The night that Jeff Tracy took humanity's first step on the surface of Mars, he had three little boys watching at home. Gordon, he liked to say, was born of the fall out. A child created in a whirlwind of press tours and ticker tape and eventually brought home to that quiet little homestead that would never be truly quiet or homely again.

By the time Gordon became a Tracy being a Tracy mattered. And sure money's great and influence is better, but Gordon's sixteen years old with sunlight in his hair and his eyes and his soul, and for him, for him the best part of being a Tracy is that no one ever tells you you can't.

Not that Gordon would listen if they did.

Because the other important thing to know about being a Tracy, is that Gordon isn't very good at it.

He's uninterested in physics or engineering or math. He has minimal desire to blow things up or shoot people or study space dust. He likes a party and he loves people, but he's miserable in a cummerbund and he kinda never understood capitalism.

When you're fourth, you gotta find your own way to be first. And all right Scott's a fighter pilot and John's a genius and Virgil's some sort of goddamn savant, but at least Alan can't even tie his shoelaces yet so Gordon's got one up on him. Gordon doesn't even wear shoes. Doesn't wear much of anything at all except teeny weeny trunks splattered red, white and blue.

Gordon won't be a hero, won't have a theory named after him, but what Gordon will have will be his.

Gordon's going for gold.

His muscles burn and his hair turns green and he sweats chlorine into his sheets every night, but that doesn't matter. Nothing matters but the next millisecond, the turn, the cleanness of his touch. He can't care about anything but his coach's thumb hovering over the stopwatch and the crest of his fly because it's coming. Gold. It's coming, and it's everything.

Everything.

---

Dad calls on Wednesdays at three. Alan calls at midnight just to hear him swear. He gets weekly updates on daring-do from Scott and a monthly serving of sarcasm and space babble from John.

Virgil calls because they tend to forget.

"You gonna come home, you think? Before?"

Virgil looks different, his floppy black hair cropped short, band shirts exchanged for some weird quasi military uniform. He's still watching Gordon shovel food down his throat with an expression of disgusted awe, though, so some things never change.

"Dunno." Gordon shrugs, mouth full. "Gotta keep training. Four months to go, can't lose form now."

"You should come, there's -- there's a lot changed around here," says Virgil, like that's a reason. Then, when Gordon just chews at him in reply, "Dad built you a pool."

And maybe that's a reason, after all.

Cause sure, his dad's never told him he can't, but Gordon's been gone a long time, and he's not sure he remembers the last time his dad told him he could.

---

Home's not the farm anymore, or the ranch, or the townhouse in Manhattan. Home is some island a billion miles from anywhere, where huge portraits of his older brothers stare expressionlessly down at him and his shoes squeak on the super shiny floor, humidity making his tracksuit stick to his back.

Gordon has only really spent a few weeks here, his training all taking place under the eagle eye of Uncle Sam and sponsored entirely by Old Glory, but he doesn't remember it like this.

The decor is still retro spy movie meets crazy billionaire with paranoia problems, and his bedroom is pretty much as he left it, but nothing else seems familiar at all. He'd left Tracy Two in a great cavernous hanger that would have been overkill even for one of dad's crazy projects, Kyrano had rushed him past huge shadowy behemoths that suggested, pretty damn strongly, that Jeff Tracy is in the midst of another too easily financed midlife crisis.

"Please tell me he isn't planning world domination," Gordon had only half joked as they’d emerged into the brightness of the villa proper. "He'd look awful in lycra."

Kyrano had glared at him, swirled back into the bowels of the island, and left him with Scott.

Scott is wearing lycra.

He's sitting behind their dad's desk, two high points of colour in his cheeks and his eyes bright with something Gordon can't name as he pours over datasets. All he's missing to complete the look is a fluffy white cat and a maniacal laugh.

"Hey. Hey." Nothing. Scott mutters to himself as he sweeps his fingers through warning signs. "Scotty, hey!"

Scott looks up. Blinks. Blinks again.

"Gordon?"

"The one and only."

Scott stands, still grossly tall, and moves to ruffle Gordon's hair. It's not as easy as it used to be, there's an actual lift of his hand, and Gordon can't help but feel satisfaction creep into his bones.

"You grew."

"Hear it happens."

"Got a girlfriend?"

"Got a pillow."

"Tragic."

"That's me." Gordon throws his arm across his eyes and flops backwards onto the sofa. "Sacrificing everything in pursuit of a noble goal. Hold tight, beautiful people. Only three more months and I'm yours."

He peeks out from behalf of his elbow to see Scott standing over him, arms folded, lips twisted into something a bit like a fond smile. A bit.

Something unpleasant settles in Gordon's stomach.

"What are you doing desk work for? I thought you were out there --" He gestures to the cloudless sky beyond the glass wall. "Y'know. Saving the world."

Scott opens his mouth, but then there's a chime from the desk and Alan hollering from the staircase and Grandma crushing him to her chest, and Gordon is left to wonder.

---

Scott isn't the only thing that's strange.

There's a fish tank in the corner, empty but for a little model sub from that docudrama he and John used to love to watch with Mom, but when he lays his hand on the glass it hums beneath his fingers and makes his teeth ache.

John's not here, replaced as resident super nerd by some guy they call Brains who makes John look dumb. Dad isn't there, either, but that's okay. Nor is Gordon, really.

He's lived apart from his family for the best part of two years, he shouldn't be surprised that they've changed. That's he's changed. But somehow, it doesn't feel like he has.

Alan's finally learned to tie his laces but still never bothers, Virgil's taken out his piercing, Grandma is being followed by a robot dog, but Gordon is still the same kid with the same dreams and he isn't sure what anybody else's dreams are anymore. Virgil's in a uniform and Scott's out of his and John is gone and Alan's looking at him like he knows stuff.

This is impossible, of course. Alan is an infant. This is the abiding certainty of Gordon's life and he intends to prove it this evening with three rubber spiders and a trapeze but whatever.

It's just that Gordon isn't quite sure where he fits, just like he doesn't know where to sit when holograms of the great and the good appear in his living room. Doesn't quite know what to make of the way their eyes skip over him to rest on Scott, or Virgil, and where the hell is John, anyway?

"Top secret," Alan says, all pre-teen smugness, "can't tell you."

"Dad'll be home soon," Virgil adds, ever the peacekeeper, "I'm sure he'll tell you everything."

Gordon's not so sure and Scott says nothing at all except a vehement 'no!' when Gordon dares to suggest going for a swim.

So much for the pool, then.

---

Night is falling and Gordon's already ready for bed when the roar of engines fills the air and the whole family dart for the window, faces pressed against the glass. Gordon hovers behind them, unsure of his place, until Scott grabs him bodily by the elbow and drags him downstairs to where the deck leads down to the pool.

"Come on! You got to see this!"

It's a thing to see, all right. The pool withdraws beneath the villa itself, leaving a great gaping hole in the earth into which a great silver plane descends, jets first. And Gordon remembers the TV-21 and his father's fascination with speed and grace and more speed -- it's the one thing they have in common after all -- but this, this is something else.

She disappears into the ground, and the pool sweeps over her, only the sway of the water left as evidence. Scott turns to him with an almost hysterical glee.

"Did you see that!?"

Gordon would have pointed out that he'd have to have been dead blind and comatose not to have seen it, but Scott's practically bouncing on his toes, his expression full of what Gordon recognises as real, true love.

"Isn't she beautiful? Come on, come on, Dad's gotta debrief and then --"

"Scott!" They both snap to attention, immediately turning to where their father stands, towering over both of them from the top of the stairs. "Debrief can wait. Let me see your brother."

Scott darts off, probably to hump the shiny thing, and Dad approaches Gordon, his eyes shining, dirt on his cheek.

"What do you think of her, son?"

"I think you've safely guaranteed Scotty won't be bringing you home any surprise grandbabies."

Dad snorts, clapping Gordon on the shoulder and turning him back toward the pool. They head out across the deck together, Gordon barefoot in only his sleep shorts, Jeff in a uniform like Scott's only gently singed.

"I've missed you. How's training?"

Gordon half shrugs. "Wet. Good. Pretty tiring."

Jeff looks him up and down with a critical eye "So I imagine. It looks good on you."

Gordon stretches and grins. "No more noodle arms, right?"

Jeff blinks, and for a moment Gordon almost thinks he sees something like sadness in his eyes, but it's soon gone and his dad's turning him to face the pool again.

"Will it do? I know it's not Olympic standard but we needed some room for the house and --"

"Dad," he says, because his dad is rambling and his dad never rambles. "Dad what's going on?"

Jeff looks down into the pool. The stars flicker into being in his reflection.

"Forest fire. Family home was cut off."

"Your rescue thing. You saved them."

Jeff looks at him, Gordon watches in the water as he schools his features, tightens his jaw. "This time.

"Scott and Virgil?"

"Are involved, yes."

"And John?"

Jeff looks up then, up to the darkening sky, and points. "We built a satellite. It monitors distress calls from all over the world - and beyond."

"Makes sense. Space case."

"Play to your strengths, isn't that what they say?"

"What about Alan?"

"Alan's eleven, Gordon. Even my insanity has its limits."

"And you built me a pool?"

"And I built you a pool. Is it -- " a breath where Gordon wouldn't expect to hear one "is it all right?"

"All right?" Gordon turns to him and grins. "It's perfect."

Because okay, so it's only a short course, and it occasionally has a supersonic plane blasting through it, but it's a pool and it's for him, and that's better than Scotty's super special plane.

His dad's clapping him on the back again and smiling and that's better than any top secret technology.

It makes a strange island full of strange things feel a little bit more like home.

Jeff's off again already though, gesturing to the round building above the villa and going on about blast radius and Gordon's content to just watch for a moment, to bask in that feeling for as long as it lasts. Then the subject changes.

"We'll be in Cape Town for the opening ceremony, of course, and I've made arrangements to ensure we can all make your races. I'm sure it won't shock you to hear Alan's made t shirts and John's bringing a banner. I hope it's safe for television."

His eyes snap to his dad's.

"John's coming?"

His dad's eyebrows twitch. "You think he'd miss it? Gordon, none of us will miss this. Not for the world. And as you now know, I mean that quite literally."

Gordon nods, mutely. There's a build up of something in his chest. Lactic acid squeezing his heart. His dad takes pity.

"What about September? Are you still planning on marine biology?"

Gordon scuffs at the tile with his bare heel. This is a conversation he's been avoiding for a long time, now. The after.

"Yeah. UCLA."

"California?"

Gordon shrugs.

"You don't seem keen? Sydney have an excellent program, do you --" Gordon feels more than hears the shudder in his dad's exhale. "No, no Jeff stop it. You tell me, Gordy. What do you want to do?"

Gordon's voice is never small, but it's as close as it's ever been. "Was thinking WASP."

Both of his dad's eyebrows disappear into his hairline. "The military? You?"

It's not an unexpected reaction. Gordon scoffs. "You wound me, Dad. Maybe I have hidden depths."

"I don't doubt that for a moment," his dad says, then he looks up, right up, to where the milky way swirls and John sits. “You’re not old enough.”

“Yeah, I know, I thought, college first - couple of years of credits and I can join as an officer.”

“You’re my son, you can join as whatever you damn well please.”

“Dad--”

"Sorry, sorry.” And his Dad’s looking into space and Gordon’s looking down at the water and it’s kinda always been like this, between them. Gordon suspects his dad hates it even more than he does.”You know I'll support you, if that's what you really want."

Gordon finally follows his gaze, imagines John in the vacuum of space, alone with his books and his stars. He wonders if Dad had had this conversation with him, before sending him up there. "That sounds kinda like a don't do it, Dad, I'm not gonna lie."

"Can I be honest?" Gordon nods, because saying no seems kinda harsh, but his heart is thundering faster than after a sprint. "Gordon, when I designed International Rescue, I designed it for you boys. A legacy, I suppose. I wanted --" he shakes his head. "I'm getting to be a selfish old man."

Gordon scowls. "You're the least selfish man I've ever met. Pretty sure those people whose lives you saved today would agree."

Jeff shakes his head.

"I want you to know," he says, "that there will always be a place for you, here, with us, if you want it. But only if you want it." A twitch of Jeff’s lips. “God knows, I could never make you anyway.”

"Thanks, Dad." Then, a wicked grin pulling at the corner of his mouth, "Race you?"

A splash, a shout, laughter rings out into the night and hell it's cheesy but it's true; for a moment Gordon kinda feels like he's already won.

---

The Olympics are due to start in June.

May, and his father dies.

Gordon flies home immediately, thirty thousand feet over Cape Town without even looking down.

He can't.

He has a place in a legacy.

---

#fabfivefeb #fabfivefeb2020 #thunderbirds are go #gordon tracy #jeff tracy #oh look its angsty #theres a wild shock #idek #there might be a part 2

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artificialqueens · 6 years ago

Text

In Orbit Around the Same Star (Biadore) - doctor bitchcraftt

Anonymous prompt - Adore finally realizes she wants Bianca and stops sleeping around; Bianca accepts what she’s been trying to run from, that she’s always loved Adore.

A/N: This one took more out of me than I thought it would when I sat down to write it; it stays just inside the boundary of my canon-compliant writing rules. Quote cited is from an actual interview with Bianca. Serious introspection, feelings, and a whole lot of love. Xoxoxoxo, bitchcraftt

Read on AO3

********

She’s going to be thirty this year.

It’s…very that.

She used to think that her life began with Idol, but really, it started at twenty three when she walked into the workroom, and skyrocketed at twenty four when Adore Delano eclipsed Danny Noriega.

Her twenties were filled with partying hard, thrilled by running reckless. Sometimes too hard and too wild, because she couldn’t stop to think about that or why and what she was running from.

She thinks about Michelle holding her together by the thinnest threads in Europe, when her own mother would have been horrified by her behavior. Some of it’s hazy, and some of it she can’t remember at all. She tries not to think about how badly it could have ended.

Adore knows how incredibly lucky she is to not have caused any permanent damage (she’s carefree but never careless when someone else is intimately involved).

She also knows that it’s due in a large part to having people who reeled her in, anchored her when she started to (or did) go too far.

She thinks about her sisters, the closest members of her drag family (and honestly, real family now). Considers the three people constantly speaking across thousands of miles, texting good morning from wherever they are in the world that day. Three people who have her back even when she’s in the wrong - and oh, do they let her know it privately - and who she can count on to rescue her from herself.

********

Bianca is, if nothing else, exceedingly self-aware. Painfully so, even, about things like her need to be in control, to grasp onto order instead of chaos.

“I like work because that’s the only thing I have control of," she told an interviewer back in 2015, answering a question about what she valued most in life. "I can’t be in control of anything else. I can’t control if I’m in a relationship, I can’t control when someone dies, but I can control my work ethic and keep plowing and going through it."

She (aside from a few notable exceptions) has always lived life carefully, weighing outcomes and consequences and never risking more than she thought she could lose. Always kept faithfully to her commitments, even at the cost of too little sleep and no time for anything besides work. Always been the steady, reliable one that her friends know they can turn to when their own lives are in disarray for a sarcastic comment followed by deep compassion.

********

Adore is beyond grateful for being able to lean on Bianca’s strength when she doesn’t trust her own.

Bianca, so grounded in who she (and he) is that she has no problem helping others. Giving and kind to strangers and acquaintances alike, the first to lend her makeup and earrings to other queens, to fix a wig or a torn seam, greeting fans with a smile and always willing to take a photo.

Honest and sharp, but never cruel or unnecessary with her criticism.

Bianca, who doesn’t think twice about offering to pay for things her friends need (Adore’s hair, Jiggly’s teeth), not to flaunt her wealth but because her bank account isn’t as important as her friends’ health and happiness.

Bianca, whose door is always open no matter the time of night or day or the space beyond midnight but before dawn. Who lets Adore wake her up with a phone call or drunken knocking, lets her cling to her unshakable steadiness, listens no matter how ridiculous or cringe worthy the subject.

Bianca, the brilliant comic who laughs at all of her jokes, even when they’re not actually funny. Her surprisingly high-pitched giggles and wicked cackle are wonderful, and earning a full body, head thrown back laugh always feels like an accomplishment.

She’s never demanded anything in return, not for her corset and not for her time. Doesn’t even seem comfortable with being thanked, as if she feels like the things she does are a matter of course and she’s just paying it forward.

(The corset is still in Adore’s closet, together with her black sequined finale dress.)

Bianca, who would give and give of herself until she’s exhausted because she can’t not help. Who would drop everything if Adore or Courtney or so many other of their sisters was in need.

Her capacity to love is deeper than anyone else Adore has ever met, even if it’s cloaked in pithy comments and exasperated eyerolls.

********

Bianca has said time and again that winning Drag Race at thirty eight meant something completely different than if she had been twenty. Some days even thirty five feels ridiculously far away, when so much has changed since. She’s gone from trying to keep a crowd’s attention in nightclubs to sold out stages worldwide with fans who only speak a little bit of English wildly chanting her name, unable to even go to Starbucks without someone recognizing her face.

More than anything else, Drag Race taught her that even she still had room to grow and learn.

Before the workroom, she would have laughed outright if anyone had told her she would become the closest of friends with someone almost a decade and a half younger. She’s watched Adore live her life intensely, sometimes recklessly, sometimes without considering what could happen. Has helped pick up the pieces when it went wrong. Learned that the hardest thing sometimes is to let her, because it’s not fair to take the experiences or decisions away.

The most striking thing is that despite being at very different stages of life, despite the occasionally naive and overconfident blunders, Adore fits neatly into all of the places that were empty before, including the things she didn’t even realize were missing. She’s a juxtaposition of mercurial mood and rebellious nature with a very old soul whose depth sometimes leaves Bianca speechless. Fearless and fun, and busy dragging everyone else in along with her.

Before Adore, she thinks she almost forgot what it was like to live in the moment, too busy staying busy to ever slow down.

********

Adore thinks about how they gravitate towards each other when they’re both in the same place. Looks at photos of them holding hands or hugging on stage, and realizes that it feels so natural she doesn’t even notice . She thinks about how they constantly stay in physical contact, never any concept of personal space between them and never aware of its absence.

Bianca gives the best hugs because she uses her whole body. Hugs that remind and constantly surprise Adore with how much strength is in her deceptively slim build.

If she closes her eyes when Bianca’s arms are around her, she can feel the energy of a contained tidal wave, a force of nature that, once its path is clear, stops for nothing. And in the face of that power, she never feels anything but safe.

********

Bianca is tactile herself (even if she denies it on stage) and understands the need for touch. She doesn’t shy away from reaching for a fan’s hand or giving hugs, because she’s still a little in awe that all of that energy and excitement is for her.

Physical affection for her friends is so much a part of her that she doesn’t even register it half the time, sharing seats in clubs or lounging together on a hotel bed to read texts. It’s even more pronounced with Adore, always seeking out the other’s warmth and stability, two planets in orbit around the same star.

********

Adore loves Bianca’s sharp tongue and intelligence, how she can look at a piece of fabric and already know exactly what she’ll make out of it.

Loves how she carries herself in a gown, how her makeup is over the top and the skill it takes to paint that way.

Loves her work ethic and dedication to the craft.

Loves how she can command a stage and the rapt attention of thousands.

Loves her self-deprecation while insisting that Bianca Del Rio isn’t meant to be beautiful or sexy, when she manages to do both.

********

Bianca has loved Adore for years.

It’s neither unexpected nor something she’s ashamed of; Adore is ridiculously easy to love.

People the world over have fallen for her expressive eyes and unceasing energy, her relatable manner of speaking liberally sprinkled with expletives, her wide smile and captivating voice. Listening to her sing, wrapping her voice around each word, is hypnotic and even Bianca catches herself caught under her spell.

She probably (definitely) loves Adore a little more than the rest of her sisters, a fact that isn’t lost on their friends (or legions of fans, apparently).

********

Adore has always been a little in love with Bianca.

She’s referred to her more than once as the love of her life, in complete seriousness no matter how many hashtags follow the statement.

She thinks a lot about how Bianca looks out for her, calls her “my angel” and “my love”. Is afraid to believe that it’s any different than the way Bianca loves and touches her other friends. Worse, she worries that her jokes about their age difference and playing up their quasi mother-daughter relationship means Bianca will only ever think of Adore as a (her) child.

********

She’s always going to try to take care of Adore, the same as with any of her friends. There’s definitely the slightly maternal aspect of watching her grow as both a queen and a person. But she’s also always going to see her as more than just an adopted drag daughter.

It’s complicated.

She worries that Adore is serious when she tells fans, "Bianca is like my second mom." Worries that she’ll always be only the protective shoulder to cry on and give advice, the friend to go out to the club with, a beloved older sibling but never to love.

Watching Adore asleep beside her, and Courtney and Darienne across the way on the other bed in her London hotel room, she isn’t sure why that thought bothers her so much. Not when the peaceful sense of stillness is lulling her into slumber.

She thinks about the age difference, how sometimes it’s painfully obvious that Adore isn’t settled into who she is and where she’s going yet. Thinks about how it took most of her thirties before she met a twenty three year old queen with three wigs, clearance special dresses, and a passion for life that reminded her how much she’d walled herself off.

Adore is turning thirty this year, and Bianca is on the wrong side of forty.

********

Adore isn’t sure how to manage love on its own, not this kind. In her world, love beyond family has always been connected to sex - passionate, out of this world hot or intensely sweet or comfortably intimate. And sex by itself is easy, is fun, no feelings other than a mutual interest in wringing as much pleasure as possible from the encounter, sharing the thrill and comfort of touch.

Loving someone so deeply without an intimate physical relationship is completely different, never mind that it’s tangled up in what’s probably one of the most profound relationships of her life.

Adore hasn’t done commitment lately because she doesn’t want even the slightest urge to be unfaithful if her attention wanders. It’s not that she wouldn’t give up her bed-hopping; it’s just that everyone is so unique, so many beautiful opportunities to discover someone new, that it would be unfair to promise something she can’t keep. She doesn’t want to burn down relationships, has tried the long distance thing, but being on separate continents was too difficult even with FaceTime and Skype and phone calls.

********

Bianca thinks about Adore casually kissing fans, kissing Courtney thank you for fixing a stray bobby pin, pouting together at the camera with their faces pressed close. Thinks about how in all of the years, Adore has never kissed her on the mouth even as a joke no matter how much her inhibitions have been lowered.

She wonders if Adore knows what it does to her stomach sometimes when she climbs into her bed for drunken snuggles, handsy and loose-limbed. Hates the twinge of guilt when she enjoys holding her after she passes out draped over her whole body.

********

The thing is, Adore knows she would give up casual sex for Bianca. At least she thinks she could, would try harder than for anyone else.

Although it’s possible that they wouldn’t be compatible sexually, Adore dismisses that idea immediately. Dick jokes aside, all of that focused attention would be overwhelming in the best possible way regardless of the activity. If she’s amazing as a friend, Adore is positive that Bianca would be (is) a generous and dedicated lover, committed to her (his) partner’s satisfaction.

The problem is, it could never ever be uncomplicated for them.

It’s not as simple as taking each other to bed when they’ve shared the covers on multiple occasions for years. Often enough to fit their limbs together easily, Adore’s head on her shoulder, long enough that she knows exactly what Bianca sounds like when she snores.

There’s no way that they could write it off as just a fuck between friends. Adore falls hard and fast when she lets herself, and with Bianca who’s already seen her at her worst and still loves her…

Bianca calls her fearless. In ninety-nine percent of situations, that’s definitely the case, even when it’s unwise. This though? Adore won’t risk losing what they have now to take a chance on something that could very well destroy them both.

It’s not the thought of asking for a relationship that scares her. It’s the possibility that Bianca isn’t, wouldn’t, couldn’t be interested in her that way. Or most devastatingly, the possibility that it would work for a while but ultimately fail.

She doesn’t want to think about no longer being able to casually hold hands, of bringing awkwardness to the space between them. Can’t imagine Bianca not letting her cuddle close or the easy afternoons spent together in comfortable silence. Feels her stomach clench considering what it would be like to lose the open invitation to share Bianca’s space.

More than any danger to herself, she’s absolutely terrified of what she could do to Bianca. Bianca, who commits to the things she deems worthy with intensity and complete seriousness. Who pours her entire heart into loving someone (she’s seen it). Adore is acutely aware of how easy it would be to hurt her (hurt him). And Bianca would let her, might even forgive her, but Adore would never forgive herself.

She’s never wanted to cause pain to past boyfriends, but that’s nothing in comparison.

Adore doesn’t ever want their relationship to become something she has to write songs about, trying to excise the pain of loss.

Bianca always says she’s gotten serious relationships out of her system, but what Adore knows she means is that she doesn’t have the time and energy to learn someone new, not with her work commitments.

She thinks about how Bianca is constantly in motion, always working, ready to move onto the next project. Thinks that maybe it means she’s running away from something too, but can’t imagine what she could ever be afraid of.

********

Bianca has been in a little bit in love with Adore for years, even if she was barely willing to admit it in the privacy of her own thoughts.

They’re not the type of friends who could add sex as just another benefit, because all of the other aspects of the relationship so far outweigh getting off together that sex doesn’t even feel like it’s missing. As far as Bianca can tell, the two of them are closer than most couples she knows precisely because there isn’t fucking involved.

She’s told interviewers that she doesn’t have time for a boyfriend, that no one would put up with her constant traveling.

She’s also made red-eye flight detours to see Adore when their engagements have taken them to different parts of the world.

Bianca is very conscious of her focus on things she commits to. If she’s going to do something, anything, she (he) is going to do it right.

Paying careful attention to every small detail of her drag from hairline to padding and cinching and deliberate costume design, even as she’s creating an exaggerated female presence.

Organizing her supplies the same way every time so that she’s never the queen who forgets something.

Spoiling and surprising her friends, because they matter.

Loving Adore.

********

Adore isn’t ready to tell Bianca, not yet. Their friendship is more than enough. And really, she thinks Bianca probably already knows, the same way she knows everything else about her.

#rpdr fanfiction #bianca del rio #adore delano #biadore #canon compliant #doctor bitchcraftt

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racheljoyscott · 7 years ago

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Unanswered Questions

Small sampling of either the deviations from the official report that arise in witness testimony concerning Columbine High or very odd but barely mentioned facts within mainstream reports include:

Eyewitness reports of up to a dozen shooters, some of them adult men

NATO vehicles on the scene less than fifteen minutes after the commencement of the shooting; and SWAT teams reported shooting at students and at each other

Eric Harris was undergoing extensive psychiatric treatment and was taking the quasi-hallucinogenic "anti-depressant" substance known as Luvox, yet his psychiatrist was never questioned

Harris' father, Wayne Harris, had extensive Air Force intelligence links from his time at Plattsburgh air force base (even after its closing)

Several of the bombs found in the school were said by (quickly reassigned) law enforcement authorities to have been too complex for such inexperienced teens to have built by themselves.

The number of witnesses pressured by police to change their stories - Bryan Frye, Courtney Haulman, Jennifer Tindall, etc.

If you read the search warrant for Eric's house after the massacre (pg 25676), it states "Detective Nick Rogers of Denver Police Department responded to REDACTED South Reed Street, County of Jefferson, State of Colorado, with the Denver and Sheridan Police Departments SWAT Team at about 2:00 p.m. Upon arrival, they discovered Eric Harris' parents and sister inside the house." There's more, of course. But who was the female inside the house?

The bank teller (Erik Buckner's mom, pg 1331 of the 11K) who told police that Chris Morris, E&D came into her bank and cashed their checks on April 9th, and that Chris Morris withdrew all the money in his account. What did he use it for?

Why did police concentrate on setting up a perimeter at the same time dispatch(via phone) is hearing the sound of gunshots within the school?

Why did it take police so long to enter the school, and why did it take almost three hours for them to reach the library, the area where the shooters were last seen? Who gave the orders not to go in?

Why did over 100 eye- and ear- witnesses dispute the official theory of only two shooters? Why did over 40 of those witnesses identify other participants BY NAME?

If the two shooters committed suicide shortly after noon, as police claim, how come at least 35 witnesses saw or heard suspects/gunshots/explosions after that time?

Why are there conflicting eyewitness accounts on the place and manner in which at least four of the dead victims were killed? Were victims being moved around? Was the crime scene being rearranged?

If left-handed Klebold shot himself in the left temple, why was his suicide weapon found clutched in his right hand?

How did students manage to keep seriously wounded teacher Dave Sanders alive for more than three hours while awaiting rescue, yet he was dead within 20 minutes of the police taking control of him? His corpse was later found with his shirt off. Is that first-aid? Or a sure-fire way of sending someone into shock?

What was the motive? Why would two teens who were not bullied, did not hate everyone, and were not psychopathic suddenly decide to destroy the lives of a dozen fellow students and themselves just six weeks before graduation?

Why would Harris and Klebold plan for a suicide mission and at the same time make normal plans for a post 4-20 future? Like seeking help on an English class essay from a teacher a few days before the attack, like making a date to see a movie the day after, like putting in a work schedule for the next week, like going to an out-of-town college with your dad to pick out a dorm room, like making plans to visit your old friends in New York.

Where is the gun shot residue(GSR) test evidence for Harris and Klebold and the other suspects?

Why was fingerprint evidence for Harris and Klebold not found on all but two of the hundreds of obects gathered at the scene? Whose fingerprints, if any, were found on the weapons seized?

Why does the official story claim, without a shred of evidence, that it was Harris and Klebold that set the South Wadsworth diversionary bomb (an incendiary device that exploded a couple of miles away from the school minutes before the shooting started)?

Why did authorities claim the two shotguns seized had no serial numbers when later documents clearly show they did have serial numbers? Why did they not try to find out who sold Harris and Klebold the Hi-Point 9mm rifle and the pump-action shotgun that were used in the shooting?

Were the school administrators warned, as rumored? Who was Principle Frank DeAngelis looking for, as reported by one student who saw him running up and down the interior cafeteria stairs right before the shooting broke out?

Why did a science teacher tell his students that they had been expecting a fire drill? Was a bomb found in a trash can on 4-19, as one source indicated? Were bomb threats phoned into the school on the morning of 4-20, as two others claimed?

Why didn’t the Final Report conclude that shooters entered Science rooms 1 and 8, when numerous shell casings were taken from these areas?

Why didn’t the Final Report mention the brief exit of a shooter on the east side, according to many eyewitnesses?

If the person seen on the roof of the school was a repairman, as police claim, why do witnesses say he was holding a weapon? Were shell casings found there, as some said?

Who scheduled ‘crisis training’ drills at Columbine High Schol(CHS) in the weeks before and what was the exact nature of this training?

What was a Denver police officer and a Jefferson County sheriff doing at Columbine High Shcool that morning before the shooting started?

What does reputed video evidence from the library and admin office areas show? Why does local media refuse to release on-scene video footage from the first half-hour of the incident?

What happened to all the evidence taken from the computers of the trenchcoat mafia gang?

Where are dozens of missing interviews of students, especially those in the science hall? Why are there still thousands of pages of investgatory materials that have never been made public, including hundreds of reports of non-Columbine witnesses and tipsters?

Why has the school district’s own report on the shooting, which included the extensive disciplinary records of the trenchcoat mafia associates, not been made public?

Did investigators even try to interview Harris’ psychologist, the man perhaps best positioned to know his mental state at the time?

Why did investigators show a remarkable lack of curiousity about connections with numerous similar school violence-related incidents occuring around the same time in the metro-Denver area and around the country?

Why did LAPD and Los Angeles Sheriff’s Office personnel travel to the scene afterwards? What was the subject of a 10-minute phone call made by the NYPD to the Jefferson County Sheriff’s Office on 4-20?

Who invited the FBI and the ATF to the scene?

Why was the US Attorney’s Office (federal) consulted on ‘prosecutive decisions’ for this local crime?

Why was all but one of the seven ‘investigatory’ teams headed or co-headed by an FBI man? (the one exception was a team headed by a CBI(Colorado Bureau of Investigation) man, who was himself ‘ex’-FBI) Was the entire crime scene ‘federalized’ soon after the shooting started, under powers granted by the ‘Anti-terrorism Act’ (“for the protection of the people and the state”) signed by President Clinton exactly three years before- on April 20, 1996?

Why did FBI special agent Dwayne Fusilier not recuse himself from the investigation, as his son helped make a Columbine school video two years before that eerily mimicked the shooting?

What were two high-ranking military figures (a colonel and a general) in cami uniforms doing at the scene? Why was a memorial service at a public park afterwards ringed by military trucks? Who authorized a flyover by military jets and why?

Feel free to add on.

#columbine #eric harris #dylan klebold #conspiracy

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zhi-bde · 4 years ago

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Japan has resumed catching whales for profit, in defiance of international criticism.

Its last commercial hunt was in 1986, but Japan has never really stopped whaling - it has been conducting instead what it says are research missions which catch hundreds of whales annually.

Now the country has withdrawn from the International Whaling Commission (IWC), which banned hunting. It sent out its first whaling fleet on 1 July, with permits to catch 227 whales.

The first whale - a minke - was brought back to shore that day.

Isn't whaling banned?

Whales were brought to the brink of extinction by hunting in the 19th and early 20th Century. By the 1960s, more efficient catch methods and giant factory ships made it obvious that whale hunting could not go unchecked.

So in 1986, all IWC members agreed to a hunting moratorium to allow whale numbers to recover.

Conservationists were happy but whaling countries - like Japan, Norway and Iceland - assumed the moratorium would be temporary until everyone could agree on sustainable quotas. Instead it became a quasi-permanent ban.

But there were exceptions in the moratorium, allowing indigenous groups to carry out subsistence whaling, and allowing whaling for scientific purposes.

Tokyo put that latter clause to full use. Since 1987, Japan has killed between 200 and 1,200 whales each year, saying this was to monitor stocks to establish sustainable quotas.

Critics say this was just a cover so Japan could hunt whales for food, as the meat from the whales killed for research usually did end up for sale.

Why is Japan restarting whaling now?

In 2018 Japan tried one last time to convince the IWC to allow whaling under sustainable quotas, but failed. So it left the body, effective July 2019.

Could the ban on killing whales end?

Pro-whaling nations block sanctuary plan

Whaling is a small industry in Japan, employing around 300 people. About five vessels are expected to set sail in July.

The whaling "will be conducted within Japan's territorial waters and Exclusive Economic Zone", Hideki Moronuki of the Japanese fishing ministry told the BBC in June.

This means Japan will no longer hunt whales in the Antarctic, as it did under its earlier research programme.

The catch cap of 52 minke whales, 150 Bryde's whales and 25 sei whales is also lower than the 333 cap set for last year's research hunt.

Like other whaling nations, Japan argues hunting and eating whales are part of its culture. A number of coastal communities in Japan have indeed hunted whales for centuries but consumption only became widespread after World War Two when other food was scarce.

From the late 1940s to the mid-1960s whale was the single biggest source of meat in Japan but since become a niche product again.

Is Japan's plan legal?

"Within its 12 mile coastal waters, Japan can do whatever it wants," Donald Rothwell, professor of international law at the Australian National University, told the BBC.

Beyond that, in its 200 miles (322km) exclusive economic zone and of course the high seas, the country is bound by the UN Convention on the Law of the Sea.

Article 65 of said convention mandates that "states shall co-operate with a view to the conservation" of whales and "shall in particular work through the appropriate international organizations for their conservation, management and study".

Having left the IWC, Japan is no longer part of any such international organisation and that "directly raises questions issues whether or not Japan would be consistent with the convention," Mr Rothwell explains.

It's not clear if any country would try to bring Japan to court over this - in its defence, Japan might argue that for years it did try to co-operate within the IWC without any results.

Even if there were to be a ruling or injunction against Tokyo, there'd be no mechanism to enforce it.

What environmental impact will Japan's whaling have?

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joyful-voyager · 7 years ago

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Today's Massive Political Rant

Y'all mind if I rant a little bit? No? Good. 'Cause I've got some crap to get off my chest. There's a whole lot of Democratic handwringing going on right now about the Russia/collusion story along the lines of, “Why aren't more Republicans outraged? If this had been Obama, they'd be calling for his head! Why aren't people abandoning Trump in droves? Why aren't the politicians walking away from this dumpster fire? Why are most Republican voters still supporting this abomination of an administration? Do they just think collusion and intent to commit election fraud and possible freaking treason are all just okay?" No. Of course they don't think it's okay. But they do think it's acceptable. Let me explain. I grew up around people like this. My teenage daughter once described my Midwestern hometown thusly: “It's about the size of a watermelon, and the people are the pits." Yeah, she's not far wrong. With a few exceptions — which thankfully include my very moderate immediate family members and their spouses and adult children — the people I grew up with are right-wing, regressive, reactionary, undereducated, and over-religious. Trumpers, in other words, and proud of it. I went home for a visit last weekend, and within 10 minutes of leaving my parents' house for a walk with my husband, I saw no fewer than three Confederate flag bumper stickers on pickups barreling down the main street through town. Don't get me wrong; it's a nice little town, with a great public school system and not a single private school within 20 miles, lots of cute little antique shops and boutiques, a beautiful public park and town pool, a massive Little League and Girls Softball league, wonderful town heritage celebrations, and the best damn donut shop on the planet. It was a good place to grow up … until I actually grew up and left, and looked back on it much later, with much clearer vision. And I can pretty confidently say that of course no one there thinks collusion with Russia to rig an election was an okay thing to do. But they do think it was acceptable … in return for an administration and Congress that will rubberstamp fixes for all the institutions and concepts that make them feel bad. In other words, as long as Trump can install enough Supreme Court Justices to deal with the things that make them feel … … sad (abortion, all those dead babies) … … wronged (a poor person might be able to eat or see a doctor for free or at a reduced cost when they have to pay for it outright) … … icky (the existence and establishment of rights for LGBTQA people) … … embarrassed (they might have to go back to school to retrain for a new job because their old industry doesn't exist anymore, and school sucked for them the first time) … … scared (a brown person might break into their house at any second to steal their stuff so they need to keep their guns and have a quasi-military police force to protect them) … … doubtful (their preferred religion might not be more valid or peaceful or Truthful than a different religion or, horror of horrors, no religion at all) … … inadequate (a woman can have ideas and property and autonomy and a life without being wholly dependent on a man) … … angry (paying taxes to send kids to school when they don't have any of their own) … … unsure (kids these days are learning things in schools and universities that they don't understand) … … dumb (climate science is full of eggheads who use really big words they didn't learn in school and climate change can't be real because: snow) … … outnumbered and insignificant (the U.S. will be a majority minority nation within a generation or two and white people, especially middle-aged and older white men, will no longer be trusted or even needed to steer the Ship of State) … … what's a little collusion among friends? As long as the current (mis)Administration appeals to their fears and promises them that women (read: sluts) will be forced to carry their poor babies to term but they won't have to pay for those babies' care and education … as long as they don't have to pay for some poor person getting treated for heroin addiction or any other “sin-related“ health problem … as long as they can keep their guns so they feel safe and powerful when things go bump in the night … as long as they are never the ones who have to retrain for jobs in new industries but they can glibly demand it of poor black and brown people … as long as women cover up their tasty, tasty shoulders and don't get all uppity at university when they get drunk and get themselves raped by some innocent white frat boy who just couldn't control himself (and should never be told to control himself because boys will be boys and male sexuality is 100% in the control of temptresses who want to lead boys from the godly path) … as long as boys who kiss boys and girls who kiss girls and people whose gender identity doesn't match their genitals stay firmly away from them because just thinking about all of that makes them feel weirdly tingly in the pants … as long as nobody ever tries to regulate the emissions of their 20-year-old pickup with Confederate flags all over it, nor the outdated auto manufacturing plant that built it … as long as white men are still seen as the top of the earthly hierarchy, second only to their god … everything else is okay. Everything, right up to and including treason, because it's all a means to an end. They will never see what's right in front of their faces. They will never think past “I think abortion is bad" and get to “so we should make birth control as available to as many people as possible," because that sad emotion associated with abortion has been appeased before that thought can even form. (And also because birth control empowers women to control their own sexuality, which should be firmly in the control of their husbands or fathers, but that's a whole other issue.) They will say they don't like the Affordable Care Act because it supposedly put small business owners in a rough spot, but that's just what they've been told to say by Fox News to mask the fact that they just don't want to pay for anybody's health care other than their own, especially not poor people or brown people or addicts or undocumented people. Russian collusion is way too complicated for them to understand, and as long as Trump makes all the icky stuff go away and makes all the bad feelings feel better, then by god, they will overlook every single damn thing he does otherwise. And they call us “bleeding hearts." It's a sick, stunted, lizard-brain worldview. I know. I grew up having it shoved in my face every single damn day of my childhood. But it may explain why most Trumpers are just not talking about what's happening right now. Trump told them what they wanted to hear: That they have nothing to fear because white men will be on top in his (mis)Administration, brown people will be sent back to where they came from or never allowed to enter the country at all, women will be subservient to men so we can tell them how sexy (or not) they are and get away with it, political correctness won't be a thing anymore so they can speak freely without fear of repercussion, climate change regulations won't hamper manly industries anymore, you might lose Medicare but you won't have to pay health insurance for anybody who isn't able-bodied and morally pure, poor people's kids won't eat or go to school on your dime but you can send your kids to religious schools on the government's dime, the country has only one real religion, and ignorance is not just bliss, it's the American Dream. He told them what they wanted to hear to get their votes. Yes, he appealed to their racism, their fears, their vanity, their isolationism, their stupidity, and their zealotry to get those votes. He got those votes. He paid them back by installing Gorsuch, who they think will make all their lizard-brain emotions feel better and establish the reactionary, regressive government they think they've always wanted. Nothing Trump does after that matters to them, and Trump and his minions know it. Which is why they will get away with all of it — violating the emoluments clause, enriching his family using the Oval Office as his place of business, slashing Medicare to give tax breaks to disgustingly wealthy people, selling our government to China and Russia, ad infinitum. They're going to get away with it until Republican politicians start to think Trump's actions will keep them from getting reelected … but those same politicians know that as long as they and Trump give those lizard-brain voters what they want — conservative policies and Justices who will ease their fears but never, ever ask them to think or learn or change — their jobs are in no danger whatsoever. So please, Democrats. Stop asking why half the country isn't as incensed about this as we are. They just don't care. Furthermore, they're not going to care until we figure out how to appeal to their fearful lizard brains and their latent authoritarianism. I don't claim to know how to do that. I'm not sure anyone does. I'm not sure anyone can. And that's what terrifies me about the future of this country.

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spuriusbrocoli · 8 years ago

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@tolarian-academic for the track-by-track review of “Mouth Moods” by Neil Cicierega.

First off, I had never listened to this album or Neil Cicierega before, so this is an entirely novel experience for me.

For the general review: Neil is not a DJ; he’s a meme. This is not an album to be listened to as anything other than an hour-long joke. And for that reason I wouldn’t really recommend it. Go through the songs Cicierega used and find ones that you love or love to hate and watch Cicierega throw tomatoes at them, but an hour is too long for what’s a pretty unstructured joke. There’s a reason that most feature-length comedies tend to have a conventional plot they attach themselves to (see: the good Monty Python films); it gives the audience room to breathe which “Mouth Moods” emphatically does not. Still, the eldritch familiar attaching itself to my shoulder advises that I at least pretend to have a sense of humor, so my wholly arbitrary ranking was based on how much each track made me laugh. And tbh, I was actually really getting into the groove of the album by the latter third. So take from that what you will.

1. “Wallspin”: This was the goddamn funniest song I’ve heard in years; “You Spin Me Round (Like A Record)” and by extension Dead Or Alive’s first three albums are under-appreciated gems of eighties quasi-ironically good dance-pop. Seriously, go listen to “Youthquake”. It’s actually unironically good in parts.

2. “AC/VC”: I ranked this highly in no small part because I harbor secret guilty pleasure at “A Thousand Miles”, and the utter dissonance with ACDC was *Italian finger-kiss* perfecto.

3. “The End”: The most scathing thing anyone can say of New Metal is that by simply shuffling out the edginess of the sound, you’ve basically got a particularly polished and dull brand of Top 40 bait. This songs kicks ass. Tat said, it takes a bit too much buildup and is less punchy than “AC/VC”, hence the third-place.

4. “Mouth Pressure”: Much like the place directly below it (I’m writing this out of order if you can’t tell), this is a mix of two things that only go together ironically. But where “Stand By Me” and “One Week” are both actually good, “All-Star” is perfect, meme-y garbage.

5. “Stand By Meme”: (1) Perfect title; and (2) “Stand By Me” is one of my brother’s favorite songs of all time, so that helped this more than it probably ought to have. But hey, “Stand By Me” has some great orchestrals. And by “great” here, I of course mean “utterly dissonant with ‘One Week’.”

6. “Wow Wow”: “All-Star” is a recurring theme of this album, much like it is in life. The “Wild Wild West” is certainly among Will Smith’s worse career choices, and it’s pretty good ironic enjoyment fodder. And as a rap song, it has one hell of a beat. Unfortunately, if this were a ranking based on anything other than ,,””ironic””,, enjoyability, then “Wallspin” wouldn’t be at the top.

7. “Shit”: Speaking of things taht only got their place because of ironic memeingful enjoyment...

8. “Annoyed Grunt”: I like the use of overlapping layers here. It’s easily the best song-as-a-song on the album. The use of the audio clips isn’t too distracting (or perhaps it’s just distracting enough), and they’re properly structured into the song structure. The reason it’s below “AC/VC” is that it didn’t make me laugh out loud.

9. “Dear Dinosaur”: This song actually kind of works as an experimental rock song. The janky planking and slight dissonance is like if Xiu Xiu had a sense of humor and desire for radio play.

10. “T.I.M.E.”: You’ll notice that all the funny songs get high billing bc fuck listening to this memebait as actual music (speaking of membait, I’m glad “All-Star” is a running theme in this album). But dear GOD do the Village People not acquiesce to a full-bodied orchestra.

11. “300MB”: I feel like the “song” of this track is better than that of “AC/VC”, but the joke is less punchy and immediate. As a song, though, it’s a touch too generic edm, but hey, the “song” isn’t really the core engagement here.

12. “Smooth”: Given that this one has actual, y’know, layers and shit that I love so much, I feel bad for the low placement here. And as a song, it pretty much works. But the retooling of the “One Week” vocals to fit “Smooth Criminal”’s melody was just imprecise enough that it was all I could focus on. I’m a nitpick. Still, it improves quite a bit as it progresses, and it’s a great buildup to “Stand By Meme”.

13. “The Starting Line”: This was ambitious, but I was ultimately a bit disappointed by the actual music. I prefer my music layered with lots of little sounds overlapping to immerse myself in. “The Starting Line” takes moments and hooks out of which to build a pretty conventional pop song, but I would like to see this level of ear for hooks and talent for careful selection applied to something actually intrinsically good. Still, points for ambition.

14. “Busta”: Meh. A pretty decent ensemble of its component parts, but not engaging enough on its own merits, and not outright hilarious enough to justify it the way “AC/VC” was.

15. “Tiger”: See above, but loses points for the joke being unfunny.

16. “Blockbuster”: This made me feel the ages wearing into my bones, how dare

17. “Revolution #5″: I’ve got nothing against album transitional songs, but they rarely rank high as track in their own right. Also, the ear-to-ear got more than a little grating by the end.

18. “Floor Corn”: Copy-paste all my criticisms of “The Starting Line”, but remove the part where I gave points for ambition.

19. “Bustin”: Two great tastes that... added nothing together. The use of one of the Gorillaz’s best songs contributed nothing. I’d say this is by far the laziest track on the album. Every other track at least had an idea. This just kind of sounds like a bored rapper releasing a bleh mixtape because he’s aware that he’s at the point of his career where no matter what he makes, he’ll get the same result, so why bother?

20. “Shady Interlude”: Have I publicly mentioned that I hate Eminem? Worst white rapper in history. Yes, worse than Vanilla Ice. Because people actually like Eminem. He is exactly the kind of witless edgelord from high school that you were promised you would get petty comeuppance against by outperforming them in the job market, except he’s a millionaire. Fuck Eminem, and fuck this song for reminding me of his existence.

So thank you again @tolarian-academic for inflicting this upon me. You’re all welcomed and encouraged to send me whatever album you fancy for me to rank its tracks with another mini-breakdown. (Though please send me real music this time.)

#music #mouth moods #neil cicierega #long post #ask prompt answered

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chaoscorp · 8 years ago

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[CC] Prologue - In the beginning...

[Read from the... oh right this is the beginning... um... continue reading?] (1153 words)

In the beginning there was nothing, nothing save two realms. Somewhere, and Nowhere. Nowhere was a pitch-black void of nothingness. No air, no land, no sea.

And somewhere in the middle of Nowhere sat floating, a person. Well, less of a person and more of a naked-bones humanoid wrapped snugly in a flowing black robe.

The robes hood hung over his head, a flawless, shining white skull with teeth bent into a permanent sarcastic smile. A flowing black cloak rippled behind him despite no breeze to unsettle it. To him and to all who hear of him, he is Danae, God of Death.

Through empty eye sockets Danae stared emotionless into the void. His thin, pointy-tipped fingers sat curled in his lap. On his back, seemingly attached by nothing, was a long staff with a curved blade at the top, a weapon made entirely of bone.

The god sat there for an indeterminable amount of time, considering that time hadn't been created yet. Never moving, just staring into the lonely abyss. But Danae was not particularly lonely, he hadn't experienced company to the point that he could miss it. If anything he was bored. It wasn't that he didn't like Nowhere, he thought it was a great place to spend eternity. But it could use a little more... more people, to laugh at his truly amazing jokes. After all he had had all of quasi-existence to think of them.

In a sudden fluid movement he reached into his right sleeve and removed from it a small yellow book. Written along an orange strip along the cover in yellow cursive read: “Meú et Evesair con 'Newbies'”.

This of course, if you could understand the pre-temporal language, translated to: “How to make a Universe for 'Newbies'”.

Danae opened the book and turned to the first page. Once again he remained motionless, reading but never turning a page. Any being who may have been watching him probably felt an aura of confusion emanating from him.

He looked up and spoke in a calm, soothing voice unfitting of his grim appearance.

“Grenade.”

Meanwhile, nowhere particular in Somewhere, were sitting the only other two obvious entities currently in existence.

Somewhere was a bright white plain where, unlike Nowhere, there was a floor. Though what exactly it was made of was impossible to fathom, it was just there. In this plain of white were two small, dark mahogany chairs facing each other, another curious anomaly that remained unexplained by even the best of religious historians. On these chairs, sat two deities.

On one was a magnificent being bearing a great muscular suit of silver plate armour with beautiful golden accents. The closed helm gave no tell of the nature of the entity beneath, a pair of luminescent green irises were barely visible through the metal grating. Off the back of the helm fell a wavy, blonde fake ponytail. His gauntlets were adorned with transparent orbs, containing a captivating golden essence.

The sheer awesomeness of the being was enough to leave anyone speechless, though unbeknownst to those observers the god had an astoundingly large ego combined with an impish attitude that made him seem just innocent enough to forgive these traits. He was, and is, the God of Warriors, known as Farjack. And Farjack sat, still as a statue with his left leg hung lazily off the chair as his right leg crossed over it, an elbow resting on his thigh to hold his chin in his palm.

Across from Farjack sat – in a much more polite and comfortable manner – the Goddess of Duality, Zade. Zade had a humanoid body, but her appearance was far from that of most humanoids. Her body was pitch black and blinding white, split perfectly down the middle in a vertical line. Her 'skin' was flat and featureless except for two yellow diamonds for eyes. Everything about her pose and body language spoke royalty, sat proud and prideful.

The two sat looking directly at each other, until finally Zade broke the silence in a soft voice that seemed to echo off of nothing.

“This staring contest has been going on for a few millennia now and I am bored, can we please stop this?” The bottom half of her face moved as if a mouth should be there, an unnecessary habit she had developed over the eons.

“Fine, we can finish...” replied Farjack with a deep, strong, but jolly voice that could almost shake the ground around them.

Zade's face began to move as if she was smiling.

“...but first, blink,” he finished.

Zade sighed. “I am incapable of blinking, you will have to give up eventu-”

She was interrupted by a deafening sound that rang through Somewhere from above, where a small black spot was just now visible on the white sky. Both gods looked up briefly before returning to their staring lock.

“Not on your life.”

The boom still echoed throughout Nowhere. Danae, not exactly having ears, just sat there vibrating until it stopped. In the distance he could now see a white spec on the abyss.

In the opposite direction a similar grey spec appeared, growing slightly larger with each moment. As it grew he began to realize it was a sphere, floating casually towards him at a slow pace relative to two-hundred miles per second.

The, now panicking, God of Death tried to float out of its path by flailing his limbs to no avail.

“What did I do to deserve this?” he asked himself, accepting the inevitability of the situation. “I mean sure, I AM death. But I haven't actually killed anyone...” he paused briefly. “Yet.”

If you have ever been hit by a speeding car and propelled faster than should be physically possible whilst the car continues to press harder against you, then it need not be explained what Danae felt in this moment. If you however have not experienced this, I recommend either spending your life trying to break several laws of physics, or alternatively just ask those who have.

This feeling just hit Danae flat in the chest cavity. But he did not move. Instead the small object spontaneously combusted with the strength of a thousand dying stars.

Something landed next to Farjack with a quiet thump. Careful not to avert his gaze, he picked it up. It appeared to be a yellow book of some kind. Farjack was not one to read but he opened it anyway, out of boredom. He was relieved to find that the book had only one thick page, with one word printed on it in comic sans.

“Grenade?”

“Oh gods...” said Zade.

Farjack followed her gaze upwards to what used to be a black dot, and was now rapidly approaching blue fire. The two were drenched in energy and heat.

When the light finally faded, Somewhere and Nowhere were no more.

[Next: Episode 1]

#Chaos Corp #Prologue #luceira #writing #writers #writer #author #writers of tumblr #books #literature #prose #long read #lit #fantasy

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earnyourbacon · 5 years ago

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[:en]6:30 a.m. In semi-darkness I see a headlamp scurrying across the clearing. I am still lying cuddled up in my quilt, still unwilling to get up. I can’t and don’t want to keep up with the boys’ schedule anyway, as they want to leave at 7.30 a.m. already to take the cool morning hours with them. Because the bubble is pressing, I still feel myself outside ten minutes later and am happy about an enchanting sunrise over the Floridian prairie. Dense wafts of mist give the grass landscape between palm trees and bushes a mystical atmosphere.

Together with Warren and Jason I enjoy the first and also last coffee of the day on the clammy wooden bench and hope that the tent will be dried by the sunrays. Because of the immensely high humidity everything is wet. While I am still wet in my pyjamas the boys pack their things. It is already far after half past seven when I notice “Oops, they’re probably waiting for me.” In no time at all I stuff the damp tent into the packsack, my household goods into the rucksack, disappear behind the next palm tree to get changed and am ready to leave within ten minutes. If only it were that easy in everyday life.

Our hope to still see the female alligator is unfortunately disappointed. Obviously she is a late riser. The way leads us from the campground into the open terrain, briefly into a beautiful oak forest, which, with its imposing, fern-covered oak trees, puts us directly into Avatar, and soon onto the next road. Even today the amount of asphalt is not insignificant and it gets hotter than yesterday. We take it with composure, because we can’t change it. Warren tries to make the alternative route to the original trail tasty for us with a small bistro. Alternative means: even more road instead of swamps. I wave my thanks and Jason also prefers to get wet feet rather than continuing to melt on the asphalt.

Our high spirits are of course rewarded with mud wading. Ankle-deep we all sink into the brown mud and are happy about small ponds to wash off the dirt – only to sink back into the mud after five minutes. I somehow enjoy it, because it is my first swamp experience on the Florida Trail. The two men, however, have already done several miles and days in the black water.

With muddy calves and shoes we arrive at our campground in the late afternoon. There is already a tent there and a caked hiker comes to greet us together with his happy dog. Scrarecrow and Oreo – his black and white dog – are real dropouts and have a ten-year plan to cover almost all trails in the USA. First he hands us a brownie and nobody says no. Except Warren, who is on low carb.

The four of us share the rickety camping bench, because the rust has probably gotten to the second one a long time ago. After I tested my dehydrated pumpkin soup yesterday, today the homemade ratatouille is on the table. The men look a little envious into my bowl, but in the end everyone is full and satisfied. At 7 p.m. it’s reading time again and we have also agreed for the next day: we will continue hiking together.

Lemon and Orange Paradise

After an extensive breakfast with instant coffee and lemon cake, we say goodbye to Scarecrow and Oreo, because they take things very slowly and do just short milage a day. Why rush it, they have ten years time.

Not even five minutes on the trail I stomp through ankle-deep water in a dense palm forest. The shoes and socks from yesterday were not quite dry anyway.

My schedule for the next few days is this: today about 14 miles, tomorrow 20, to get to the reserved campground with hot shower. 20 miles is not a cardboard handle for me in the current condition, because since my return from sabbatical I spent much more time at my desk instead of walking. Therefore I am thinking about hiking more today in order to have less remaining distance the next day.

The plan is nice, but it is even hotter today than the days before. We enjoy every shady section through the semi-tropical forests. And they sweeten the heat in a very unexpected way. At the side of the trail and partly over the trail, wild orange and lemon trees with fruits ripe for harvest rise up. Of course I can’t resist the temptation and carry two oranges and a lemon to the next resting place. The fruits are super juicy and rich in seeds. The lemons are not nearly as sour as the ones from the supermarket, the oranges on the other hand are quite close to the lemons citric acid. Delicious. The fruit juice has spread all over my hands and I try to shake it off. This causes my Garmin watch to squeak like mad, because it means: Accident detected! No shit.

The heat has become unbearable. Now of all times the trail follows a never ending stretch of a shadowless ditch. After I feel already half baked, I wait for Jason, who walks a little bit worn out behind me. Something stings me above my socks and when I look down I see dozens of little red ants scurrying over my feet. I have placed myself in the middle of an anthill. Like a madwoman I wipe the critters off my legs, triggering another accident report with my watch. In addition to the fifty or so mosquito bites I already got on the first day, there are now about thirty ants bites. Fantastic!

The rest of the day passes relatively uneventful. We get some water from a small creek and hope for a water cache near some of the roads we cross. Unfortunately without success. The last miles lead again over asphalt. In zombie mode we bear our fate, but I have already made the decision: I won’t go one step further today than originally planned. So 20 miles tomorrow it is. The weather forecast also promises a considerable cooling off over night. A heavy storm is announced. Pretty dehydrated we arrive at the campground and thank the trail angel “Waterboy”, who has cached a lot of water gallons here.

In a porta-potty we find a huge bottle of disinfectant lotion and take a good bath with it. We move together with our tents under a gigantic oak tree, because this seems to be the best place to survive the thunderstorms. Tornados not excluded. I do feel a bit uncomfortable…

[:de]6.30 Uhr. Im Halbdunkel sehe ich eine Stirnlampe über die Lichtung huschen. Ich liege noch in meinen Quilt eingekuschelt im Zelt und bin unwillig, aufzustehen. Mit dem Zeitplan der Jungs kann und will ich sowieso nicht mithalten, denn die beiden wollen bereits um 7.30 Uhr losziehen, um die kühlen Morgenstunden mitzunehmen. Weil die Blase drückt, wühle ich mich dann doch zehn Minuten später nach draußen und freue mich über einen zauberhaften Sonnenaufgang über der floridianischen Prärie. Dichte Nebelschwaden geben der Graslandschaft zwischen Palmen und Sträuchern in eine mystische Atmosphäre.

Gemeinsam mit Warren und Jason genieße ich den ersten und auch letzten Kaffee des Tages auf der klammen Holzbank und hoffe, dass das Zelt von den Sonnenstrahlen getrocknet wird. Durch die immens hohe Luftfeuchtigkeit ist alles nass. Während ich noch im Schlafanzug vor mich hin sumpfe, packen die Jungs ihre Siebensachen. Es ist schon weit nach halb acht als ich merke:

„Ups, die beiden warten wohl auf mich.“ In Windeseile stopfe ich das feuchte Zelt in den Packsack, meinen Hausrat in den Rucksack, verschwinde mal eben zum Umziehen hinter der nächsten Palme und bin innerhalb von zehn Minuten aufbruchbereit. Wäre es nur im Alltag auch so schön einfach.

Unsere Hoffnung, das Alligatorweibchen noch zu sehen, wird leider enttäuscht. Offensichtlich ist sie Langschläferin. Der Weg führt uns vom Zeltplatz ins offene Gelände, kurz in einen herrlichen Eichenwald, der uns mit den imposanten, farnbewachsenen Eichenbäumen direkt in Avatar versetzt und alsbald auf die nächste Straße. Auch heute ist der Anteil an Asphalt nicht unerheblich und es wird heißer als gestern. Wir tragen es mit Fassung, denn ändern können wir’s ja nicht. Warren versucht, uns die Alternativroute zum Original Trail mit einem kleinen Bistro schmackhaft zu machen. Alternativ heißt: noch mehr Straße statt Sümpfe. Ich winke dankend ab und auch Jason kriegt lieber nasse F��ße als weiterhin auf dem Asphalt zu schmelzen.

Unser Übermut wird natürlich mit Schlammwaten belohnt. Knöcheltief versinken wir alle im braunen Modder und freuen uns über kleine Tümpel, um den Dreck abzuwaschen – nur um dann nach fünf Minuten wieder im Schlamm zu versinken. Mir macht das ja irgendwie Spaß, denn es ist mein erstes Sumpferlebnis auf dem Florida Trail. Die beiden Männer allerdings haben schon etliche Kilometer und Tage im schwarzen Wasser hinter sich.

Mit verschlammten Waden und Schuhen kommen wir am späten Nachmittag an unserem Campground an. Da steht bereits ein Zelt und ein schlacksiger Hiker kommt uns zusammen mit seinem fröhlichen Hund begrüßen. Scrarecrow und Oreo – sein schwarzweißer Hund – sind richtige Aussteiger und haben einen Zehnjahresplan, um quasi alle Trails der USA abzuklappern. Er reicht uns erstmal einen Brownie rüber und da sagt keiner von uns nein. Außer Warren, der auf Low Carb unterwegs ist.

Zu viert teilen wir uns die klapprige Campingbank, denn die zweite hat der Rost wohl schon vor langer Zeit hingerafft. Nachdem ich gestern meine selbst dehydrierte Kürbissuppe getestet hatte, kommt heute das selbstgemachte Ratatouille auf den Tisch. Die Männer gucken schon etwas neidisch in meine Schüssel, aber jeder ist am Ende satt und zufrieden. Um 19 Uhr ist wieder Lesestunde und wir haben uns für den nächsten Tag verständigt: wir wandern weiter zusammen.

Zitronen- und Orangen-Paradies

Nach einem ausgiebigen Frühstück mit Instant-Kaffee und Zitronenkuchen verabschieden wir uns von Scarecrow und Oreo, denn die beiden lassen alles sehr langsam angehen und machen wenige Tageskilometer. Warum auch überstürzen, sie haben ja zehn Jahre Zeit.

Keine fünf Minuten auf dem Trail stapfe ich in einem dichten Palmenwald schon wieder durch knöcheltiefes Wasser. Die Schuhe und Socken waren ja von gestern eh noch nicht ganz trocken.

Mein Zeitplan sieht für die nächsten Tage so aus: heute rund 22 Kilometer, morgen 32, um zum reservierten Campingplatz mit heißer Dusche zu kommen. 32 Kilometer sind für mich im aktuellen Zustand kein Pappenstiel, denn seit meiner Rückkehr aus dem Sabbatical habe ich weit mehr Zeit am Schreibtisch statt auf Wanderschaft verbracht. Daher überlege ich, heute mehr zu wandern, um am nächsten Tag weniger Reststrecke zu haben.

Der Plan ist schön, allerdings ist es heute noch heißer als die Tage zuvor. Wir freuen uns über jeden schattigen Abschnitt durch die semi-tropischen Wälder. Und die versüßen uns die Hitze auf ganz unerwartete Weise. Am Wegesrand und teilweise über den Trail ragen wilde Orangen- und Zitronenbäume mit erntereifen Früchten. Natürlich kann ich der Verlockung nicht widerstehen und schon schleppe ich zwei Orangen und eine Zitrone zum nächsten Pausenplatz. Super saftig sind die Früchte und reich an Kernen. Die Zitronen sind nicht annähernd so sauer wie man es aus dem Supermarkt kennt, die Orangen dagegen kommen der Zitronensäure schon recht nah. Köstlich. Der Fruchtsaft hat sich jedoch überall auf meinen Händen verteilt und ich versuche ihn abzuschütteln. Das veranlasst meine Garmin-Uhr auf einmal wie wild zu quietschen, denn sie meint: Unfall erkannt! Ach was.

Die Hitze ist inzwischen unerträglich geworden. Ausgerechnet jetzt folgt der Trail auf einem nicht enden wollenden Stück einem schattenlosen Graben. Nachdem ich mich schon halb gebacken fühle, warte ich auf Jason, der ein wenig abgeschlagen hinter mir latscht. Irgendwas piekst mich oberhalb meiner Socken und als ich nach unten schaue, sehe ich dutzende kleine, rote Ameisen über meine Füße wuseln. Ich habe mich mitten in einen Ameisenhaufen gestellt. Wie eine Irre wische ich die Viecher von meinen Beinen und löse damit erneut eine Unfallmeldung mit der Uhr aus. Zu meinen schon rund fünfzig Mückenstichen vom ersten Tag gesellen sich nun noch etwa dreißig Ameisenbisse. Fantastisch!

Relativ vorfallsfrei geht der Rest des Tages vorbei. Wir bedienen uns an einem kleinen Bach und hoffen auf einen Wassercache in der Nähe einiger Straßen, die wir kreuzen. Leider vergeblich. Die letzten Kilometer führen wieder nur über Asphalt. Im Zombiemodus ertragen wir unser Schicksal, aber ich habe schon die Entscheidung getroffen: ich gehe heute keinen Schritt weiter als ursprünglich geplant. Dann sind’s halt morgen 32 Kilometer. Der Wetterbericht verspricht zudem eine erhebliche Abkühlung über Nacht. Heftiges Unwetter ist angesagt. Ziemlich dehydriert kommen wir am Campground an und danken dem Engel „Waterboy“, der hier jede Menge Wasser deponiert hat.

Im Dixieklo finden wir eine riesige Flasche Desinfektionslotion und nehmen erstmal ein ordentliches Bad damit. Ziemlich dicht rücken wir mit unseren Zelten unter einem gigantischen Eichenbaum zusammen, denn das scheint der beste Platz für die angesagten Gewitterstürme zu sein. Tornados nicht ausgeschlossen. Ein wenig unwohl ist mir schon…

[:] [:en]Hiking the Florida Trail Day 2 & 3 – Accidentally[:de]Auf dem Florida Trail Tag 2 & 3 – Versumpft[:] [:en]6:30 a.m. In semi-darkness I see a headlamp scurrying across the clearing. I am still lying cuddled up in my quilt, still unwilling to get up.

#Florida Trail #hiking Florida #Kissimmee River #lemons #Longdistance trail #Longdistance-hiking #Oak hammock #Oranges #Wandern USA

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technomanish · 6 years ago

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The 2019 Audi Q8 is the form of the long run. It’s stunning because it efficiently merges the look of a sports activities sedan with the form of an SUV. It has flowing traces, crisp angles and simply the appropriate look on and off the highway. Inside, it’s comfy, although a bit smaller than the title suggests. And below the hood, Audi paired a succesful V6 engine with a 48-volt battery, making a mild-hybrid setup that supposedly helps with gasoline economic system.

But after spending a whole lot of time within the Q8, I discovered it backwards. Most crossovers present the consolation of a sedan with the utility of an SUV. This one has the tough consolation of an SUV with the restricted utility of a sedan. Worse but, driving the Q8 round city is usually a irritating expertise.

I spent a few weeks within the new Q8 on a highway journey from Detroit by means of Canada to New York Metropolis. I took it over the countryside, round hilly passes and thru 4 of the 5 boroughs. My children spilled Cheetos within the again. I lived on this automobile for hundreds of miles. This expertise is completely different from most car opinions. Most automobile opinions are penned after just a few hundred miles within the automobile, which may typically result in milquetoast conclusions. Not this time.

I don’t just like the Q8. The dangerous outweighs the nice. The stunted driving traits break the in any other case beautiful car.

Review

The sedan is bleeding out, and the crossover is holding the knife. Shoppers are overwhelming, selecting these quasi-SUVs over sedans or sport utility autos. There’s motive, too. Crossovers typically present the supple journey high quality of a sedan with the utility of an SUV. I’m sorry to report the Q8 does the other. It has the tough journey of an SUV and the restricted utility of a sedan.

The Q8 has a puzzling powertrain. It doesn’t prefer to go ahead. A number of instances all through my time with the Q8 I almost acquired into an accident due to the timing of the transmission. It typically left me hanging in the course of the highway whereas it took its time to translate the engine’s directions to the tires. I used to be honked at consistently whereas in NYC.

A turbocharged 3.0-liter V6 rests below the hood, and Audi says it’s good for 335 HP and 369 pound-foot of torque. The Q8 just isn’t underpowered, and it sports activities a model of ZF’s ubiquitous 8-speed transmission. The Audi Q8 is likely one of the first inside combustion autos to be paired with a 48-volt mild-hybrid system. That is mentioned to assist enhance gasoline economic system by relegating acceleration to a mild-hybrid setup, and this might show to be the reason for my frustration.

Whoever’s guilty, in actual life, the transmission feels prefer it doesn’t use the primary and second gear. There’s a second or two hesitation between the time the pedal is engaged till the automobile decides to maneuver ahead. As soon as underway, the Q8 is a beautiful expressway cruiser with loads of energy to overhaul meandering sedans. At velocity, it’s comfy and assured. At a standstill, it’s hesitant and irritating.

I’m not alone on this frustration. Automotive and Driver says the Q8 “felt hesitant round city except we crushed the fuel pedal.” Motor1 says, “At instances [the transmission is] clunky, notably when accelerating…” MotorTrend acknowledged, “We famous, nonetheless, a longish delay within the supply of torque after you give it some beans.”

Audi constructed the Q8 as a multipurpose utility car and outfitted it with a number of driving modes, together with Dynamic, which lowers the car and supposedly adjustments the transmission response. Choose Off Highway or All Highway, and the Q8 raises just a few inches, offering higher floor clearance. That is helpful on Michigan roads, the place post-winter potholes are the scale of bathtubs.

These driving modes give the Q8 added utility and foreshadow a future the place vehicles higher adapt to their driver’s wants. Audi has provided related options for years, however to not this excessive. The Sport mode drops the Q8 to the bottom whereas the Off Highway mode raises the Q8 to a degree the place it may deal with severe terrain.

Sadly, the adjustable modes didn’t handle the lackluster powertrain. Even in Sport mode, the Q8’s transmission was sluggish.

Not less than the Q8 is comfy.

The inside of the Q8 is beautiful and options Audi’s new dual-touchscreen infotainment heart. I find it irresistible. Audi lengthy had the most effective person interface within the trade. This one is totally completely different and even higher.

Audi proves two little screens are higher than one huge display screen

There are two touchscreens in the course of the Q8. The one on the highest handles media, mapping and car settings. The one on the underside is for local weather management. Each characteristic implausible haptic suggestions. Hit a button on the display screen, and a slight vibration makes it really feel such as you touched an actual button.

To me, this twin display screen setup is a greater answer than an enormous display screen like Tesla or Ram makes use of of their autos. In Audi’s answer, each are tilted to offer easy accessibility, and there’s much less of a studying curve. The setup follows the final button placement present in vehicles for the previous couple of many years. Local weather is at all times on and at all times on the underside. The radio and mapping display screen is on the highest and may be turned off to scale back distractions.

A display screen lives behind the steering wheel, too, and sports activities the same format to Audi’s present system. The driving force can simply swap between info screens with the speedo and tach on both aspect. Hit a button on the steering wheel and the gauges scale back in measurement whereas the map will increase. It’s a helpful characteristic.

The Q8’s seats are implausible and almost make up for the lackluster driving capabilities. They’re agency but forgiving, with limitless changes. The seats, with their built-in massagers, made the boring Ohio turnpike a bearable expertise.

The Q8’s inside house just isn’t as ample as I anticipated, and I feel it has to do with the naming scheme. The Q8 joins the small Q5 and seven-seater Q7 in Audi’s lineup. The title suggests the Q8 is bigger than the Q7 in the identical approach that the Audi sedan A8 is bigger than the A7. However it’s not. The Q8 is a five-passenger car with much less cargo room accessible than the Q7.

I used to be in a position to get three suitcases and a few backpacks within the again. The dearth of space for storing is obvious all through the cabin. The middle console is simply two smartphone’s deep. There isn’t a spot for sun shades. Two adults may sit within the backseat, however I might battle for the entrance.

Once more, the Q8 is comfy, and a pleasant measurement, however the title suggests a bigger car.

Prefer it or not, the Q8 is the form of the long run. Its sheet metallic conveys a way of on or off-road sportiness. The Q8 is designed across the driver, too, and the Q8 might be a implausible bundle. It seems to be stunning inside and outside; I like the form and type of the Q8. It’s beautiful and cozy to take a seat in. I don’t like how the Q8 drives.

Review: The stunning 2019 Audi Q8 has a deal-breaking flaw The 2019 Audi Q8 is the form of the long run. It’s stunning because it efficiently merges the look of a sports activities sedan with the form of an SUV.

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spryfilm · 7 years ago

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“Molly’s Game” (2017)

Drama

Running Time: 140 minutes

Written & Directed by: Aaron Sorkin

Featuring: Jessica Chastain, Idris Elba, Kevin Costner, Michael Cera, Brian d’Arcy James, Chris O’Dowd, Bill Camp, Graham Greene, Claire Rankin, Joe Keery, and Jeremy Strong

Molly Bloom: “I’ll be hosting a game in this suite every Tuesday night. The first buy-in, two hundred and fifty thousand.”

Disappointment is the word that comes to mind after watching Aaron Sorkin’s directorial debut, “Molly’s Game” (2017) a film that is so unsure of itself and what it wants to be that the writer/director seems to have included just about every kind of plot device possible to make a coherent movie, none of which really come together, making this something that reflects everything that is wrong with Sorkin’s writing. That is the way in which characters communicate between themselves, as well explaining the plot to an audience, just a word of advice Mr. Sorkin, film is a visual medium, if I wanted almost two and a half hours of people talking I would listen to a podcast or audiobook, both would be more original and entertaining than this movie based on the memoir ‘Molly’s Game: From Hollywood’s Elite to Wall Street’s Billionaire Boys Club, My High-Stakes Adventure in the World of Underground Poker’ by Molly Bloom.

There is no doubt that Aaron Sorkin, at his best, can deliver a great television show like “The West Wing” (1999-2006) or an equally compelling film like “The Social Network” (2010), high minded liberal projects that not only attract great actors but are helmed by even greater producers and directors. Of course when Sorkin himself has control we get “Studio 60 on Sunset Strip” (2006-2007) and “Steve Jobs” (2015) two disappointing projects that both fell in love with dialogue over visuals as well as coolness over substance. Even though they had other directors these two pieces were utter disappointments, which suffer from similar issues to “Molly’s Game”.

This is the true story of Molly Bloom, a young woman who ran the world’s most exclusive high-stakes poker game in Los Angeles and New York City, for nearly a decade, before being arrested by the FBI. Her players included Hollywood celebrities, athletes, business titans and the Russian mob. With the help of her lawyer, Molly must face federal charges.

I have no doubt that when actors are offered or are aware that an Aaron Sorkin script is in the offering there must be a queue a mile long, after all if there is even a chance to appear in something that could be a ‘West Wing’ or ‘Social Network’ then you must grab it. That explains how the two leads; Jessica Chastain and Idris Elba are able to come aboard, as well as supporting actors Kevin Costner, Michael Cera, Chris O’Dowd and Graham Greene are cast. Chastain plays the title character of Molly as a vampish raccoon eyed femme fatale who seems to be smarter than everyone, except for the male lead of course, Idris Elba as her lawyer that acts as an audience substitute, who is explained to what is going on in the plot, with a narrative that is so full of flashbacks you will be forgiven for leaving the cinema with a case of whiplash. Both Chastain and Elba have suffered from the same fate in recent years, after bursting onto the scene with some memorable roles they have either had the leads in fairly ordinary as well as forgettable films, or, had flashy supporting roles in good films, but been relegated while the leads get all the glory. With “Molly’s Game” they are playing frankly unbelievable people who every time they want to make a point have to point out some arbitrary metaphor then meander to the point, supplying voiceover to action that is described then acted out – it is frankly a waste of their talents to ask them to perform these roles in a movie that begs to be directed by someone who knows the craft. The same can be said of the supporting actors who to have to act like characters out of a rat pack film, all too cool and knowing to be treated as real people.

That brings me to the script as well as the way the film has been structured, edited and shot. This should have been a slam-dunk of a film to direct but somehow Sorkin takes what is on the surface an interesting real life story turning it into a never-ending mess of constant set up, with very little pay off. In fact I struggled to see what the film was attempting to say but was just happy it ended after its marathon like running time. Not only does the main character constantly explain almost every flashback scene in voice over, but then the exact thing she talked about is acted out so we have many aspects of the movie done twice. As if that were not bad enough within each scene everything is painstakingly explained literally as well as in metaphor. Another aspect of the film is the meandering nature of it as well as the multiple sub plots that go nowhere as well as being reexamined at many points throughout the narrative, which lends to the running time of this quasi drama that wishes it were in fact a thriller – which it is not. There is a distinct lack of editorial decision making, firstly in the script, which I shudder to think how long that was, then in the actual edit room where I also do not want to think how long the possible first cut was. At times I found myself asking why certain scenes were present when they obviously should have been cut to streamline the movie into something that is actually compelling.

While this film is about Molly as a character as well as some kind of cautionary tale, one of the key problems is that there is often talk about the rich and famous but there are no real revelations about who these people were. Not only that there is too much time explaining (literally once again) why these names are not being mentioned which leads to a meta narrative that unfortunately does not work within the confines of this film. I can see it working in a book, but here it just falls victim to the narrative as a pointless endeavor.

Molly’s Game should have been a very good movie, with performances that could have captured the imagination; instead they are rote as well as staid and boring. When you have Jessica Chastain and Idris Elba the screen should be crackling and the audience transfixed to what is happening, not wondering when will this movie end. Not only that but for a film about poker it may have added to the narrative if Molly actually played the game. There is a section in the movie where the obviousness of her lack of agency exists where the players just decide to play somewhere different thereby negating any power she has. What is interesting about that is that audiences can do the same thing to Sorkin, that is leave and go to a better well thought out and visual film.

“Molly’s Game” is released on 1st February 2018 only in cinemas.

Jessica Chastain and Idris Elba in MOLLY’S GAME

Film review: “Molly’s Game”(2017) “Molly's Game" (2017) Drama Running Time: 140 minutes Written & Directed by: Aaron Sorkin Featuring: Jessica Chastain, Idris Elba, Kevin Costner, Michael Cera, Brian d'Arcy James, Chris O'Dowd, Bill Camp, Graham Greene, Claire Rankin, Joe Keery, and Jeremy Strong…

#Aaron sorkin #Bill Camp #Brian d&039;Arcy James #Chris O&039;Dowd #Claire Rankin #essica Chastain #Graham Greene #idris elba #Jeremy Strong #Joe Keery #kevin costner #Michael Cera #molly&039;s game #molly&039;s game review #Review #Reviews

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