#* ☆ dylan rain. | self - para.

[rencwn]

• • • better man by marc scibilia : spotted! if it isn’t dylan rain walking through the streets of nyc. people say he looks like oliver jackson - cohen, but i really don’t see it. the thirty3 year old stuntman / stunt choreographer is out here making mommy and daddy proud. while he has been known to be + protective, we’ve all seen their - possessive nature come to light. sources tell me he reminds people of dry desert air , muscles stretching t – shirts , calloused hands and bruised skin , running laps in central park. / cis male & he / him.

BASIC INFORMATION:

name: dylan christopher rain. peter christopher isaac junior. nicknames: dyl, d. pronouns: he/him. gender: cis man. age: thirty-three. date of birth: november 28th, ‘89. place of birth: lismore, australia. ( moved at the age of twenty-four to beverly  hills , united states due to family relocating ) astrological sign: saggitarius. orientation: straight.

APPEARANCE:

height: six foot three. build: broad shouldered, strong muscles, but still relatively slender. hair colour: brown. eye colour: blue. wardrobe style: tends to wear clothes that he can move in, lots of sweatshirts, hoodies, and form fitting but not too tight t-shirts in dark colours. tattoos: none. piercings: none. defining features: bright blue eyes and a large scar moving up his left arm.

HEALTH:

physical ailments: none. mental ailments: ptsd. alcohol use: drinks socially. drug use: rarely - if any, weed. addictions: none.

PERSONALITY:

positive traits: protective, charismatic, honest. negative traits: possessive, quick-tempered, cold, harsh. mbti: ISTJ-A

ACTIVITIES & SKILLS:

skills: most sports - specifically gymnastics/acrobatics, long-distance running. weaknesses: anything creative. languages spoken: english, arabic.

FAMILY:

father: pete isac isaac ( deceased, fifty - five ) mother: meredith rain elain isaac nee scottsman ( alive, fifty - one ) sister: florence rain gwyn isaac ( alive, twenty - five ) ​

BACKGROUND (tw: military, abuse, psychosis, ptsd, stabbing, murder) :

peter was born to a devoted, very young and ambitious mother, elain, and a military man father, pete. as a young boy, he spent most of his time with his grandparents, as his father was away on military tours and his mother was still studying to become a defence lawyer. peter had not been planned – though he never felt that way. though both parents worked incredibly hard to provide for him and his younger sister gwyn and they were well-off, they were there for every important moment in his life, or his mum had been anyway. he adored his father though and looked up to him immensely. he was a powerful, strong and enigmatic man, absolutely devoted to his children.

as he grew up, his father retired from the force and now working as a fire fighter, his opinion didn’t change one bit. instead, despite pretending otherwise, he had his life planned out for himself. join the army like his father had done and rise up in rank. peter wouldn’t leave the army, no matter what happened. though he could see the mental toll it had taken on his father, to him, that was honourable. that was what a real man should do. he took up every sport he could and excelled in gymnastics and track.

so when his father’s behaviour became more erratic, peter ignored it. it was par for the course, it was proof of how much good his father had done, the risks he had taken. when he finished high school, he immediately signed up for the army. it was only a few days before he was due to set out for basic training that his father had his first erratic episode that turned violent. he had come running inside from the pool when he found his dad with his hands on his sister’s shoulders, pushing her roughly against a wall. his first thought - what had gwyn done? he immediately positioned himself behind his father and grappled the man, holding him tightly until he calmed down, not before receiving an elbow to the face. it had not been fun to explain to his drill sergeant a few days later.

he spent little time at home after that. he immediately went on his first deployment to iraq. he called home as often as he could, his mother often berading him for choosing to go into the military in the first place, his father equal parts proud and disappointed over the phone, and using most of his time to speak to gwyn. he went on deployment after deployment, rarely staying home for much for than two months in between. he was on his sixth tour, the second one in afghanistan, when he had managed to secure some temporary leave. he initially had wanted to delay his deployment - his father was getting worse and he did not like the idea of leaving them alone with him, but he’d had no choice. he’d also missed gwyn’s sixteenth birthday, but it was only a few weeks out - and he still hoped to surprise her by coming back a bit earlier.

as peter made his way up the drive, he heard yelling - panicked and frightened. he dropped his bags in the front garden and ran up to the house and inside, he found a scene right out of his nightmares. his sister and his mother in a fight with his father. time seemed to slow as he sprinted, seeing the second knife, held by gwyn, stabbed into his father’s chest. there were wood splinters everywhere, and a struggle had clearly already ensued. rage bubbled up his throat like bile and he pulled his father off his sister with an effort. she was freaking out and would not stop holding onto him, but eventually he managed. the blood was spreading, but in his father’s psychosis, he still seemed adamant to cause harm. a dangerous calm came over him and he took what he had learned in training and did the opposite. peter locked eyes with the man who’d given him his name, grit his teeth in anger, and he pulled both knives out of the wounds. the bloodflow to increased immediately, and he let his father drop the last few inches to the floor before reaching over and pulling his sister into his arms, soothing her but never pulling his dry eyes from his father.

they moved to new york as soon as the case had been dropped. the case had brought some unwanted attention onto him, but he was honourably discharged, his final rank a major. they changed their names – peter christopher isaac became dylan christopher rain. he was at a loss of what to do, so he found work as an extra and got his personal training license. he stumbled his way into stunt work and found that his gymnastics experience along with his army experience helped. he knew how real fights looked, but he also knew how to make them safe. the last few years, he’s been working on various tv-shows and films for their stunt work, now slowly taking on more stunt coordinator and choreographer work now he’s getting a little older.

[dayax19]

llora un poco después de películas/series emotivas. la paleta de colores de Dylan en el círculocromático está entre el agua marina, azules claros, verdes, amarillos hasta el naranja. reflejan su visión y misión impuesta por él mismo de crecer sin padecer de las actitudes de un adulto estresado. siempre optimista!  /he cries a little after emotional movies/series. dylan's color palette in the chromatic circle is between sea water, light blues, greens, yellows to orange. they reflect his self-imposed vision and mission to grow up without suffering from the attitudes of a stressed adult. always optimistic!

Jessica tiene sueño, pero nunca duerme si hay al menos una sola pantalla encendida (sea telefono, laptop, televisor, etc.). la paleta de colores de Jesica en el circulo cromático es el opuesto al Dylan, desde el rojo (mas implementando el rosado o el salmón, nunca el color fuerte), el morado, el indigo (como base), el azul como favorito (más en tonos oscuros o Claros, no el color fuerte). Refleja la costumbre de percibir su mundo desde un punto de vista más maduro (a pesar de tener una imaginacion infantil, es reprimida por sí misma). siempre viendo el vaso medio vacio/ Jessica is sleepy, but never sleeps if there is at least a single screen on (be it phone, laptop, TV, etc.). Jesica's color palette in the chromatic circle is the opposite of Dylan's, from red (more implementing pink or salmon, never the strong color), purple, indigo (as a base), blue as a favorite (more in dark or light tones, not the strong color). Reflects the habit of perceiving her world from a more mature point of view (despite having a childish imagination, she is repressed by herself), always seeing the glass half empty.

Kristhal lleva unos jeans que antes eran de salir, pero ahora los usa para la casa. no compra pijamas. por si se negaban a ver la serie que ella trajo a la pijamada, ella llevó una espada para poder amenazarlos si se negaban. no la usó, todos aceptaron sin problemas.  la paleta de colores de Kristhal en el circulo cromático oscila entre el rojo y el azul, pero aplicando poca saturación (colores frios). representa su versatilidad de llevar una mente razonable, con la habilidad de ver los problemas y situaciones desde 2 puntos de vista completamente opuestos. es empatica tanto como el oprimido como el opresor, pero no es sabia como para tomar desiciones justas, sólo desde su beneficio (lo que le conviene)./ Kristhal wears jeans that used to be jeans for going out, but now she wears them around the house. she doesn't buy pajamas. in case they refused to watch the series she brought to the sleepover, she brought a sword so she could threaten them if they refused. she didn't use it, they all accepted without problems. Kristhal's color palette in the chromatic circle oscillates between red and blue, but applying little saturation (cold colors). represents her versatility of having a reasonable mind, with the ability to see problems and situations from 2 completely opposite points of view. she is empathetic both as the oppressed and the oppressor, but she is not wise enough to make fair decisions, only from her own benefit (what is convenient for her).

Jonathan usa dilatadores nasales (rinitis alergica). constantemente tiene que resguardarse del frio o de las lluvias, es propenso a tener neumonia o bronquitis. la paleta de colores de Jonathan en el circulo cromático es casi nula, tiene sólamente al negro o a grices oscuros. puede usar colores, pero si la iluminacion y la saturación es baja. No puedo exponer lo que piensa o como piensa (aún  no), pero es sabio para utilizar sus pocas habilidades para el favor de las personas, así como aconsejar sobre cómo deben trabajar sus amigos. es el líder del grupo (asignado y aceptado) / Jonathan uses nasal dilators (allergic rhinitis). he constantly has to take shelter from the cold or rain, he is prone to pneumonia or bronchitis. Jonathan's color palette in the chromatic circle is almost null, he has only black or dark grays. he can use colors, but if the illumination and saturation is low.I can't expose what he thinks or how he thinks (not yet), but he is wise to use his few skills for the benefit of people, as well as advise on how his friends should work. is the group leader (assigned and accepted)

[spctlights]

tag drop for dylan rain !!

[lobothepunkwolf]

Alexander Hansen | Interlude Self Para Part One | Heavy

[TRIGGER WARNING: Death and Description of Attempted Suicide]

June 15th 2020

The rain came down hard against the window of the building, sounding like pebbles hitting concrete. Normally rain was calming for Alex. It was something that was a rarity for his part of Texas. In the little town of Driftwood, rain was a relief from the dry heat. It meant that the ranches and farms around were going to flourish. It meant that the creek was closer to a river, which was much more fun to swim in. It was a blessing from Heaven.

Today, however, that blessing felt like a curse. He sat in the room, across from the Psychiatrist he's come to know as Dr. Thomas Mallory. The man was older, his once dirty blond hair graying from age, his sharp features softened. His eyes were like a deep dark sea, filled with a curiosity and understanding that Alex wasn't used to. It pissed him off beyond belief, and he couldn't figure out why the man filled him with such rage. Maybe it was the fact that the man had shown him kindness that the world has seemed to forgot? Or maybe it was the absolute hope that the man had. 

Sitting cross legged on the couch in front of Mallory, Alex played with the sleeves of the dark blue long sleeve shirt issued by the hospital he was in. His clothes were taken from him once he arrived… god knew how long ago. All of it felt like a fever dream. The black slipper socks and same colored pants almost felt like his scrubs. At least that was a comfort in the long silence that set between them.

"Dr. Kenzie told me you haven't been participating in group therapy." Mallory finally spoke up, his deep voice filled with a softness that nearly made the man cringe. He didn't need coddling and understanding. He needed out, back to the operating room. Back to Grey-Sloan, back to the distraction that was his job. Still playing with his sleeve, he didn't look up at the man.

"Mr. Hans--"

"Dr. Hansen." He looked up and snapped quietly at the man, a frown on his face. "I worked for that title. I'd like to be called it."

A surprised look crossed Mallory's face as the man finally spoke up, but a smile quickly replaced it. "Anger. That's a sign of progress. It can be productive. Let's go off of that. What are you angry about?"

Alex opened his mouth to speak before closing it, frowning. Taking a moment, he turned to face him. "I'm angry that I'm stuck in this room, in this hospital, when there's patients out there that need help. When I was workin' on ground breakin' work with one of the most brilliant surgeons in the U.S. I'm angry that I'm stuck here in a room with you and your stupid face."

"That's a bit mean, Dr. Hansen. But very telling and very understandable. It's understandable to feel this way, especially in these times. It's understandable to feel helpless, when your entire career is dedicated to helping the helpless." Mallory chuckled a bit, leaving back in his chair. "But, I hope you understand I'm not the one who put you here. We're trying to help you be the best you can be, that way you can get back to doing what you do: helping the helpless." Placing his hand in his lap, the man continued, "I've read over your medical file. This isn't the first time you've been in a facility like this. How about we talk about that?"

Hansen fell silent, looking away from him and back down at his lap, fidgeting with his hands. Mallory raised an eyebrow, giving the man an encouraging smile. "Okay. Instead of talking about your time while you were there, how about we talk about what led your there? We can compare similarities to what happened now, detect patterns of red flags to help you in the future."

Alex looked at him, before closing his eyes. 

July 20th 2002

"Arg-- I've been shot--" a boy about eight years old with dark brown hair clutched his chest as he fell in the grass of the backyard with a dramatic groan. A girl with long hair of a similar color ran towards him with a white bag. Kneeling beside him, she pulled out a toy stethoscope and put it up to his chest, pretending to listen. 

"Sounds like the bullet entered your lung. I gotta do an emergency removal!" The girl said, a dramatic tone tinged with her southern accent. She then pulled out her toy forceps and pretended to remove the imaginary bullet, pressing it a little harder into his chest than she meant to.

"Ouch-- Allie, be careful--" the boy pouted. Allie stuck her tongue out at him, pulling them away.

"Don't be a big baby, Alex. Besides, I got the bullet, which means I'm the best trauma surgeon around!" She giggled and tossed it to the side. Alex puffed his cheeks out, crossing his arms. 

"I'm not a big baby, and only 'cause I'm the best cop around."

Allie rolled her eyes and laid in the grass next to him, looking up at the summer sky above them. "You're gonna be the easiest target out there with your big ol' dumbo ears." She turned to look at him, grinning widely.

"Uh-huh, and you won't be able to see your scalpel with that big nose of yours." Alex smirked back at her. The two started giggling to each other and sighed, enjoying the summer breeze that was blowing. A silence fell between them, before Allie spoke up. 

"When we graduate, we can move to Austin together. Best brother-sister duo out there, Cop and Doctor. Gonna be savin’ the world!"

Alex looked at his sister with a smile and nodded. Reaching his hand out towards her, she took it, and they laid there together. Summer days seemed to last forever. And he was grateful for every moment he had.

August 12th 2004

"Alex, Allie. Time to get up and get ready for school!" A motherly voice called out from downstairs. Alex sat up in his bed, rubbing his eyes. It was their first day of fourth grade. They had the same teacher, and he knew that they'd be sitting next to each other. Smiling excitedly, he got up and quickly got dressed, rushing out to the hall. Allie came from her room, groggily holding her stomach. "Mama.. I don't feel good." She called out. 

Alex looked concerned at his twin sister, seeing how pale her face was. A woman with dark graying hair and brown soft eyed came upstairs and frowned worriedly when she saw her daughter.

"Oh, baby… you don't look so good.." that concern only grew between everyone when Allie turned to vomit in her room. The woman rubbed the girls back and shushed her. "It's okay.. it's probably just a stomach bug.. c'mon, let's get you cleaned up. I'll take you to the doctor.." she turned to Alex, "Go get ready for school. Your Pa'll take you. Virgil?" She called down the stairs, "I need you to take Alex to school. Allie and I are goin' to the doctor."

Alex pouted a bit, unsure about starting a year of school without his sister. He was even more worried about her. "But I wanna be with Allie, Mama--" he said

"Do as I say, Alexander." She said, a little sharply, causing the boy to turn on his heels and towards his room.

September 20th 2009

"Jenny said she misses ya, and wishes she could come and see ya. She made the cheer team at school." Alex, now fifteen, sat next to Allie in her hospital bed, smiling at her. "Darren is.. still a dick. But, I mean, that's what ya get when you got a crush on a dumb jock."

"Alex, be nice." Allie chuckled quietly, laying back in her bed. She looked a little more sickly than Alex was used to seeing. Her skin was pale and she was losing so much weight. It was a big concern with him. He pushed his parents to take her to a doctor in Austin, something. Finally, they listened when she started throwing up blood. They rushed her thirty minutes into the City where they got the diagnosis: Stage Four Stomach Cancer. When he heard the news, Alex was filled with anger. They could have caught this before it got this far if they just went and got her checked by someone more qualified than the town doctor. If they did more than hope and pray. Now, here his twin sister was, his other half, dying in a hospital bed. There was nothing the surgeons could do but make her comfortable. And Alex made sure he drove every day to see her. He couldn't stand spending a moment away from her. 

"You know.." she said, breaking him from his thoughts, "You grew into those dumbo ears of yours. Now they're only slightly too big."

Alex looked at her and smiled a bit, "Wish I could say the same 'bout your nose." 

She laughed and laid back, shaking her head as she reached her hand out for his. He looked at it and took it gently, intertwining their fingers carefully. They sat there in silence before she spoke up again. "Smile more. Girls might actually like you… Maybe even boys." She teased, laughing a bit when he gave her a worried look, "I haven't told Pa or Ma 'bout you and Dylan, don't worry… but you got that dopey grin when you're really happy. And it's a great thing to see. Share it with the world."

"Ain't much to smile 'bout these days." He admitted, mostly to himself. She gave him an incredulous look. "I mean with how the world is." He backtracked a bit, shaking his head. "It's all crazy."

"Alexander Joseph Hansen, I ain't gonna let you die inside." She pouted at him, squeezing his hand. "Go see Dylan after this. Go out to eat somewhere. Live your life, Alex. At least for me."

'I don't know how to do that without you' was what he wanted to say. Taking a deep breath, he smiled and nodded at her. "Alright, sis. I promise."

October 17th 2009

[Come up to the hospital now]

That was the only text he got from his older brother as he left the cafeteria towards the parking lot and to his car. There was nothing stopping him as he tore out of the parking lot and towards Austin. Something was wrong, and he knew it this morning when he woke up. Something felt off and this text just confirmed the feeling in the pit of his stomach. He rushed as fast as he could on the highway and nearly skidded into a parking spot. Putting the car in park, he quickly got out and ran into the building as fast as he could. Once he got up on his sister's floor, he saw his mother sobbing into his father's shoulder. His brother looked up from his spot on the floor, his face covered in tears. He barely recognized the tears that were streaming down his face as he looked at the room, his body consumed with anger and sorrow. No. He couldn't lose her this way. It wasn't happening. It was a nightmare. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't wake up from it. His world was underneath that white sheet, behind that hospital room door. And despite her being only yards away, he's never felt lonelier in his life. 

July 18th 2010

"You sure you don't want to come to service with us tonight?" His mother stood at the door, leaning against his door frame with a worried look on her face. Alex sat on his bed, cross legged and playing with the hem of his shirt. 

"Nah, Ma.. I'll be fine." He looked up at her, a smile on his lips that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I'm just tired.. I'm gonna go to bed early. So I can get up and help the Dillon's with their barn."

She let out a sigh and walked into the room, wrapping the boy in her arms and gently kissing the top of his head. "Alright, baby… get some rest. We'll be at the church next door if you need anything. I love you.." With that, she left the room. 

Alex laid in the bed, staring at the ceiling, as the hours passed. He was exhausted beyond belief, but every time he closed his eyes, all he saw was his sister. His heart felt empty, and no matter how much he tried, he couldn't move past that day. The world was colder and duller without his twin. They had done everything together, ever since they were little. A lump in this throat, he got out of the bed and stumbled to the bathroom. He just wanted to feel her one last time. Be by her side again. He rummaged through the medicine cabinet, pulling out the painkillers that Dr. Shelley had prescribed her for her pain. The stupid idiot who took his sister away from him. But now, they would be together again. Forever.

As he felt the darkness overcome him, he thought he could hear his mother scream and the clatter of a pill bottle on the floor.

June 15th 2020

"I think that's enough for today. You're making progress." Mallory smiled brightly as he sat the pen down on the notebook in front of him. "And that's the first step towards recovery. Is being open. I'm sure you've heard this all the time… but if you ever need anything during your stay here, don't hesitate to ask. We're only here to help you. Now, I think it's rec time. Go get some fresh air out in the yard. It'll definitely make you feel better. 

Alex frowned a bit and rubbed his neck. Despite hours of talking with the man, he still felt like there was a weight on his feet, dragging his down beneath the dark cold water. Looking out the window, he saw that the rain had started, revealing a summer sky. Maybe his sister really was looking down at him, now happy he finally spoke about that bottled up emotion.

[devilsknotrp]

Congratulations, Honey! You are accepted for the role of Mandy Silverman. This is another sample application for potential applicants to have a look at. You’ll notice that this is quite a long application, but that’s just how I write. You can do whatever you like with yours! If you have any questions about this application or any characters with a connection to Mandy, don’t hesitate to let me know.

OUT OF CHARACTER

Name: Honey Age: Twenty five Pronouns: She/her Timezone: GMT+11 Activity estimation: I essentially work full time and have several obligations, but this group is so tightly organised and planned that I’m confident in participating regularly on the dashboard and as an admin! My admin duties will always take precedence but I will be able to reply to threads several times a week. Triggers: (REDACTED)

IN CHARACTER: BASICS

Full name: Amanda “Mandy” Silverman Age (DD/MM/YYY): Thirty (02/03/1966) - Pisces (Sun), Virgo (Rising), Cancer (Moon) Gender: Cisgender female Pronouns: She/her Sexuality: Homosexual homoromantic Occupation: Adult Education Coordinator Connection to Victim: Mandy did not know the Goode family. She knew of them in the way all newcomers to Devil’s Knot are known: through rumor and glimpses in the Piggly Wiggly parking lot. Mandy had little to do with Linda; she’d seen David and Beth at school, when she’d gone in to meet Mary after work; but she’d never met Brian at all. Alibi: Mandy was at home that Saturday working on a craft project. She ran out of glue at around three, then walked into town to go to the craft store, where she spent a few dollars too many on a crocheting kit. She decided to pick up some coffee and doughnuts then walked back home, where she stayed for the rest of the day.  Faceclaim: Elizabeth Olsen

WRITING SAMPLE

 This is a self para written for the Mandy in 1984.

The Datsun.

It was such a shit little car. Really, it was. Sandy’s miscellaneous paraphernalia littered the dashboard. Her dad’s manuals and work shit stuffed beneath the front seats. Pete had stamped grubby hands all over the back windows - people asked them all the time if they had a dog. “No,” Mandy replied grimly, hoisting Pete up on one hip. “Just a kid.” The motor turned over more often than she could count, which would put her father, ever the optimist, into an agitated but vaguely amused mood. Him, hunched over the wheel, grinding the key, revving the engine, If I… could just... Then, Sandy, cranky and likely hungover, snapping from the passenger side: I told you we needed it serviced! They had about a thousand tapes in the center console, most of them in the wrong cases, with a mix that spanned from Bob Dylan to Pete’s ABC children’s songs. Them, zooming along a damp highway, rain splattering the glass, her dad cheerfully singing, The wheels on the bus go ‘round and ‘round! as Pete laughed in delight. Mandy tries to forget that she’d eventually lose her temper and shout, Can we turn this stupid shit off? as her mother mumbled, Amen, behind enormous sunglasses and a gas station Slurpee.

The Datsun, which was rotting away at the police station right this second. Mandy hasn’t asked when they’ll get it back. It’s evidence, that’s it. She has her bike or her skates and Sandy doesn’t leave the house unless she has a ride (Aisha pulling up front and blasting the horn; Sandy, clattering around gathering her things, muttering, Where’s my goddamn…). Their family car is nothing more than a shell, a marker in the Pete and Phillip Silverman’s trail to murder. Kind of like a pit stop. Wrappers marked with imaginary blood stains littering the cab floor. That clean-sour smell of nervous sweat. Her Dad was always a sweater, mopping his brow and fanning himself, Jeez, it’s hot today. Mandy kind of loved that about him. How when she was looking for him in a crowd, she just had to search for the slightly damp white button-down, the back of his nearly-balding head. His hair was soft, like down, and Pete’s was too. Two twin sandy blonde heads sitting in front of the television, Pete curled into his father’s side, Phillip slowly stroking back those baby-shampoo-soft curls.

So, yeah. The Datsun. Scene of family road trips and midnight grocery store emergencies. A wreck that managed to limp from point A to B, with her dad faithfully in the front, eager to drive her to friends’ houses or cheer practice or a competition two towns over. She still thinks about winding the windows down as far as they could go when they were on the highway. Her dad would look over, catch her eye, and grin in a way that made her think of him as a teenager, a young man, that cheerful abandon of youth that was infectious as a whisper, goose-bumps prickling her arms.

“Shall we see how fast this baby can go?” He’d yell, and Mandy would laugh and laugh: “Go, Dad, go!”

ANYTHING ELSE?

Here is my Pinterest board for Mandy (featuring ‘84 and ‘96 boards, because I’m that kind of person), and her account can be found here.

HEADCANONS

Mandy works at the Community Centre as an Adult Education Coordinator. Which is just a fancy way of saying she organises craft classes for senior citizens. Seriously. Mandy picked up the job mainly to get Sandy off her back. After commuting to Lansing to attend community college, her decision to drop out and live and work in Devil’s Knot was met, unsurprisingly, with a pointedly raised eyebrow and a loud slurp from a glass of wine. And Mandy knew, she just damn knew, that if she stuck around her childhood home any longer, she and Sandy would end up killing each other. The job isn’t taxing: she works a few days a week, has a desk up on the mayor’s floor in the Community Centre, and spends way too much time putting flyers together for their new pasta making courses or adult literacy classes. The administration is what really bothers her, because the students are lovely. Little old ladies she’s known for years; grandfathers who remember her father back in the day. Best of all, they like her. Mandy wouldn’t consider herself a charismatic person, but she is a patient one. She’ll listen to a grandmother’s story a thousand times, nodding in the right places, exclaiming, asking questions. She’s gentle. Around other people it can be a slightly different story. She’s not clipped, exactly, nor is she rude. But she is shy, and Mandy is naturally suspicious. When people stop her to talk, she hesitates. It would be too much to link that back to ‘84, although there’s little doubt that that October and the months that followed succeeded in severing her trust in adult figures for life. No, Mandy prefers to keep to herself, to the people she knows. It’s safer that way; controllable.

Mandy loves movies -- always has. Bobby, Mandy, and Perry always went on about music, talking rapturously about guitar solos and funky beats, all while Mandy pretended to grimace and trade teasing looks with Jenny and Mike. But movies. Mandy’s favourite genre is horror. Surprising, maybe, but she can’t get enough. Sci-fi is her second favourite. Her ritual is to go down to the Videoport on a Friday afternoon and stock up for the weekend. She trails down the aisles, fingers skating over the titles, looking for some weird German expressionist thing or a summer blockbuster she can zone out to. Mandy would hardly consider herself a connoisseur, but she has an encyclopedic knowledge for actors and actresses, and can name their filmography from memory just by looking at them. It’s like, one of her only talents.

Mandy enjoys cooking. She mainly enjoys cooking for Mary, who will always, without fail, praise her skills until Mandy’s rolling her eyes and begging her to stop. Even if it’s crap (which it is a lot of the time; God knows Sandy never taught her to cook; this was all the result of afternoon cable and Reader’s Digest), Mary will come up and hug her from behind, kissing the side of her neck, suffusing Mandy in warmth and her spicy perfume. That was so good. You’re so good to me. Doing things for people is Mandy’s way of showing she loves them. It doesn’t matter what it is -- laundry, vacuuming, cooking -- she’ll find herself doing things automatically. It’s a little funny that she’s turned into a housewife ever since moving out with Mary, but it’s also really damn nice. Mandy looks after their small apartment so tenderly. Watering the plants on the windowsill, buying kitsch ornaments from the thrift store, airing out their cramped bedroom in the spring sunlight. Much of Mandy’s life revolves around domestic duties. She picks up the mail, pays bills, goes grocery shopping. Mary comes too, of course, but doing things together in public can get difficult when all Mandy wants to do is kiss her deeply in the fruit and vegetable section. Mary’s full-time job is also demanding, and Mandy only works a few days a week (despite what you may believe, there are not that many adult education classes to organise; the biggest scandal was when they introduced a salsa class and everyone collectively lost their minds). Maybe, in some way, it’s Mandy’s way of holding up her end of their relationship. And maybe, in a deeper, smaller way, it’s also an excuse. If she’s busy, how can she possibly go back to college? Who’ll make apple crumble and fold the socks? Huh? The pixies? If this makes Mandy sound territorial, it’s because she is. She clings to these chores because it’s far easier than thinking about the alternative, which is to get off her ass and actually make something of her life. She’s thirty years old. Nearly thirty one. And she’s got absolutely nothing to show for it. That hurts more than anything. Maybe that hurts most of all.

Mandy is a lesbian. She knew. Even when she was a teenager, she sort of knew. She and Mike started dating when they were thirteen and just... kept going. Certain things seemed inevitable: prom, college, maybe even marriage. It was so simple to imagine her life with Mike, whose family, the Hawkers, were best friends with her parents; they’d all been born months apart; they were raised together. Most of Mandy’s childhood memories involve Mike and Mary, Jenny. They tumbled around together like puppies, climbing trees and having sleepovers. Then they started to grow up, and Mandy and Mike got together, and the atmosphere shifted a little. Mandy liked Mike. She did. Maybe she loved him, in a way. But it was so, so platonic, and the way she felt when she looked at Mary was anything but. Mary used to scare her; still does, sometimes. She was a force of nature and Mandy was the eye of the storm. Looking back, the signs were obvious, but then again, they always are.

Mandy used to dress the way people expected her to dress. T-shirts and jeans, bleached white sneakers and cheer uniforms. Not feminine enough to please Jenny, who’d wrinkle her nose and fondly say, “Mandy, are you kidding? You cannot wear that,” and not masculine enough for her dad, who’d hand her wrenches as he worked on the Cadillac on weekends, shooting sidelong glances at her squad jumper, mumbling, “You’ll get grease all over you, honey.” Scrunchies and high ponytails. Pale pink jackets and a signet ring Mike gave her when they were fourteen. Just enough to be acceptable; to be palatable. To blend in, fade away, be nothing at all. These days it’s the opposite: Mandy dresses like an amorphous blob. In fact, she’d rather people hazard a guess at what she really looks like underneath her oversized flannel shirts and huge boots. The more clothing she has on, the more protected she feels. Layers upon layers. Band shirts worn soft with too many washes; jeans more grey than black. She still has her pink jacket from high school (Mary hung it up in their wardrobe and shrugged when Mandy found it, saying, “You always looked cute, and I’m a sucker. So sue me.”) Mandy pulls her hair up and away from her face; she doesn’t wear make-up. Still has the signet ring, though. She’s a sentimental doofus, she knows.

Mandy loves arts and crafts. Pottery, weaving, knitting; painting, sketching, cooking. These are things that bring her peace, that quieten her inner world. Growing up, she wasn’t creative in the slightest. Mandy was decidedly pedestrian: the most creative thing she ever did was design banners for the cheer squad or doodle in the margins of her school notebooks. But after Pete was returned, she needed something, anything, to stifle the panic static in her brain. Countless nights were spent sitting on the couch in front of the television, Pete curled into her side, her doing finger knitting or making a collage, eyes darting between her project and the cartoon onscreen. Over the years she’s gotten better -- last winter she managed to knit Mary a hideous scarf -- but her hobbies were never pursued in the same vein as her other achievements. Mandy still remembers practicing for cheer for hours in the cold, or studying in her room until midnight, eyes dry and head aching, quietly panicking about a test the next day. Everything she did, she did obsessively. These days, Mandy just wants to be still. Their apartment is stuffed with half finished craft projects: stacks of coloured paper, jars of beads, wool in miscellaneous piles, flowers drying on the windowsill. Sometimes Mary will come home to find her sitting cross-legged at the kitchen table, a pot of sauce bubbling on the stove, Stevie Nicks in the background, Mandy carefully cutting out prints for her art journal. She started journaling when she was a teenager, mainly to help with her father’s murder and the stress of the subsequent trial, but it’s a habit that has followed her happily into adulthood. Mandy would be lost without her projects, her art. It’s a channel for everything she feels; it clarifies her. And it’s never undertaken with any attempt at perfection. Mandy’s learning, slowly, to let go of unattainable ideas. Life is messy. She’s trying to accept that about the world, herself.

Mandy failed community college. Well, it felt like she failed. In reality, she dropped out. There were only so many classes about psych and childhood trauma that she could take (and ironic, right? That she studied psych? Mandy remembers the day she flicked through the brochure to pick her classes, ticking boxes on the vague notion she’d specialise in children, maybe, in kids who’d been taken or abandoned, and help them find their childhood again). The people were too much. Tons of people like her -- great in high school, but not good enough for a decent college out of state -- and older people too, people who reminded her of her dad (not that he’d gone to college; he used to joke that that was all above his pay grade, No, no, I’m happy where I am! Although Mandy knew how avidly he poured over science magazines, and how impressed he was with Apple and that computer stuff. Maybe in another world he would have done something else, been someone great. Maybe it runs in the family). Mandy felt boring in turning down invitations to parties or even drinks down the campus bar. She’d cite anything -- Pete’s homework, the long drive home, dinner waiting -- and soon that got old. She felt old. Like she’d skipped the fun part of her twenties and jumped right into middle age. It didn’t help that everything after ‘84 melted her brain into goop. The minute Mandy received her final marks from school, she shoved the paperwork back into the envelope and hid it with her dad’s old things. The word failure pounded in her head. How did it happen? How could she have gone from mathletes and cheer to barely scraping by? To holding on by a thread? And why? Why did it all affect her so much; why was she such a damn baby about everything? Pete was back safe. That should have been enough, right? But his return didn’t come with everything. Somewhere between Pete disappearing and that Christmas, Mandy cut herself loose. Swapped SAT prep for making spaghetti for her returned little brother. Watching reruns on TV until it was way too late, tucking him into bed. Some nights she didn’t want to leave him, so she put out a sleeping bag on the floor by his bed between him and the door. Just in case. Mandy always wanted to go to Oberlin for one reason: it was far away from Devil’s Knot (and, okay, she liked the name). Ambition was a thing she wore because it fit, not because she liked it. Watching her dad’s face light up when she showed him her grades was reason enough to try hard; and studying with Bobby made her feel light, if only for a little while, them laughing and whispering about D&D campaigns, teasing each other like siblings. Being smart felt good, even if it didn’t come wholly naturally, and Mandy worked damn hard to keep it up. Giving it away should have been freeing. Instead, Mandy knows she disappointed everyone. She’s just another person who raced to the state line only to stop dead, toes at the edge, and feel fear prick the back of her neck. 

[mixtake]

2019 according to mixtake

Aqui está a 13ª coletânea do ano! São 100 músicas, 7 horas e 10 minutos de som. No fim do post tem os links para download, stream no Spotify e pras edições dos anos passados.

Este ano tem

Artist : Song : Album A.A. Bondy : Killers 3 : Enderness Allah-Las : Prazer Em Te Conhecer : LAHS Amanda Palmer : Machete : There Will Be No Intermission Andrew Bird : Sisyphus : My Finest Work Yet Angel Olsen : Spring : All Mirrors Beirut : Landslide : Gallipoli Belle and Sebastian : I'll Keep It Inside : Days of the Bagnold Summer Better Oblivion Community Center, Phoebe Bridgers & Conor Oberst : Dylan Thomas : Better Oblivion Community Center Big Thief : Forgotten Eyes : Two Hands Big Thief : Cattails : U.F.O.F. Bill Callahan : 747 : Shepherd in a Sheepskin Vest The Black Keys : Shine A Little Light : "Let's Rock" Black Rebel Motorcycle Club : Take A Pause By The Moon Bon Iver : Hey, Ma : i,i Bonnie 'Prince' Billy, Bryce Dessner, Eighth Blackbird : Beast for Thee : When We Are Inhuman The Brian Jonestown Massacre : Tombes Oubliées : The Brian Jonestown Massacre Brittany Howard : Stay High : Jaime Bruce Springsteen : Western Stars : Western Stars Bruce Springsteen : Hitch Hikin' : Western Stars: Songs From The Film Calexico and Iron & Wine : Father Mountain : Years to Burn Car Seat Headrest : Drunk Drivers/Killer Whales (Live at O2 Forum Kentish Town, London, England) : Commit Yourself Completely Cigarettes After Sex : Cry : Cry The Cinematic Orchestra : Wait for Now / Leave the World (feat. Tawiah) : To Believe The Claypool Lennon Delirium : Blood and Rockets (Movement I, Saga of Jack Parsons, Movement II, Too the Moon) : South of Reality Courtney Barnett : Sunday Roast : MTV Unplugged (Live in Melbourne) | The Cranberries : All Over Now : In the End Crocodiles : Heart Like a Gun : Love Is Here The Cure : Burn (Live) : Anniversary: 1978 - 2018 Live In Hyde Park London (Live) The Cure : It Can Never Be The Same (Live) : Curaetion-25: From There To Here | From Here To There (Live) The Dandy Warhols : Be Alright : Why You so Crazy The Day : Island : Midnight Parade Death Cab for Cutie : Before The Bombs : The Blue EP Deerhunter : Futurism : Why Hasn't Everything Already Disappeared? Devendra Banhart : Ami : Ma DIIV : Like Before You Were Born : Deceiver Echo And The Bunnymen : Ocean Rain (John Peel Session) : The John Peel Sessions 1979-1983 Edwyn Collins : It's All About You : Badbea El Mató A Un Policía Motorizado : El Perro : La Otra Dimensión Elbow : Empires : Giants of All Sizes The Flaming Lips : The Sparrow : King's Mouth Music and Songs Fontaines D.C. : Roy's Tune : Dogrel Half Japanese : All at Once : Invincible Ian Broudie : Got No Plans : Tales Told (Expanded) Ian Brown : First World Problems : Ripples Idles : Samaritans (Live at Le Bataclan) : A Beautiful Thing: IDLES Live at Le Bataclan Idlewild : You Wear It Secondhand : Interview Music Iggy Pop : Loves Missing : Free The Jackets : Steam Queen : Queen of the Pill Jeff Tweedy : Landscape : Warmer Joe Jackson : Dave : Fool Josh Ritter : All Some Kind of Dream : Fever Breaks Karen O & Danger Mouse : Redeemer : Lux Prima L'Épée : Lou : Diabolique Ladytron : Tower of Glass : Ladytron Lambchop : Crosswords, Or What This Says About You : This (Is What I Wanted To Tell You) The Lemonheads : Straight to You : Varshons 2 Leonard Cohen : Happens to the Heart : Thanks for the Dance Liam Gallagher : Once : Why me? Why not Lloyd Cole : Violins : Guesswork Lower Dens : Young Republicans : The Competition Mac DeMarco : K : Here Comes the Cowboy Malcolm Middleton : Love Is a Momentary Lapse in Self-Loathing : Bananas Mark Lanegan : She Loved You : Somebody's Knocking Mavis Staples : We Get By : We Get By Mercury Rev : Big Boss Man (feat. Hope Sandoval) : Bobbie Gentry's the Delta Sweete Revisited Mike Patton & Jean-Claude Vannier : Chansons D'Amour : Corpse Flower Moon Duo : Lost Heads : Stars Are the Light Morrissey : Morning Starship : California Son The National : Rylan : I Am Easy to Find Neil Young + Stray Gators : Out On the Weekend : Tuscaloosa Neil Young With Crazy Horse : Think Of Me : Colorado New Order : Disorder (Live at MIF) : ∑(No,12k,Lg,17M¡f) New Order + Liam Gillick: So it goes.. The New Pornographers : Colossus Of Rhodes : In The Morse Code Of Brake Lights Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds : Bright Horses : Ghosteen Pedro the Lion : Leaving the Valley : Phoenix Pin Ups : Little Magic : Long Time No See Pixies : Catfish Kate : Beneath the Eyrie Purple Mountains : Margaritas At The Mall : Purple Mountains Ride : Clouds of Saint Marie : This Is Not a Safe Place Rocketship : City Fair : Thanks to You Sharon Van Etten : Seventeen : Remind Me Tomorrow Silversun Pickups : Widow's Weeds : Widow's Weeds Siskiyou : Unreal Erections /// Severed Heads : Not Somewhere Sleater-Kinney : Can I Go On : The Center Won't Hold Spiritualized : Angel Sigh (Alternate Mix) : Blue on Blue: Unreleased Mixes Demos & Outtakes 1990-1991 Sun Kil Moon : Couch Potato : I Also Want to Die in New Orleans Swervedriver : The Lonely Crowd Fades In The Air : Future Ruins The Tallest Man on Earth : Waiting For My Ghost : I Love You. It's a Fever Dream. Temples : You're Either On Something : Hot Motion Thom Yorke : Dawn Chorus : ANIMA Tindersticks : The Old Mans Gait : No Treasure But Hope Toy : Mechanism : Happy in the Hollow The Twilight Sad : VTr : It Won't Be Like This All The Time Ty Segall : The Arms : First Taste The Vacant Lots : Bells : Exit EP The Warlocks : Tribute To Hawkwind : Mean Machine Music The Who : Beads On One String : WHO Wilco : One and a Half Stars : Ode to Joy William Patrick Corgan : Fragile, The Spark : Cotillions Yann Tiersen : Closer : Portrait

DL ou ouça no spotify. Links para as edições passadas 2007 | 2008 | 2009 | 2010 | 2011 | 2012 | 2013 | 2014 | 2015 | 2016 | 2017 | 2018

Para Lola.

jan.2020

[marianajacqueline45]

Hoy cumple años Priscilla Presley 72 años es una actriz de cine y televisión y empresaria estadounidense. Saltó a la fama al contraer matrimonio con el músico Elvis Presley en 1967. Juntos tuvieron una única hija: Lisa Marie Presley. La pareja se separó en 1972 y se divorció en 1973.Sus comienzos profesionales en la actuación remontan al año 1983 cuando hizo una aparición especial en la serie televisiva The Fall Guy. A partir de ese año, y hasta 1988, representó un papel secundario en el serial televisivo Dallas. Posteriormente debutó en cine con la cinta The Naked Gun: From the Files of Police Squad! y apareció en otras producciones como Las aventuras de Ford Fairlane y Austin Powers: Misterioso agente internacional. En los últimos años ha recibido especial atención en los medios por su participación en el programa de telerrealidadDancing with the Stars; John C. Reilly 52 años conocido por sus trabajos en películas como Chicago, Gangs of New York y Magnolia. Habiendo debutado en Corazones de hierro en 1989, es uno de los tantos actores cuya carrera fue catapultada por Brian De Palma. Hasta la fecha ha trabajado en más de cincuenta películas, incluyendo tres películas de 2002, cada una nominada al Oscar como mejor película. Fue nominado al Oscar como mejor actor de reparto por su papel en Chicago y al premio Grammy por la canción "Walk Hard", que él escribió y grabó para la película Walk Hard: The Dewey Cox Story y Bob Dylan 76 años es un músico, cantante y poetaestadounidense, ampliamente considerado como una de las figuras más prolíficas e influyentes de su generación en la música popular del siglo XX y de comienzos del siglo XXI. Gran parte de su trabajo más célebre data de la década de 1960, en la que se dio a conocer como cantautor folk con composiciones como «Blowin' in the Wind» y «A Hard Rain's a-Gonna Fall» con un importante contenido de protesta social.Tras dejar atrás la música folk, Dylan modificó la música popular en 1965 con el álbum Highway 61 Revisited, uno de los trabajos musicales más influyentes del siglo XX,en el que combinó la música rock con composiciones complejas y literarias influidas por imaginería surrealista. Su primer sencillo, «Like a Rolling Stone», fue elegido como la mejor canción de todos los tiempos por la revista Rolling Stone y alcanzó el segundo puesto en la lista estadounidense Billboard Hot 100.Tras Highway 61 Revisited, Bob Dylan consolidó su interés por el rock y el blues con trabajos como Blonde on Blonde y exploró nuevos registros musicales como el country rock en Nashville Skyline y Self Portrait. A lo largo de la década de 1970, después de sufrir un accidente de motocicleta en 1966 y no salir de gira durante ocho años, obtuvo un mayor éxito comercial con discos como Planet Waves, Blood on the Tracks y Desire, números uno en su país natal. A finales de la década, abrió una nueva etapa musical con la publicación de Slow Train Coming, con una profunda temática religiosa. Aunque el trasfondo religioso y su interés por la Biblia se mantuvo a lo largo de los años, después de Infidels comenzó a grabar discos con un mayor peso de temas seculares como Knocked Out Loaded y Down in the Groove, que obtuvieron peores resultados comerciales y de crítica. La carrera musical de Dylan resurgió a finales de la década de 1980 con el lanzamiento de Oh Mercy, producido por Daniel Lanois calificado por la prensa como el «regreso a la formalidad musical», y con la formación de The Traveling Wilburys con George Harrison, Roy Orbison, Tom Petty y Jeff Lynne. Tras un breve retorno al folk a principios de la década de 1990, en trabajos como Good as I Been to You y World Gone Wrong, Dylan volvió a trabajar con Lanois en Time Out of Mind, un álbum con un «sonido nebuloso y ominoso» que ganó el Grammy al álbum del año en la 40.ª entrega de los premios. Desde Time Out of Mind, publicado en 1997, sus álbumes más recientes —"Love and Theft", Modern Times y Together Through Life— han obtenido el respaldo de la prensa musical y del público. Las letras de Dylan incorporan una variedad de temas sociales, políticos, filosóficos y literarios que desafiaron la música pop convencional existente y apelaron generalmente a la contracultura emergente en la época. Influido por Woody Guthrie, Robert Johnson y Hank Williams, Dylan amplió y personalizó géneros musicales a lo largo de cinco décadas de carrera musical, en las que exploró la tradición musical estadounidense con el folk, el blues, el country, el gospel, el rock and roll y el rockabilly, así como la música folk inglesa, escocesa e irlandesa, pasando por el jazz y el swing. Dylan toca la guitarra, la armónica y los teclados, y respaldado por una alineación de músicos cambiante, ha salido de gira anualmente desde finales de la década de 1980, en lo que se conoce como Never Ending Tour —en español: La gira interminable—. A lo largo de su carrera, Dylan ha sido reconocido y honrado por sus composiciones, interpretaciones y grabaciones. Sus discos le han valido varios Grammys, Globos de Oro y premios de la Academia, y su nombre se halla en el Salón de la Fama del Rock and Roll, el Salón de la Fama de Compositores de Nashville y el Salón de la Fama de los Compositores. En enero de 1990, fue investido Caballero de la Orden de las Artes y las Letras por el Ministro de Cultura de Francia Jack Lang. En 1999, fue incluido en la lista de las cien personas más influyentes del siglo XX elaborada por la revista Time. En el año 2000, ganó el Premio de Música Polar de la Real Academia Sueca de Música, y en 2004 alcanzó el segundo puesto en la lista de los cien mejores artistas de todos los tiempos elaborada por la revista Rolling Stone, después de The Beatles. El 13 de junio de 2007 fue premiado con el Premio Príncipe de Asturias de las Artes, y un año después recibió un reconocimiento honorario del Premio Pulitzer por su «profundo impacto en la música popular y en la cultura norteamericana, marcado por sus composiciones líricas de extraordinario poder poético». En este contexto, desde 1996 diversos autores y académicos han nominado a Dylan para la candidatura del Premio Nobel de Literatura. En mayo de 2012, recibió la Medalla Presidencial de la Libertad por parte del presidente Barack Obama. El 13 de octubre de 2016, la Academia Sueca le otorgó el Premio Nobel de Literatura por «haber creado una nueva expresión poética dentro de la gran tradición de la canción estadounidense».