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archive-of-note · 1 year ago

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Florida man hasn't completed any fic in a hot minute... returns with a different fandom and POV style...

Astarion x Dark Urge OC (Markus) a bit that sprouted off from a different fic attempt but felt too different to stay in the other doc... so here it is now, on its own.

no real... anything really, just an interaction as i try and hammer out their whole deal, so two traumatized men who's whole lives have been defined and shaped by violence, trying to figure out how to interact with each other and the rest of the world.

some tweaks to the Durge backstory, and whole deal really. the way the game treats the Urges is... odd, almost like they're a separate thing from your character's thought process at times

oh, implied past Gortash x Durge, but even he isn't completely sure what the exact nature of their relationship used to be.

I'm terrible at naming fics btw, that hasn't changed, suggestions welcome

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“We need to talk.”

Markus breathes in, the fact Astarion is initiating heavy conversation is enough of a warning that he shouldn’t try and put this off.

“Okay.”

Markus just keeps scrubbing his clothes, waiting.

“Are you going to even look at me?”

Markus doesn’t want to, because he doesn’t know what to expect, but the waiver in Astarion’s voice, that sliver of fear, it supersedes his own.

Astarion’s shoulders relax just a bit when Markus turns, and the elf takes a few steps forward until he’s standing next to the tiefling.

Markus wrings out his clothes and waits.

“What are we? To you.”

Markus almost giggles, the same words he’s asked the elf a few too many times, to the point Astarion has had to preemptively reassure Markus that yes, what they are is something important and special to him.

“I—“ Markus sighs, dunking his robes in the wash basin, more so a fidget than actual cleaning.

“You, you make me happy, and I don’t know if I’ve ever been happy like this, and that scares the shit out of me.” The admission makes Markus feel raw, like an exposed nerve.

Astarion huffs, and if Markus didn’t know better he’d be hurt by how dismissive it sounds.

“Aroused certainly, annoyed definitely, but happy?” Astarion sounds almost disgusted with the word, “Not usually the feeling people associate with me darling.”

The thing is Markus isn’t even completely certain if what he’s feeling is happiness. Before his memories decided to rush back into place, before Gortash went ahead and talked about their history with vague fondness and some deep tonal implications, he was quite certain what Astarion had him feeling was happy.

But now? Now he has bits and pieces, choppy and half formed but coherent enough to paint a picture.

What he feels with Astarion is good, but it’s nothing like what he knows to be happy.

Happy for Markus is being elbow deep in viscera, the terrified whimpers of someone desperately trying to keep silent, wide eyes collapsing as all hope is lost and they beg for some sort of mercy.

That’s happy.

Markus presses his face into Astarion’s hip to think.

Astarion jumps at the sudden press of the tiefling’s face into his side, but after a few seconds he places a hand between Markus’s horns.

Markus inhales, brandy, bergamot, rosemary, and beneath that, the subtle saltiness of sweat and leather.

How many times has he blindly followed that smell? How many times has he pressed his face into the dips and creases of Astarion’s skin, using his scent as an anchor?

Safe.

It’s some small part of him that had been crushed and muffled since his father claimed him. The scared child he was when he opened his eyes to bloody hands and flesh filled teeth, the people he called parents dead and decorating the walls of their small home for his nameday.

Gods, when was the last time he thought about his parents? When was the last time he could think about his parents?

Astarion presses his thumb to the base of one of Markus’s horns, it’s that spot that sends a tickle down the scar Orin left down the side of his nose.

“Let me in?”

Markus presses his face a bit deeper into Astarion’s side, some delight wiggling it’s way into his crowded mind when he realizes the elf actually has some give, a touch of softness where his waist turns into hip.

“It’s a mess.”

Astarion scoffs, “The only one of us messier than you is Karlach, at least you have the excuse of drama worthy amnesia.”

Markus snorts.

“You’ve seen my messes, helped me clean them even, let me return the favor?”

Markus stiffens, but before he can say anything Astarion continues.

“Because I want to, darling. Not because I think I owe you.”

Markus sighs, shoulders dropping when he feels the bit of insistence from Astarion trying to probe his mind.

He opens the connection a crack, and he can feel Astarion brush past the confusion, the worry, the few memories of Gortash he was able to cobble together.

“The way he spoke, I assumed you’d been sharing more than world domination plans.”

“I still don’t know if we did.”

Most of the memories are factual, no real emotions come with them, deaths he’s caused, tortures committed, he isn’t numb to them, but the only emotions he feels are the ones he has to them now.

The few that flood him with emotion, all have to do with his father.

The truth of his lineage, the first day Sceleritas appeared before him, the first mass he lead in his father’s name.

Those come with fondness, warmth, pride. He has a feeling those emotions are not entirely, if at all, his own.

“Red is a lovely color on you dear, but I must say, even this is a bit much.”

Markus snorts, letting that starburst of fondness in his chest bleed over into Astarion’s awareness.

“I’m quite certain most of the memories I had returned were ones my father felt were necessary, if I recall anything else, it is by sheer happenstance.”

Astarion hums in distaste, “Quite telling, don’t you think, that Bhaal would have to censor your memory.”

Markus… Markus hadn’t considered that.

Astarion taps Markus with his foot, a silent instruction for the tiefling to make space for the vampire to sit.

Markus does just that.

“Try and remember something, anything, that has nothing to do with him.”

Markus opens his mouth to argue, his entire being, his very person hood, was a facet of his father, that was the intention.

“Cazador tried to break me, he intended to break me.”

Markus’s mouth clicks shut.

“I did not break, I bent and I bowed, but I did not break.”

Flashes, moments, bits and pieces of hunger pangs and broken fingernails. Rotten rats and the burn of an ill handled blade. Condescending coos and obviously false promises, disrespect and degradation.

They all come with emotions, disgust, fear, exhaustion, but there is a constant.

Rage.

The true depths of which were kept under wraps, the flairs and bursts Cazador saw only fractions of what the younger elf truly contained.

“You were not helpless without Bhaal’s guidance, and I doubt that was something that just suddenly came to you.”

Markus can feel Astarion shuffling through memories, tossing aside bloody images and and terrified screams, looking for something that has nothing to do with Markus’s divine inheritance.

“Well hello.”

It takes Markus a moment to orient his mind to what Astarion has found.

It’s her.

Heat rises to Markus’s cheeks before he really knows why.

“Now I do believe daddy dearest had nothing to do with this.”

The memories are haphazard, choppy.

The swish of a tail, the supple curve of a thigh, the drag of claws beneath his chin.

Vanilla and pine covering the electrified ozone that comes with high magic use.

Astarion’s eyes widen, his hands cupping Markus’s cheeks as he digs around for memories of the woman that once drove the tiefling mad.

“Oh darling, I knew you had taste, but my oh my, I’m surprised they’re so refined.”

Markus doesn’t know how to take that, but before he can say anything a new memory emerges, a dagger at his throat.

Not when he first met Astarion, no, the dagger in his memory is sharpened to a delicate but lethal edge, a smooth curve and jeweled pommel.

“It seems you have a type.”

Markus feels a chuckle forming, but it stalls in his throat.

The memory of her flirtatious smile turns horrified, a thick line of blood dripping down her brow, the smell of burning fabric and the sting of electricity beneath his skin.

Anger, fear, disgust, regret.

The message is clear, “You have no time for such needless distractions.”

Markus grabs Astarion’s wrist as he pushes the elf from his mind, desperate for some comfort but also scared for his safety.

No wonder he believed Sceleritas so quickly, he’d tried to kill someone he cared about before. Had succeeded in the case of his parents in name.

“I…” Markus feels a trembling in his chest. Fear, promising placations, promises that his lapses in judgment were long term plans, that his lack of bloodshed wasn’t stalling, it was all part of a plan.

The Plan.

His head pounds as his mind scrambles, fragments of answers to even more fragmented questions.

Desperate calls for silence, the singing of blood, a moment's respite from the violent flesh craving, desperation and fractions of perfect quiet moments.

His nose is bleeding.

“No need to let that go to waste.”

A cool callused finger wipes his lip.

Markus… Markus wants to sleep.

“Are you hungry?”

Astarion understands.

Astarion understands and Markus knows whatever he had with Gortash didn’t have this. A silent knowing, intrinsic understanding. They had been made rotten by circumstance but Gortash just made Markus’s rot worse.

Gortash saw him a feral lap dog, something kept on a leash and appeased with random bursts of praise and the occasional treat.

Astarion may have started by playing a similar hand, but even his calculated approvals were more heartfelt than the admitted drivel Gortash would randomly lob his way.

Astarion smiles, sultry and playful, the vulnerability being hidden away for another time, another night.

“Oh darling, I thought you’d never ask.”

Markus smiles, his own playful deflections returning as he stands, barely remembering the wet robe that’s been soaking in the wash basin.

He presses his forehead to Astarion’s, a moment of unfettered affection and relief, warmth and understanding, those soft mushy feelings neither of them know how to articulate.

“Don’t keep me waiting.”

Markus nudges forward, just enough for the bridges of their noses to press against each other before standing entirely, tail swaying behind him in an exaggerated tease.

#astarion ancunin #astarion #astarion romance #astarion bg3 #astarion x dark urge #baldurs gate astarion #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate #bg3 #astarion x oc #astarion fanfiction #astarion fanfic #astarion imagine #bg3 spoilers #baldurs gate iii #baldurs gate 3 spoilers #dark urge spoilers

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lunapaper · 2 years ago

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Album Review: 'SOS' - SZA

SZA is making up for lost time.

After an exhausting five-year tug-of-war with her record label, Top Dawg Entertainment, the singer’s long-awaited second album, SOS is a sprawling 23 tracks, clocking in at just over an hour.

As expected, there’s a lot for Solana Rowe to process, all delivered in her usual rambling stream of consciousness.

‘I might kill my ex, not the best idea/His new girlfriend's next, how'd I get here?’ she sings on the woozy, twilit psychedelia of ‘Kill Bill,’ preferring jail time over loneliness. She revels in self-destruction on ‘Seek and Destroy,’ setting the mood with a nervous rattle of synths. On ‘Blind,’ she craves violence and dysfunction, boldly proclaiming ‘My pussy precedes me/My, my, how the times change.’ OG track ‘Shirt,’ meanwhile, is all dusky agitation, Rowe turning her anger into full sensory overload. It also serves up what I consider to be one of the best, most cutting lines on a pop song in recent years (‘Bloodstain on my shirt/New bitch on my nerves’).

There’s a lot of humour and pathos throughout SOS. ‘Ghost in the Machine’ (featuring Phoebe Bridgers) has a jewellery box tenderness about it, backed by an ethereal choir as Rowe pleads for a little humanity, just wanting to ‘fuck, eat, sleep, love happy.’ On ‘Conceited,’ she’s betting on herself, no longer seeking validation and upfront about her past cosmetic procedures. But Rowe’s finds herself back in the chokehold of insecurity not one track later, thanks to her loser ex, owing quite a bit to TLC’s own empowerment anthem, ‘Unpretty.’

There’s a ton of throwback appeal on the album. ‘Gone Girl’ is late night 70s soul complete with soft-focus vignette. Both the title track and the home-spun acoustic of ‘Open Arms’ channel the aching, full-throated emotion of Lauryn Hill. ‘Good Days,’ much like Beabadoobee’s ‘Sunny Day,’ is Furtado-style folk pop that sees Rowe on her ‘empty mind shit,’ while ‘Nobody Gets Me’ is on that massive Avril ‘I’m With You’ shit, big time.

‘F2F,’ however, manages to jump on the pop punk bandwagon without the need for a Travis Barker cameo, and it’s all the better for it. You can tell Rowe’s been listening to a lot of Pink here, specifically ‘Just Like a Pill’ and ‘Don’t Let Me Get Me’ (from her 2001 masterpiece, M!ssunderztood).

SOS crosses a lot of sonic terrain, which, unfortunately, results in a rather uneven record. The sequencing is so damn poor, with lush, atmospheric stretches disrupted by cheap filler, creating jarring tonal shifts: ‘Conceited’ immediately contradicts ‘Special’s message of empowerment; ‘F2F’ is plonked between two emotional ballads; ‘Good Days’ sees Rowe find peace, making for a solid closing track… until it’s upended by the ODB-sampling ‘Forgiveless,’ with the singer promising to remain a bad bitch. And why the hell would you not open the record with ‘Smoking On My Ex Pack’??

Some tracks feel unfinished, while others already sound dated (namely ‘Low,’ ‘Notice Me,’ ‘Conceited,’ ‘Snooze’ – exactly that). SOS, at times, seems to be produced more with virality and streaming in mind, probably at the behest of TDE and RCA, hoping for another ‘Shirt’-style blowup on TikTok.

Inside a good album like SOS is an even better album just waiting to come out. Throughout, SZA’s raw emotion is often overshadowed by weak hooks, repetitive themes and an inconsistent tone. Stripping away the emotional depth and complexity that made CTRL so compelling in order to make the album more TikTok-worthy in the short term is also rather frustrating.

SZA herself didn’t seem to hold as much confidence in SOS in the lead-up to its release, telling Rolling Stone:

‘[M]aybe up until the last week, when I texted [my label] and was like, ‘we don’t have to put this out. We could just pull out and move it to January. We can just let this go. And she’s like, ‘you can’t, you’re like, crowning... You can’t push the baby back in.’ I was like, ‘we can push the baby back in. We can!’ Even when I was [doing the] track listing, I was like, ‘Ugh, this shit is so boring’ or ‘it sucks,’ or when I couldn’t get some of the things I wanted for the initial cover idea or things weren’t working out, I’m like, ‘let’s just put it out with no cover and just leave everything blank.’ And then part of me was just like, I just wanna get it over with. I wanna meet my own fate.’

In her quest for control that started all the way back in 2017, SZA only seems to end up further sacrificing herself to the whims of others, as SOS sadly proves: to TDE/RCA, to her loser exes, to social media demand, to her insecurities. The singer has more than once referred to this as her 'final' album, and I really wouldn't blame her if it was after all the shit she’s put up with these past few years (See also: Sky Ferreira, still trapped in the cavernous depths of record label hell after almost a decade).

But I really hope it’s not: When given the chance, SZA has proven herself to be a more interesting artist than she’s usually given credit for, and you do see glimmers of that on SOS. Instead of wasting her time with pointless one-off singles and petty label politics, she might actually have the chance to put together a more cohesive body of work. Let’s just hope we don’t have to wait another five years for it...

– Bianca B.

#music #sza #sos #new #reviews #albums #Bianca B

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thegnasticious · 1 year ago

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Am I Ready Yet?

Women. You know, you want to go somewhere, and they have like two thousand things they discovered about their hair that is keeping you from hitting the road.

They are never quite ready, and especially when you need them to be. Being in a relationship, especially long-term with a woman requires steadfast tolerance of this usually daily impedance.

For myself, telling if I’m ready, is rarely a bathroom orientated situation. Just last night I twiddled around for 5-6 hours on a bass track, that when I finally picked up the bass to track, I put it down. Why? Because I was tired, and you could feel it in the track I was doing. Within seconds of monitoring, it was more than apparent. I did not want that. Bass back in holster, back in bed until I could stop being a poo-na-nee.

What baffles me, is some days under the same circumstances and attitude, that same session can last 10-20 hours. It’s as if some part of the environment tells you ‘hey, you’re ready now’ and it just happens. Like magic. The same thing happens in adverse, like last night with me. My personal and physical issues were bleeding into the track, and something about the room told me to take a break and start it up tommorow.

Was I ready last night? No

Sometimes you can go weeks without being ‘ready’ and for a musician to experience this, is like a woman never getting her bathroom time before leaving the house. You feel like you forgot your make-up, your hair is all over, you likely stink, and it feels like everyone is going to notice. Until you get that melody or message out, it eats and eats at you why you can afford to do anything else. It becomes an obsession. And when it’s unattainable, it becomes a nightmare.

Judging whether a mix is ‘ready’ or not, I usually compare it with others in an alike genre or tonal composition. Judging on these merits, and usually my cheapest pair of headphones, I can decipher the quality by contrasting it. Much of my editing career, in movies and music, was mostly self-taught. I found in later years, I was adopting my photography methods into other pursuits. Using methods that are more akin to producing photos than music. This is because my goal was not entirely music, but a soundscape.

What is a soundscape? Well take a panoramic photo, it gets a wide shot of an overall area condensed in a way that visually encapsulates the 180-360 degree movement used to take the photo. A soundscape, conceptually is like taking the whole thing, maximizing it, then condensing the outside frills to make what is a panoramic mix.

I think this approach is also important, considering revision and remastering nowadays, the original should be as pure and maximized as possible.

So before I judge if something or someone is ‘ready’. I first try to feel if what they are doing makes sense, and to that effect in the world around them. I think many people jump right into deep water, not even thinking about the concept of preparation or organization. These people drive me nuts in the studio. I’m not exact in everything I do, but I don’t just believe in being a complete ass to every sense of order, so I do have processes (at the same time when I lift weights, I never decide what machine I’m using before, I just walk in there).

Well that’s about all for now

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erisenyo · 2 years ago

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11, 12 & 26 for To Open Every Door?

11. Was there a scene that you hadn't originally planned to include? Why did you decide to fit it in?

I hadn't originally planned the scene in Chapter 12 where Azula gives the boys some space and Sokka and Zuko have their talk while lying on the floor, but as I was editing I realized that Azula had made herself such a part of the boys' rooftop scene that they really hadn't had a moment to themselves yet.

I really wanted to give them both a chance to process and catch their breath and to take strength in each other and reground within their relationship. The front half of the fic involved so much of Sokka being too deep in his own head, I wanted to make sure that it got openly addressed in a way that felt like forward progress for their relationship, and that gave them both a chance to be vulnerable and find support in each other in a way they can't when Azula is present.

12. Was there a scene you wished you could have included? Why didn't it fit in?

There's actually an Azula scene I cut that I've thought about sharing as a deleted scene. It takes place between Ch 10 and 11, but jumping into her point of view 1) ruined the whole 1 chapter = 1 day structure, and 2) felt like it ruined all the narrative tension that had been built up. If we get Azula's POV prior to the Azula-Sokka scenes in Ch 11, the whole ambiguity of those scenes felt like it fell flat.

There were a bunch of other lines I cut editing and chunks of scene rather than whole things that I really liked but that just felt tonally off where they were trying to happen, or like it was rushing certain emotional beats or growth moments to have certain conversations happening so soon. (Sokka challenging Azula that she cares about people and people care about her starts to feel real thin when she doesn't act or reflect on it at all for multiple chapters after haha)

And also all the Hakoda-Sokka moments! That to be honest I purely just forgot about and then I was so deep in and I didn't know how to fit it into the space I had left in a satisfying way, so...I didn't try haha, and let that itself say something about the Hakoda-Sokka relationship (full of affection! Full of compartmentalization and unaddressed feelings of abandonment!)

26. Wild Card! I'll tell you a fun fact about this fic!

The first scene that popped into mind for this story was the fight scene in Chapter 11! Complete with sound effects, camera angles, dramatic lighting, slow motion, the works haha. I had a really clear sense of what was going on in both Sokka and Azula's head and what the emotional weight of the moment was, and from there it was working back to figure out how they got there.

And also, the title is a riff on a line from an Emily Dickinson poem,

Not knowing when the Dawn will come, I open every Door

I really liked the sense of uncertainty and taking it on faith, and the sunrise imagery. It felt like a nice fit for a Sokka-Azula story.

For this Behind the Scenes Ask Game

#asks and answers #ask games #dont-leafmealone #Thanks for playing! These were so fun to think about!#Open ended fun facts are hard lol suddenly I forgot what fun is

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peterson-1300c · 2 years ago

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Final Curated Portfolio

Final

Title: Article 11

Midterm

Title: Me, Myself, and I

Museum Assignments

Title: Edgar Degas Inspired

Title: Warm Embrace

Variety of techniques

Gesture week 1

Gesture Week 3

Blind Contour

Contour

Cross contour

Crosshatching

Tonal Studies

Value With Ink

Value Reduction

Value with Pencil

Sketchbook

Artist Statement

This semester, I was able to push myself and hone my art skills by learning and practicing with several mediums and techniques. It can be a stressful process, working with supplies that I have never used or am foreign to. I love working with pencil, and charcoal, but have always been wary of painting and working with ink. I struggle with controlling the paint brush, figuring out which brush to use, and how to blend colors. Pushing myself to try new things this semester helped me get over my fears and allowed me to just jump right into my work! I had so much fun with each assignment, I loved taking my time and seeing the progress show. I noticed so much progress with my work, and feel ready to practice these new skills in my future classes and careers.

I wanted these portfolio pieces to show that I have a keen sense of perspective, lighting, and form. I know how to create a balanced composition in my pieces. I love taking on the challenge to render fabric, and objects of different textures in my work.

Next semester, I want to keep practicing with new mediums and working with paint. I want to work with colors and learn about color theory. As I am a graphic design major, I will be making lots of digital art, so I would like to better understand the fundamentals of working with color. I also want to further my understanding of shading, lighting composition, and perspective.

All in all, I loved this class and will continue to practice what I’ve learned in the next semester and all of the semesters after that!

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armorabs · 11 months ago

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LITERALLY. GOD. something that'd been rubbing me wrong about vincent waller for years is just how... DISMISSIVE he's been about female characters. now, i suppose i could say characters in general - given the way he's regarded former recurring characters like squilliam, and i still haven't forgotten the way he made the claim that herb and margie weren't funny. i personally feel like it was such an unimaginative and lazy perspective to have but at the end of the day if there was going to be a show focusing on patrick's family, his parents needed more striking character designs that set them apart from patrick the way the main cast of the original series set themselves apart so while i can't bring myself to forgive his explanation because i feel his thought process wasn't faithful to the spirit of spongebob squarepants as a series, i can easily move on with my day about because it wasn't actually that big of a deal, and otherwise the decision to redesign herb and margie as cecil and bunny made sense. i still don't like it but i get it.

but i constantly think about the way he was just so quick to jump to the idea that squilvia was friggin eaten by a whale. first thought as to why squidward's girlfriend didn't stick around and wouldnt see use again, she got eaten. she's dead. she's not alive. really. he immediately adds, oh, she could have broken up with him over his clarinet playing. sure. i suppose that's tonally fitting for spongebob squarepants as a series, even though i too find that to be an unimaginative and lazy take on why she's not around that feels at odds with how she was characterized. otherwise it checks out as a tonally fitting end for squidward's hopes for romance. but getting eaten by a whale was his first thought. it really goes to show how disposable people think of female characters - and i don't think it was on purpose on his part, but i think about it. eaten by a whale.

unfunny. UNFUNNY. unfunny . i cant even believe it. you think so little of sandra jennifer cheeks. how can you think that. how can you think shes unfunny. it boggles the mind. sandy cheeks? unfunny? an unhinged lesbian in STEM with poor boundaries? shes fucking hilarious. literally set her in a room with squidward and watch her go how are you not amused. not even gonna get into the depth and complexities of her character. UNFUNNY! HOW CAN YOU SAY THAT!

#also to a lesser degree the shelved pearl backstory episode with her as a foundling...#i dont know how to articulate my thoughts about that since it didnt happen and its not like we know anything substantial about it either #but lets just say something rubs me wrong about the way vincent talked about it.

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jordyn-degas · 3 years ago

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Hiii!! May I request a naruto x fem!reader please? Can it be aftercare naruto like him and his s/o we’re done being intimate together and naruto taking care of his s/o after.

Hiiiiiiii! 🥰

I'm a bit late to the party unfortunately as it took me a while to resume writing for my asks 😩 but i pulled through -

Here it is a bit of sweetness with our foxy boy we love so much 😌 Hope you'll enjoy 😇

Head hitting the pillow, your body spasms from the overwhelming orgasm were yet to subside, panting bouncing off the walls, stars shining on the bedroom's ceiling as a serene smile curved up your lips, eyes filled with nothing but pure ecstasy. Words were simply evading you, brain unable to put two and two together just yet as it was still in the process of absorbing all the pleasure, twisting and turning it into shiver remnants of what has been unfolding in the room for the past two hours. Your husband's body dropped onto the mattress, glistening with the sweat of a job well done, his hand reaching for yours and pulling you closer to him, lips meeting the feverish forehead, bodies molding together once again. A sigh rolled off your lips at the touch, unable to move up and meet his eyes that were solely trained on your form.

"That was .." Naruto whispered, letting a deep breath that has been nestled into his chest since he came, taking in the peacefulness of the moment.

"Oh, I know!" you replied, voice coming out in waves of various tonalities due to the panting that was slowly starting to resume into normal breathing. "Argh!"

"What's wrong?" Naruto jumped, carefully settling your body on its back, softly bushing away every hair strand out of place. "Was I too rough?"

"No, baby." you replied, fingers brushing lightly across his cheek while getting lost into those beautiful baby blue eyes that have stolen your heart more than 16 years ago. "There is no such thing as too rough with us."

Naruto did not reply, frowning slightly seeing how your back would arch in a not so subtle movement, trying to alleviate the discomfort of him bending you in abnormal positions. Lips capturing each other in a loving kiss, the hunger being all consumed for now, Naruto stood up from the bed and went into the bathroom. Laying there, fingers brushing along the freshly kissed lips, you thought about how lucky you were for having him standing by your side, all of the moments since being children rushing before your tired eyes, flashing as if it was a past life.

The bathroom door opened suddenly, Naruto's naked and sculpted form approaching the bed, eyebrow raised at the way his eyes traveled up and down your body. Bending over the bed, his strong arms picked you up bridal style, carrying you into the bathroom where the heavy warmth sent shivers down your spine. The bath was all settled, watermelon and bubbly white foam coating the water that filled up the tub. With the way the steam was slowly dissipating into the air, you realized he also chose the perfect, scorching temperature in which you always showered or bathed. Naruto placed a quick kiss on your cheek before descending your body into the water slowly in order to easily adjust to the warmth pinching all the soreness.

"Oh, God .." you sighed deeply, feeling the way each limb stretched under the caress of watermelon scented water.

"This good, baby?" Naruto asked, his body sinking into the bathtub behind, legs opening to welcome you in between them, back resting against his chest.

"Perfect." you replied, eyes closing in to take in the moment.

As you relaxed into the feeling of warmth untangling all the soreness he gave you, Naruto took each arm into his hands and slowly began massaging along them, adding a bit of pressure in order to release yours. Humming, body sinking slightly deeper into the water, he placed a kiss on your shoulder before moving to the neck. Head bowed forward, Naruto grabbed a hair tie placed on the edge of the bathtub, where you kept some specifically for this, swiftly pulling all of it into a messy bun, and began rubbing gently on the most tensed part of your body. Small groans and sighs escaped, Naruto chuckling softly at how much you were enjoying this. He could not help himself from peppering kisses all over your neck and shoulders, placing the most in between the shoulder-blades, one of his most favorite places to press his cheek when sleeping.

"Don't fall asleep on me, my love." he whispered into your ear before releasing the hair from the bun. "I'm not done."

Reaching above his head, Naruto grabbed a bottle of shampoo and another for conditioner, placing them both on the corner of the bathtub. You hummed in pleasure sensing the cold liquid being poured on top of your head, Naruto's fingers expertly massaging the scalp and spreading it all over, not missing a single strand.

"s good .." you whisper, tongue losing into the perfect, tingling sensation of his fingers working with such skill.

"You've been so good to me tonight." Naruto said, going in to remove all the shampoo from your hair. "Now it's my turn to be good to you."

Somehow, his words only made you shiver even more, hairs raising on your body, breath hitching at what the first sentence implied.

"Later, I promise." Naruto chuckled, noticing how your body responded to anything remotely sexual that came from him.

After shampooing and applying conditioner, he let it set while watching your fingers aimlessly tracing along his legs, back arching from time to time as all the soreness was not uncomfortable anymore. When your body was soaked properly, hair and body washed without a single intervention from your side, Naruto cleaned himself as well and got out of the bathtub, helping your tired body into a plush bathrobe. He made sure every bit was covered, tying it around hard enough to not fall but also to not apply too much pressure on your skin. After all these years, Naruto was completely familiar with what creams, lotions or oils you were using, choosing your favorite night lotion, applying evenly all over the skin of your face, pinching playfully a bit at the cheeks, wanting to see that childish smile of yours whenever he was taking such care.

"Thank you." you said with a small blush, fingers intertwined with his as he led you back into the bedroom. "It was perfect."

"Not yet." Naruto grinned over the shoulder, your eyebrows shot up in surprise seeing how he was pulling you past the bed, out of the room and into the kitchen.

Naruto was the type of husband to use the height he possessed to his advantage, enjoying every single time you could not reach one of the glasses set into the top cupboard. Therefore, hands went under the armpits as you were lifted up the same way you are picking up the children now and placed on the high stool by the kitchen island.

"I am not that small." you sighed, nose scrunching up.

"For me you are." Naruto chuckled, quick kiss pinching your reddish from the bath steam nose. "Short stuff."

Picking up one of the clean dish rags laying around, you threw it at him only for your husband to catch it and laugh. His bare form turned around, only a towel carelessly hanging on the hips, offering you an image that could easily turn relaxation into desire, into that deep want you always had for him, muscles tensing beautifully as he opened the freezer. The brightest smile that one could have, looking as if touched by the sun itself, split across your face seeing what Naruto was holding.

"Is that .." you gasped noticing the label, water pooling into your mouth rapidly.

"Yes." Naruto wiggled his eyebrows, grabbing two spoons from a nearby drawer.

"With the big chocolate chunks?" you asked, mesmerized by the ice cream tub being placed in front of you.

"Yes." Naruto replied tapping the sealed lid.

"And the swirl of salted caramel and dark chocolate syrups?" you went again as if seeing it for the first time, face displaying nothing but surprise.

"Mhm." your husband laughed, taking it away and walking towards the couch where he sat cross-legged.

"B-but .." you rushed, jumping off the stool and settling immediately into his lap, always sitting like this when sharing food or sweets. "I have searched in all Konoha."

"I had it delivered from another village." Naruto replied handing you a spoon and taking off the lid.

"What?!" you asked in shock. "You didn't had to."

"Are you happy?" he asked, watching how you took the spoon to your mouth and tasted the ice cream, a pleasured groan escaping.

"Yes, yes I am." you replied leaning into his back.

"Then I had to." Naruto smiled, fingers working up and catching your chin in between them, turning your head to face him. "I'd do anything to see you happy and smiling."

"Naruto .." you whispered, faint blush pinching your words as if it was the first time hearing these words.

"I love you." he said, lips brushing softly against each other.

"I love you too." the reply came instantly, deep and full of nothing but love kiss ensuing between a happy, adoring wife and a beyond in love husband.

Sixteen years since you chose him. Fourteen years since he made you his.

#jordyn replies↠asks #naruto #naruto fanfiction #naruto x reader #naruto x y/n #naruto x you #naruto uzumaki #naruto uzumaki x reader #naruto uzumaki x you #naruto fluff #anime writing blog #anime x you #anime x y/n #anime x reader

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lokiondisneyplus · 3 years ago

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Loki director Kate Herron’s heart was beating fast. She’d already had some surreal experiences during her short time in the Marvel Cinematic Universe, so a simple phone call shouldn’t make her nervous. But on the other end of the line was Owen Wilson, an actor and writer she admired and hoped would join her on a time-jumping journey through the MCU.

“It was the most detailed pitch I’ve ever done, to an actor, ever. I pretty much spoke through the entire first episode with him,” Herron recalls of wooing Wilson, who wasn’t too familiar with Marvel before being cast as Mobius, an agent for the mysterious Time Variance Authority central to the series.

Wilson instantly put Herron at ease with his laid-back charm as she walked the actor through 10 years of onscreen lore for Loki, the god of mischief played by Tom Hiddleston. She answered his questions about Avengers: Endgame, about time travel, about how this version of Loki was not the one fans knew from films like Thor: Ragnarok, but rather one plucked from an alternate timeline from 2012’s The Avengers.

It was all part of a whirlwind few years for Herron, who not that long ago was temping at a fire extinguisher company and struggling to land directing work even though she’d already helmed a BBC project with Idris Elba. Then Herron finally achieved breakthrough success directing episodes of the Netflix hit Sex Education and soon was hounding her agents for a Marvel meeting.

When Herron finally landed one, the Loki superfan cleared her schedule and spent two weeks putting together a 60-page document, even though her agents tempered her expectations by noting it was just a meet-and-greet.

“I knew I’d be up against some really big directors, and I knew I wouldn’t be the most experienced in the room, so I [said], ‘OK. I’ll just be the most passionate,'” recalls Herron.

Just a few days after officially landing the job, Herron found herself on a five-hour walk through New York with Hiddleston discussing Loki and flying to D23 in Anaheim to be greeted by thousands of screaming fans alongside Loki head writer Michael Waldron.

Herron is now working long days finishing up Loki in Marvel’s production hub in Atlanta, where the British filmmaker has largely lived since getting the job in 2019. Over Zoom from her freezing Atlanta apartment (she still hasn’t figured out the quirks of the air conditioner), Herron dives into Loki ahead of its June 9 debut on Disney+.

What was your process of sitting down with Marvel for this?

I was just so overexcited. [My agents] were like, “Look, it’s just a casual conversation, they just want to get a sense of you,” and basically I was like, “OK, I’m just going to pitch them.” Because I thought, they might not meet me again. So I got as much information as I could, and they sent me a little bit about the show. And I just prepared a massive pitch for it. I canceled everything for two weeks. I made a 60-page document full of references, story ideas, music. I knew I’d be up against some really big directors, and I knew I wouldn’t be the most experienced in the room, so I [said], “OK. I’ll just be the most passionate.”

Was that first meeting in Burbank?

That was in England, in southeast London on Zoom. I had a few stages where I did that. Then after a few interviews with Kevin Wright and Stephen Broussard, two of the Marvel executives who got me ready for the big match, I went in to pitch to Kevin Feige, Victoria [Alonso], Lou [Louis D’Esposito], the whole team there. That was very surreal because they flew me to Burbank and I pitched at Marvel Studios. I didn’t have the job, but I found out they were interested and then I remember Kevin Feige called me, and when he was in London, we had coffee. He was like, “Look, we want you to direct it.” Oh my God. They flew me to D23 and that was crazy because I think I found out I got the job 48 hours before, and then I was onstage. The Lady and the Tramp dogs were in front of me and Michael [Waldron] on the red carpet. “What is going on?” (Laughs.) I met Tom that week as well, so it was a bit of a whirlwind kind of thing.

📷Herron, Waldron and Feige at D23 in 2019.

Where did you first meet Tom?

I had a two-stop trip. I flew first to New York to meet Tom. He was in Betrayal at the time, on Broadway, so we basically went on this amazing walk around New York. I’d never met him before. We just spoke about Loki and what was really important to us about the character and where we thought it would be fun to take him, as well. It was this intense, five-hour conversation with him basically. I met him and then flew straight from meeting him to D23. So it was a lot. (Laughs.)

When did you finally get the scripts? How did that change your thoughts on what you want to do?

They sent me the outline, so I knew the overall story. I also was pitching stuff. “Oh, we could do this with this character.” The pilot was really well written by Michael and I really liked what they were doing with the character and the story. Then it was building upon that and throwing in ideas for where he could go later in the show. It reminded me a bit of improv where you’re always building, always trying to push the story to the best place. So we were always adapting and shifting the story. Our lockdown, during COVID, was a chance for us to go back in. I was cutting what we’d done, so I was like, “OK, this is tonally what is really working for the story.” Then we went back into what we hadn’t filmed and started adapting that stuff to fit more where we were heading.

The Marvel movies have a writer on set to help tweak things. Was that the case with Loki?

Michael [Waldron] was with us at the start, and then he went on to Doctor Strange [in the Multiverse of Madness]. We had a really wonderful writer called Eric Martin from our writers room, and he was our production writer on set. It was between me, him and my creative producer Kevin Wright. We would kind of brainstorm and adapt. I’ve always loved talking to the cast. We had such a smart cast. Owen is a writer as well. If you have that amazing resource, why not talk to them? We were always adapting. Obviously paying respect to the story we wanted to tell from the start, but always trying to make it better.

📷Herron on the set of ‘Loki’ with Hiddleston and Wilson.

Kevin Feige has said Owen Wilson, like his character, is nonplussed by the MCU. Since Owen isn’t necessarily dazzled by Marvel, does that make him all the more perfect for this role?

He is playing a Loki expert, so at the beginning of production, Tom and I were talking. He devised this thing called Loki School. He did a big lecture to the cast and crew. I love the character. This is a decade of fans loving this character and where that character has been. It was talking everyone through that, but through Tom and his own experiences. Stunts that Tom liked or costumes. He ended up doing that same Loki school for Owen. Owen absolutely loved it. Owen has such a writer’s brain. I remember I had to pitch him down the phone. My heart rate [was up].

Was this the pitch to get him to get Owen on board?

Yeah. I love his work. “Oh my God, I’m going to talk to Owen Wilson.” He’s so laid back and nice, it immediately puts you at ease. It was the most detailed pitch I’ve ever done, to an actor, ever. I think I pretty much spoke through the entire first episode with him. You can tell he’s a writer, just by the way he attacks story. His questions about the world and the structure and the arc of the character. It was really fun to work with him.

Was it the most detailed pitch you’ve ever done because you really wanted Owen, or because you knew you needed to woo him a bit to get him to sign on?

It was the questions he asked, and the way he attacked story, in that sense. And also probably because he was newer to the Marvel world, he was like, “OK, how does this work?” I also pitched him Loki’s arc over the past 10 years, where that character has gone, but also explaining our Loki and what happened in Endgame and time travel. There’s a lot to unpack in that conversation.

Sometimes Marvel will give writers or directors a supercut of all the scenes of a specific character. Did you get one of those?

They didn’t actually give me a supercut, but I’m a big Loki nerd. I think his is one of the best [arcs] in the MCU. I really wanted to make sure we were paying respect to that. At the same time, something Tom spoke about a lot was you have to go back for a reason. Let’s be united on what that reason is and feel that it’s worth it.

The reason can’t be, “Well that’s what happened in Endgame,” so the question becomes, “What is the point of revisiting him at this era of his life?”

Yeah. He’s only had — I don’t want to get this wrong — I think 112 minutes of screen time in total if you cut all his scenes together. And he steals the show. We have six hours to really delve into this character and talk about him and go on this completely new story with him. For me, it was making sure that [we’re] paying respect to what has come before — I know as a fan if there is a character I really loved and I found out they are making a show about him, I obviously would be so excited and so happy. I felt lucky to have the responsibility, and I took it very seriously.

Those who have worked with Kevin Feige say he’s someone who can stress test an idea and push things in new directions. What have you found working with him?

Something I always found was we would sometimes pitch something, and it would be at a good place, but he’d always be like, “OK, that’s great, but push it further.” Sometimes I’d pitch stuff and be like, “This is too weird,” and he’d say, “No, go weirder.” He wants to tell the best story and I found it really helpful having his eye across everything and the fact that he does challenge everything. Tom as well, on set. He brings this amazing energy and this great A-game that causes everyone to rise to the occasion.

How do you know when you’ve got the perfect Hiddleston take? Is he asking you for one more, are you pushing him to do one more take?

By the end, it was almost telepathic. We would kind of know. We would look at each other. “We could go again,” or, “We’ve got it.” It’s different with every actor. There are some actors who will come in firing and they just want to go for it. But they don’t want to do a million takes. There are other actors I work with who are very meticulous and they want quite a few to warm up and get into it. It’s actor-dependent. The way me and Tom are similar is we are both very perfectionist. We are both very studious. (Laughs.) We definitely connected in that sense. He’s a very generous actor. I remember one day, we had quite a few of our actors coming in as day players. It was really important for him to be there for them, to read lines offscreen. He would have to be 50 places at once, because he is the lead actor. The most amazing thing about him was his generosity. Not just to the other actors, but also to the crew, to be filming in a time like COVID.

When you make an Avengers movie, you get a big board with every character that’s available, and whether the actor’s deals will allow them to appear or if that would need to be renegotiated. Loki is smaller, but was there any equivalent for you? Was everything on the table? Was only some stuff on the table? I imagine if Chris Hemsworth has his own new Thor movie coming up, he’s not going to be on the table, necessarily.

I felt like everything was on the table if it meant it was good for story, and Marvel would be like, “We’ll work it out.” Me and the writers, we never felt restrained in that sense. Honestly, it always comes back to story.

What is your relationship with your editor as you finish this up?

We have three editors, Paul Zucker, Emma McCleave and Calum Ross. My relationship with all three of them is very different. Emma and me are very close because she was also in Atlanta away from home. I got to know her very well. I love working with the editors because it’s a fresh pair of eyes. You get so deep into something when you are filming, it’s almost like writing it again when you are in the edit. Stuff does change. Even some episodes, we’ve reordered the structure. Or we moved scenes from one episode to another episode. I’ve always loved the editing process. The best thing is someone honest who can be like, “Hey, this doesn’t quite make sense to me,” or, “This isn’t working.”

What are you going to do on premiere day? Will you be on the internet at all to see the reaction?

I’m actually working. I’m still finishing the show. My last day is the day the second episode airs. I’m going to be working that day. Sadly, I’ll probably check in on the internet a little bit, but I’ll probably go to bed when I finish because I think I’ll do a 12- or 13-hour day or something. I can’t remember. I’m really excited for people to see it and just to bring it out in the world, really.

Everyone wants to know about spoilers, but what’s something you wish you were asked about more when it comes to Loki?

Kevin Feige said, “We make movies. We want to run it like a movie.” So unlike a lot of television shows that are showrunner-led, this was run like a six-hour film. As a director, you don’t often get to do that in a television-structure show. I really enjoyed it, having a hand in story and just how collaborative it was. Also, just beyond that, directing the equivalent of a six-hour Marvel movie was incredible for me. That’s something I found interesting about it. Making something the Marvel way.

In terms of the themes, I love gray areas. The show is really about what makes someone truly good or what makes someone truly bad, and are we either of those things? Loki is in that gray area. It’s exciting to be able to tell a story like that. As a director and a writer, you don’t necessarily understand why you are making these stories. Something I keep getting drawn back into is identity. Sex Education, we spoke a lot about identity and feeling like an outsider but actually finding your people. I feel the same with Loki. It’s a show about identity and self-acceptance and for me, that’s also what drew me in.

Gray is a good way to describe Loki. Your version of Loki just tried to take over the Earth not long ago.

Exactly. This isn’t the Loki we’ve seen. How do we take a character that people love, but from a lot earlier, and send him on a different path? That for me was interesting, getting to unpack that. Alongside that, getting to set up a whole new corner of the MCU with TVA. That to me was so exciting.

What about the Teletubbies? You referenced that recently and it made quite a splash. Are you going to leave people in suspense on that?

I referenced the Teletubbies once and people were like, “What, Teletubbies? What does this mean?” Maybe I should leave people in the air with it. One thing I would say is the show for me, stylistically — I wanted it to be a love letter to sci-fi because I love sci-fi. Brazil, Metropolis, Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, Alien. If people love sci-fi, they will definitely see the little nods we’ve got across the show. People will know what it was a reference for when they see the show. It was a visual reference to something in the show.

Interview has been edited for length and clarity. Loki debuts on Disney+ on June 9.

#Kate Herron #Loki #interview #loki series

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digitalhovel · 2 years ago

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Games as Meditation

A lot has changed in the last month for me. I quit my job due to workplace conditions and harassment. I got a new job. I drove 1000 miles. I ended the longest relationship I’ve ever had. I completed my first proper theatrical work and got paid to do it. I grew tits.

In the midst of all this, I have felt many things. I have felt excited and sad and bewildered and mortified and angry, all without an incredible amount of time to process those feelings. It’s an oversimplification, of course. I have processed things in the wee hours of the morning and in dreams and at work and during the slow parts of the day when the mind wanders. I have picked through my emotions in therapy and worked to give them credence and space in at least that hour every week. But mostly I have felt exhausted. And in that exhaustion, I have struggled to move ahead, to decide the next steps, to push into the brave, terrifying unknowns I face.

So I played some games.

I have always been bad at meditating. I can write, I can hum, I can listen to music or podcasts or the birds for endless hours, but I find it remarkably difficult to quiet my mind for any length of time. I thought a few small games might help with that. So, this is my review of: Donut County, Far from Noise, and Florence.

I was looking for distraction and catharsis. I’m not entirely sure yet what I’ve walked away with, but I’ve certainly gotten both from these games. Donut County is by far the most humorous and tonally simple of the bunch. You play a raccoon who has doomed Donut County by… swallowing everyone and everything into a giant pit, a la Katamari Damacy. The writing is funny, the game is short and sweet, and it doesn’t outstay itself. I found myself laughing for the first time in a week, genuinely enjoying the silliness of the premise and the simple joy of making objects disappear into a pit. It gave me a relief from the cycles my brain had been stuck in, and the catharsis from making things vanish was incredible. Of course, all the things that fell in the pit had to be rescued, just as all the thoughts pushed into the corners of my mind had to be addressed eventually. But for the time being, there was a pit, and by Jove I was going to swallow everything with it.

Far from Noise feels like something someone would tell me to play. An unnamed character, trapped in a car teetering on the edge of a cliff, with no company except a few animals, their own thoughts, and a talking Deer. A very philosophical deer. Conversations range from college studies to the meaning(lessness) of existence, landing, at least in my experience, on some genuinely touching notes about nature and our place in the cosmos. It is not a game I’d recommend lightly, as it actively discusses death and hopelessness in a very real way, but the visuals are gorgeous, and the dialogue is entertaining enough to keep you hooked in for the hour-and-a-half ride. There are moments it feels the game is making a concerted effort at profundity, and moments when the game is genuinely profound. When everything seems inescapable, and when there is truly an ocean of possibilities ahead, it is nice to remember one’s transience. The game roots itself firmly in nature, keeping the experience grounded and connected with a wider world that pulls you in and forces you to reckon with silence and beauty and the opportunities of being alone in thought. No matter the ending, the decision to be and the choices made along the way, will carry us to cliffs, rivers, and oceans, all of which are to be appreciated in their own right. It was a piece of meditation I appreciated, if only to follow some guided existentialism instead of spinning wildly on my own wheels.

Finally, I played Florence. Now, before I jump in, I will note that former employees of Mountains, the game’s developer, have come forward with allegations of workplace abuse by studio lead Ken Wong. Still, the game was incredibly well reviewed, and due to Nintendo’s points system, I got it for free. So, as ethically as I could, in the moment.

If you know Florence’s story, you probably can guess why I thought it would be good for me to play it. For those who don’t, the game is a short, interactive (originally built for mobile devices) game exploring a relationship between the titular character Florence, and her boyfriend Krish. I can’t talk about the game without spoiling it, so a spoiler-free review: the design of the interaction feels incredibly intentional in a very satisfying and interesting way, the story is impactful, but I have slight quibbles with some of the meanings you could take from it. It feels like it could be read as a message about independence and monogamy instead of a message of self-reliance or self-actualization, which is what I would want to pull from it, at least.

One of the moments that really stuck with me was the ‘Groceries’ chapter. It’s approximately in the middle of the story and is the first indication Florence and Krish’s relationship isn’t perfect. As they shop, they get into an argument, and the player must build speech bubbles on the fly to respond to Krish’s comments. The pieces making the bubbles change shape each time, a magically simple way to indicate she is trying to communicate different ideas, or in different ways, and none of them are working. The game also gives Krish a hand up because he responds automatically in the same style, making the player feel incredibly disadvantaged in the argument. The result is an honest portrayal of a difficult, painful situation not uncommon in relationships. And the game doesn’t stop there. We follow Florence as she grows from being somewhat stuck in her job, to following her relationship with Krish, to the melancholic end of that relationship and the developments her life takes afterwards.

When I got this game from the Nintendo store, I felt numb. It had been a few weeks since my own breakup, and I’d had little time to truly sit with my own thoughts, despite my efforts to do so. There were always more occupying factors at hand. So, I used this game as a proxy. It is not 1:1, by any stretch. It’s not even close. But for some reason, I was able to grieve for Florence’s relationship in way I had not been allowing myself to grieve my own. I cried and I felt a small weight lift off my shoulders because some of the tears trapped behind my eyes had finally escaped. The game attaches you to these characters, to the life and love springing between them, and them gently forces you to let it go. You can do so in your own time, but you do have to let go. It was an action I have a hard time practicing in life, and the opportunity to do so consciously eased some of the anxieties I was stuck in.

Games are not a stand-in for emotional development, for therapy, or for self-reflection. But they can be a tool to help those processes along. Games, as art, have as much experiential validity as someone’s break-up playlist or anniversary movie night. These are activities we do to mark the occasion of momentous shifts, to pass the time while our brains sort through the clusters of new and old information and how we may process them. I would recommend these games as experiences. They’re good experiences to have. And I’m glad I chose to have them now, when I needed just a bit of fun, a bit of space, and a different mindset while things ticked on around me.

#thedigitalhovel #digitalhovel #florence #far from noise #videogames #meditation #breakup #processing #a human with real human emotions #donut county

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hit-me-with-a-ladle · 3 years ago

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Ch. 8 Creepypastas x Fem! reader

Sorry I've been gone for so long. My grandfather died a month ago and I wasn't in the right mindset to write. But I'm back and ill do my best. Thank you all for your patients. Anyway, enjoy<3

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As the week progressed, the girl found that it was the slightest bit easier to read through Masky's facade. Though that did not mean that she could thoroughly read him quite yet, she made it a challenge that eventually she would. Masky himself became lenient at first as to mind her injuries. But the moment she started to heal, it was all back to the ruthless nature of his work. Finally, when the week ended, she got informed that someone else was going to teach her. That person turned out to be Ben, the blond-headed boy that seemed too eager to meet her.

An early sensation lurked in the air the moment she woke up, groggily walking to the bathroom and taking a well-deserved shower. The feeling of all of the previous days' dirt and grime washing off her punctured flesh was refreshing. Her mind was finally clear, able to freely think and dwell on her current predicament without any outside interference. The hot water trickled down her naked body, soothing her as she thought of any way she could escape. But no matter how hard she thought, deep down she knew that the only way she could truly leave was to stay a little longer to devise a plausible plan.

Sadness overtook her body, hot tears streaming down her already wet face intertwining with the water droplets from the showerhead. She'd been able to withhold her tears for a while now, not wanting to give those bastards the satisfaction. But as her current position set in her mind once more, she couldn't hold it in. It was like a never-ending loop. After being rudely introduced and forced to spend a week being trained to the bone by two different killers, she had to repeat the process with another. It felt like her own personal hell.

Feeling the scalding hot water turn cold was an indicator that it was time to get ready. Not giving a damn if she was late. Stepping out of the shower with a huff, she looked at herself in the full-body mirror. Steam covered its surface from head to toe. Though, no matter how blurry, the rough outline of all the large scars, cuts and a few red bruises that littered her body were still very much visible. The feeling and texture of her once somewhat clear skin was now a distant memory in her mind. Slowly tracing all of the scars with the tip of the rugged fingers she winced when she made contact with a few of the most recent injuries.

Getting dressed in the same greyish jump-suit she has been washing and wearing for the last few days, she went to eat breakfast. But before leaving her bedroom she looked at the nightstand, there laid the old pocket watch he gave her. For some reason, he didn't want to take it when she offered it back. Shrugging her shoulders she put it in her right pocket and headed downstairs. Reaching the kitchen, noticing that Masky must have left early. Not paying any mind to his disappearance she carried on with her day. Eating the meal she prepared for herself. Sitting there on the dining table, in total silence, patiently staring at the clock. Ben still hadn't arrived. He was already ten minutes late, to begin with, which was a significant tonal shift from Masky, who was extremely punctual and despised tardiness. After what felt like hours, a loud crash was heard that made the girl's ears perk up as she ran to the living room. Their laying spread eagle, on the front of the old television, was none other than Ben.

" What happened, how did you get in here?" The girl quickly said while helping him up. " Dammit, forgot how small the damn television was." He said under his breath, ignoring her previous question. Getting on his feet he brushed himself off giving the girl a better look. Unlike the other two men, he was significantly shorter, 162 to 165 cm or 5'4-5'5 feet tall. Medium length golden hair under a long green hat and sharp pointy elf-like ears. His pale white skin looked ceramic, almost like a doll's and thin lips with a button nose. He seemed considerably young, but she assumed that he most likely was about eighteen years of age. Though, what caught her attention were his round black eyes that had a speck of red in them that acted as pupils. He was dressed as an elf, with his bright green tunic, forest green pants and leather belt neatly tied around his waist that held a small satchel type bag.

Looking in her direction he flashed her a creepy smile that showed off his white teeth. The girl didn't know how to react to his sudden action, as she felt discomfort all around her body, shifting her weight awkwardly she chose to ask him again. " How the hell did you manage to get in here without me hearing you?" " Well, I did the same thing I'm gonna' be teaching you today. Sorcery or magic. Whatever word floats your boat." " Magic? As in witchcraft, like spells and potions?" " Yup. I mean I know Jack already told you this so I don't know why you're so shocked." He snickered, it sounded distorted. " Yeah, I remember but I didn't actually expect-not that I didn't think that it would be magic-it is just that this is all so strange, I can't believe it." " Believe it, cuz I'm gonna' be teaching ya some spells. Follow me now out the back door." He spoke loudly, shaking his hands in a flamboyant manner.

Walking swiftly to the kitchen towards the back door. The girl was visibly confused as she followed suit. Why did they have to go through the back door, it was all quite strange. Stepping out, she noticed the rather large, wooden table a few meters in front of them. Its surface is covered in all kinds of trinkets, herbs and plants. " What's all of this for?" She said, approaching the table. "I got Masky to set it up before he left, we're gonna be needing some of this stuff so I can show you the ropes and basically help you understand the basics of making potions. A skill you'd need for survival." He answered while picking up a bunch of the items off the table and stuffing them in the bag. " Oh, what do we have here?" He said excitedly under his breath " Is it Raskovnik? My god it is. I know what i'll be teaching you first now, don't I. '' He started with a laugh as he made his way towards the trees. " Where are we going now?" " To the brewery. Do you really think you will be making risky positions in front of the cabin? You humans are actually the dumbest creatures."

The girl's face scrunched up in annoyance but still kept her mouth shut. She knew better than to try and argue with these people. Biting down on her tongue she got drawn in by the scenery like most times she was out in the forest. Autom was soon approaching so the wind had started to pick up the past few days, it made the multicoloured leaves on the trees dance as it passed. It calmed her as it passed through her body. Taking in a large breath she smiled and carried on behind Ben. Dogging trees and branches as there was no pathway in this part of the forest.

" Did you get the plant?" Ben spoke up after a while, cutting the calm silence. " Sorry, what?" " Were you the one that got the Raskovnik?" He repeated the question louder. " Oh, well yeah. I got it a while back as a part of my training with Masky." She replied quickly walking to his side. " Figures. Maskys is the type to make others do his dirty work." He muttered bitterly. But the girl was still able to hear it. " So you have a bad relationship with him?" " You could say that. Most of us do. The scumbag." The air started to tense. " I guess you could call him that. But he's not always that bad, he has his moments I guess." " Not that bad? Tell me, how did you manage to get that big ass gash on your neck." He harshly replied, pointing his leather-gloved hand to her neck. She quickly covered it and looked to the side. Not responding. " As I said, he's an absolute scumbag." " Well if it isn't stepping over a boundary, mind telling me why he's so bad." " Well, to begin with, he's a sadistic prick that only cares for himself. He broke into my house and stole some of the VERY rear herbs that took me YEARS to collect. And worst of all, he's the dog of The Operator." His face darkened when he mentioned The Operator's name. " The Operator? Whos that?" The girl quickly asked, lowering her hand and looking at him with a confused look on her face. " He's one of the most powerful beings to even exist. The embodiment of evil." " So like the devil?" " No, he's not the devil, the devil is a different being, but he's still terrifying." " Why do they call him The Operator then?" " Well, like. I don't really know how to explain this to you but, imagine this forest being a very large city. Y’know how every city has a mayor or someone in charge that leads it. Well, that's what The Operator really is. The Operator isn't his real name but a nickname given to him."

With that they finally stepped into a small grass filled clearing where in the middle, was a very small cottage covered in vines, plants and flowers. The old wood that it was made of was held up the multitude of plants, securing it firmly. The half-rounded door was nicely placed in the front, a yellow brick pathway leading to it, with a square window to the side. They quickly approached the door, the girl's breath taken by the beauty. The inside itself was small, shelves were on every side of the walks, each holding a plethora of books, trinkets, herbs and plants. It was relatively messy but still easy to walk in. A cauldron was in the middle of the room with a desk stacked with papers, pens, and scrolls.

Placing the Rascovnik and emptying his bag on the desk, Ben looked at the girl. " So let's begin I guess." He said walking to the medium-sized cauldron. " What are we going to do exactly?" She quickly asked as her eyes followed him, as he walked around the cottage collecting different ingredients and placing them on the desk. " Well, you're not going to be doing anything, just taking notes." Tossing a notepad at her. " While I prepare something and explain the different things you'll need to know." " Yeah that's great but am I going to be quizzed the same way Masky quizzed me because I need to know what I should expect." She said frantically, firmly grasping the notepad to her chest. " Nah, you're not. I don't do quizzes or tests, I like doing things spontaneously y'know. And plus taking notes will help you understand things more, so just write down herb and spell names, important details and whatever else will help ya remember. K?" " Ok, I guess." Anxiety began to dwell in her mind, as she looked around. " Readdy?" He said walking in front of the cauldron, giving her a slightly crooked reassuring smile.

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pascalsky · 4 years ago

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Pedro Pascal is flying high on The Mandalorian, but defining success by his earthly bonds

The Wonder Woman 1984 and The Mandalorian star is one of EW's Entertainers of the Year.

Human connection. It’s vital. Especially in a year like 2020. Especially for Pedro Pascal. So it’s ironic that the 45-year-old’s highest-profile success to date is working with an adorable animatronic puppet, inside a chrome helmet he famously can’t take off. "It is why I wanted to do this show. Selfishly, I knew [the Child, a.k.a. Baby Yoda] was likely to make people fall in love with the show," says Pascal of tackling the title role on The Mandalorian, the Emmy-nominated hit Star Wars series, which returned for its second season on Disney+ in October.

The Chilean-American actor has an eye for choosing projects where he’ll stand out, from popular network procedurals including The Good Wife, The Mentalist, and Law & Order to his breakout roles as the charming — and horny — Oberyn Martell on Game of Thrones and, soon after, DEA agent Javier Peña on Netflix’s Narcos. But it’s the stoic bounty hunter safeguarding a frog-egg-eating 50-year-old toddler that’s made him a household name. The new season of The Mandalorian followed Pascal’s galaxy-traveling warrior as he searched for the home of the Child, generating countless memes in the process.

Playing the Mandalorian has been one of the hardest and most unique experiences of Pascal's career to date. At this point, it's no secret that he wasn't physically under the helmet as much as he would've liked in season 1 and recorded his dialogue in post-production to match what his doubles, stunt actors Brendan Wayne and Lateef Crowder, did on set in the armor. Giving a largely vocal performance was a challenge for a physical actor like Pascal, who is almost unrecognizable when you compare his turns on The Good Wife and Game of Thrones, for example, because of how he carries himself. Yet, being on set way more in The Mandalorian season 2 didn't make his job any easier because he still had to figure how to make Mando compelling while also being as economical as possible in his physical movements and vocal performance.

"I'm not even sure if I would be able to do it if it weren't for the amount of direct experience that I've had with being on stage to understand how to posture yourself, how to physically frame yourself into something and to tell a story with a gesture, with a stance, or with very, very specific vocal intonation," says Pascal, who believes his collaborative relationship with creator Jon Favreau and executive producer Dave Filoni, a.k.a. his "Mandalorian papas," also helped him inhabit the role in season 2.

Speaking of collaboration: Working with comedian Amy Sedaris, who plays gruff Tatooine mechanic Peli Motto, was one of the highlights of The Mandalorian’s sophomore season. “I followed Amy Sedaris around like a puppy. [I was] like, ‘Hey again. I’m not leaving your side until you wrap,’ and she’s like, ‘Cool,’” Pascal says. “I love the Child — it really is adorable — and it is so fascinating to see it work, but somebody who makes you spit-laugh right into your helmet will always be my favorite thing."

Pascal longed for those kinds of interactions during quarantine, which proved difficult for the actor who was living alone in Los Angeles. But he lights up, is even giddy at times, when the conversation turns to bonding with the Community cast right before a charity table read back in May (he filled in for Walton Goggins), or FaceTiming his friends to celebrate Joe Biden and Kamala Harris' election victory on Nov. 7. "Ahhhh! Ahhhh!" Pascal exclaims, reenacting the joyous calls with buddies like Oscar Isaac that Saturday morning. "It was screaming and jumping and dancing and crying…. I very arrogantly took screenshots of everything and [shared them], like, 'I am a part of this!'”

"I'd be less nervous playing tennis in front of the Obamas than I was seeing a reunion of these people that I think are brilliant and have this incredible chemistry with each other and stepping in and having really, really, bad technology in this new space that I had moved into. I really resented having to actually participate acting-wise because there were instances where it was way too much fun to watch."

- PEDRO PASCAL ON SHOOTING THE COMMUNITY TABLE READ.

His appreciation for those around him has only grown during the pandemic. Before flying to Budapest to film The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent with Nicholas Cage, Pascal leaned on his bubble for support. Community's Gillian Jacobs, for example, hosted him for an outdoor socially distanced pizza night every Saturday in the early weeks of lockdown. (He suspects that's why he was recruited for the sitcom's table read when Goggins couldn't participate.) "The friends that got me through it are absolutely everything to me and very beautifully marked in my head. I've got old friends and new friends that literally did nothing short of parent me through the experience," says Pascal, who has "survivor's remorse" for being in Europe right now. "I feel guilty not being [in the States] with my friends through [this tumultuous time] but also grateful that, individually, I was able to gain a little bit of separation from the stress of it."

Those tight bonds helped redefine, or at least clarify, what success means to him. "I want to make sure that my relationships are right, and I want to make sure I'm nurturing meaning in a sustaining way, and that won't necessarily be related to getting good jobs and making lots of money," he says. But he'll take them — as he did for both of his 2020 projects, about which he's thrilled. And how could he not be, starring in two of the year's most feverishly anticipated properties?

Besides The Mandalorian, Pascal appears in Patty Jenkins' superhero epic Wonder Woman 1984, which has endured a Homeric journey to its release (read: several pandemic-related delays). Thankfully, the odyssey is almost over because Warner Bros. recently confirmed that it will open in both theaters and on HBO Max on Dec. 25. Pascal is stoked audiences will finally see his turn as the villainous Maxwell Lord because playing the greedy dream-seller pushed him out of his post-Game of Thrones action role comfort zone.

"With Wonder Woman, [Gal Gadot and Kristen Wiig] are doing the action, baby, and I'm doing the schm-acting!" he says, hilariously elongating that final syllable. "I am hamming it up!" (Indeed, Pascal reveals Cage inspired his performance in one particular scene.)

But Pascal felt he was up to the challenge because everything he needed was right there in the screenplay, which Jenkins co-wrote with Geoff Johns and David Callaham. "I didn't have to take something and figure out how to put more flesh onto it. I had to achieve getting into the skin of what was being presented to me," he says, contrasting the experience with playing a DEA agent for three seasons on Narcos. "For me, Colombia was almost the central character, and then I was allowed to make him depressive and to tonally interpret what the character was. And in this case [on Wonder Woman 1984], there was just so much for me to meet rather than to invent."

He continues: "That was an incredible delight and challenge because Patty Jenkins is a director who loves actors and when she sees she can ask for more, she does. And there isn't anyone better, in my experience, to give more to."

In 2021, he rejoins the good guys as an aging superhero and father in Robert Rodriguez's kid-friendly Netflix drama We Can Be Heroes. The inherent optimism of the Netflix film's title also complements Pascal's hope for the new year. Says Pascal, ��If [fear] can take a little bit of a backseat and not be the main character in everybody’s life, that would be great.”

SOURCE

#omg he looks so damn good #entertainment weekly #pedro pascal #the mandalorian #din djarin #max lord #maxwell lord #wonder women 1984 #ww1984 #oberyn martell #prince oberyn #the unbearable weight of massive talent #javier pena #narcos #javi gutierrez #we can be heroes #marcus moreno

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soranihimawari · 3 years ago

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Bella Donnas & Love

This is the final installment of the Hanahaki Disease AU featuring the Seijoh Four. This is a Mattsukawa Issei x Yin (YN/Reader) story.

Word Count: 4.3 K

Warnings: mentions of depression, suicidal attempts, mentions of burn out, and intrusive thoughts

Recommended Audience: 17+ (minors recommended to not read because of the warnings attached)

Pairing: Mattsukawa Issei x reader// MIA->MIF [Mattsukawa Issei angst to Mattsukawa Isei fluff]

Mattsukawa Issei is a simple man. He sees the world in copious amounts of black, white, and gray; it isn’t because he is colorblind either. It is because he knows his worth. Truthfully, his parental figures were always a bit worried about their son especially given the profession he has chosen to pursue. Being in the business of burning and or burying the dead, Mattsukawa Issei is a fan of the loneliest times in a lifetime: they say when we are brought into the world, we are alone, and when we pass on, we too exit the world alone. There is nothing wrong with finding a job in the business of death, but even angels have demons. And for Mattsukawa, you are an exquisite example of the dichotomy between his dark side and your eventual akin to the brighter side.

It is a known fact in Japan, the pressure to be perfect or to fit into the mold of society has been a fatal flaw throughout the years. This is the main reason why at exactly two fifty-five in the morning, Mattsukawa Issei notices a young person, hanging out on the edge of the skyscraper across his workplace. There was a late night arrival to the city morgue; he just needed to be there to sign the paperwork to turn over the embalming processes to his mentors. It was the deceased wishes to be buried in the mausoleum in the home town of their forefathers: the mountain side of Nagasaki.

You were having a rough day: you were told you by your employers that you’ve been slacking for too long getting numbers for the statistics presentation coming up with business partners across the South China Sea. Then your grandparent were strictly feeding toxic lies to your parent(s) about how you would never find a suitable partner to marry you. Quite frankly, because you put your career and studies first, you had no issues putting your family in their place. The intrusive thoughts, snide comments about your appearance, was enough for you to glance at the sleeping pills that were prescribed to you to assist in a normal pattern, to invade your subconscious. The events which led you to climb the fire escape up to the rooftop garden in your kitten heels made for a daring flirtation with death. There have been nights the last couple of months where your heart is heavy in your chest, your lungs are intoxicating you with the poisonous belladonna petals.

“What a time to find out I’m going to die a lot sooner than I thought,” you sighed into your palm. Your eyes scour the hazy city in the afterglow; after a tizzy of a day you had, you chose that perhaps this might be a sign of the universe you were better off dead. Either that or your soulmate would be in extreme pain and you didn’t want to disappoint their perception of your love. Then again, you wouldn’t know what love, honest, and kind would feel like even when you’re about to let it all go.

You are devoid of emotion as you bring yourself to your feet. A hand of yours drags across your face. The drop is high enough to entice little to severe damage like broken legs, or severe head trauma, but to be truly free, you wish to be put out of your misery as quickly as possible.

Mattsukawa sees the figure clad in a lighter powder blue and his eyes are wide with fear. The morgue worker and delivery driver had already gone off into the night to complete the rest of the deliveries of bodies to the funeral homes. As soon as he finished locking up and registering the corpses, Mattsukawa was determined to see your hair wind blowing on the rooftops. The blurred vision he sees makes the twenty-seven year old shiver. Even in his line of work, this was the second instance he wanted to save someone. He knew of you: the business woman who was suffering from a similar ailment to him. The belladonna hues from your rebellious highlights enticed him to notice how you seemed a bit off at the coffee house you frequent by the funeral parlour he had been working at.

“Excuse me,” you said, holding on to your mug. Your knuckles were white with tension, so Mattsukawa did something unexpected of himself: he gave you way, but instead of sitting on the opposite side of the restaurant cafe, he sat directly across from you. The crowd was getting to be a bit noisy, but you and him sat there staring off center, hyper fixating on the number of people sign in either direction.

“Why do you smell like belladonna?” You asked. You had a glance meet you with a harsh smile.

“It’s part of my line of work. I use it to bury the dead at the request for all nameless suiciders that wind up on my table,” Mattsukawa explains. The oils from his embalming course was enough to mimic actual belladonna, but has he noticed from her, it wasn’t coming from just his hands: it was coming from her hair. He asked a question about why you seemed so strung up lately and like a fool, you told him everything which was bothering you. If anything, this man was a silent confession box. He seemed like the genuine article, so when you check for the time, you realize it was time to leave and head back to the office to grab the final jump drive for the presentation. Things at work seemed to have gotten better since the next time you’d see your precious Mattsukawa would be in the next life. You never truly disclosed your name to him, so he made a note call you Bella or Donna (whichever you preferred really). His smile is flirtatiously coy and you felt your cheeks grow a bit warm from the moment he told you his name.

For whatever reason, perhaps Mattsukawa was feeling a bit lucky, he asked you to dinner the day before yesterday. He wanted to know you, truth and all, bruised and damaged as you were, the meds your doctor prescribed were starting to cushion the intrusive thoughts. However that changed the moment you give him a nod, he grabs your hand as you’re about to leave the cafe; gently he squeezes your fingers for reassurance.

“You’ll do great Miss. I believe in you,” Mattsukawa whispers in the last part. The cafe begins to echo again, so you couldn’t hear the last part, but you were sure it was an encouraging word. Mattsukawa was the first person in a long while to give you something so few in your battlefield mind would want (or need): hope.

“Goodbye Mattsukawa.”

With that said, you were gone from the cafe and headed back into the office where a different manager made your life hell because their normal assistant was very organized, but the constant comparison was enough to make your head explode.

Presently, you stand on the ledge, glancing down like a superhero vigilante, but just as you were about to take a dive, you feel a pair of strong arms wrap themselves around your waist. The hands are interlocked under your empire waist line and if it wasn’t for the fact your hair was probably in a ponytail prior to this predicament, you’re sure your band was lost to gravity and the wind. You thrashed about in your captor’s arms, not realizing this person was about to save you from an awful mistake.

You see, Mattsukawa Issei is a funeral employee; he dresses sharply like an agent of the Grim Reaper. He is suave and debonair; he loves watching the life cycles of the various flower arrangements in his mentors stores go throughout the seasons. His heart and soul is full of vibrancy you have yet to comprehend; Mattsukawa was always a strong individual and you could ask anyone of his friends in school what kind of person he was. So, what made you so different? Sure you were stressed out, anybody could see that, but Mattsukawa picked up on the depressive aura you emanated. Did he really want to sit in front of you that afternoon? Sure; it was mainly because he couldn’t shake this feeling ever since you were ahead of him in line to order that he was supposed to meet you here (even if you were at your lowest post appointments at the business office downtown).

You struggle to let go, but the owner of these hands does not wish to loosen their grip on you; you ask twice kindly to be left alone and the soft ortund tone of the stranger’s voice from the cafe stops you from thrashing about further.

He tumbles back and lands on his arse with you sitting on his lap, pressed against his broad chest. His sleeves from the black oxford shirt he wears is rolled up to his elbows, and his hands still are in an interlocked position. Mattsukawa has seen some pretty fucked up causes of death recently, yet this time, he wanted to save you, not bury you. He wants to see you tomorrow night at dinner in the diner close to his loft; he wants you to understand maybe death isn’t all that grand and if you struggle with your mind everyday, he wishes to someday be of importance to you. You’re in charge of your own autonomous decisions, yet Mattsukawa wants you to give him a chance to prove to you that love, hope, and for the very fortunate, miracles exist (even if you weren’t shown any).

“You’re sick,” he closes his eyes. Apparently, you pick up on the frown in his voice and somehow, you’re sixth sense of empathy decides not to fight his tonality, but rather when you subconsciously agree and call your mental state one of a landmine, he doesn’t make a fuss. It was a short exam and you realize may be life is worth living for a nano-second. You could have an entire relationship with this man from the cafe in a span of two hours, if that. The fates must have had a wicked sense of humor when pairing either of you to the other: one who works with and around death, the other has an affinity to try and cross into the next life every moment things in the sea turn too rough.

You slowly stop trying to fight him the moment you hear his voice toss in the wind. Instead, you move your hands to hover limply on his, leaning back and letting his breathing calm you. The smell of belladonna from your hair oil wafts through the air. “Suicide is not how I want your story to end.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about or-o-or,” you stammer on. “Perhaps I don’t want to be alive anymore because people keep interfering.”

This causes Mattsukawa’s heart to gain a solid crack. You toss your head back and land harshly against his sternum, causing him to grunt and inhale sharply.

It rips seamlessly to his soul. In the past six to eight years since he entered his chosen profession, he has seen corpses from all ages, the youngest being eight who suffered from a myriad of health issues including Hanahaki because the playground friend in their preschool years was going to be theirs when the time properly came. Mattsukawa, the night he was on duty for the wake, anonymously donated the flowers that would have made the child laugh on wishes. Sure, life does have it’s moments when it tests us, yet he couldn’t wrap his head around the burn out business person from earlier this week, who was now in his arms, safe.

Unintentionally landing on his back with you on top of his chest was not how he had pictured becoming a hero. Just for one night, Mattsukawa Issei, the stern and most silent of the volleyball players in high school, was a hero worthy of saving a life.

“Argh,” he groans.

He coughs quietly away from your face when his hands loosen their hold. You chose to not chastise him about not wearing a sweater in the middle of autumn. After all, this man was the only one who would be daft enough to try and stop you. You curl into him, hiding your face in the satin finish of his dress shirt; you promise to buy him a new one as long as you let him hide your eyes and you break down. You’re crying over the smallest inconvenience and on top of feeling like a burden to the man, you consistently apologize by saying it’s no one’s fault especially his when you catch yourself in your darkest moment.

Mattsukawa listens to your request: with one hand, he covers your left side of your face, the right is patting your hair down, reassuring you that he will console you until the sobs stop and the sniffles remain.

“You’re lucky I live and work not too far from here doll,” he whispers into your hair. You’re calming down as you hiccup the last couple of bubbles of air. You nod in understanding the words he was saying, but you still have your eyes closed to shield himself (and keep your pride intact) when he would peer into your bloodshot ones.

“Don’t worry about me tryin’ anything either. You’ve been through enough tonight. Just let me take care of you for the rest, ok?”

“Mmhm,” you agree. He sits up half way and you rise with him, your eyes ever looking westward until you see one of his handkerchiefs from his back pants pocket dangle in your line of sight. You stifle a laugh, utter a thanks, and begin to dry your face. Mattsukawa, when you were done, doesn’t hold your face anymore, even if it pains him to do so. Your free hand decides for both of you: your left reaches for his and you bring the calloused hand, opened palm, to your cheek. Your skin is soft and sticky from the tears, but if anyone were to ask Mattsukawa what it felt like to save a life, he would humbly point you out in a crowd and say ‘Ask ‘em yourself.’

“I lost sight of the things that brought me joy,” you say quietly. You’re breathing in his cologne and it smells like whiskey sours. The scent grounds you, as you recall your therapist giving you stress-relieving tricks such as naming five to ten things your senses pick up on. Your cheeks feel soft like mochi ice against Mattsukawa’s open palm; you see the neon lights hazily glow in the city below you; and finally, you hear his shirt ruffle against the shell of your ear when you finally calm down.

“Everyone does,” Mattsukawa agrees. “Can you do something for me?”

“Mattsukawa-san,” you said his name and he chuckles in surprise. You remembered his name? This was even better than before. He finds himself falling gently in like with you. The love between long lost friends is what keeps him afloat. Unwillingly, you find yourself amusedly smiling at his tanned skin glowing with a soft hues under his eyes. Was this man blushing?

“Call me Issei or Mattsun,” his voice says when his other hand loops around your waist. He buried his head on your right shoulder.

Tonight you learn that even strong and by your standards of “fine men” do in fact cry. You blink a couple more times and he just cries a mixture of tears he has no control over.

“Mattsun,” you say, voice soft like the breeze sending a boat to sail. “I’m sorry about all this.”

“You could have said you weren’t feeling well if you didn’t want to go out with me,” Mattsukawa jokes, turning his head to the side so you wouldn’t see his tear stricken face to the side. He asks you, if you felt comfortable enough, to just stay still for a moment.

The rooftop rendezvous was not what you had in mind when you came home from clocking out, but considering you were heavily contemplating ending your existence earlier, this one request was not too hard to fulfill. The belladonna in your bronchioles seemed to dislodge itself into your lungs. You stay as still as your companion had asked and you breathe in time together. His curls are soft to the touch and when he relaxes his shoulders when you run a hand through his hair, you feel him grin on the right of your shoulder blades.

Was this what it felt like to be you every hour before you both met at the cafe? This profound sadness doesn’t leave his heart nor does he quite shake the feeling of the leaves of the belladonna flowers taking root in his lungs. The flowers bloomed slowly since his twenty-third birthday were the same ones you dyed your hair for. You’ve been suffering with the hanahaki disease for quite some time, you confess back to him.

“Is that why you were here? Trying to jump?” Mattsukawa asks an innocent inquiry. He seemed like he was about to be scolded for the first time in seven years, yet you thought it was kind of adorable. And so you do something you haven’t done in a very long time: you scoff (although you were sure it was closer to a giggle.

“No,” you reply. “I was contemplating jumping because all my triggers hit at once, so I’ve been in a depressive episode for quite some time before we met.”

“Oh,” Mattsukawa acknowledges. “Do you want to stay the night?”

“…that’s awfully forward of you,” you say. Your pragmatic inner voice says to decline, but there is a mischievous side of his mannerisms, nonetheless you are curious. It is late into the evening already, so perhaps the offer is a better one. After all, you think the change of scenery would do you some good, so you humbly agree.

Roughly an hour later, you find yourself in Mattsukawa’s living room area. Offering his shower to you, you ask if there is something he can lend you. It is an old shirt with his high school cactus logo on it, but the shorts he tosses to you has a VBC and his old number stitched on the back pocket. Mattsukawa hands you a spare towel and tells you how to work the shower in his bathroom. Twenty minutes later, you sit close to the kotatsu even if it’s not too cold outside at the moment, you tend to sleep better underneath one.

Prior to your shower, Mattsukawa-san graciously gave you a small tour of his loft when you arrived. The walk wasn’t too far from the rooftop building and so you two walk side by side until the loft complex came into view. Mattsukawa says hi to the doorman who makes a joke or two about how he had almost pulled another overnight at the funeral home.

“Be careful with that one miss, he’d work himself to death! Ha! Work himself to death,” the doorman says, wiping a faux tear from his eye. You snickered covering your smile with the back of your hand. When you put it to the side of your body, Mattsukawa notices how dazzling your smile is. How would someone who smiles this much at a pun, hold so much carnage of self-doubt and depressive thoughts in their heart? Is that why your flowers and your scent are wrapped in poisonous belladonna? Mattsukawa shakes this thought to the furthest parts of his mind. You’re here now, in the next room, safe under the same roof.

The master bedroom door is opened just a crack once Mattsukawa is half-dressed in his pajama pants, parading around shirtless fetching a glass of water from the kitchen. You were already seated on the barstool peering out the sliding glass door of the patio outside. Jumping was not the way to die for you, you think. Perhaps if you died with love, perhaps you’d have a better chance of reincarnation than you thought. The ambient sounds of the refrigerator and the water spout being used brought you back to hold the gaze of your host for the evening. You made a conscientious decision to cash in on your PTO at your work location for the next two weeks via e-mail. You explain to the HR representative you were feeling burn out and your therapist was working with you to battle the depressive episodes you were going through. The automotive message came back saying someone from the office of internal affairs would look into the chain of command in your division. However, you could care less about work at the moment, since you were enjoying the company of the person who helped kept you tied to this world.

“You like what you see?” Mattsukawa says smoothly. The water glass is placed on the counter in front of you. After graduation from Aoba Josai, running and other kinesthetic stretches were included in his workout regiment. You froze, placing your phone face down to the extreme left of the counter space. The granite glowed in the soft lamp from behind you, casting shadows in the grooves of his muscular features.

“I don’t know how to answer that,” you tease. “But I do like the person who saved me from making a huge mistake.”

Mattsukawa nods as he leans forward to rest his chin in his hand.

“I’ll always come running to you Yin,” he gives you a nickname close to the currency your country uses. This causes you to roll your eyes, yet you reassure him it was filled with endearment.

“You sound like you’re going to love me until the day I properly die Mattsun.”

He wasn’t expecting you to climb halfway across the granite counter, stretching your back further parallel to the floor (your feet are balancing your lower half on the chair).

His hand finds its way to the small of your back and he says a quick, “pardon me.” The onyx eyes he owns close and crinkle upward like small crescent moons before you feel his pursed lips press against your forehead.

“You’re safe here,” you hear him say. His warmth is a welcomed blanket of comfort for you; his words are kinder than your own thoughts.

“Will you kiss me properly?” You ask.

“In the morning, first thing,” he answers. “But first, sleep.”

Mattsukawa walks around his counter to keep you from hanging in the balance thus lowering the risk of you falling knees first on the floor.

“Remember how you fell on top of me?” Mattsukawa’s voice is low. You swallow nervously; you affirm that you do. “Good. Now hold on to me sweetheart.”

He leans back against your left side of your suspended body and he wraps an arm around your mid-section and you push off with your elbows. The next thing you are aware of, you are being carried like a drowsy child to the living room where you sit on Mattsukawa’s lap like before. You raise a hand to his smooth face, your fingers tracing the highest points of his features; his eyes flutter close to the sensational spell you are casting; he is about to fall in the in-between of sleep and lucidity when he feels your lips press firmly against his. When you back down, he stops you with one word: “More. One more time.”

You turn your head at an angle the moment you feel his hands turn you around to straddle him more comfortably.

“Better,” you confirm. Your nose teases his own and he languidly looks at you before he pushes your back playfully and your lips meet his again.

You sigh against his lips when your knees come into contact with his cushion; his arms move away from your hips to your ribs. The callouses he earned over the years of playing volleyball in high school memorizes the map of your skin. Together, the aroma of belladonna almost dissipates the pain in your lungs the longer you are breathing in everything the young man in front of you is giving.

This was as brave as you wanted to be right now. You’d be more adventurous months into your new found relationship with your restaurant-cafe rendezvous man. Your hands trace his collar bones before they found their purchase on the sides of his neck.

“I like that,” you say when you are given a chance to catch your breath. Mattsukawa’s hands rest on your love handles again and he pushes you into a loose embrace. Your hair tickles his shoulder when you rest your head against his pectoral.

“I like this too,” he says, running his fingers lightly up and down your spine. “Close your eyes and rest for a while Yin. We can talk about this in the morning, ok?”

You stifle a yawn, agreeing.

A few minutes later, after you are truly asleep, Mattsukawa supports you in his arms and he carries you like a child, careful to support your neck as your legs rest limply above his hips, to his room. He lays you down first and then proceeds to tuck you in; staying above the duvet, he watches over you breathing in and out steadily, the last small petals escaping your lips when you cough softly in your sleep. Mattsukawa stares at the last shriveled one on the corner of your lips and swats it away.

“Pretty angel, don’t scare me like that. I don’t want to lose you,” Mattsukawa reaches over to hold your hand; fingers intertwining around your own and you squeeze his back. “You’ll be alright and I will help you keep nightmares away.”

“Why?” Your voice is laced with sleep. “Why do you want to love me?”

“Because our story is just beginning my love.”

Mattsukawa rubs his thumb over your knuckles and when he lies down further on his bed next to you, he rests a protective arm over your shoulders.

#sora scribbles #sora after hours #🌻— flying around collecting pollen—queue #🌻 txt #haikyuu x reader #cw: intrusive thoughts #cw: depressive episode for yn #cw: unsuccessful suicide attempt #cw: burn out form work and life in general #mattsukawa x you

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jockrightsnow · 4 years ago

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omg I would love to hear you talk more about your tags on that last post—how you research syntax/speech patterns for non-native English speakers’ dialogue. this is something I struggle with a lot in writing fic (esp writing Russian players!) and I’d love some advice on how to get better at it.

god this got long! i just care about this! i will put under a cut for the 99% who will be like u little pedantic bitch.

so my answer is probably not AS helpful for Russian players because i have not written at any length with Russian characters and their language is SO different, so i find it is trickier! but the process is likely the same. i am not an expert at this by any means (only know/have taught spanish <--> english), but i do think it gives you more believable voices and also tends to help you understand the perspective. some people are better at english than others! some are less good! some have been in english classes for a while, some haven’t! there’s variation! you don’t have to do this to write well, but i think about it.

some things i think about:

1. sentence structure/syntax--more than vocabulary, sentence structure is the thing that gives most english language learners trouble and tends to give them away. in order to figure out common mistakes along these lines, it is helpful to look up how sentences are typically structured in someone’s native language. very often, people learning english will rely on those structures. this is actually why swedish is very easy to learn for english speakers--the sentence structure is most often subj, verb, object. but there are tricks: in complex declarative sentences, the verb will always be second, even if there is an adverb or object in the first position instead of the subject, in sentences with subordinate clauses, the independent clause inverts verb and subject. stuff like that does tend to give a sentence a different feel, and it absolutely very commonly almost-always sticks with someone. it’s foundational to how people construct their thoughts, it can be hard to change.

2. pronunciation--i don’t love to see heavy dialect written phonetically and i think many people don’t, but there are ways to consider it and certain ways to write it well. certain languages have different stresses or tone ranges or pitches, which can give off a certain Vibe if you’re used to english, which is on the more expressive end of the scale in tone and pitch (obviously i don’t think that’s better, but it is different and it does affect how people hear a speaker’s voice). certain sounds straight-up do not exist in other languages, certain letters are always pronounced a different way. it leads to predictable mispronunciation. for this, resources like this are very interesting.

3. actual cultural language differences! this is in part about what turns of phrase are common, what’s the cultural (or often, can be regional) “cat who got the cream”-type idioms, what is colloquial that you don’t realize is colloquial, etc, but it can also be about how you talk about concepts on a larger scale.

the recent sidney crosby engaged fiasco is a good example of this--in russian, “girlfriend/boyfriend” has a very casual connotation, so for longer-term relationships, a russian person might say “fiancee” instead. there are certain languages where you talk about love using different words if a relationship is more casual. these are fun, i think, because i do think that kind of thing can be meaningful.

there was some book or study i read about how maybe the way we learn language impacts how we think. i think parts of it were debunked (eg not having a word for something like ‘crush’ doesn’t mean you don’t feel it, that’s silly), but parts of it are certainly true, right? like, if you have a different way of talking about spatial awareness or time, your ability to translate those concepts will be affected because your thoughts are often structured along those lines.

4. vocabulary--less important than you’d think, but still interesting to think about what words someone would have learned. i expect hockey players to know virtually every hockey-related word in english, and even in the KHL, there is some coaching done in english because plenty of non-russian players play there and never learn the language (it is very hard). pretty much everywhere, you’re going to know the english words for many hockey-related terms. but you might not know other complex words, because you might not ever have a reason to or a context where you would’ve learned it or been corrected on it.

i often have to examine or cross-examine spanish speakers, and you actually don’t want to correct every single thing they say--you only want to correct things which might lead to a misunderstanding, because you don’t want to seem pedantic to a judge or condescending to a witness.

this is also true in a lot of social settings. so i do see some things which tend to go uncorrected because they don’t lead to any wrongness. for example, videoS plural in Swedish is video klipp. it’s the same, it’s really the same. but i notice sometimes that plural S is dropped by Swedish speakers or a word like “klipp” that’s so similar in meaning and context to the english word will come it. there’s one video where petey says ‘eller’ instead of ‘or’--it’s close, it’s a word that doesn’t matter, you wouldn’t correct it, it’s normal, you get the point. there are plenty of words that are so similar they might just have a different inflection, or which are entirely the same in different languages. these will not get corrected in daily conversation for the most part.

but there are also false cognates which you DO need to correct (eg in spanish embarazada = pregnant, i do need to correct it every single time because it has a huge impact on proceedings if someone’s pregnant) and being aware of those is also helpful!

there are also some crutch words which differ from person to person (this is also true for native english speakers). when people use those and in what way can be important. there are certain things a specific person gets wrong only when nervous or not thinking or whatever (i personally find the “person realizes they’ve been speaking in a different language while having sex because it was so good” trope. exhausting, to say the least. but it is true that in higher-stress moments, someone might not have the capacity or desire to do internal translation, or might feel frustrated by it.)

i really do think all of this is Very interesting, and mostly my advice on doing it for languages you don’t know is:

1) be thoughtful about stuff, be believable. contrary to what it seems like from this whole dissertation, not every sentence needs to have errors in it, especially for people who are Growing/Learning/Actually Very Good at english. don’t be condescending about it. being at an intermediate stage in english learning might make someone choose a simpler sentence that’s still correct. it might lead to an actual relevant misunderstanding or tonal shift. it might not. it might enhance someone’s understanding of a situation! it’s not all about just fucking shit up--it’s a hard thing to learn another language. you gotta respect people who are doing it!

2) hear people talk, preferably the people in question if available but doesn’t have to be (for characters i care about less, i will often wholesale map a sentence and then copy the structure exactly. i did this for pasta because i didn’t care about actually figuring out so much about him emotionally--i just listened to his ep of sp*ttin ch*clets as i wrote and copied several sentence structures exactly with my own Content and then, as you may be able to tell, gave up on that venture to movie-montage the rest because i am Lazy.)

it’s interesting to hear someone talk both in their native language and in english--you get a feel for the tone and pitch differences, and also i love to see native language interviews because i tend to think they’re more reflective of someone’s actual thought processes when they’re not trying to come up with words or modifying their sentences to be simpler. petey’s swedish interviews, for ex, are far more reflective and eloquent and funny. but again, he is getting better very quickly, in part because swedish and english are more similar than they appear. progress is often slower for russians, because there’s a lot more ground between the two languages and a whole diff alphabet and also strong cultural affinity to where a good number of russians living in america almost exclusively hang out with other russians living in america. (see ex alex ovechkin, nikita zadorov--both have very russian-heavy social circles if Instant Gram is to be believed)

3) actually look up stuff like “common english mistakes for [x group]”--there are plenty of good language learning resources which will show you the mistakes people tend to make, the pronunciation errors, things like that. these are invaluable.

4) google translate stuff if you’re going to have a touching language-teaching moment. once read something where someone was contemplating how to say something, which they wouldn’t have done in reality, because how you say it was Exactly the same in the person’s native language. i also think it’s fun to read google-translated articles and see which things jump out at me as Weirdly translated, because those are often things which are going to be different! but that’s not gospel, it’s something you can look into. sometimes google translate is just bad.

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bloodybells1 · 4 years ago

Text

ON SCORDATURA

When I was eighteen, I was really into heavy metal and had been practicing the electric guitar for four years. I was devoted to music theory and looked up to guitarists like Steve Vai. I played loudly and fast, emulating the popular style of playing when heavy metal was at its apex of popularity. You might say that I was a “shredder.”

My passion for technique took an unexpected turn, however, when I became fascinated by the classical guitar. I don’t exactly remember when it hit me, the inspiration to explore this type of playing. It might’ve been born from reading the name of Andres Segovia in the magazine interviews of my favorite guitarists. (Also, I listened to a lot of Jethro Tull, and the intro to one of his songs is a quotation of a popular classical guitar score by Bach, the “Bourée in E Minor.” I started teaching it to myself by ear, but soon realized I needed help adjusting to the new technique).

One day I made the decision that I wanted to take the plunge into the classical world. I purchased a cheap nylon string, looked for a tutor and, once I found one in Chapel Hill, NJ, I started taking lessons and practicing every day.

I was enthralled by the new possibilities in this style of playing. I was discovering a wealth of textures and styles I’d had no previous idea about. My parents had not listened to classical music, so all of this was foreign to me. But I fell in love with the genre all the same.

I loved how old this practice was, how its provenance dated back to before there was electricity. I loved the deceptive simplicity of paper scores, how the mere act of sight-reading might open up varied worlds of expression, limited only by the player’s willingness to learn the technique and the player’s ability to perform.

My tutor included Renaissance lute scores in his homework for me. These scores contained instructions for alternative tuning arrangements of the strings. This changes the whole grid of the fretboard. Each string has been tightened or loosened to different notes, so all the note relationships are changed. If you wanted to play the same material you would have to relearn it with new fingerings.

But that wasn’t the point. The scordatura was designed to make available new sonorities. These lute pieces dating back to the Renaissance had a “harpier” texture, with open notes ringing out in different keys and mixtures of notes in registers I didn’t often hear in guitar music with traditional tuning. It was rather exotic, like the simple act of turning a screw on a taut string had turned this plain old Spanish guitar into some new, esoteric instrument.

My experience with classical guitar, and specifically the scordatura my tutor taught me, was a factor later in life when I played bass guitar professionally in the mid 2000’s. Not only do I think that it made me flexible enough to feel confident learning to play another stringed instrument, but it also influenced my tuning. I utilized what’s called Drop D tuning, a simple type of scordatura that lowers the heaviest string by two notes. It gives you two extra lower notes you wouldn’t normally have with the standard tuning—where the lowest note is E.

Heavy metal guitarists love this tuning because of how much heavier it makes the music sound and because it ends up making power chord configurations a one-finger job instead of two, and you can play those heavy power chord riffs much more quickly with just one finger.

Drop D was useful to me, however, because of how it enabled me to interact with the songwriting. My band’s music was dark and a lot of the songs were in D minor. So having a lower D available permitted me to create pedal tones and deeper support functions for chords and textures that were already using that scale a lot. It added depth and character to the music because of this sort of flexible shadow figure moving around underneath the guitars and the keyboards.

I had a profound experience with scordatura later in 2014, while I was in acting school. One of our school productions was a kind of fantasia on Nabokov’s Pale Fire. The novel is already a bit of a fantasia itself, so the production was very post-modern.

The director, Alex Harvey, staged it brilliantly. One of his ideas was that my character would play passages on the piano between scenes. The score was from a series called Revelation by composer Michael Harrison.

Harrison had contrived a bespoke scordatura for the score. An assistant, a specialist who could interpret unconventional concert pieces like these, was hired to transform the school’s simple upright Yamaha, an instrument more often used as accompaniment for students singing from the American Songbook, into a piece of avant-garde machinery.

I had already begun learning some of the passages before the piano had been prepared. They sounded ok, but not extraordinary. Once the tuner was finished and the specific tuning had been accomplished, however, I began learning the pieces in earnest and it was, well, it was a revelation.

Harrison’s scordatura was wild. Some keys adjacent to each other were tuned only fractionally sharper than their predecessor on the keyboard, thereby creating a tonal cloud or wash between the two that sounded a little like an untuned guitar, but in a shimmery, beautiful way. Other keys were tuned a whole fifth from their predecessor, thereby jumping up very far between two adjacent keys. The two extremities canceled each other out to create a distinct sense of balance and harmony, a kind of timbral mist floating in the ether.

As I worked on the score I had a sense that I didn’t know what was happening. It was difficult for me to anticipate and conceptualize the piano with this exotic construction. Yet, reading through the score and performing it, the idea was actualized. A whole new musical sensibility was borne out of this tuning. It was thrilling to put into action such a strange and beautiful arrangement.

What would a trumpet sound like if one could alternate its tuning? It’s a ridiculous notion: it would require bending metal, destroying the instrument in the process. Scordatura is likewise impossible for woodwinds. Ditto, percussion. A timpani, the most obvious exception, is in fact quite flexible and can even be tuned during performance. The percussionist puts their ear to the skin and lightly taps so as to enable them to change the tuning without disturbing the performance of other orchestra members. But you can’t do that with, say, tubular bells.

Stringed instruments and the piano are different than all the other instruments. The oscillators, the strings themselves, are adjustable. Coupled with the fact of their polyphony, it’s plain why these instruments, especially the piano, are so popular. They are great adapters. They can be brought back to their mean and reset for future use in other circumstances. The ubiquity of these instruments, across genres, in barrooms and conservatories alike, is explained by their ability to avail themselves.

And what about the voice? How supple are the cords? Can they be stretched or loosened like the strings of a guitar? Is there a scordatura possible for the human vocal mechanism?

It’s debatable: vocal training, primarily through work in breathing, does fortify ones range by bolstering the lower and upper parts of the register with more support. But your vocal cords are your vocal cords. Even on a guitar, you can’t detune the strings too much. It affects the timbre: the fretboard is designed with a natural state of tension and that string that is being detuned is only thick enough to perform in a certain range before the slackening of the string makes it flap against the fretboard—or before the tightening warps the fretboard.

Vocal cords are similar in this way. Just like with a guitar, once you start “detuning” your voice, you invite corruption of the sound. Your voice cracks when you try to go too low.

When Olivier tackled Othello he tried to lower his voice through vocal training. Obviously, considering all of the other garish and offensive effects—the blackface, the funny walk, the stupid dialect—he should’ve known better than to engage in minstrelsy, but he also should’ve known about the corruption of his voice. Not all instruments have that level of flexibility.

He should’ve known that not everything is available.

What about the human being itself? Can it be construed as an instrument? one that might likewise permit a certain scordatura?

My feeling is that in this case the change is permanent. And, like with a trumpet, one risks destruction. The human being is not a stringed instrument.

I can attest to a certain kind of “permanent” scordatura of the body and mind. It was possible for me to “detune” myself, but it was a commitment to a new state. I won’t ever be able to “go back” to my original tuning. It involved deep structural shifts and I came close to collapse—and in fact did collapse—many times. The instrument—the body and the mind—was constantly at risk of crumbling and warping under the stress of the transformation. Slackening a string is one thing. Shortening or elongating a valve is another.

What is therapy but a type of spiritual scordatura? The patient comes in with a limitation in place and leaves with that “bar” set somewhere else. Thresholds are repositioned. Pain that was once unbearable can be stomached. New life experiences are permitted because the mind has been opened to their possibilities. It is a fact that the change is permanent, but after we recognize the evolution we would never want to “detune” back to where we were.

I have a long history with therapy and it is without question the source of all of the appetite for change that I’ve experienced. In teaching me about healing, it motivated me to seek out other forms of healing. I credit it with helping me gain acceptance to the prestigious MFA program in Acting which I entered in 2012 at NYU, the beginning of three years wherein this process of permanent scordatura would be hastened.

I had many illnesses. Some would find treatment through the program’s vast assortment of exercise techniques addressing body misalignment and spiritual imbalance. Yoga classes, Feldenkrais, Alexander technique, chakra work, these were all deployed to “tune” the bodies in class.

Voice and speech exercises as well helped bring awareness of lifelong limits, expressed through the mouth and in the breath. It was unnerving to encounter these intimate facts about how one walks, how one talks, how one moves, how one breathes.

Most people would never submit themselves to this level of scrutiny. A fellow alumnus with additional experience in the military often jokes that an MFA at NYU Grad Acting is actually more oppressive than boot camp because at least in boot camp you let your anger and hostility grant you relief—you can growl and yawp and hunch over and adapt to battlefields—whereas actors, despite undergoing similar rounds of abuse, must look smooth and collected and relaxed in order to perform well on stage. It really was a double whammy of having my being constantly interrogated in various invasive manners, all while being denied any permission to sublimate the tension.

I had my own motivations to undergo this training. I was desperate to have a classical training in the theatre. But I was also subconsciously motivated towards healing. Despite the horrors of these ordeals, the modalities that are therewith deployed are part of a healing experience that, having undergone them, I wouldn’t trade for anything. Had I known what I was getting myself into beforehand, I don’t know that I would’ve jumped in the pool. But I’m glad I didn’t know because I cherish the experience.

I had a problem with keeping my mouth only partially open which our singing teacher was constantly bringing my attention towards. She had taught me that this was a defense mechanism, a strategy of containment, a means of keeping the world from having access to my heart. (Of course, keeping your mouth closed is also a problem for sound projection on stage, but that’s more technical).

During one afternoon class, singing “Lonely Room” from Oklahoma, I broke down into tears as the teacher kept coaxing me to open my mouth more and more. There I was, a man pushing 40, with tears streaming down his eyes, opening his mouth wide, not even singing the words, just the vowels, but doing something that was so psychically threatening, something that I could never bring myself to do, something simple, like opening a mouth. The limit had been expanded.

There was an element of bodily restructuring to all of this as well. I had done a number on my body during those years of my professional musicianship, when I toured the world in a famous band. And so by this point, I was aware that a shift was needed from the effects of years spent in front of cameras and abusing drugs and traveling and losing sleep. Alice Miller’s book, The Body Keeps the Score, is instructive in this regard. Somatization of traumas explain a great deal of certain physical ailments. In my case, they played out structurally, on my bones and on my muscles and in my central nervous system.

These changes are subtle to the layperson. But they are profound for the student. When I look at how I held my body in old photos, it is obvious to me that there was something wrong. On the stage, with a heavy instrument hanging from my shoulder, it wasn’t perceptible. The lights and the postures have a way of masking the truth. But in the more candid and private shots—the Polaroids and the exposures from my disposable camera which my friends and I took in our apartments—I see evidence of a lot of tension. Shoulders crept upwards towards my ears; chest muscles held; an exploded solar plexus; a chin pointing up. It was a mixture of a lot of holding, a lot of somatization in the fibers, with a learned posture organized to communicate the persona I wanted everyone to see: a demiurge or rockstar.

I came into grad school as though off an assembly line, where the factory had riveted and hammered onto my body and psyche its lessons. It was a capitalistic factory but it was also a societal one, one that bore the hallmarks of the dogged problems which elude solution: childhood trauma, dog-eat-dog meritocracy, bullying, etc.

So now I was this product getting recalled, but I was going to another factory for refurbishment. One that also had rivets and hammers, but ones which were designed to break open the right parts.

I stretched and stretched. By the end of the three years I was essentially exiting with a new body. The myth about the seven year cellular regeneration in one’s body is instructive here. For it truly was the case that new grooves in my brain and muscular and skeletal patterns had taken hold. One of my teachers said during my final evaluation that I had come in to school looking like a clothes hangar with legs but that I now looked graceful.

Even my scoliosis—a condition I was born with and which I will contend with for the rest of my life—was discovered in acting school. I had had no idea about it before one of the teachers told me that I persisted in leaning downwards to my right. My spine curves in the shape of a sidewards C. It’s a genetic condition. Of course, hanging a ten-pound instrument off my shoulder and letting the weight pull me down to the ground so that I could look cool every night didn’t really help either.

The modalities in the movement and vocal training classes in acting school are designed to build awareness and flexibility in the body and the mind. The purpose of this is to permit the actor to be resilient enough on stage so as to be present and believable. So it has a practical purpose and a real-world application.

I had other problems which these modalities could not fix, but which their steady application, encouraging honesty and reflection, revealed. There were addictions and mental illness issues which I’d had no idea about before entering grad school but which were inflamed by the pressure inside. I then had to deal with them. Immediately, since they threatened the goal of getting my MFA.

The cocaine abuse of my years in the music industry haunted me in the form of paralyzing panic attacks and circadian disruptions which complicated my ability to perform in school. The years spent pursuing rampant and anonymous sexual congress created inappropriate obsessiveness with orgasms and romance. Naturally, given that my peers were all considerably younger than I was, this last part wasn’t all that abnormal. But it interfered nonetheless. I was no spring chicken but I was acting like one. I had to double down on sex addiction meetings and on therapy.

It all came to a head inside the cloistered walls of the conservatory. It came to a head when Alex Harvey, the director of the Nabokov rendition, had to massage my shoulders backstage as I collapsed in tears during one of many nervous breakdowns. It came to a head when in a movement class, during an unfamiliar physical exploration, an early painful memory of abandonment that had long been forgotten had been recalled and sent me to the floor sobbing.

I’m grateful that I had the means to address the issues. I had to juggle that with the demands of the curriculum. It was not easy. But I’m proud of my accomplishment and I’m proud of the new person this all made me become.

It is possible to “detune.” I think a better way of looking at it is “retuning.” It is a permanent scordatura and it therefore should not be taken lightly.

#conservatory #scordatura #alternativetuning #movementclass #voiceclass #mfa #nyu #nyugradacting #feldenkrais #yoga #alexander technique stretch and breath classes #classical guitar #heavy metal #dropd #renaissance #michael harrison #alex harvey #revelation

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