#I hope I have sufficiently censored their names | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

starglitterz · 3 years ago

Note

hi theree! can i please have chocolate pudding with biscuits and fruit for scaramouche?:> thank youuu:]

hiii, ofc u can <3!

request; scaramouche fluff, together in the rain, soulmate au

soulmate au: whatever you write onto your skin appears on your soulmate's skin as well, but there are conditions. you're not permitted to write your name or exact location or any details that may give away your identity, as those words won't form on your soulmate's skin, so it's up to the both of you to figure out some way to find each other.

cw; swearing, scaramouche calls reader a loser but he means it affectionately

please reblog ! it helps a lot :)

( @genshin-has-ruined-me )

not sure why but tumblr isn't letting me tag u >:(

scaramouche.

'what the fuck' spells itself out with great loopy letters on your arm in black ink, and you smile to yourself at the sudden crudeness. uncapping your pen, you scribble a question on your other arm, 'what happened?' a minute passes before a reply forms on the inside of your wrist, '━━ gave me a ton of work'. you wish it wasn't censored, but you know the rules of having a soulmate, so you ignore it and write on the back of your hand, 'that sucks'. 'yeah' comes the short answer on your palm, for both of you are running out of exposed skin to write on. 'hang on, i've got to finish this,' the sentence fades onto your cheek, which you're able to see in your reflection in the mirror hanging opposite you on the back of the door to your office. you had it hung there for this exact purpose of communicating with your soulmate - you had always been a hopeless romantic. 'back in a bit' the person scrawls onto your other cheek, causing you to chuckle at how peculiar you look with ink all over you and you head to the bathroom to rinse it off before getting back to work - after all, being a fatui harbinger is no piece of cake.

scaramouche leans back in his seat, dragging his hands down his face in irritation. only a second later does he realise he's smudged the fresh ink there, and he groans again before getting up to go clean it. as he's walking down the corridor to the washroom, his mind absently travels to thoughts of his soulmate. they had been chatting with each other via little messages on one another's skin for quite a long time now, almost six months, but they still were no closer to discovering who each other were. the balladeer often finds himself wondering if they ever will meet, though he quickly chases the negativity out of his mind. in fact, he's not sure if he really wants them to meet him, because what if they don't like him? or what if they think his job is too disgusting and that he's an awful person who has a habit of killing those who go against him? well, the latter is true, but he certainly wouldn't want his soulmate to think that about him.

scaramouche looks up as he reaches the door to the grand washroom of the fatui headquarters that's limited for harbinger usage only; it's complete with a huge bathtub, multiple showers and cubicles, basically it's fit for a king. you stroll out, shaking excess water from your hands and smirk at him, "hey, scara." scaramouche feels his breath hitch in his throat. he had been planning not to acknowledge you, because whenever he was near you, his knees get weaker and he finds it difficult to formulate coherent sentences, so it was just easier not to speak to you. but now that you had spoken first, he had to reply! "y/n," he nods once, hoping that's sufficient. archons, when did the sixth harbinger become such a coward?!

"you are as abnormally tall as ever," you state with a playful grin on your lips, and scaramouche can't help but think that he might like to kiss you- wait, no! he can't be thinking like this about you, he already has a soulmate! scaramouche may be a two-faced lying murderer, but he is loyal. "shut up," he folds his arms across his chest, looking away from your mirth-filled eyes. you always love riling up the other harbinger, you can't help it, he looks so cute when he's mad. "what's that on your face?" you squint, noticing the inky tracks on his cheeks. "nothing!" scaramouche panics, bringing his hands to cover his face, which happens to be turning even redder the more he converses with you. "okay..." you move back, "if you say so, mr balladeer." "look, you don't get to mess with me just because you only came back from your mondstadt mission yesterday, alright? i'm in charge here," scaramouche glares up at you. he's not actually upset, but he does doubt his heart will be able to handle it if you keep teasing him, so he better nip it in the bud. you stand up ramrod straight and salute him, "yes, sir!"

scaramouche, the sixth harbinger of the fatui, is left speechless from your quick-witted replies, and so he huffs before storming into the bathroom, pretending as if there isn't a cherry blush darkening his cheeks.

'hi loser' the words form on your palm, and you roll your eyes before writing on your other palm, 'thanks for the lovely greeting'. 'you are very welcome,' the sentence appears on your inner wrist, and you can't help but giggle at the blatant sarcasm. 'anyways...' the words begin travelling up your arm as your soulmate scribbles on his 'it's raining right now for me'. you glance out your window, only to find it actually is pouring with rain, the sky painted with grey clouds. 'same!' you message back, squeezing the single word in between your partner's huge writing. it was one of the first things that caught your eye when you started "speaking" with him, his giant cursive writing that spread across your skin like a map of stunning calligraphy. sure, it was more than a little tedious to clean it off, but you didn't mind - you found it pretty.

'let's go outside, i'm bored' your soulmate writes, and you reply with a beam 'sure :)'. you're aware the chance of you actually being able to see your soulmate is incredibly low, and it's more likely to be a happenstance that it's raining where both of you live. however, you always were a dreamer, so you skip out of your office and outside. you don't bother bringing an umbrella or a raincoat, only carrying a pen to communicate with your lover. not to mention, it's super hot and stuffy in your room, so you're excited to bask in the refreshing coolness of the rain.

it's safe to say you're shocked out of your wits when you see scaramouche standing out there too, raindrops beginning to soak his clothes.

your brain scrambles to find a logical reason for it, and you decide he must have been suffering from the heatwave too. "scara, what are you doing here?" you ask, still eager to satisfy your curiosity. he blushes, seemingly for no reason, but it's actually because he doesn't want to divulge the real explanation, "i felt like it." "oh, okay," you chuckle at his peculiar behaviour, "i'm here because my soulmate invited me to come out." scaramouche's indigo eyes widen for a millisecond, but he tries to brush it off. there are millions of people in teyvat, and there is a high possibility that your soulmate had just coincidentally chose to ask you to come relax in the rain. he wasn't your soulmate... right?

'so, how does the rain feel?' scaramouche scrawls onto his palm, cursing how awkward he sounds and also maintaining one eye on you. when words start fading onto your hand, scaramouche doesn't know whether to laugh or cry, but he does know that he can't keep denying this. "y/n..." "scara!" the two of you speak at the same time, and being such a 'lovely' (said no one ever) gentleman, scaramouche frowns, "you first." "so, i guess we're soulmates, huh?" you ask, unsure how else to deliver the bombshell of information. scaramouche wants to melt into the floor, but he nods, "i suppose so." his nonchalant reply has you pout at him in false anger, "that's all you're going to say? jeez, way to wreck my dreams of a dramatic confession."

scaramouche gulps down his nervousness, forcing himself to summon all his courage. this just explained how he's always liked you beneath his thorny personality, he just believed you and his soulmate were two different people, and when combined with his inability to display affection, he did tend to come off as more than a little rude. "well..." scaramouche moves closer to you, rain and his hat obscuring his expression, but he cups your face with a calloused hand, doing his best to be as gentle as possible, "maybe i can try again?" and it's with a surprised yet pleased giggle that you lean forward and press a kiss against his lips, "sure! after all, we've got the rest of eternity to spend together, scara."

"it might not be that bad if i get to spend it with you."

"did i hear that correctly? the great scaramouche was being lovey-dovey?!"

"shut up, i'm never being nice again."

quill speaks !

no bc why does the drabble turn into a fic EVERY SINGLE TIME i write for scaramouche i stg /lh

stop bc i wanna tease scara too 🥺 he'd prolly murder me but it would be worth it ♥

i hope you enjoyed this !! rlly sorry i couldn't tag you :(

also this is a queued hiatus post !

anyways i hope you enjoy your stay at quill’s dessert cafe, and do check out the menu if you'd like ! 🍭

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girlactionfigure · 3 years ago

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Why I’m Leaving Mumford & Sons

I loved those first tours. Bouncing off a sweaty stage in an Edinburgh catacomb we then had to get to a gig in Camden by lunch the next day. We couldn’t fit all four of us and Ted’s double-bass into the VW Polo. I think it was Ben who drew the short-straw and had to follow by train with his keyboard. I remember blitzing it down the M6 through the night, the lads asleep beside me. We made it but my voice sadly didn’t, completely shot by exhaustion, I had to mime my harmonies. Being in Mumford & Sons was exhilarating.

Every gig was its own adventure. Every gig its own story. Be it odysseys through the Scottish Islands, or soapbox shows in Soho. Where would we sleep that night? Hostels in Fort William, pub floors in Ipswich, even the Travelodge in Carlisle maintains a sort of charm in my mind. We saw the country and then, as things miraculously grew, the world. All the while doing what we loved. Music. And not just any music. These songs meant something. They felt important to me. Songs with the message of hope and love. I was surrounded by three supremely talented song-writers and Marcus, our singer with a one-in-a-million voice. A voice that can compel both a field of 80,000 and the intimacy of a front room. Fast-forward ten years and we were playing those same songs every night in arenas, flying first-class, staying in luxury hotels and being paid handsomely to do so. I was a lucky boy.

On stage, to my left Ted, a roaring bear, with his double-bass flying high above him. To my right Ben, with his unparalleled passion for music, pounding at the keys. And Marcus leading us with all the might of a hurricane or all the tenderness of a breeze, depending on what the song demanded. What a blessing it was to be so close to such talent as theirs. It will be with immense pride that I look back at my time with Mumford & Sons. A legacy of songs that I believe will stand the test of ages. What we’ve achieved together has vastly exceeded the wildest fantasies of this shitkicker from Mortlake.

Who in their right mind would willingly walk away from this?

It turns out I would. And as you might imagine it’s been no easy decision.

At the beginning of March I tweeted to American journalist Andy Ngo, author of the New York Times Bestseller, Unmasked. “Congratulations @MrAndyNgo. Finally had the time to read your important book. You’re a brave man”. Posting about books had been a theme of my social-media throughout the pandemic. I believed this tweet to be as innocuous as the others. How wrong I turned out to be.

Over the course of 24 hours it was trending with tens of thousands of angry retweets and comments. I failed to foresee that my commenting on a book critical of the Far-Left could be interpreted as approval of the equally abhorrent Far-Right.

Nothing could be further from the truth. Thirteen members of my family were murdered in the concentration camps of the Holocaust. My Grandma, unlike her cousins, aunts and uncles, survived. She and I were close. My family knows the evils of fascism painfully well. To say the least. To call me “fascist” was ludicrous beyond belief.

I’ve had plenty of abuse over the years. I’m a banjo player after all. But this was another level. And, owing to our association, my friends, my bandmates, were getting it too. It took me more than a moment to understand how distressing this was for them.

Despite being four individuals we were, in the eyes of the public, a unity. Furthermore it’s our singer’s name on the tin. That name was being dragged through some pretty ugly accusations, as a result of my tweet. The distress brought to them and their families that weekend I regret very much. I remain sincerely sorry for that. Unintentionally, I had pulled them into a divisive and totemic issue.

Emotions were high. Despite pressure to nix me they invited me to continue with the band. That took courage, particularly in the age of so called “cancel culture”. I made an apology and agreed to take a temporary step back.

Rather predictably another viral mob came after me, this time for the sin of apologising. Then followed libellous articles calling me “right-wing” and such. Though there’s nothing wrong with being conservative, when forced to politically label myself I flutter between “centrist”, “liberal” or the more honest “bit this, bit that”. Being labeled erroneously just goes to show how binary political discourse has become. I had criticised the “Left”, so I must be the “Right”, or so their logic goes.

Why did I apologise?

“Rub your eyes and purify your heart — and prize above all else in the world those who love you and who wish you well.” — Aleksander Solzhenitsyn once wrote. In the mania of the moment I was desperate to protect my bandmates. The hornets’ nest that I had unwittingly hit had unleashed a black-hearted swarm on them and their families. I didn’t want them to suffer for my actions, they were my priority.

Secondly, I was sincerely open to the fact that maybe I did not know something about the author or his work. “Courage is what it takes to stand up and speak,” Churchill once said, “courage is also what it takes to sit down and listen”. And so I listened.

I have spent much time reflecting, reading and listening. The truth is that my commenting on a book that documents the extreme Far-Left and their activities is in no way an endorsement of the equally repugnant Far-Right. The truth is that reporting on extremism at the great risk of endangering oneself is unquestionably brave. I also feel that my previous apology in a small way participates in the lie that such extremism does not exist, or worse, is a force for good.

So why leave the band?

On the eve of his leaving to the West, Solzhenitsyn published an essay titled ‘Live Not By Lies’. I have read it many times now since the incident at the start of March. It still profoundly stirs me.

“And he who is not sufficiently courageous to defend his soul — don’t let him be proud of his ‘progressive’ views, and don’t let him boast that he is an academician or a people’s artist, a distinguished figure or a general. Let him say to himself: I am a part of the herd and a coward. It’s all the same to me as long as I’m fed and kept warm.”

For me to speak about what I’ve learnt to be such a controversial issue will inevitably bring my bandmates more trouble. My love, loyalty and accountability to them cannot permit that. I could remain and continue to self-censor but it will erode my sense of integrity. Gnaw my conscience. I’ve already felt that beginning.

The only way forward for me is to leave the band. I hope in distancing myself from them I am able to speak my mind without them suffering the consequences. I leave with love in my heart and I wish those three boys nothing but the best. I have no doubt that their stars will shine long into the future. I will continue my work with Hong Kong Link Up and I look forward to new creative projects as well as speaking and writing on a variety of issues, challenging as they may be.

Winston Marshall

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monysmediareview · 4 years ago

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Mortal Instruments Series Review

My first review! Yay!

We’re going to start with a series I recently got very into and then very out of: The Mortal Instruments series. I only read the first 3 books. I started the 4th and simply wasn’t interested, but we’ll get into that.

This is honestly going to be a mixed review. There was a lot that I really loved about this series and was super happy to see so many well written or well thought out elements, but there’s also a lot that I wasn’t pleased with and could have done without. For the purpose of this review I will only be talking about the books and not the show or the movie, but again, we’ll get to that later.

First thing’s first: the lovers to siblings back to lovers plot

What the actual fuck was that? I mean, I get it, the drama of it all was intense and emotional. I loved it for that but let’s take a moment to really consider what was wrong with this. I could have gotten on this band wagon, because it is dramatic as hell, which I love. But there are several moments throughout the first three books where, to Jace and Clary’s knowledge, they are full blood, 100% siblings, but they still make out.

Outside the Wayland house in City of Glass they literally lay in a field, making out, taking clothes off. Not only is the world around them quite literally ending but at this moment they are under the impression that they are siblings. But they do it anyway. Which is disturbing to say the least. Sure, it makes it that much more of a relief when we find out they aren’t siblings and that Jonathan is a whole other person, but there were other ways to do that. This is a story read by a ton of young, impressionable, mostly female readers and that is just such a strange message to send. They’re already confused and worried about the world going on around them, why on earth would you throw that in, too? Thinking back to middle school, I can remember at least 2 cases of brothers and sisters being accused of hooking up and I now wonder if this series had anything to do with that. I shudder to think about it.

Izzy deserved better

Right off the bat, we see Izzy through Clary’s pick me girl eyes and she does not like Izzy. She’s threatened by her and her connection with Jace. Again, why are we alluding to siblings hooking up with each other? It’s weird and uncomfy and Izzy deserved better than that.

She’s a strong, independent, smart, well trained, self sufficient woman and I would have read so much more about her if it was there. Izzy is emotionally mature, resilient, and in my opinion would have been a much better main character for a series like this. There was no reason for Cassandra Clare to make Izzy so unlikable or have Clary put her down like that. This was actually an amazing opportunity to pass the Bechdel test but to have a strong female/female relationship and set a really good example for the younger readers.

The Jace/Clary/Simon love triangle was weak

I’m a sucker for a good love triangle. It’s an old, played out trope but I can’t help it. The drama of it all is intriguing and I like them. However, the love triangle with Clary and Simon and Jace just wasn’t juicy enough. Having Clary date Simon simply because she couldn’t be with Jace anymore was really weird, especially considering Simon had almost given up/gotten over Clary because he was interested in Izzy. Then, he drops Izzy, runs to Clary and then they just stop dating and decide to be friends. And then he goes back to Izzy from what I can tell from the beginning of City of Fallen Angels, which I think discredits her even more to go back to someone who left in her in dust like that. But I digress.

If there was going to be a genuine love triangle, there needed to be a struggle of choice. Having her only choose Simon because he was what was left over was not a strong plot point and I felt that it took away from the story. It could have even been improved if Jace had shown outward jealousy or tried to convince her not to be with him but instead he ignored it. But that takes me to my next point.

Jace was kind of an asshole

I understand the idea of a “bad boy” love interest. It’s hot, it’s interesting, it’s everything every girl wants. But I’m also kind of over it. And in this case, it didn’t even stick. Jace very quickly goes from complete asshole to emotional loverboy and while I’d normally love that, it actually felt unintentional. I don’t have too much to say about this other than begging for writers and readers to have higher standards for male love interests in these types of stories.

Jace’s unconditional love for Clary even though she’s boring

Category is: more tropes I’m kind of done with.

The thing is, Clary isn’t anything special. It’s why I really don’t like her as a character. It enforces this trope of these “regular” but also “not like other girls” girls who get a bad boy to fall in love with them and suddenly be soft and gentle and kind just for them. It’s not realistic and it is so so damaging to the young girls who read things like this. Not that I think we should censor art or writing in any way to make it more morally upstanding or appealing to certain groups, but I do think that in wide spread media it is important to be conscious of the impact your work might make on certain groups of people. If a story like this needed to exist, then maybe it shouldn’t have been marketed to the audience it was. And let’s be real - there was no reason these characters couldn’t have been college aged instead of 16.

Back to the topic at hand - Jace has completely unconditional love for Clary. I think that’s super cute but it is almost unhealthy the way he’s obsessed with her. Maybe it was just how I read it but I think there could have definitely been a better way to express that he’s in love with her without making it seem like he would die without her.

Moral of the story, kids - let’s stop romanticizing unhealthy relationships.

Simon being a Jewish vampire was a fantastic idea

If you follow my main blog you probably know how much I love vampires. It’s kind of my thing. It’s why I picked up this series in the first place; because I was told that it had a really cool vampire subplot and it absolutely does.

Vampires have always had a strong connection to catholicism, what with the crosses and the holy water and the churches and all that. It had never even occurred to me that a Jewish vampire might have to abide by different rules and it begs the question of how religion plays into vampirism in the first place.

I don’t want to spend too much time on this because I could write pages and pages and pages on my take on vampires but I just wanted to praise this aspect of the series because it is badass. I hope we see more vampires of other religions popping up in media in the future. I think that would be dope as hell.

Alec and Magnus are my OTP of this series

As far as love stories go I really don’t think it gets better than this couple. There wasn’t too much of them in the books I read but I became absolutely obsessed anyway. Magnus, who seems to be portrayed as some kind of bad boy in his own rite; you know, like an immortal whore, falling in love with Alec. Alec who is strong and kind and loves with his whole heart but hides who he really is. They help each other change for the better and seem to really complete each other. Even if this wasn’t entirely intentional, I’m here for it. I would die for them. If/when I review the TV show there will definitely be a ton about this.

There are far too many parallels to Twilight for my liking

Okay, there aren’t that many. SMeyer does have a quote about how much she loves the series on the front of all the books that I have, though, and that’s too much already. Beside that there are a few things I noticed.

Bella is obviously SMeyer’s self insert character and that makes me think that Clary is too. First of all the names are incredibly similar and let’s just take a look at Cassandra Clare.

Look familiar?

Not to mention the story was stolen in the first place, but that’s for another review. I plan on reading that series as well to make my own observations.

This series did not need to exceed 3 books

By the end of City of Glass, the story felt over to me. There were a few loose ends but nothing that ultimately made me want to keep reading and that’s why I think the 4th book fell flat. The entire thing could have been wrapped up nicely in three books or the end of the third book should have been more enticing and inviting to another installment.

So, overall, I did enjoy the series. I think a lot of the characters were really well written, the dialogue was good, and the plot, while it has its flaws, was interesting at the very least. I’ll definitely be giving the rest of the books a shot at some point since the show opened my eyes to what plot lines may have been followed and I like that idea a lot. I know it seems like I really hate this series, but I don’t. It certainly has it’s issues but if you’re looking for something fun to read that you don’t plan on taking too seriously then I highly recommend.

Until next time, friends!

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keyofjetwolf · 4 years ago

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Bonus Question Answers! (non-anime animated noms)

This was SO. FUCKING. HARD. This question went so much better than I expected, and I’m only sad I lack the artistic skills to make it all a reality.

Below, my PAINSTAKINGLY selected top answers, If yours is listed below, you’ve earned an entry in a random draw to win a GIFTENING liveblog OF YOUR CHOICE

---

Q: The Senshi suddenly find themselves in a very different animated world. Which cartoon power (think Looney Tunes) do they each now possess?

* Usagi can make literal rainbows happen when she smiles. Rei can set anything on fire with her mind (she feels a bit cheated because she can do that at home too). Ami can write down anything in her special notebook and it literally changes reality around her (she does not share this with her fellow Senshi, because she knows the full weight of this power. She did, however, write Michiru having a bad hair day for just one day. Just one.) Makoto has the ability to pull out any ingredient she wants from any pantry/door/closet. She usually uses this for cooking purposes, so she won't have to purchase groceries. Minako has the ability to mimic any voice in the world, whether she has heard it or not. Hijinks ensue. The Outer Senshi sensibly escaped from the new animated world right after Michiru recovered from her bad hair day. They don't speak of the experience. -- @amberlilly [The whole thing was so solid, but what absolutely sent it over the top for me was Ami using her powers to fuck with Michiru in the most petty benign way, which is EVERYTHING.]

* Usagi is definitely rocking the exaggerated tear gushers. Ami can pull charts/diagrams out of nowhere at any time. Rei combusts when she gets sufficiently mad. Makoto has birds fly around when she sings while cooking or cleaning. Minako breaks the fourth wall to make jokes and asides to the audience. Chibi-Usa is somehow able to walk through ludicrous danger without getting touched, because the censors won't allow kids to be hurt in this show. Haruka can make girls melt into puddles of goo with her flirting. Michiru can summon a servant at any time to take care of an unpleasant or potentially dirty task for her (including to take the slapstick comedy for her). Setsuna has access to the script. Hotaru just sort of appears sometimes, just standing there, silently and menacingly, but never does anything on-screen (though you may hear the occasional off-screen screaming). Oh, and while I'd like to say Mamoru gains the power of inexplicable entrances... he kinda already has that one. --Darkcloud k'California [Again, I loved all these, but particularly Chibs saved by the censors, Michiru’s poor hapless slapstick avatar, and everything about Hotaru, thank you.]

* Usagi: The power to be found charming by every character she encounters and somehow escape all consequences and damage by simply remaining oblivious, a la Tweety Bird.

Rei: The power to explode, reducing her surroundings to charred wasteland, but remain relatively unscathed (perhaps a bit singed)

Ami: The power to grow multiple arms, hands, and hundreds of fingers in order to do tech stuff

Makoto: The power to punch someone through a brick wall, possibly several, and into someone's family dinner. It's always some surprised-looking family's private event. Often the same family.

Minako: the power to, Bugs Bunny style, apply lipstick and seduce ANYTHING. Which, according to her, is a power she already has.

Haruka: The power to run off a cliff and keep going until she looks down. She never learns to not look down.

Michiru: The power to stick a pin into any other character and cause them to deflate like a balloon

Hotaru: She just gets to actually be used. It is thrilling.

Pluto: She will observe this strange planet from afar with her huge telescope and breathe the Martian air and look great in a kilt and Roman-style helmet. -- @incorrecttact [Your set-up and punchline delivery style on all of these was perfection, and I legit lol’d at Mako and the poor family she continually interrupts.]

* to make dynamite go BOOM (Rei obviously); to have their opponent chase them to the point where they're floating in midair and then their opponent falls 5000 feet but they calmly walk back to land (like Wil E Coyote & the Roadrunner) (Usagi); the power to blow kisses to their opponent (which are clearly poisonous and end up killing the chap) (Minako); the power to have their opponent's entire arm shattered if they try to even punch them lightly on the arm (Makoto - this is canon anyways, but moreso exaggerated here hehe); to open a book and start reading it out loud and words start showing up on screen, confusing tf out of their opponent (Ami - also canon already) --@midnightdrops [Each of these were great, but Usagi and Mako as you described them totally sold me.]

* usagi: can now float on yummy aromas, so long as they lead her somewhere tasty! the others play a quick tournament of jun-ken-pon each time it happens to determine who will be responsible for steering her from blissfully drifting into traffic. again.

ami: is now possessed of x-ray vision! only she can neither turn it off, nor control its intensity. she is working on developing a set of goggles to dampen the effect, and secretly hopes they will make her look like geordi laforge.

rei: rei-chan is now blessed with the power of song! her heartfelt melodies soften the malice of even the most one-dimensional baddie, and influence public policy on a global scale. international success life, yo! i guess she's really a hard worker!

makoto: has become something of a cartoon cupid! in a poorly-ventilated room, her mere presence has bystanders declaring their love for one another within minutes*; and her decadent wedding cakes are the hit of second marriages across the country. *all of them so like her old senpai, and none of them falling for her, alas!

minako: employs her considerable powers of confidence and charm to convince the others she now has access to Plot Manipulation, mainly by engineering and taking ownership of a series of happy accidents. her real power is to literally jump out of her skin when she's startled*, and she has no intention of EVER letting the others know about it. *minako discovered this new ability while she was changing a roll of toilet paper, and a spider dropped onto her hand. the leader of the inner senshi had never been so horrified. her bones were so slick and cold, her skin a hideous unwiped pile, and then THE SPIDER CRAWLED INTO THE PILE and she STILL doesn't know if it ever got out and sometimes her skin itches REALLY bad and you know what let's stop talking about this right now okay???

setsuna: can now manifest a giant pencil and erase the enemy! but doing so would be breaking The Greatest Taboo, and leave her impaled upon the pencil.

haruka: her new empathetic ability is remarkably similar to Ma-Ti's "heart" ring (Captain Planet and the Planeteers, 1990 - 1996). basically, she's just like really soft at you, and it inspires you to take more positive actions toward yourself and the world at large? she protests about wishing she'd received something tough and intimidating, but secretly is very moved by being made an instrument of kindness.

michiru: her intuition has mutated into fourth wall awareness, and the subtlety with which she makes this known to you is SO GODDAMN UNCOMFORTABLE OH MY GOD

hotaru: can now not only communicate with inanimate objects, but also render them permanently animate! you should have been there during the princess tutu crossover episode when she met lamp-chan - they're STILL inseparable, and chibiusa is SUPER jealous. speaking of which,

chibiusa: can now use hammerspace to store her endless series of magical geegaws and weird animal boyfriends. -- @rasiqra-revulva [Dude, you have got to stop making me snort laugh, it’s RUDE. Pure solid gold, every word, with a special nod to Haruka, MICHIRU, and Minako’s extended tragic cartoon backstory.]

* Usagi - like her name suggests, she is now Bunny. By which I mean she is now a very pink and blonde bunny (somewhere between Bugs and Oswald the Lucky Rabbit), but with super-elastic limbs to accompany her new form. Ami - Magical Science Powers up to and including ‘mix one brightly colored liquid in flask with another brightly colored liquid in flask, explosion, get hammer.’ Rei - An infinite supply of dynamite she can pull out of nowhere. This shouldn’t be as useful as it is. Mako - Literally suplexed a giant metallic youma not just untransformed, but before she has Senshi powers at all. I fully believe she could lift an anvil in canon. Minako - While Usagi looks like a rabbit, Mina now has the supernatural trickster abilities of Bugs Bunny. Implausibly effective bad disguises, persuasion, showing up out of nowhere. Chibs - Now that gun from her first appearance is a real gun, but it shoots anything from normal bullets to pies in the face to live birds. Pluto - The fourth wall is a real and tangible thing. Pluto can not just break it, but control it. If she wants to remove a layer of cel or suddenly turn things into sketch, she can do it. If she wants to teleport, she can skip in the animation. If she wants to suddenly appear as a Roger Rabbit-style cartoon in a live action field, or vice versa? Yeah, she can do that too. She basically uses this power to warp the layers of her cartoonish reality for pastry acquisition. Haruka - You’d think it would be Roadrunner speed. Haruka thinks it will be Roadrunner speed. But no, it isn’t. Space Jam is Looney Tunes, and Haruka’s power is Basketball. Michiru - Another power that’s just canonical: Wealth. Ridiculous, tremendous wealth. Hotaru - The funniest thing for Hotaru to be in a zany cartoon world is Even More Spooky. Nothing changes except the artstyle and a ridiculous supervillain cape. -- Regalli [Pluto, man. Fantastic and brilliant and I legit WANT THIS. Also though, Hotaru with a cape.]

* Usagi gains the ability to eat anything and everything like the Tazmanian Devil, though she shares none of his aggressive personality; Minako enjoys fucking with people by bending reality (you know, diving into painted tunnels and stuff like that); Ami is able to utilize and test unreal technology without harm, like jet boots, massive bombs, tornado seeds, etc.; Mako uses body manipulations to change her size and shape--especially for blocking attacks to protect people or grabbing people (coupled with her immense strength); and Rei is the only one aware of the audience beyond the Fourth Wall... She tries not to talk to them but sometimes she just can't help it, especially when Usagi is getting on her nerves. -- @thehubby [I said pander to me, and you absolutely did. I can’t stop thinking about Rei trying not to make fourth wall eye contact, then just whirling around all “CAN YOU FUCKING BELIEVE THIS SHIT??!?” and as it turns out, that IS precisely what I wanted.]

---

I’ll be drawing for the bonus liveblog around the start of THE GIFTENING 2020 (currently looking to be Monday, 11 January 2021). Each bonus question is another chance to earn an entry, so keep those answers coming! I CAN ABSOLUTELY AND SHAMELESSLY BE BOUGHT.

#THE GIFTENING 2020 #THE GIFTENING 2020 admin shit #THE GIFTENING 2020 bonus q

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dweemeister · 4 years ago

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Shoes (1916)

During the 1890s and 1900s, the earliest American movie studios were dispersed across major cities east of the Mississippi River. But by the early 1910s, the stable weather, tax-friendly environment, and natural beauty of Southern California brought these studios westward. The Golden Age of Hollywood was born in the Golden State. Women directors, producers, and writers were essential to Hollywood’s creation. One of the early pioneers from Hollywood’s rough-and-tumble beginnings was Lois Weber – at her career’s peak, she was as famous, innovative, and as crucial to the development of cinematic vocabulary as D.W. Griffith (1915’s The Birth of a Nation, 1916’s Intolerance: Love’s Struggle Throughout the Ages). Yet in the writing of American cinematic history, Weber has been largely sidelined, if not outright omitted.

Many of Lois Weber’s films are lost, like those of her countless silent era contemporaries across the world. What remains of Weber’s filmography for modern public consumption is a body of work filled with artistic assuredness. Shoes, released by an infant studio named Universal, is a fascinating film – unafraid to depict issues that would have been tossed out by Hollywood censors twenty years later. It serves as an ideal gateway to Weber’s work, a demonstration of her political and artistic auteurism.

Eva Meyer (Mary MacLaren, a Weber regular) is a young woman who serves as her family’s principal breadwinner. Her mother (Mattie Witting) tends to their dilapidated apartment and Eva’s two younger sisters while making a few cents as a laundress. Eva’s father (Harry Griffith) lies in bed and reads books all day – this is a rare instance of a movie where you want a character to read less. The hours Eva works at the five-and-dime store are draining. She drifts, numbly, between home and work – there is no time for leisure, at least for anyone who isn’t Eva’s father. One day, she has torn through the soles of her shoes – she wants to purchase a replacement, but she cannot afford a new pair. As she walks to and from work every day, a pair of boots propped up at a different store’s display window beckon. Eva looks longingly at these boots, as well as those adorning the feet of the women she encounters on her lonesome commute.

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The cinematic techniques that Weber employs might seem well-worn today, but in 1916 her vision was groundbreaking. There are a few instances of superimposed images appearing in the left-hand corner of the screen to show the audience what a character is daydreaming about. That may be more prominent in modern animated film, the effect provides plot development more expeditiously than a silent film intertitle. A superimposed dream probably would not be as effective in a contemporary live-action film – unless it was a comedy – but it works here. Shoes’ several dissolves also emphasize Eva’s longing for her new shoes, as she imagines how vivified her life could be with those new pair of boots on display in the window. Along with cinematographers Stephen S. Norton (1916’s Where Are My Children?; 1923’s The Hunchback of Notre Dame), King D. Gray (1915’s The College Orphan; second cameraman on 1934’s The Black Cat), and Allen G. Siegler (1915 serial The Broken Coin; 1916’s The Dumb Girl of Portici), Weber also utilizes dissolves to close in on Eva’s regretful disposition – this opposed to a zoom or a dolly shot (neither would be largely adopted among filmmakers for some time). The gradual dissolve is completed in respect to the modest pace of Shoes, and deepens the gravitational pull of Eva’s desolation. Dissolves in 1910s films were rarities; to see them used as artistically as this signifies a director and cinematographers tinkering with techniques well ahead of their time.

Numerous early silent filmmakers of the mid-1910s constructed glaringly cheap sets that can easily take modern viewers out of a film. In these films, a room might appear poorly painted and appear to have paper-thin doors and walls; exteriors may consist of materials haphazardly assembled on a movie studio lot. Not here. Weber uses Los Angeles for her exteriors rather than a soundstage; Eva could easily be imagined as an Angeleno rather than the resident of some artificial town. Eva passes through a teeming, bird-flocked Pershing Square on her way to and from work every day. Pershing Square is a lonely place for her, and the passing couples wearing fashionable shoes underline her psychological distance from all that surrounds her. A nearby Woolworth’s at 719 South Broadway Avenue stood in as the windowed storefront that Eva stops by during her commute, further imbuing Shoes with emotional interest.

During Shoes’ fifty-two minutes, Weber invites the viewer to adopt Eva’s viewpoint. A lesser director might stray from this focus in favor of her parents or a random lout like the character of “Cabaret” Charlie (William V. Mong), but Weber stays the course and the film – in no small part thanks to sixteen-year-old Mary MacLaren’s sufficient performance as the protagonist – is emotionally rewarded for that concentration in its final scenes. Eva’s gloom and constant embarrassment regarding her penury suffuses every scene, magnified by Weber’s silent film-era arsenal of techniques, grasp of narrative structure*, and location shooting. Amid the United States’ Progressive Era, Weber’s socially conscious films resonated with an American public gaining greater awareness of industrialization’s and unregulated capitalism’s ill effects. Shoes, based on a story closely adapted from Jane Addams’ A New Conscience and an Ancient Evil, is a byproduct of the debates that Progressive Era activists engaged in. Weber’s film depicts an implied lack of employee protections/benefits and the presence of a nefarious sexual economy – unaddressed legacies of the social upheaval caused by industrialization.

Shoes itself does not contain any explicit political diatribes, but Weber’s sympathies could not be clearer. Before her film career, Weber – born to a devout Pennsylvanian Christian family – lived in poverty herself and engaged in missionary work to help improve the lives of young women. By her own admission, Weber based certain incidents in her films on the experiences she saw, vicariously, through those women she worked for in her youth. For Shoes, the segments in between home and work existed outside the text of Addams’ novel, and were informed by the poor women the Weber interacted with. Without those scenes, Shoes’ pathos is less powerful. Universal, believing in Weber’s approach to Shoes, launched an advertising campaign trumpeting the film’s social realism – an expression of confidence in a gifted and thoughtful director who made some of the most interesting films of the silent era. Weber’s early life experiences made that craftwork possible.

Let me dispel any myths I may have previously perpetuated via other reviews on this blog: women directors were not novelties at the dawn of Hollywood. By the end of the 1910s, Universal Studios in particular boasted a talented corps of women directors and writers – in 1916, Weber became Universal’s highest-paid director (such a distinction is almost impossible to fathom even in 2020). Hollywood’s early studios had numerous women who worked behind the cameras in critical creative positions. In the 1920s, Wall Street titans took notice of the burgeoning film industry flourishing in Southern California. The incoming consolidation of Hollywood’s movie studios resulted in a marked decrease of women involved in filmmaking. These New York-based financiers, all men, held dim views of women in business and motion pictures where feminism fuels the work. The fact that seventy-five percent of all silent films are now lost forever, in addition to uninformed perceptions about silent films themselves, has further complicated studies of women filmmakers during Hollywood’s earliest years. The history of American filmmaking written since then has been sexist and racist by omission. In the years to come, let us hope that this history can be more inclusive – not for the sake of inclusivity, but to accurately reflect the reality that female filmmakers were pivotal to the development of American cinema in the silent era.

Shoes is an ideal starting point for those wishing to learn more about the early women directors in Hollywood. A product of the era’s politics and Lois Weber’s dedication to gendered and economic justice, it is a measured, intriguing film serving as a lasting testament to its director’s acuity.

My rating: 8/10

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

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

*As film technology became more affordable and as it advanced in America, the average Hollywood film became longer in the mid-1910s. In this environment, directors experimented – and frequently failed – with how to extend their narratives from rather simple short films. At fifty-two minutes, Shoes was much longer than the typical film released in 1916 (within a decade that would no longer be the case).

#Shoes #Lois Weber #Mary MacLaren #William V. Mong #silent film #TCM #Harry Griffith #Mattie Witting #Jessie Arnold #Lina Basquette #Stephen S. Norton #King Gray #Allen G. Siegler #My Movie Odyssey

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introvertguide · 5 years ago

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Spartacus (1960); AFI #81

Our next film that we reviewed is the bleak but powerful story of Spartacus, (1960) the Kirk Douglas answer to missing out on Ben Hur. According to some background viewing on the DVD and on YouTube, Kirk Douglas wanted to be the lead in Ben Hur and was angry when his part was given to Charlton Heston. He bought the rites to his own Roman Empire epic that he believed would rival his missed opportunity and Spartacus was adapted for the screen. Although Spartacus did not win the awards that Ben Hur did, the film won a Golden Globe for best Drama as well as 3 technical Oscars and a Best Supporting Oscar for Peter Ustinov. Spartacus is now generally considered the superior film (OK, specifically by me), mainly because it does not go in the direction that the viewer would expect for a movie of the time. Before I go any further, let’s spoil the story for those who just want to talk about the film without having seen it:

SPOILER WARNING! THIS MOVIE DOES NOT END LIKE ONE WOULD EXPECT SO THIS IS A LEGITIMATE WARNING! THIS REVIEW WILL RUIN THE ENDING SO WATCH THE MOVIE FIRST!

The movie starts with eight minutes of music and establishing shots, making sure that the viewer knows this is an epic. We see our main character, a slave named Spartacus (Kirk Douglas), is so uncooperative in his position in a mining pit that he is sentenced to death by starvation. By chance, he is displayed to a sniveling Roman businessman named Lentulus Batiatus (Peter Ustinov), who – impressed by his ferocity – purchases Spartacus for his gladiatorial school. He tells his instructor Marcellus (Charles McGraw) to watch over Spartacus specifically because he thinks "he has quality". Amid the “training”, Spartacus forms a quiet relationship with a female slave named Varinia (Jean Simmons). She falls for Spartacus when he refuses to rape her for the entertainment of the guards claiming that he is not an animal. When she says “neither am I,” he respects her and realizes that she is kept for her physical abilities just as he is. Spartacus and Varinia are subsequently forced to endure numerous humiliations for defying the conditions of servitude, but their bond grows stronger as they suffer together.

Batiatus receives a visit from the immensely wealthy Roman senator Marcus Licinius Crassus (Laurence Olivier), who aims to become dictator of the stagnant Roman republic. Crassus buys Varinia on a whim and, for the amusement of his companions; arranges for Spartacus and three others to fight in pairs to the death. It was promised to the training gladiators that these death battles would only happen at the Colosseum. Crassus offers enough money that Batiatus can’t refuse, but this sets the rebellious attitude of the gladiators. During his fight, Spartacus is disarmed and his opponent, an African named Draba (Woody Strode), spares his life in a burst of defiance and instead attacks the Roman audience, but is speared by an arena guard and then finished off by Crassus. The next day, with the atmosphere still tense over this episode, Batiatus takes Varinia away to Crassus's house in Rome. Spartacus kills Marcellus, who was taunting him about his love, and the fight escalates into a full blown riot. The gladiators overwhelm their guards and escape into the Italian countryside.

Spartacus is chosen as leader of the fugitives and he decides to lead them out of Italy to the sea where they can leave the country. The growing army of slaves and gladiators plunders Roman estates all over the countryside, collecting enough money to buy sea transport from the pirates of Cilicia. Spartacus and his group encounter numerous other slaves who wish to join, making the procession towards the sea as large as an army. One of the new arrivals is Varinia, who escaped while being delivered to Crassus. Another is a slave entertainer named Antoninus (Tony Curtis), who also fled Crassus's service. Spartacus feels mentally inadequate because he is uneducated, but he proves an excellent leader and organizes his diverse followers into a tough and self-sufficient community. Varinia, now his informal wife, becomes pregnant by him, and he also comes to regard the spirited Antoninus as a sort of son.

The Roman Senate becomes increasingly alarmed as Spartacus defeats the multiple armies sent against him. Crassus's populist opponent Gracchus (Charles Laughton) knows that his rival will try to use the crisis as a justification for seizing control of the Roman army. To try and prevent this, Gracchus channels as much military power as possible into the hands of his own protege, a young senator named Julius Caesar (John Gavin). Although Caesar lacks Crassus's contempt for the lower classes of Rome, he mistakes the man's rigid outlook for nobility. Thus, when Gracchus reveals that he has bribed the pirates to get Spartacus out of Italy and rid Rome of the slave army, Caesar regards such tactics as beneath him and goes over to Crassus.

Crassus uses a bribe of his own to make the pirates abandon Spartacus and has the Roman army secretly force the rebels away from the coastline towards Rome. Amid panic that Spartacus means to sack the city, the Senate gives Crassus absolute power. Now surrounded by Romans, Spartacus convinces his men to die fighting. Just by rebelling and proving themselves human, he says that they have struck a blow against slavery. In the ensuing battle, after initially breaking the ranks of Crassus's legions, the slave army ends up trapped between Crassus and two other forces advancing from behind, and most of them are massacred. Afterward, the Romans try to locate the rebel leader for special punishment by offering a pardon (and return to enslavement) if the men will identify Spartacus, living or dead. Every surviving man responds by shouting "I'm Spartacus!". As a result, Crassus has them all sentenced to death by crucifixion along the Via Appia between Rome and Capua, where the revolt began.

After the battle, Crassus finds Varinia and Spartacus's newborn son hiding amongst the dead and takes them prisoner. He is disturbed by the idea that Spartacus can command more love and loyalty than he can and hopes to compensate by making Varinia as devoted to him as she was to her former husband. When she rejects him, he furiously seeks out Spartacus (whom he recognizes from having watched him at Batiatus' school) and forces him to fight Antoninus to the death. The survivor is to be crucified, along with all the other men captured after the great battle. Spartacus kills Antoninus to spare him this terrible fate. The incident leaves Crassus worried about Spartacus's potential to live in legend as a martyr. In other matters, he is also worried about Caesar, whom he senses will someday eclipse him.

Gracchus, having seen Rome fall into tyranny, commits suicide. Before doing so, he bribes his friend Batiatus to rescue Spartacus's family from Crassus and carry them away to freedom. On the way out of Rome, the group passes under Spartacus's cross. Varinia is able to comfort him in his dying moments by showing him his little son, who will grow up free and knowing who his father was.

So just to really hit this spoiler home: the slaves who escape are all slaughtered in battle or crucified along the road into Rome, the senator who tries to help them commits suicide, and Spartacus kills his close friend and is himself crucified to the sound of his slowly dying army. His one consolation is he sees his wife leaving with his child under the same man who turned him into a gladiator in the first place. Kubrick really knows how to end on an up note (sarcasm). This is not that surprising since Trumbo adapted it and he was not feeling like a happy ending was in his future. It was probably very cathartic for him to write out the script.

This movie brags of having a cast of thousands and that is no lie. My mom commented during the battle scene when all the armies are marching out that “nobody was unemployed during the making of this movie.” There was no green screen or CG effects, just 8000 members of the Spanish military dressed up like Roman soldiers and marching in formation. There were apparently many gory scenes that were cut out of battle towards the end and only a shot of Spartacus cutting off a man’s arm remained. When envisioning the project, Kubrick had no intention of holding back.

I did learn from the DVD extras (this is released through Criterion so there are tons of bonus extras and commentary) that Kubrick considered this the only film in which he felt he did not have complete creative control. He fought with Trumbo about the lead character being too perfect. Spartacus was a rebellious slave with no formal education and a huge chip on his shoulder. Why would he be so nice and understanding when so few people had shown him any kindness? The studios also did not like that somebody who had been shown to be so good would end up dying so badly. Kubrick really distanced himself from this film as he got old because he considered it the one example of a movie that he helped create that wasn’t really his.

One specific scene that both Kubrick and Trumbo agreed on but the studios did not like was the famous “snails and oysters” moment between Crassus and Antoninus. This is a famous moment in the history of homosexual representation in American film and involves two of the most well known actors of the time, Sir Laurence Olivier and Tony Curtis. Antoninus is tending to Crassus during a bath and Crassus asks a series of questions about moral actions. He asks if Antoninus eats oysters and snails and asks if eating one is morally superior to the other. Crassus concludes that it is a matter of taste and not a question of morality. During the questioning, Antoninus continually refers to Crassus as master while oiling up the man in a bath. Crassus is blatantly hitting on Antoninus and the only reason it got past the studio censors is that it was the villainous Roman tyrant. This scene would have been cut at the time if it would have gone any further, I think. Very interesting moment in movie history.

More than any single scene, Kubrick was constantly fighting about his need to put in his special touch of over perfectionism which translated to demanding a lot of takes. This really slows down production when you are trying to direct and you are dealing with so many people. He is reported to have done a dozen or more takes for each dolly shot of the dead bodies on the battle field with specific instructions for every single extra that lay on the field. I am all about sticking to your vision, but that might be going a little bit too far when you are using studio money. I do love the final product, however, so I am probably not allowed to complain too much about the director’s process.

So does this movie belong on the AFI list? Of course. It is an epic historical drama that won 4 Academy Awards. It stars some of the biggest names in movie history including the great Kirk Douglas in possibly his most memorable role, it was directed by the iconic Stanley Kubrick, and this movie marks the end of the blacklisting of writers who had been accused of being communists. This is a piece of cinema that strongly represents the time of its creation and should definitely be studied by groups like the AFI. Would I recommend it? Across the board. It is a great movie that actually moves through its 3+ hours. I found myself taking less notes during the movie and simply enjoying the entire viewing. I even watched again with commentary without a single gripe. Fantastic movie and a real tribute to the great actor Kirk Douglas. RIP and thank you for the entertainment. I am Spartacus!

#spartacus #Kirk Douglas #award winner #academy award #Stanley Kubrick #roman empire #afi films #60s #golden age of hollywood #introvert #introverts #movie review #spoilers

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emberbent · 5 years ago

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Book 1: Fire | Chapter 4: Family Reunion

As he did with all his students, Amrit saw Shinza as a hunk of raw marble, and as he chiseled away, he started to unearth the statue within. Her method of bending was methodical and controlled; she combined strict textbook technique with inventive application, often surprising Amrit. But as beautiful and clean as her lines were, and as sufficient as her self-defense abilities were, she still lacked the core essence of what it meant to be a firebender. After a while, her progress came to a plateau.

He kept her training at a dogged pace, and she was up to the challenge. He had to give her that much: she was persistent. But after seeming to hit a wall, they both needed a break.

“You’re doing great,” Amrit encouraged, catching his breath at the end of the day’s session. They were both panting and covered with sweat. The smell of charred air surrounded them.

Shinza gulped down a cup of water. “But?”

Amrit sighed, taking his time with his own cup of water before finally getting down to it. “I worry. You’re doing well here, but I’m not confident that your bending won’t weaken once you leave. This heat, and being on the equator… it’s helping you, but it can also be a crutch.”

Gracefully, she bent and settled on the ground. “So how do I get stronger?”

“I think you know the answer to that,” Amrit replied, sitting across from her and looking her in the eye. “It’s been a struggle for you - I know it has. But your progress has plateaued because you still haven’t pinpointed your motivation. You need to be able to overpower your opponent with sheer force. Firebending by nature is an offensive art, and frankly, I don’t think you don’t have the resolve for it.”

He watched her. Being straightforward was something Shinza valued, but delivering such a blow to her ego wasn’t easy. Not with so much at stake, and with all of the pressure falling squarely on her shoulders.

“I know,” she replied quietly. Streaks of black soot marked her face, obscuring her freckles. Several strands of hair had come loose from her topknot and framed her face. She’d given this everything she had. “I’ve been trying. I really have.”

“I know you have,” Amrit assured her. “But I think you need a break. We’ve been training in the temple this whole time, but you’re not getting what you need here. Maybe you should do some wandering.”

“I thought it wasn’t safe for me to travel alone,” Shinza countered, thinking of Mai and Zhang and their incessant need to be glued to her side.

Amrit considered that. “I think it’ll be worth it. Besides, as far as I know, no one knows it’s you who’s the Avatar, and you’re skilled enough now that you could hold your own in a struggle.”

They were quiet for a while. Ever since the incident at the General’s Tea House, no one would let Shinza out of their sight - even Amrit, who was now realizing the value of showing his faith in her. The idea of being treated like the adult she was, to her, seemed wonderful. Then she said, “I think I know where I’m going to go.”

Shinza boarded a ferry to Fire Fountain City the next morning. She had dressed in mainland Fire Nation clothes, which was something she’d never done before, but for the first time in her life, she looked and felt proud. Maybe she wasn’t up to Amrit’s standards yet, but she’d come so far in the months she’d been on the island. What made a knot in her stomach, though, was the worry that this trip would be a waste. What if she didn’t find what she needed here? What if she disappointed Amrit? Or worse: what if she disappointed herself?

She stepped off the ramp and headed toward the address she’d seen on envelopes her whole life: her aunt and uncle’s apartment. She’d never met them before, but from all the pictures they sent and from the stories her father had read aloud from their letters, she felt like she did. Shinza wasn’t sure how they’d take to a surprise visit, but she’d had no way of letting them know she was coming. As she passed through the town square, she came upon what gave the city its name: the fire fountain. After Fire Lord Ozai’s flame-mouthed statue had been hauled to the ground and removed, the citizens of the town, under Fire Lord Zuko’s orders, had replaced the statue with the fountain. It was meant to symbolize the Fire Nation’s turning away from its past, and it was a beautiful sight when lit at twilight. But now it was broad daylight, and it seemed so much smaller than she pictures she’d seen of it with crowds gathered around it and with its floating lanterns glowing. It was hard not to be disappointed, but she kept going until she reached the address.

Shinza ascended the stoop and used the iron knocker to rap a couple times on the door, using the interim time to make sure not a hair was out of place. A couple seconds later, the door swung open, and a familiar face greeted her.

“Ohh!” her aunt Chiyo squealed, already holding her arms out. “Is that Little Shinza I see?”

“Hi, Aunt Chiyo,” Shinza responded, smiling through the vague discomfort of being ensnared in a monstrous hug and pulled into the apartment. The woman was much shorter than Shinza, and quite round, with a kind face and twinkling yellow eyes. She reached upward to cup Shinza’s cheeks and beamed into her niece’s face.

“Oh, what a joy!” she exclaimed. “I never thought we’d get the chance to meet you. What brings you to Fire Fountain City? Are your parents here? Oh, come in, come in! Please, make yourself comfortable. Everyone! Guess who’s here?”

Shinza found that the little apartment was full of people, all of whom she recognized, and all who had come to the living room to see her. Her uncle Akio, her cousin Kenzo, his wife Nhu, and their children, Lili and Khazan. All of them fussed over her, commenting on her physical similarity to her father, Chiyo’s brother.

“You’re just in time for dinner,” Chiyo sounded. “Are you hungry? I made a nice roast duck for the family. Oh, how lucky you came by today, when everyone’s here!”

“Sounds wonderful,” Shinza said; Lili and Khazan, who seemed boundlessly fascinated by their cousin, pulled her into the kitchen and offered her a place to sit. Gradually, she acclimated and started to feel comfortable. “It’s so nice to see all of you. I’ve seen pictures, but it’s not the same.”

“So what brings you to town?” Akio inquired, pulling out a chair for himself. “Taking a little vacation?”

“Something like that,” Shinza replied. “I’ve been working hard, and I needed a little getaway. And I thought, you know, maybe it’d be nice to meet you all.”

“Well, it’s just wonderful to meet you,” Akio beamed. “Tell us, how are your parents? What do you do for work? What’s it like in Republic City?”

Everyone around her leaned in, eager to hear. Shinza couldn’t help but laugh. All the attention was strange, but the magnitude of love she felt in the room was something she’d never forget. “Mom and Dad are fine,” she said. “Mom’s still practicing medicine, and Dad’s been enjoying his retirement as much as he can, for how badly his leg hurts him. I, uh… I’m an artist, technically, but I do some side work as a musician. Sometimes I dance, too, and sometimes I give lessons. Republic City’s nice like that - there’s always a job to take.”

“Oh, that’s just wonderful,” gushed Chiyo. To Shinza’s relief, no one gave her a hard time for not having followed in her parents’ footsteps. Chiyo chirped, “Bird’s on! Everyone come eat. Shinza, honey, you serve yourself first.”

With full plates, they all tucked in. The kitchen was filled with lively chatter, the heavenly scent of a meal made with love, and laughter. Topics of conversation wove and changed; Shinza had managed to tune out, finding the cacophony of everyone talking to each other and over each other simultaneously a little overwhelming; so had Nhu, was sitting beside her. The woman, who appeared to be a little older than Shinza, gave her an amicable smile as they continued their meal.

“So, did you hear?” Kenzo piped up. “The new Avatar’s been located.”

“Oh? No, I hadn’t heard that,” Chiyo replied airily. “Well, I hope The Organization manages to find them and do away with them for good. I shudder to think...”

Nhu groaned. “Kenzo, what have I asked you about politics at the table?”

“Oh, honey, come on. It’s friendly conversation.”

Shinza said nothing, coolly picking out the mushrooms from her bowl and eating them first.

“It’s not friendly, it’s incendiary,” Nhu muttered.

Kenzo countered, “I’m tired of this. We all know the Avatar needs to be done away with. We can’t have that kind of abuse of power in our world.”

“Daddy,” Lili interjected, tugging at her father’s sleeve. “Is it true the Avatar murders babies so they can go into the Avatar state?”

Chiyo nearly choked on her roast duck.

Khazan said to his sister, “A boy in my class says his dad is in The Org, and that they’re gonna find the Avatar and murder them in the Avatar state so they’re never reincarnated.”

“Okay,” Akio boomed. “That’s enough. Nhu, sweetheart, you can’t censor people. Kenzo, don’t provoke her. Now -- Chiyo, what did you say about those sweet dumplings?”

“They’re in the fridge, dear,” Chiyo responded, happy not to engage in such a grim facet of the conversation.

“What do you think about all that, Shinza?” Kenzo said after a moment, with his father’s back turned to them in the kitchen as he searched for dessert. “What’s your stance on the Avatar?”

Shinza delicately slurped the last of her noodles, pretending to think on it. “Hadn’t really considered it,” she said casually. “There’s no such talk in Republic City. Everyone basically pretends the Avatar doesn’t exist.”

“I’ve heard different,” Chiyo piped up. “Akio’s second cousin lives in Republic City, and he says The Org has growing numbers. They’re coordinating a search effort.”

“Well,” Shinza shrugged. “I guess, whoever the Avatar is, they should prepare for the fight of their life.”

“Well said,” bellowed Akio, coming back to the table with a tray of sweet dumplings. Dessert was a much quieter affair. The children went to go play in the living room, Kenzo and Akio went to go smoke on the balcony, and Chiyo, Nhu, and Shinza cleaned the kitchen and enjoyed some quiet conversation. After the last dish was dry, Chiyo looked apologetically at Shinza. “I hope we didn’t scare you off,” she said sheepishly. “Things can get pretty lively here.”

“No bother,” lied Shinza. “It was really an honor to meet you all. I hope this won’t be the only time we get to see each other.”

Through the balcony screen, Shinza garnered little scraps of Akio’s conversation with his son. He admonished Kenzo for allowing his little boy to entertain the idea that the Avatar was a child murderer, and Kenzo argued that he’d heard rumors of it himself. Besides - after Unavaatu, what wasn’t the Avatar capable of?

“I should get going,” Shinza announced. “Aunt Chiyo, thank you so much for dinner. I’ll tell Mom and Dad you said hello.”

“Okay, sweet girl,” once more pulling in Shinza for a captive hug. “Go tell your uncle and cousins bye.”

Shinza had parted with all of her family except Nhu, who offered to walk her to the bus stop. Just being out of the cramped apartment was such a relief that the shrieking locusts of late summer didn’t bother her. Nhu was quiet and tall, like Shinza was, with dark brown hair and striking hazel eyes. Her parents had immigrated to the Fire Nation from the Foggy Swamp when she was tiny, she told Shinza. She didn’t have the luxury of visiting her relatives like Shinza did; when Nhu’s parents left their family’s neck of the swamp, they’d been so deeply disappointed that they decided they wouldn’t be welcomed back.

“That’s awful,” Shinza replied. She couldn’t imagine being cut off from her parents that way.

Nhu shrugged. “What do I care? I have my parents and Kenzo’s family, loud as they can be. And a new cousin I can talk to.”

Shinza gave a genuine smile. The two passed the fire fountain, which was being lit by two keepers, shooting little synchronized spears of fire into the lantern wicks. Emberflies wove their way in and out of the lanterns, scarcely discernible from the light of the lanterns. “I was hoping I’d get to see this before I left,” she murmured.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Nhu replied. “Almost makes you forget about all the ugliness in the world.”

“Almost,” Shinza snorted. They watched the fountain for a while and then made their way to the bus stop. Just as they approached, the Satobus that would take her back to the ferry pulled up, hissing and coughing black smoke into the street. “This is me.”

Nhu took one last look at Shinza, her intense hazel gaze finding Shinza’s warm red-brown eyes and instilling a knowing look. “Be careful,” she whispered.

Shinza boarded the bus, taking a window seat and staring after Nhu as she hurried back down the street, eyes ever vigilant.

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cloudywithachanceofwatering · 5 years ago

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Plance au where it hurt

I warned you . I really warned you .

Also , the ending is rushed . Sorry , my patience is low . I truly am a failure .

Edit : maybe it wont hurt so bad

Plaance god tier au where pidge and lance hooked up in the club and pidge got preggers . Unfortunately , the child died under mysterious circumstances during the third trimester . Lance had been with her the whole time , so he tried his best to comfort her even when she pushed him away .

The next year , lance left to pursue his career in the garrison in hopes to forget his pain . Pidge had left to recooperate , unsucessfully . She ended up avoiding meds and fell into anxiety and depression . They avoided each others interactions because they felt like they were the reason the child died .

The following year , lance and pidge had met in the same club again . This time , they were drunk enough to hook up again for real sad sex . A lot of tears and love , but in the end it was a one night stand . The next morning , lance left the motel without telling her . He didnt want to hurt her any more than he already did .

After realizing she was pregnant after a month , pidge hit the road with little to nothing . All she had was ten thousand dollars from stashing money for her baby , most of which her parents and brother had given. Pidge decided to get a cheap van from the scrapyard , got a liscence for the car , ditched everything she had inside and with her little driving skills , went off to somewhere she didnt know . All she really had was a driving liscence to prove her identity . She hid it away .

In the end , she only had a five thousand left . Yes , this was a time where everything wasnt real . This is a fic . Do not take things too seriously .

She literally disappeared overnight - nobody really knew where she went . All they had was a bought cheap van to go off on . How far couldve she went , people asked . Shes just a child , everyone said , unable to find her within a twenty mile radius the next day .

Pidge had driven for days , trying to get to the rural countryside as fast as possible . She found a little village after being lost for hours on end on a obscure forest path - and decided she was going to stay .

The villagers immediately noticed her van . Soon , a crowd formed and when she stepped out of the van , they crowded around her like scavengers looking for prey . They spoke in french , oddly enough - a mix of it . Italian , french , spanish was what she heard all at once .

A red hair girl put up her fist , silencing the villagers . " Hello , " she spoke in french . " Can i have a house ? " " No , " the red haired girl said . " The only house left are in the fields . It is dilapitated . " " Then can i have it ? " The villagers thought about it , buzzing even louder for a while . " Yes . We can help you fix it , " pidge heard from a few people at the front . It seemed to be agreed .

The villagers buzzed around for a bit , discussing their next move . Eventually , they asked a old lady to take her in while they went to look for items to fix up the house with . The red haired girl , with a thick french accent , told her in english : " We will help you . Come with her , she will feed you . "

And oddly enough , it felt like home . Their hospitality - it mustve come from a lack of visitors and her odd way of entering , their curiousity - but pidge was too tired and hungry to be cautious . It was the best human interaction she had for days . The red haired girl proceeded to bring out her items for two guys to take int othe home of the old woman .

The old woman , she was called " old rosa , " had no name . So she took in the name old rosa . She could speak english fluently , although she tripped over her words a bit . " My dear , come and eat , the villagers will help bring in your items . I suppose theyll make your van a bit more hospitable for you . " " Where are you from ? You speak english quite well , " pidge had asked . " Britain , my dear . Although i dont know where . But i do have a postcard with a picture - me and my parents . Everyone says it is a place in Britain , the english folks did . It was a baby me . But now , i cannot remember for the life of me where i am from , my name , my everything . The villagers , they took me in . Incredibly kind of them , " old rosa told pidge fondly .

" Why have you come ? " she had asked pidge . " Because i am pregnant , and to run away , because my relatives will speak to me unkindly if they knew , and i did not want to disappoint my parents and everyone around me again , " pidge sighed . She crossed her arms , unsure if she made a good decision or not telling her . Old rosa simply smiled , wrinkles becoming even more prominent . " I have a child myself - she has a baby boy . She can help you , if you want . The doctor is her husband . They can help you , but they might get a bit too excited about a new baby , " old rosa laughed . Pidge giggled , despairingly remembering what lance said about her giggles and laughs . How cute and bell-tinkly they were .

Oh , how she wished he was here to help her , but only the crevices of her mind said . She had long pushed him away , for the sake of her sanity . Her eyes welled up a bit nonetheless , and she gently thumbed over her stomach . That day , she had woke up alone and cold - perhaos it was for the best . At least you didnt pay for the motel room , a tiny thought sparked . It didnt help much , but a shimmer of hope tugged at her heart . Maybe she could pull through , with or without lance .

Old rosa present a bowl of rice and two poached eggs inside . " I really couldnt do much - i just wanted to make something quick for you my dear . Besides , the resources man hasnt arrived yet . On sunday he will , and on sunday we can go visit him for food . Yes , we are self-sufficient , but the doctor needs items . The resources man is very kind . He gives us what we need for free . I think the government set aside money for us - very kind of them . "

Pidge quickly came to realize her chatter as she ate . She smiled , breaking the poached egg and deciding to mix it with her rice . Old rosa just kept smiling , talking on and on about everything . It felt so nice - like her brother and mother fussing over every little thing that happened to pidge every day .

Another flicker of sadness - how lonely she was . If only she had her family , her lance - no , not her lance . He was just a little crush . That is all . But homesickness struck - how far away was she from her family ? It was selfish of her to leave .

The red haired girl came back in . She spoke in their mixed language - " The van , we tried to make it more homely , rearranged items but kept in sight . You do not have much , so we gave you some blankets and a mattress and pillows and clothes . "

Yes , this wasnt home , but pidge could deal with it .

As the year went by , pidge quickly upholstered her van-home into a much homier place . She made a few good friends . Connor , the fabrics person , he was incredibly kind and sweet , came over often to check on her and drown her in soft wools and cashmeres of all colours . He felt oddly motherlike , perhaps because of his feminine preferances . Old rosa became increasingly motherlike too , taking more and more care of her . The red haired girl , osara , she made sure pidge had priority to make sire the baby would be safe , along with her .

Old rosas daughter , maybellina [ yes , maybelline the makeup brand however you spelled it played a part in this ] , was very kind and loving , like her mother . Her husband , tom , made sure she had checkups every now and then , sometimes popping over randomly to check on her .

Sometimes she would visit connor - he had a huge old castle as a house , his family hadi t for generations . Although he was lonely as the only one , it was fine by him . They were walking up a whole lot of stairs to his sewing and looming room thing , when he had abruptly asked : " Pidge , i was wondering , do you know someone called katie holt ? You come from somewhere else , right ? I have told you before , i study at the garrison . Someone called katie holt , she had disappeared . I heard her parents , her brother and his boyfriend , they have been searching endlessly . They do not know where to find her anymore , " connor said . Oops , yikers ! Haha , no good . Thats all pidges mind provided before shutting off .

So she just stared at him blankly , before connor being the huge softie he is , started blushing and buried his face into her hair , murmuring something along the lines of " im too soft for this . "

And that , my friends , is how the start of something more than a friendship begin . Perhaps pidges mind shutting off helped .

_______________________________________

Lance had firstly , freaked out after pidge went missing and secondly , spent his weekends trying to find clues of her anywhere . So when connor , the nice guy [ actually nice ] asked him what he was doing in the middle of class , he decided to just spill the beans for the sake of his sanity and his already sad heart . " She used to go by the name of pidge . Pidge gunderson . Shes the fu-ing cutest girl youll ever see , " lance had ended . Yes , he self censored himself . Connor was still pure .

Oddly enough , connors eyes seem to be interest at the name of pidge . And even more weirder , he asked lance to be his teammate for this science project on fabric tendancies . The garrison is weird , dont question it . So connor invited him to his home , which worked out well cause all weekend lance just went pidge mode . And he decided to pry more cause he seemed to know a bit .

So that weekend , he saw a girl with long hair that vaguely looked like katie holt . " This is a pidge i know , " connor said . And oh fuck , it clicked in his head - connor's brain shut off after realizing what he did .

Pidge had changed - her hair became longer , more fluffy . Lighter coloured too , from spending time outside . And the most prominent change - she had a baby . With curly blonde hair . And blue eyes .

In lances mind , he couldnt fathom why he had ever decided to leave the motel room anymore . And neither did pidge .

_________________________________________

In the end , everything ended with a flurry of kisses and love , before night struck , and the next morning lance had left again . He had to go to school , which was logical of him . So she didnt put it against him , just helped him get ready and said bye at the door , albeit sadly .

_________________________________________

The years went by . Her little dilapitated house was finally put together . What little she had , pidge tried to make the best of it . She slept with her two children to keep them warm .

Yep , child uno numbero two . I dont know spanish , sorry . I am trying my best on duolingo , though .

Connor still checked up on her , lance still asked about her . He was like the middleman . Poor guy had a affinity for both of them .

One day , lance showed up randomly with a nice suit and a sexy , sleek black car . " Pidge , your parents . They are trying to pry anything about you from me and connors cold , dead hands . Just go back to them , please . Im sorry i didnt have the heart to come visit . "

For whatever reason , it sounded so halfhearted for both of them . Maybe because lance didnt want to make her leave her home and talk to her about it . And they both knew it .

Pidge , she felt hostile .

So she made sure her children never spoke to him if he came .

The next time , he tried to coax her to leave with him to go home . Not happening .

The third time , lance got hella pissed , and started packing up their things . " Lance , why are you doing this ? I dont want to go back . "

And lance softened . " Because i want to take care of you . I finally found you , finally get to see my children , and i finally have money to take care of my family . "

Pidge dragged him out . " Ill consider it . "

_______________________________________

The next time he visited , pidge was ready to leave . " Ive said my goodbyes , said ill come visit . Dont let me down . "

The first thing they did was pack up her items . Put it in her old refurbished van , and while pidge drove his car , and lance drove her old van .

They went to the village , said one last goodbye , and with heavy hearts left . But something inside of pidge lightened . She was finally going home .

__________________________________________

Osara , old rosa , maybellina , tom , connor , they all came to visit pidge and lance when they got married . Their children - samantha for the older curly blonde and girasol for the younger straight black haired - were the little bridesmaids . How cute .

When matt and shiro got married , everyone came back again to celebrate .

Years went by . The village finally got internet , so lance and pidge got the occasional call , and called here and there . Connor and pidge and lance were still as close and cutesy as ever . They visited the village , watched it grow and expand . Helped pidges old friends out . They dragged connor out of a abusive marriage that firstly , left him with seven children , and secondly , a lot of freedom .

And life was nice . Even though pidges family were heavy pissed , they got over it within minutes and only had love left . Even when times got rough with connor when his family was slowly falling apart because of his wife , he managed to kick her out . Very nice .

And a lot nice things happened that lead them to a nice little marriage again , with a epic threesome . Yay for me wanting fluff ! Yay for connor , poor guy !

Fin

__________________________________________

I warned you , the ending was rushed .

Heres the original draft [ read for loss of braincells ] :

DURING HIGH SCHOOL LANCE AND PIDGE DID THE DEED , PIDGE GOT PREGGERS , LANCE SAID BYE AND SO PIDGE ENDED UP MOVING TO A RURAL AREA CAUSE SHE WAS SCARED HER FAM WOULD FYCKING HATE HER DUMBASS SO SHE PACKS UP AND GETS MONEY FROM WHEREVER SHE KNOWS OF AND THEN SHE JUST TAKES A BUS RIDE FAR FAR AWAY SOMEWHERE SO SHE COULD SAVE MONRY AND BE SELF SUFFICIENT IN A RURAL SHITHOLE AND ALL SO SHE LIVES IN A SHITTY DILAPITATED COTTAGE WITH HER KID WITH VIRTUALLY NOTHING LILE LITERALLY NOTHING ALL THE CLOTHES SHE HAS ITS FROM DUMPSTERS IN THE CITY AND THERES ONE FUCKING MATTRESS IN THE ONE ROOM AND LIKE A TABLE WITH TWO CHAIRS THATS IT BUT PIDGE SOMEHOW MANAGES TO WEASEL MONEY INTO HER FAMILY AND ALL AND ONE DAY LANCEP ULLS UP YEARS AFTER IN A FANCY FUCKING CAR AND SAYS HEY SORRY SHES LIKE NO FUCK YOU BUT LANCE COMES BACK THE SECOND TIME AND PIDGES LIKE KID DONT COME OUT IF THUS CUNT COMES BUT EVENT7ALLY THE THIRD TIME HE WRANGLES HER INTO HIS CAR BY LITERALLY TAKING THEIR SHIT AND SAYING YOURE MOVING AND HE ASKS HER KID TO FOLLOW HIM AND THE DUMBASS KIDS LIKE UH MOM LOL OK SO THEN PIDGES LIEK WHAT THE FUCK AND HE FORCES THEM TO HIS HOUSE SO THEY CAN LIVE A BETTER LIFE AND HIS KID WONT BE FUCKING UNEDUCATED AND UNVAXXED AND EVERYTHING AND HE CAN ACTUALLY MAKE IT UP TO PIDGE AND THAT PIDGE CAN GO HOME TO HER FAMILY SO PIDGES LIKE WHY AND HOW THE FUCK DID YOU FIND ME AND LANCE JUST SAYS HE SPENT FUCKING YEARS GOING FULL ON SHERLOCK HOLMES TO FIND HER DEADASS SO BECAUSE HER KID LIKES LANCE SHES LIKE FUCK OK SO EVENTUALLY THEY KISS KISS FALL IN LOVE BAM END YAAAAS

HWEN I SAID GOD AU I MEANT IT THIS HAS BEEN IN MY HEAD FOR MO N T H A

ANYWAY ELABORATING ON KISS KISS FALL IN LOVE HE GETS THEM A EPIC NICE HOUSE AND NEW CLOTHES AND SHIT AND CHECKS ON PIDGE AND HER KID EVERY FIVE SECONDS TO MAKE SURE THEYRE OKAT AND HE PLAYS WITH PIDGES KID EVEN WHEN HE HAS LITERALLY NO TIME LIKE HES WEARING FANCY CLOTHES AND HAS A CONFERNECE AT 3PM BUT ITS 255 AND HES STILL PLAYING WITH HER KID NADP IDGE HAS TO FORCE HIS DUMBASD TO LEAVE AND DO THE MONRY MONEY SO PIDGES LIKE HEY KID DO YOU LIKE PLAYING WITH HIM HAHA HES YOUR FUCKING DAD AND SHES LIKE WOOOAAAHHHH CAUSE SHES A DUMBASS KID SO DUMB KID LOVES LANCE RVEN MORE AND PIDGES LIKE I TILD HER YOURE HER DAD OKAY ILL GO COOK POTATOES NOW AND LANCE IS HAPPY HAPPY SO AFTER THE HAPPY HAPPY LANCE GOES INTO THE GUEST ROOM TO TALK TO PISGE CAUSE THATS HER HOME NOW AND THEY JUST DECIDE TO PUT AWAY THEIR UNDERLYING ISSIES FOR THEIR KID AND BECAUSE SEX MAKES EVERYTHING BETTER THEY HAVE SEX AND WOW LOOK PIDGES PREGNANT AGAIN FOR FUCKS SAKE SO LANCE TAKES CARE OF PIDGE LEGIT NOW AND GETS PIDGE A FUTURE JOB AFTER SHES DONE WITH CHILD OUT AND ALL SO ITS ANOTHER DUMB KID WHOOPIE WOWOWOWOWWO WHO FUCKING KNEW SO NOW HER FIRST KIDS LIKE TWO YEARS OLD BECAUSE THE ORIGINAL KID THAT SHE AND LANCE FUCKED WAS DEAD YEAH IT DIED BUT SHE WENT TO A CLUB AND FUCKED DRUNK LANCE AGAIN AND LEFT OR SOMETHING GOD ONOWS WHAT HAPPENED CAUSE LANCE SURE AS HELL DOESNT SO NOW PIDGE IS LIKE OH MAYBE HE ISNT A SHITBAG AND LANCES LIKE HEY HOT MARRY ME AND SHES LIKE LOL OK SO THEY KISSED KISSED FALLED IN LOVED

#plance #pidgance #voltron pidge #voltron lance #voltron #vld pidge #vld lance #cloudyhadachanceofwatering

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juju-on-that-yeet · 5 years ago

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It Takes a Village, Chapter 10/12

The Host goes to Dr. Iplier's clinic for his typical weekly bandage change and eye cleaning. Not so typical is Yandere's presence there, but it's not a bad change.

Tags: @tired-eldritchhorror @peribloke (ask to be tagged!)

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9

Read on AO3!

Enjoy!

It’s a bright morning in the clinic when the Host goes in for a bandage change. He changes his bandages himself every day; he has to, lest he bleed all over everything. But he goes to Dr. Iplier once a week to get his eye sockets and the area around them thoroughly cleaned, since Host can’t clean them very well himself. He always looks forward to these weekly appointments, not just because they make him feel more comfortable, but because they give him an excuse to spend time with Dr. Iplier. Not that he really needs one, but Dr. Iplier tends to be so busy with his practice, and Host enjoys having an hour where he has his doctor’s full attention. Now that Dr. Iplier has reduced his patient base to just the egos, Host enjoys the appointments even more. Of course, it means that the last couple appointments haven’t been as private as before, given that Yandere has to be in the room for Dr. Iplier to keep half an eye on. But Host can’t be bothered by it when he walks into cute scenes like the one before him now.

Dr. Iplier has Yandere sat on an examination table (Host can tell by the rustling Yandere makes as he moves), but instead of examining him, he’s playing peek-a-boo. Host hears him talking to Yandere as he walks in, and his quiet narration fills in the image of Dr. Iplier covering his eyes with both hands before playfully opening them, revealing Yandere, who giggles with excitement every time as Dr. Iplier exclaims that he’s found him. After a few repetitions, Dr. Iplier covers his eyes again and speaks pointedly.

“Ohhhhh, I sure hope Yandere keeps giggling,” he says, “Because if he stops giggling, I won’t be able to find him again!”

Yandere takes the hint, covering his mouth with both hands to stifle his own giggles. He’s not very good at it, but he’s definitely quieter than before. Dr. Iplier’s expression changes to exaggerated surprise and confusion, and he looks around, still covering his eyes.

“Now, where did that baby go?” he asks, “I could’ve sworn he was right here in front of me! Oh, Yaaaan,” he calls, “Where are youuuu?”

Yandere starts to giggle harder, but he keeps his mouth covered, squirming with the effort it takes to keep quiet. Despite how much louder he is, Dr. Iplier can tell he’s still trying to be quiet, and keeps looking around for Yandere and calling his name. Finally, he sighs.

“Well, I just can’t find him!” he exclaims. “Whatever should I do? Poor little Yan, he probably got lost somewhere, or maybe he’s out being a troublemaker!” Yandere continues to giggle, now closer to laughter as he loses what little composure he had. “I guess I’ll just have to leave and go look for him,” Dr. Iplier laments, beginning to step away.

“Ahn ‘ere!” Yandere yells, hardly decipherable through his laughter. Dr. Iplier jumps, and his jaw drops.

“Yan? Is that you??” He looks wildly around, eyes still covered. “Where did you go??”

“‘Ere!” Yandere laughs, reaching out and tugging on Dr. Iplier’s sleeve.

Dr. Iplier finally uncovers his eyes, looking at Yandere with a big smile.

“There you are, you goofball!” he exclaims, putting his hands on his hips. “I was looking everywhere for you! What do you have to say for yourself?”

Yandere can’t reply; he’s laughing too hard to speak.

“Well, you know what happens to naughty babies!” Dr. Iplier says, suddenly scooping Yandere up.

“Nooooooo!” Yandere shrieks.

Dr. Iplier brings Yandere close and blows a long raspberry into his cheek. Yandere squeals and squirms, but it’s clear he enjoys every moment of it. When Dr. Iplier stops, he peers at Yandere.

“Did you learn your lesson?”

Yandere nods, grinning.

“Hmmm…I better do it one more time, just in case!”

He blows a raspberry into Yandere’s other cheek, even longer than the first one, giving Yandere another laughing fit. After that raspberry ends, Yandere hugs Dr. Iplier’s neck, giggling.

“Lub Dada!” he exclaims.

“Love you, too, sweetheart,” Dr. Iplier, laughing a little himself.

As much as Host hates to interrupt, he does want to get his eyes cleaned, so he chooses this moment to continue into the clinic and approach Dr. Iplier. The doctor looks up to see him come in, and Host doesn’t need his narration to see Dr. Iplier’s smile.

“Hey,” Dr. Iplier greets, still chuckling.

“Good morning, Doctor,” Host replies, “Having fun, are we?”

“‘Ost!” Yandere exclaims.

“Yes.” Host answers Yandere with a grin. “That’s correct.”

“I’m guessing you’re here for your bandage change?” Dr. Iplier asks. He smiles when Host nods. “Alright then, go ahead and sit down like usual and I’ll put this one in his playpen.”

It’s muscle memory that guides Host to the examination table to sit on. He’s done this so many times before that he hardly needs his narration to move around the clinic. He does use a little narration in order to see Dr. Iplier putting Yandere in his playpen, though.

“Be good, hon,” Dr. Iplier tells him, “I’m gonna check Host’s eyes and then I’m gonna play with you some more.”

“Pay now!” Yandere whines as Dr. Iplier walks away.

“We just played a minute ago,” Dr. Iplier says, gathering supplies, “It’s Host’s turn now.”

Yandere pouts, and Host grins as he narrates it.

“Would you call this “playing”?” Host asks Dr. Iplier as he walks up to him. Dr. Iplier snorts.

“Smartass,” Dr. Iplier chuckles, voice quiet so Yandere won’t hear it. Host can’t help but find it endearing that Dr. Iplier makes such an effort to censor himself, even though Yandere normally swears more than Dr. Iplier does.

It’s a strange thing, seeing Dr. Iplier like this. Not that Host is unfamiliar with his and Yandere’s relationship; Dr. Iplier had told him about it not long after Yandere became his son. But Yandere, for all his emotional needs, is self-sufficient at his core. He doesn’t need someone to raise him or protect him, or at least, he didn’t when he was normal. He depends on Dr. Iplier for everything in his current state, and to Host, it’s a little amazing to see how Dr. Iplier responds. Any new behavior from anyone attracts his attention; he’s a writer, after all. But he can’t help but be further endeared to Dr. Iplier when he sees how lovingly he treats Yandere now.

Host had always thought that Dr. Iplier would make a good father.

He’s pulled out of his reverie as Dr. Iplier removes his bandages. Host doesn’t mind the removal, even with Yandere in the room, but it instinctively startles him every time. He no longer jumps when Dr. Iplier touches his bandages, at least. His eyes–eye sockets, really–always feel strange without them, though. He blinks a few times to get rid of the feeling.

“Everything looks pretty normal,” Dr. Iplier says as he tosses the bandages in the garbage, “It doesn’t seem like you’ve been bleeding any more than usual, and you don’t seem to be bleeding much right now.” Host hears the sink running, likely as Dr. Iplier wets a cloth to clean up the worst of the blood. When he returns to Host, he pauses. “You ready for me to start?”

“Yes,” Host answers, smiling a little. He can practically feel Dr. Iplier’s returned smile in the air as the doctor starts to wipe away the blood.

Dr. Iplier always asks before he starts, but truthfully, this is Host’s favorite part of the weekly appointment. It’s relaxing to feel the warmth of the cloth, a relief to feel the blood come off his skin. Old blood congeals and dried blood sticks, so he always looks forward to getting all completely removed. He’d ask Dr. Iplier to do it for him every day if he could.

The next part is the part he hates.

Dr. Iplier finishes cleaning around his eye sockets, wiping his eyelids as well, before sitting the cloth down. Host can hear rustling as he gets his next tools ready: Sponges, some gauze, and a short pair of forceps, things normally used during surgery. This part of the exam tends to feel a bit like surgery anyway, though, at least to Host. Dr. Iplier seems to sense his apprehension and sighs.

“I know you don’t like this part,” Dr. Iplier sighs, “But you’ll feel–”

“–Better after it’s over, I know,” Host interrupts, “That does not make it any more pleasant.”

Dr. Iplier gently takes Host’s chin and kisses him softly. Host kisses back, despite his unease.

“I know,” Dr. Iplier murmurs, “But it’ll only get worse if you put it off. Remember when you’d just recently lost your eyes and wouldn’t let me clean them for a month?”

“That’s different,” Host mumbles. He feels a slight puff of breath on his face as Dr. Iplier holds in a laugh.

“Same idea, though,” Dr. Iplier insists, “If we put this off for another week it’ll be twice as bad. I don’t want you hurting any more than you have to.”

Host simply grunts, relenting. He knows Dr. Iplier is right, and he knows it’s best to get it over with. He hears Dr. Iplier move into position to begin, with forceps near Host’s left eye (Host can feel the metal ghosting over his eye socket).

“Ready for me to start?” Dr. Iplier asks, just as he did earlier.

“Yes,” Host answers, less happily this time.

This process, unlike the earlier wiping of Host’s cheeks, is laborious and painful. The forceps first move in to pull out tendrils and clots of congealed blood. The space in the eye socket is small enough that Host can feel whenever the forceps close around a clump of blood, and therefore has a moment to anticipate and dread the blood being pulled away. Most clots give easily but the sensation is crawling, uncomfortable, itchy in a way that nearly feels like pain. Host can’t even narrate to distract himself; it’d make his eyes bleed and prolong the cleaning process. He clutches the edge of the exam table he’s sitting on to keep from reflexively pushing Dr. Iplier’s hands away. One clot is particularly large and comes away with a wet, slithery pop that Host feels more than hears, and he can’t hold back a gasp.

“I know, I’m sorry,” Dr. Iplier murmurs, dabbing at the trickle of blood that starts to run from the edge of Host’s eye socket with a square of gauze.

Fortunately or unfortunately, most of the blood that’s dislodged by the clots stays pooled in Host’s eye socket. Every so often, Dr. Iplier goes in with surgical sponges to soak some of it up. It’s not as uncomfortable as the forceps, but it still makes the socket feel full and thick. It’s not nearly enough of a reprieve from the clot-pulling, but it’s all Host gets.

“Dada!” Yandere suddenly shouts from his playpen.

“One moment, sweetheart,” Dr. Iplier says, not looking away from Host, “I’m almost done here.”

Though Host still isn’t narrating, he can picture Yandere’s annoyed pout. Host knows normal Yandere to be clingy and attention-seeking, but it seems baby Yandere has him beat. A few moments later and Host’s eye is cleaned…still leaving one more to go. Host sighs as he loosens his grip on the edge of the table.

“Take a breather,” Dr. Iplier tells him, “I’ll do the other eye in a minute.” Host just nods.

He hears Dr. Iplier walks away to scoop up Yandere, and knows when the baby is in Dr. Iplier’s arms by his giggle. Dr. Iplier murmurs to him as he walks back to the Host, and Host can’t help but smile.

“I haven’t seen you so enamored by anything since you first fell in love with me,” Host muses. Dr. Iplier laughs.

“I hope you’re not jealous,” he says, “Yan’s just too cute like this.” He pauses. “Though, he’s been like this for a long while now, hasn’t he? I wonder when he’ll change back.”

“I couldn’t tell you,” Host replies, “I’ve tried to find out, but Wilford and Bim’s magic is unpredictable.”

“Yeah, I figured.” Dr. Iplier sighs. “I don’t know, maybe…maybe it’d be better if he stayed like this. That way he can’t get into fights, or have self-esteem and mental health issues all the time, or…”

“Trouble and strife follow figments wherever they go,” Host reminds him, “I don’t need to remind you of what happened in Ed’s nursery, or of the kidnapping incident. No matter how old Yandere is, the same problems will always arise.”

“I guess,” Dr. Iplier mutters, as Yandere coos in his arms.

Host grins, and spares a sentence of narration to see Dr. Iplier enough to lean forward and kiss him. Dr. Iplier hums against his lips, stepping closer. After a few moments, Yandere whines from between them.

“Gib giss!” he cries, reaching for Dr. Iplier’s chin and smacking Host in the process. The pair break apart in laughter.

“Do you know how many kisses you get every day?” Dr. Iplier chides playfully. He kisses Yandere’s cheeks anyway before he can reply, making him laugh. “You’re gonna be disappointed when I put you down in a minute.”

Ah, right, Host’s other eye. He’d nearly forgotten–or rather, he’d nearly made himself forget. He’s not looking forward to it, but he hopes it’s not as bad as the first eye. Dr. Iplier seems to notice his apprehension, and goes quiet for several moments.

“What?” Host asks.

“I think maybe you need something to distract you,” Dr. Iplier says, “Maybe…”

Suddenly, Yandere is on Host’s lap.

“Edward–!” Host gasps, grabbing onto Yandere quickly so he doesn’t fall, “Edward, take him back! I can’t hold him!”

“Sure you can,” Dr. Iplier replies gently, “He’s not going to fuss as long as I’m right here. And maybe if your focus is on having a baby in your lap then you won’t feel so uncomfortable during the treatment.”

So far, Dr. Iplier is right. Yandere doesn’t squirm or whine, instead sits calmly in Host’s lap. Host can feel Yandere lean back against his chest and tilt his head up, no doubt to look at Dr. Iplier.

“I thought you were worried about traumatizing him,” Host points out, “He’s sure to see blood if he stays here.”

“He’s been in the room that last few times I’ve cleaned your eyes,” Dr. Iplier reminds him, “I think he’s probably used to it by now.” Host can almost hear the kind smile on his face. “Give it a try, won’t you, Isaac?”

Host holds back a groan. He can’t resist Dr. Iplier when he uses Host’s real name, and they both know it.

“Fine,” Host mutters, “But you better take him back if I ask.”

“Of course,” Dr. Iplier replies, kissing Host’s cheek, and then kissing Yandere’s cheek so he doesn’t feel left out again.

After a few moments of rustling while Dr. Iplier prepares his tools, he holds his forceps just before Host’s eyes socket, the one yet to be cleaned.

“Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

It’s not any less painful or uncomfortable than the first round, but it’s also not any worse. Host’s hands tighten around Yandere as he fights the urge to push Dr. Iplier’s hands away, and Host can feel him move around in response: Not squirming, but readjusting, trying to figure out why he’s being squeezed.

“Ost?” Yandere says. Host can feel Yandere leaning back against him to look at his face.

“The Host is getting his eyes cleaned,” Host says, wincing as he feels another clot come out.

“Why?” Yandere asks.

“The Host has no eyes,” Host explains, “And his eye sockets get dirty.”

“Why?”

“Why the Host has no eyes, or why his eye sockets get dirty?”

Yandere pauses, confused.

“Why??”

“The Host’s eye sockets get dirty when he uses his powers. Dr. Iplier has to clean them.”

“Why?”

“If he didn’t, the blood would build up and it wouldn’t feel good.”

“Why?”

“Sticky, dried blood doesn’t feel good.”

“Why?”

“Doesn’t being sticky make you feel bad?”

“No.”

“Ah. Well, it makes adults uncomfortable.”

“Why?”

“That’s enough, kiddo,” Dr. Iplier interjects, clearly holding in laughter. “You’ll be here all day answering his questions,” he tells Host.

It’s then Host realizes that Dr. Iplier is nearly done cleaning out his eye socket. He’s using gauze to soak up the last of the blood, and after that, all that’s left is to bandage Host’s eyes again. Host had been so focused on holding Yandere and answering his incessant questions that he’d barely felt Dr. Iplier cleaning his eyes.

“Did my idea work?” Dr. Iplier asks, cheeky grin obvious in his voice.

“Yes,” Host admits, sighing, “You’re going to be insufferable for the rest of the day, now.”

“You’re welcome!” Dr. Iplier laughs, removing the last bit of gauze from Host’s eye. “You’re all set, I just have to bandage you back up again. Are you good to keep Yan on your lap for a bit longer?”

“I suppose,” Host says, “He’s very calm. I’ve heard from others that he’s rather fussy.”

“He’s not too bad when he’s near me.” Dr. Iplier presses a pad of gauze over one of Host’s eye sockets, securing it with a strip of medical tape. “He just knows what he likes.”

Host grins in agreement, letting the conversation lapse into peaceful silence. Although this part of the appointment isn’t quite as nice as the first cleaning, he still enjoys it. Once the gauze pads are secured over his eye sockets (to provide an extra layer of absorption and a bit more cushioning), Dr. Iplier wraps a long strip of gauze over Host’s eye sockets and around his head. He’s always slow, methodical, careful not to trap or pull Host’s hair or create an uncomfortable wrinkle in the bandage.

“You know I’ll have to change this tomorrow morning, right?” Host quips.

“So?” Dr. Iplier asks, not speeding up, “You deserve comfortable bandages, even if it’s only for a day.”

Host just hums and lets silence fill the air again. Even Yandere is quiet, sitting placidly on Host’s lap, probably watching Dr. Iplier work. This part of the appointment is always the most peaceful, and Host enjoys it. He sometimes feels he could fall asleep like this, with Dr. Iplier’s skilled hands wrapping up his eyes and brushing against his hair or cheek every so often. He stays awake, though, and hears the snip of Dr. Iplier cutting the bandage away from the roll, finishing up by tying and tucking in the end.

“How’s it feel?” he asks, just like always.

“Perfect,” Host replies. And it’s true; the bandage is snug but not tight, smooth and comfortable. “You can take Yandere back now.”

“Alright,” Dr. Iplier laughs, scooping Yandere up and out of Host’s lap. “Say thank you to Host for holding you and answering your questions, Yan!”

“Thangyu!” Yandere exclaims.

“You’re welcome, Yandere,” Host replies, smiling. He jumps off the examination table as Dr. Iplier carries Yandere back to his playpen.

Host narrates to himself, watching Dr. Iplier in his mind’s eye. Dr. Iplier kisses the top of Yandere’s head and gives him a wooden block to play with, soft-eyed and smiling adoringly all the while. Warmth curls in Host’s chest to see his doctor so happy. They’ve both been around a while, at least for figments, and Dr. Iplier’s been through so much. Admittedly, some of it was Host’s own fault, and he cringes to think back on it. But Dr. Iplier is happy now, and he deserves it, more than anyone.

Before Host can think twice about it, he walks up to Dr. Iplier and hugs him from behind. Dr. Iplier laughs, surprised.

“Hi,” he says, craning his head around to look at Host, “What is it?”

“Nothing,” Host answers, “You’re handsome, is all.”

“Well, thank you,” Dr. Iplier chuckles, turning around in Host’s arms, “You look pretty good yourself, especially now that your eyes are clean.”

“Are you trying to say I should leave now that my treatment is over?”

“No, just pointing out the quality of my work.”

“When did you get such a swelled head?”

“Hey, I was made by Mark, wasn’t…I…”

Through their playful banter, their faces got closer and closer together, and Dr. Iplier’s words die down as he notices. Host closes the last bit of distance with a kiss, and Dr. Iplier reciprocates without hesitation. His arms wrap around Host as Host’s arm travels up Dr. Iplier’s back to cup his cheek. When the kiss ends, they don’t pull away before kissing again, and again, Host’s hand raking through Dr. Iplier’s hair, and Dr. Iplier clutching Host’s trenchcoat. When they do finally pull away, they’re still so close they can feel each other’s breath on their lips.

“Speaking of swelled heads…” Host whispers with a sly grin.

“Host!” Dr. Iplier hisses, smacking him in the shoulder, “Yan is right here!!”

“He’s not paying attention to us,” Host says, “He hasn’t looked up from his blocks.”

It’s true; Yandere hasn’t made a peep since Host hugged Dr. Iplier. Judging by his earlier protest at Dr. Iplier giving Host affection, he must not have noticed their kisses this time. Dr. Iplier looks behind himself to see Yandere concentrating on stacking his blocks, and Host narrates quietly to see the same. He also sees the blush coloring Dr. Iplier’s cheeks, how his eyes are still a little glazed, and he sees the smooth curve of Dr. Iplier’s neck as he turns to look at Yandere. Host can’t help but press his lips there, softly at first.

“Host! Ah–” Dr. Iplier squeaks as Host’s kisses along his neck quickly get rougher. “Host, we can’t–ah–not right here, not in front of–oh–”

“Then we move,” Host says lifting his head from Dr. Iplier’s neck. “Your room is only around twenty-three steps from here.”

“What–!” Dr. Iplier turns red; Host doesn’t have to use his narration to know it. “How do you know that!? Why do you know that??”

“It’s an estimate,” Host admits, “But we’ve made that walk before, Edward.” He grins. “Many times, if you recall.” He kisses Dr. Iplier’s still-hot cheek. “We won’t be subjecting Yandere to anything, and we’ll still be close if he needs you.”

“Okay, fine,” Dr. Iplier relents, “But we have to make it quick, alright? I don’t want to leave him alone for long.”

Host gives himself a moment to narrate Dr. Iplier’s still-flushed cheeks, his eyes cloudy with desire, his mouth half-open to pant, and the mark on his neck slowly turning red.

“We’ll see,” Host says, before dipping down and putting his lips to that mark again.

“Isaac, you insufferable–mm, yes, there–” Dr. Iplier gasps, as they fumble through the twenty-three-odd steps to Dr. Iplier’s bedroom in record time. One of them somehow has the presence of mind to close the door behind them, leaving the clinic empty, save for one.

Yandere, still focused on his wooden blocks, doesn’t notice.

#dr. iplier #the host markiplier #yandereplier #dr. host #markiplier #kristin says stuff #my writing #it takes a village #host is a thot and i won't apologize for it

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waldbrown · 6 years ago

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Are shorts enough? When avant-garde filmmakers have larger audience aspirations

One more installment in the vein of independent filmmaking, manifestos, and carving a career out of a market that does not necessarily represent the type of films one makes.

Dreams of a first feature

When I first met Akosua Adoma Owusu, in the lobby of a hostel in Berlin in 2014, she told me about her plans to shoot a feature film. She was attending Berlinale Talents with a feature script in one of the workshops, and was beginning to navigate the constellation of producers, co-producers, and distributors one almost inevitably needs to pull off an independent feature today (an idea which I explored in my first writing this semester on Med Hondo’s 1979 article “What is the cinema for us?”). As we’ve seen each other once every year or so since then, I’ve been fascinated to hear about the developments with this feature, as I, like many, have aspirations to shoot another feature film and to do so with sufficient production funding and opportunities for international release.

It is freaking tough to fund a feature film

If this was a journalistic article, right about now would be a great place for a nut graf on how, in the independent film industry, it is very difficult to get enough funds together to make a movie, especially a director’s first feature film. On how so many of these filmmakers spend years applying with limited success to grants and residencies that are seen as a gateway to getting the production done. That, to a surprisingly large number of filmmakers who take pride in the “art” element of their films, commercial cinematic release is still viewed as an ultimate space of sharing work with audiences. Short films, to many, are a stepping stone, a space to test out ideas and aesthetics in the hopes that funding could come through for something bigger: a feature. Something the film festivals will pay to fly one in to present. Something that would be of interest to international distributors looking to make a deal that would, for the first time in the filmmaker’s life, pay off the budget they spent making the movie. This money would lead to another, bigger production, and so on. They might not have Avengers-caliber productions in their sights, but they certainly have films such as Moonlight, Birdman, and 12 Years A Slave. After all, these films won Academy Awards while retaining an artistic voice...and made quite a bit of money while doing it.

Wait--does everyone need to make a feature?

So this year, in our most recent meeting, I did not expect to hear that Adoma, for the time being, has put the feature aside in order to focus on short films. She was staying with my family during the Dallas International Film Festival, where we had films in the same Documentary Shorts block. A Film Crew Censors Itself is possibly my most experimental film yet--which doesn’t say much--employing a crude censor block to hide the identities of its characters, all of whom are real people working on a film set in a beach resort north of Jeddah, Saudi Arabia. Adoma’s film, Pelourinho: They Don’t Really Care About Us, features voiceover narration of a letter by a frustrated W.E.B. DuBois to the US Embassy in Brazil, and the Embassy’s response, around the issue of Brazil denying stay to black Americans whom it accused of trying to “settle” the country. Adoma cleverly juxtaposes this letter against the backdrop of a festive Pelourinho, the historic center of Salvador de Bahia, adorned with flags and pastel-soaked walls. Pelourinho is also the site of Michael Jackson’s music video “They Don’t Really Care About Us,” pieces of which Adoma hints at towards the end of the film, prior to closing with Pelourinho residents repeating the words of the song in Portuguese. As one after another faces the camera and recites the song’s chorus, “They don’t really care about us,” the audience cannot help but wonder if the experience of DuBois, an outsider, relates in some way to Pelourinho’s own residents.

This film reminded me of Adoma’s past work, careful collages of colorful imagery, patterns, and symbols, occasionally bolstered by a poetic narration. In her film Reluctantly Queer (Berlinale 2016), for example, the camera makes its way pensively throughout its protagonist’s apartment as the character recites, through voiceover, a letter he has written to his mother in Ghana. Through their experimentation with technique, as well as a fondness for veering from traditional narrative, Adoma’s films recall many of the avant-garde works we viewed in our class this semester (one of which, Intermittent Delight, she directed).

Speaking in the car on one of Dallas’s many highways, Adoma pondered whether she would ever make the feature film. After all, short films give her a space to experiment free from the control of producers or external funders. In most cases, she doesn’t need a large team to pull off a short. Some of the works she has made entirely on her own. Many of the obstacles inhibiting her feature project from taking off were posed from within her small network of collaborators.

When we discussed the matter again in front of an audience after one of our screenings, I was surprised to hear that, unlike other friends dead-set on making their first or second feature film, Adoma has for the time being cast the feature film aside completely. She has reached a level of contentment knowing that she’ll continue to make short films.

Can one carve a career out of short films?

I am brainstorming ways one could make a commercially viable career in the world of shorts, and particularly experimental shorts. It’s tough. I imagine that a particularly technical skill or interest could pay off in opportunities to prototype for VR, for example, or animation, but this quickly renders one’s services to others rather than dedicating them to the production of their own art.

Another avenue could be a shift to series, for television or YouTube, perhaps. Yet this almost inevitably requires work in larger teams, something Adoma voiced (and I concur) is not needed or suitable for many projects in the art realm.

There’s the possibility of a successful shorts career through festivals and on Vimeo, although there’s not really any means of making money going those routes.

If one is willing, an experimental shorts filmmaker could craft a career and keep their work artful by shooting high-brow, concept-based ads; such is the case with Steve McQueen, Spike Jonze, and a recent run-in at Dallas IFF this year, Daniel Scheinert. But it’s hard to imagine an experimental filmmaker not voicing frustration over the implications of shooting ads for clients. And, notably, the above names despite their art leanings have all directed widely distributed features already.

#cinema #africa #independent #filmmaking #ghana #chad

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wowheadquarters · 6 years ago

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Interview with Bolvar

Q: Hey, how's death going for you?

Bolvar: I mean, I suppose it’s fine, since I am, you know, actually still alive.

Q: What do you think of Sylvanas recent action?

Bolvar: I haven’t yet processed her less-recent actions, and I have been strongly advised not to think about her actions much. It would be very bad for my nerves and that would be very bad for my attempts not to go into... Lich-King-Crazy rampage?

Q: Apart from sitting on the throne and checking that no undead break orders, how do you spend your time?

Bolvar: I mostly stare at the wall. Sometime I get someone to talk to. Nothing much to do when I am frozen in a block of ice. I am seriously thinking about getting out of this ice block and have at least a stretch.

Q: Which is the lich with which you speak most willingly and which has proven most supportive to your "coronation"?

Bolvar: Y’know, everyone has been so supportive. I mostly get to talk to Lady Deathwhisper, since she is residing in the Citadel. She likes to chit chat, I am afraid she has been very lonely here for a long time.

Q: Having been his guardian, do you have any embarassing stories about little Anduin?

Bolvar: Yes. But it is not my place to share them.

Q: What do you think of the ship between you and lady Prestor a.k.a Onyxia?

Bolvar: This “ship” is an unit of distance, right? I hope it is.

Q: Are you starting to believe that the Horde and the Alliance should not be in charge and that maybe the Scourge should rule, because clearly the whole Horde vs Alliance isn't working.

Bolvar: While I am by now pretty much sure that the Alliance and the Horde are... a bunch of incompetent but armed kindergarden brats lacking sufficient supervision, I am not of the opinion the Scourge should rule anything either. Bolvar: I am constantly this close to succumbing to this very all-evil demon-spirit-whatever parasite whose power I have harnessed in my body. Bolvar: You know who should be in charge? Baine Bloodhoof. Or that Pandaren guy... Taran Zhu is the name, I believe? One of those.

Q: Is it annoying to have Arthas and his ego in your head?

Bolvar: Well... Not exactly in the way you put it. I haven’t got Arthas himself in my head, but I have sort of inherited his memories. And Ner’zhul’s memories with them. It can be sometimes very... confusing.

Q: And are all the death knights your new children?

Bolvar: Good gods, no! Bolvar: Maybe a little. Bolvar: But only some of them. Bolvar: Somebody needs to care about them.

Q: Have you ever thought about gain a mount? So... An undead tiger maybe?

Bolvar: I am sure that were I inneed to dravel, I’d be handed either an undead horse or a frost wyrm. Or undead gryphon. Bolvar: All felines, alive, undead or in any other state of being are in Naxxramas.

Q: Do you ever score quiet moments between governing the scourge forces? If so, how do you pass the time?

Bolvar: By being stuck to one place in a block of ice. Bolvar: Sometimes I explore this... mind connection I have to the Scourge. It’s a puzzling thing.

Q: Who is Taelia' s mother?

Bolvar: Oh, it was- Taedal: CENSORED! INTERVIEW CANCELLED! Bolvar: Who are you and how did you get in here even?

#warcraft #Interview with...#Bolvar Fordragon #World of Warcraft

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sidpah · 6 years ago

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Mirage Part 2

Tumult seemingly over, voice gone from the air along with the tingle of rampant electrons looking to escape their bounds, I rise, cradling my back with its heavy pack and a stomach that’s aching something fierce.

I walk a few steps but the sharp stabbing pain grows worse with each concrete tile that passes beneath my feet.

To my right is an upscale eatery of fine repute. Their bathroom would do nicely should that be the impending crisis. Likewise, I’m sure someone will call an ambulance if it turns out that I’m currently closer to death than even I often fear.

So in I go, feeling altogether filthy and disheveled and unwelcome, though no one seems to impose that opinion on me so much as I see myself as if I were one of them on soft velour benches in their freshly dry-cleaned and ironed blouses, shimmery, and business casual polos and blazers, tastefully drab.

How unkempt I must look and smell through all the showerless days in sickrooms and bamboo cages...

In the vestibule of this expensive restaurant adults clinging to their gentile children and chatting to business acquaintances are separated into two opposing lines, both patiently waiting to be seated. I check in, whereupon I’m told by an unattractive madam-type in deep crimson smoking jacket in the most conciliatory tones she can muster that there’ll be a significant wait, her hand, gripping a monogrammed ballpoint sweeps the masses as proof. I say “That’s okay, I’ll wait,” to which she suggests I try to make myself comfortable.

Inspired by my indulgent predecessors, I slip a hand into my front pocket and extract a lone bill, crumpled, stained, but watermarked, and apparently legal tender though the color and art seem wholly foreign to me. I have no idea of its value, but if it gets me seated immediately then my stomach values it at a small fortune. Hoping it’s sufficiently greasy for her proverbial palms, I make a great show of folding the bill into quarters, balancing it like a French cigarette between index and middle fingers, and then pushing the bill deep into her warm damp cleavage.

Her eyes narrow as she tightens the grip on her pen, but the left corner of her mouth turns into a tiny, narrow smile.

“Stay close by; I think I found an opening,” she tells me with a tight jaw…

I step away from the podium, realizing I need to pee; the feeling is starting to clarify itself beyond doubt, but I don’t want to leave my post and possibly miss them calling my name now that I paid for a table, and I am so damnably hungry; this realization comes in quick succession, and I must eat soon, lest I faint away once more... But the backpack is pressing on kidneys, and my belt is squishing bladder, and I am going to let it out either way.

So with no suitable alternative, I turn to the palm tree against the wall behind me, casually unzip, and look around as if admiring the framed art whose artists I don’t recognize; the actual paintings seem to change every time my eyes are diverted and return. And after a moment of tense negotiations with the musculature of penis and related waterworks, I begin urinating into the palm’s red pot.

A sharp finger taps me on the shoulder to suggest rather rudely that what I am doing may be considered improper. I mean to turn to suggest to him that I am merely admiring the decor and have no idea of what he might be insinuating, but I turn too fast, proceeding to not only douse his legs, but send a long yellow stream across matching crimson Persian rug, striking the other line of starving patrons.

A Japanese mother holding her tiny baby against her shoulder crosses through the stream and I feel horrible as I pee on her bare porcelain ankle and black scruffled-down sock.

A brief moment of disorientation follows when I discover that I’m not actually the only one to blame… Everyone is now either pissing or being pissed on.

There are parties of three or four otherwise stodgy-looking spouses with their maws wide, filling up like yellow birdbaths. Women too join in the fun with hiked skirts and thrust hips, peeling folds of skin away to direct their own fan-blade streams. I'm holding an erect hose one or two feet from two small open mouths, barrages of piss droplets ricocheting off dull white teeth.

A weird rush of exhibitionist freedom passes through me like a chill. Shamelessly displaying to all these strangers things usually kept so carefully hidden behind locked doors... Where is all this piss coming from? Am I draining the blood from my veins?

Everyone is completely drenched, but there is no sign of their stores nearing exhaustion either...

By the time the last squirt has dribbled on steaming carpet, I am head to toe, saturated in the urine of two-dozen strangers; my white shirt sepia and clinging to hot body... But now I wonder: who would eat like this? First I need to wash my hands.

The maître de calls my name, asking me to follow him. Torn, directionally, I choose the dining room, weaving through rows of wealthy mastication, forks held inches from gaping lips, their eyes least censored in revealing their unabashed shock at the sight and stench of my appearance.

So now they come to judge!

At what is to be my table, a circular one with four place settings, the maître de pulls out a chair, apparently choosing to ignore my current odiferous condition.

I don’t want to sit down like this. I look at the chair and thank him and nod my head, indicating that I am okay, that he’s free to help someone else. But he stands there absently, waiting for me to sit so he can grunt and whoof and push me in.

Finally I apologize and say that I really must excuse myself and run to the restroom before I can sit down or order. He nods a rather affected certainly, and waves a long arm out to point the way to the men’s pissoir. I rush in the direction he points, a long line of drizzling urine streaming from my clothes…

In the men’s room, I saw the rippling reflections of caustics on the mirror before I realized how deeply submerged I was… The prisms of sunlight just barely made it across the glass as I was made to drag around the giant conch shell fastened permanently to my scabbed and blistered back all along the bottom of this lifeless ocean.

Just because I’m a nomad doesn’t mean I should be subjected to the torture of a hermit crab... I didn’t sign on for this.

And where are all the fish? Is this all just a strange bird of paradise ballet to help keep the species alive? Why else would I be scooping up shimmering trout eggs floating around like tiny clear bubbles, or sunspots in the crystalline water? Humanitarianism gets you only so far before it sucks the breath from your lungs. It’s a vampiric organism. You breathe the first humble wisp of life into its fragile little body, and before you know it, it’s twice your size, drinking your last ounce of blood before discarding you for bigger and juicier donors…

“Fuck it. I give up!” I yelled, tossing the small butterfly net aside.

Bladder empty, I became thirsty beneath the waves. So thirsty the urge to drink rivaled the urge to breathe… I opened my mouth, swallowing a gorge-full of the salty water, immediately regretting my stupidity. The surface of my tongue cracked, releasing a cloud of pink dust across tonsils. I was a hundred times thirstier than before... I thought I’d known what thirst was, but I had absolutely no idea...

#flash fiction #fiction #dreams #nightmare #surrealism #writing #absurd

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